Part 10 (1/2)
A line drew down between Bolan's eyebrows. ”She sounds vaguely familiar.”
Kurtzman punched more computer keys. ”She red-flagged immediately when I cross-referenced Vermont. She's one of the individual targets near the top of our short-list.”
”What makes her a priority?”
”She's always been very cause oriented, and in the past year the fighting in Bosnia has risen to the top of her agenda.”
Bolan frowned. ”So she joined the peace bandwagon.”
”Well, she actually seems more intellectually honest than that. Senator McCain went to Bosnia early in 1995 and toured with a Senate subcommittee investigative team. She saw one of the ma.s.s graves being excavated outside of a Croatian village. It had nearly a hundred civilian bodies in it, most of them women and children. Apparently McCain was profoundly affected by it. Ever since her return to the United States, she has been huge in spearheading the effort to send U.S. peacekeeping troops in to stop the fighting. She defends it nearly every day on the floor of the Senate.”
The Executioner stared at the bathroom wall without seeing it as the scenes of past atrocities in dozens of conflicts ran unbidden through his mind. He had seen ma.s.s graves and the terrible toll civil wars took on the population. He couldn't fault Eudora McCain. Whether or not to intervene in a civil war was a terrible decision to make. You either risked getting your own people killed in a conflict that wasn't theirs, or else you sat on your hands and watched women and children die while you did nothing. Senator McCain had gone with her conscience. Now she was a target.
”In Was.h.i.+ngton the Secret Service can guard her better than I can. What's her situation in Vermont like?”
Kurtzman searched his file. ”Married, with two daughters, both of them away in college. She lives in a big house on Lake Champlain outside of Burlington. Her husband is William McCain, a local entrepreneur, very wealthy, has a lot of clout in the state. He financed his wife's campaign.” He paused. ”The Senate is scheduled to take a break after their budget session next week. Most of the senators will be going home for a three-day weekend. How do you want to play it?”
Bolan considered the situation. ”Have Hal get a Secret Service team on Senator McCain immediately, but keep them low profile while she's in D.C. I don't want to tip off Baibakov.”
”You want Vermont to be the trap.”
Bolan nodded. ”There isn't much in Vermont to stop him. It's a small state and spa.r.s.ely populated. As I recall, farming and winter tourism are its major industries. Our senator lives in a house by a lake. It's just about as perfect a situation as Baibakov and the Red Falcons could ask for. His only problem will be keeping himself and his men out of sight. I expect most of them may have already been staged.”
”Hal will have to clear this with the President.”
”Well, get on it.”
”So you're off to Vermont in the meantime?”
”I'll need to recon the area. See if you can have Jack and a plane at JFK in the morning, and I'll need my full war load racked and ready to go on the bird.”
”Can do. Anything else?”
Bolan rose from the edge of the tub. ”No. I'll contact you when I get to Vermont. Keep me abreast of anything new.”
”Roger and out.”
The line clicked silent, and Bolan stowed the satellite link and the fax. Svarzkova grinned at him as he came out of the bathroom. A bottle of vodka sat on the nightstand, and she held two gla.s.ses in her hands. ”What is the news?”
”We're going to Vermont.”
The agent paused in thought. ”It does not sound familiar.”
”It's a state to the north of herea”it borders on Quebec.”
Svarzkova nodded thoughtfully. ”Ah.”
Bolan glanced at the bottle of vodka by the bed. It sat in a bucket of ice. A good fifth of it was already missing. ”You started without me.”
The woman didn't seem overwhelmed with guilt about it. ”Yes. I have.” She stood and handed Bolan a gla.s.s. It held a stiff three fingers of straight Russian vodka. The agent held up her gla.s.s. ”To happiness.”
Bolan clinked his gla.s.s against hers. ”Tovarisch.”
It was an old Russian toast; the word simply meant ”comrades.” Svarzkova nodded happily. ”Da, tovarisch.” She rolled the shot back in one smooth swallow. Her cheeks flushed as she smiled.
Bolan tilted back his gla.s.s, and the cold vodka blossomed into burning heat in his stomach. He looked Svarzkova in the eye. ”I gather you're feeling better.”
She met his gaze in a speculative fas.h.i.+on. ”I am working on it.”
Bolan could see where this was going. He lowered his gla.s.s. ”This might be considered inappropriate.”
The Russian agent shrugged carelessly. ”Tonight I wish to be drunk and behave inappropriately. Tomorrow we may die.”
The Executioner let out a slow breath as Svarzkova watched his eyes. The grim truth of her words was well-known to both of them. Igor Baibakov was a trained killer, and he was at large with squads of well-armed fanatics behind him. Bolan and Svarzkova both had prices on their heads.
Bolan held up his gla.s.s. ”Well, you'd better pour me another, then.”
13.
The dawn sky at JFK was a brilliant orange that tinged the entire airport the color of burned gold. Bolan stood on the tarmac with Ramzin and Svarzkova along with a small pile of bags and cases the Russians had acquired. They had left the hotel just before dawn and gone to the Russian emba.s.sy, where Svarzkova picked up two extra suitcases that weighed heavily in her arms. After a heated argument in Russian, Svarzkova had allowed Ramzin inside the emba.s.sy. Five minutes later the two of them had come out carrying a similar pair of suitcases and a long flat package that could only be a rifle.
It seemed if the two Russians couldn't do anything about being outnumbered, they had decided not to be outgunned.
A Learjet rolled toward them down the runway. Bolan knew the plane well. It was a Stony Man special. Its engines had been upgraded, and it carried extensive communications and electronic-warfare equipment. The entire airframe had been modified and strengthened, and each wing had two hard points for attaching various weapons stores. At the moment the aircraft was flying clean and looked like any other business jet. The Executioner knew that with the stores inside, the Lear could quickly transform into a bird of prey.
The aircraft taxied to a halt, and the twin jet engines powered down. The door swung open, and the ladder steps popped down into place. A lean figure in a tailored blue flight suit and black leather bomber jacket grinned at Bolan from behind his aviator sungla.s.ses. He ogled Svarzkova for a moment, then turned his infectious grin back on Bolan.
”It's an outstanding morning for flying, Sarge!”
Bolan smiled and shook his head. Short of doomsday, any day was an outstanding day for flying in Jack Grimaldi's flight book. ”It's good to see you. Did Aaron give you our flight plan?”
Grimaldi tapped the leather flight book in his hand. ”Sure did. It'll be a short hop from here, but we'll have excellent visibility. The Green Mountains should be absolutely beautiful.” He turned and grinned again at Bolan's companions and stuck out his hand. ”Major Ramzin.”
Ramzin looked at the offered hand and then shook it firmly. Grimaldi's grin upped in wattage as he held out his hand to the blond Russian agent. ”Senior Lieutenant Svarzkova, it's a pleasure.”
Svarzkova smiled and shook his hand. ”I am very pleased to meet you, as well, Mr.?”
Grimaldi looked at Bolan. It was a cooperative mission, but giving out the name of Stony Man's number-one pilot to Russian Intelligence was still probably not a good idea.
Bolan jerked his thumb at the pilot. ”Just call him Jack.”
Grimaldi glanced at his watch. ”I'm flying you into the Burlington airport. The powers that be have already okayed your idea, though they want you to have backup when Senator McCain arrives. The word is they're going to send in an FBI fast-reaction team, as well as the usual cadre of Secret Service bullet stoppers. In the meantime I've been cleared to stick around awhile if you want me.”
Bolan nodded. Grimaldi was a very useful man to have around. ”Why don't you do that.”
The pilot smiled and raised his arms up at the vault of the dawn's horizon. ”Let's fly!”