Don Pendleton - Blind Justice

Behind Bolan the first guy was struggling to recover himself, groping for the SMG hanging from his shoulder. The big American turned fully. He saw the SMG tracking in, the guy’s finger already on the trigger. No hesitation as Bolan brought the 93-R on line and punched a triple burst that took away the left side of the man’s skull in a glistening spray. The Russian toppled back, eyes wide from shock as he hit the carpeted floor on his back.

“Damn,” Bolan muttered at the way it had gone.

He was less concerned with the Russians’ deaths than he was with the probable outcome once their principals found out what had happened. The would-be shooter had placed himself in the firing line once he went for his weapon. He had gambled and lost. Rules of the game. But there was someone behind the pair who had invaded Logan’s house, plainly looking for something, and that someone was not going to be pleased to learn his men had been discovered and taken out.

As he frisked the two men Bolan was questioning the presence of Russian heavies in the equation. How did they fit into what Ray Logan had unearthed?

A U.S. senator involved with Russians? Bolan let the question lie as he discovered two wallets, a pair of Russian passports and a vehicle key with a rental fob attached. The fob had the license-plate number on it. Bolan pocketed the items.

Neither of the Russians had a cell. Unusual, but not unheard of. Perhaps they had a phone installed in their vehicle.

Bolan called Stony Man Farm on his cell, connected with Aaron “the Bear” Kurtzman.

“Hey, we figured you were on your way home. Didn’t you finish your mission?”

“Yeah. But something new came up and I need your help.”

“Can’t get along without me, can you, Striker?” Kurtzman grumbled amiably.

“It would be a struggle,” Bolan said.

“Give me the details.”

Bolan gave Kurtzman the number from the key fob and the passports. “See what you can come up with.”

“Be in touch,” Kurtzman said.

Bolan took a tour of the house. Checked it thoroughly, including all the places Logan had suggested. He found nothing, figuring that as the Russians had still been looking they hadn’t unearthed anything themselves. The more he searched, the less he believed Rachel Logan had used her own home to hide her husband’s evidence, and the more convinced he became that she had taken it with her when she left for her secret location.

He exited the house after a half hour, closing the patio doors behind him and returned to his own rental. He fired up the motor and drove on, cruising the back lane until he was able to rejoin the main road. Bolan headed back in the general direction of the city center, spotted a diner and drove in and parked. He went inside and ordered a coffee. He took his cell out and called Logan’s burn phone, indentifying himself to the cop.

“You had visitors. They were looking for something in your house, too. There was nothing to find. Place is clean.”

“Trying to get a line on my evidence and my family. Rachel wouldn’t leave any trace. You get an ID on them?”

“Work on this, Logan. They were Russian. Had passports to prove it.”

“Russian? What were Russians doing in my house?”

“I’m having that checked out now.”

“Where are the perps?”

“Still at your house, but not in a position to leave on their own two feet. They didn’t take too well to being interrupted.”

“I’m trying to figure out how a pair of Russians are involved.” Logan paused, his thoughts slowed by the effects of the sedatives and his weakness. “Hey, Cooper, I’m getting some recall here. I almost lost it. I did come up with a Russian connection during my investigation. A guy Kendal had contact with. Can’t make it any clearer at the moment. Hell, why did I forget that?”

“When we get some identification maybe we’ll get an answer to that,” Bolan said. “In the meantime, don’t beat yourself up if you can’t pull all the details into the open. Ray, you just let me know if you hear anything about or from Rachel.”

“I will. Cooper, she’s gone to ground so it’s not going to be easy finding her. Rachel knows how to survive. Before we were married she did three years as a Park Ranger upstate. It was how we met. I was following up on a murder inquiry that took me out of the city. Rachel had found a body that had the earmarks of the perp we were after. Her intel helped us track the guy down.”

“Now that’s a romantic way to meet your future wife,” Bolan said.

“Tell me about it. Happened between us before we knew what hit us. I figure that’s what Keegan has done. Sent her somewhere up country. And Rachel hasn’t lost any of her outdoor instincts, Cooper. She’s at home out there.”

“So she can handle herself?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What about weapons?”

“That girl can shoot. Just don’t ever get her mad if there’s a 9 mm in the same room.”

“Would she favor the part of the country she patrolled when she was a Ranger?”

“Maybe, but Keegan isn’t about to let on where. It’s a big piece of freehold, Cooper. Runs all the way up to the Canadian border.”

After ending the call, Bolan ordered fresh coffee, then decided he might as well eat, given this enforced downtime. The old military maxim.

Eat when the opportunity presents itself.

Sleep on the same premise.

The combat soldier’s credo. Never waste free time. Use it like it’s going out of fashion. Grab it with both hands. Make the most of this day and let tomorrow catch up when it can.

He turned his thoughts to the man who seemed to be the driving force behind Ray Logan’s problems.

Senator Tyrone Kendal.

Bolan tried to imagine what was behind the man’s desperate actions. Why did he want so badly to get hold of Logan and the evidence that the cop claimed to have gathered?

Must have been something damning. Something that had pushed the senator into such a flurry of activity.

Armed teams searching for Logan.

Bad cops shooting at him.

And Russian heavies invading the man’s home.

KURTZMAN’S CALL CAME just as Bolan got back in his vehicle. He put the cell on speaker and listened to the rundown on the Russians.

“Couple of heavy hitters. Ivan Tupelov and Mako Sheranova. Suspected of a number of crimes but never proved. They showed up on U.S. and international databases. They work for a dubious character named Maxim Koretski. If it’s illegal this lovely guy has his hands in it. Trafficker in everything murky. Runs a number of clubs here and in Russia—guy gets around. But he’s so lawyered-up he’s bulletproof. We dredged up a few articles from newspapers and magazines. This guy is seriously into big-time crime. Suggestion is he wants to be Mister Big. In the past a couple of his near rivals have been mysteriously eliminated. No proof, but the finger points Koretski’s way.”

“Any connection at all to a Senator Tyrone Kendal?”

“He in this deal, as well?”

“I think so, but right now I can’t figure the why. I’m just trying to connect the dots.”

“I’ll keep checking. The car detail panned out. A rental paid for through one of Koretski’s legitimate businesses.”

“Thanks, Bear. Come back anytime you dig up anything.”

“You got it, Striker. What’s next for you on this?”

“Collateral damage. I need to cut away some of the trash.”

Chapter 4

It was no secret that Senator Tyrone Kendal enjoyed the good things in life, and he made sure everyone around him understood that. Kendal tolerated no deviation from his desires or his expensive lifestyle. Only the best was good enough—home, possessions, his cars. It helped that he was a wealthy man. He had inherited the Kendal fortune on the death of his father, a man who had worked his way up from a menial job as a dirt farmer to become the head of a multinational company encompassing oil, copper-mining and a manufacturing base providing products as diverse as home appliances to electronics for the IT industry. Tyrone Kendal the younger inherited the companies and the money, but unfortunately he lacked the people skills. He assumed the mantle of top dog, but in doing so he became arrogant, self-important and unfeeling.