War Everlasting. Don Pendleton
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did the rest until Bolan had Rov’s right arm pinned to the floor and a knee in the back of the man’s neck. He tried to rise, but his position proved so unwieldy that Bolan had little trouble holding the man pinned to the ground.
The soldier finally looked in Lustrum’s direction. “He’s not going anywhere. I can hold him this way all day. Are we done?”
Lustrum thought about it for a minute, while Rov continued to shout and curse, the sounds almost unintelligible. He knew if Lustrum declared Bolan the victor that it would not only mean they had to accept him, but Rov would lose face and reputation in front of his peers. That didn’t matter to Bolan. Even if it had gone another way, or he beat Rov without disgracing him, he’d have to watch his back all the same. This was a closed society, just as Corsack had said, and no matter how this ended, Bolan would still be considered an outsider.
“Tell me we’re done!” Bolan commanded.
“You’re done,” Lustrum said.
Bolan released his hold, and Rov produced a small grunt of relief.
As the pair climbed warily to their feet, and Bolan started to turn, the reflection of light on metal flashed in Bolan’s peripheral vision. Rov was charging once more, but this time he held what looked like a fighting knife in fist. Bolan’s reflexes saved him from being gutted like a fish, the blade whistling past as it narrowly missed his midsection. Bolan managed to grab hold of Rov’s wrist as it went past. He locked the elbow and yanked back while simultaneously driving the meaty portion of his forearm against Rov’s elbow. The bone snapped with an audible pop, and the knife jumped from fingers numbed by nerve damage.
With a guttural roar of pain, Rov managed to draw a Beretta Tomcat pocket pistol with his other hand.
Before his opponent could make a move to fire the weapon, Bolan swung him in an arc, then ducked through and executed a throw that landed the guy on his back. He twisted down on the damaged arm, locking the shoulder to the floor, before stomping one boot onto Rov’s throat. Pink, frothy blood spewed from the man’s mouth as the cartilage and bone cracked beneath Bolan’s heel.
The Executioner stepped back, breathing heavily with the exertion and sudden charge of adrenaline, watching with a flare of anger tinged by sympathy while the light left Rov’s eyes. Quickly and inevitably, Rov’s breathing slowed to a stop.
Bolan turned to look at Lustrum who sat with his two remaining bodyguards. They had seemed to watch the entire thing with utter impassivity.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Bolan said.
“Couldn’t end any other way, Blansky,” Lustrum replied.
Bolan’s eyes shifted toward Corsack, and she gave him a sad half smile. He could tell behind that small gesture she felt tortured by what he’d been forced to do. Part of Bolan understood it, and they shared a moment in that glance, but it still stung his sense of fair play. Rov had been silently challenged and committed to a fight, one that couldn’t have ended any other way unless he risked disgrace.
“So you got what you wanted,” Lustrum said. “What are you crying about? Rov wasn’t going to let you live, and he wasn’t going to give up. If he’d allowed you to shame him, he would have found a time to reclaim his honor or he would have been forced to leave.”
Lustrum rose slowly from his chair and turned to leave. “Relax, Blansky. Nobody has to know it was you. The waters of Nazan Bay run cold and deep. Heh. Yeah, many untold stories at the bottom of that puppy. Many stories.”
Bolan thought he could hear almost a cackle as he watched the old man saunter away accompanied by his two bodyguards. He stared at Rov’s motionless body one last time before turning on his heel and heading toward Corsack.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know he’d do anything like that. He’s always just...well, I mean in the past he—”
“Forget it,” Bolan said. “I did what I had to do. Rov didn’t leave me any choice. And this is too important to worry about right now.”
Corsack just nodded.
“Now what happens?” Bolan asked, watching Lustrum make his way toward the exit.
“He’ll be in touch,” Corsack said, laying eyes on Lustrum, as well.
“When?”
“Soon. Or as soon as he can check you out.” She lowered her voice and continued, “So I sure as hell hope whatever you got set up wasn’t done in a slipshod manner, or we’re going to have bigger problems than we’ve got right now. Otto likes me, but he won’t hesitate to come to my house in the middle of the night and cut both our throats.”
“Maybe I should go back to the plane and wait,” Bolan said.
“No, it’s much better if you stay at my place,” she replied. “You go back there, it’s going to look suspicious.”
As they made their way out of the hangar, Bolan remarked, “You were right about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I didn’t like it.”
Maddie Corsack’s place was Spartan but comfortable. The house wasn’t very large—it looked like one of the smallest of the similar houses on the block—but it didn’t lack a woman’s touch.
“It doesn’t seem as if you’ve lived high off Haglemann’s proverbial hog like your neighbors,” Bolan observed with interest.
Corsack shook her head. “I take the payments. Haglemann calls them dividends, supposedly from investments of our union dues. But I don’t spend any of it on myself. I donate it to a fund for widows of servicemen killed in action.”
“Nice.”
“I’m sorry for what you had to go through,” she said hesitantly, canting her head in the general direction of the docks. “Back there, I mean. I know you didn’t want to have to do what you did. You’re not a cold-blooded killer.”
“How do you know that?”
“I see it in your eyes. I think you actually care about other people. I think it’s why you do what you do. And you clearly didn’t want to kill Rov. He left you no choice.”
“I’ll move past it,” Bolan said. “But thanks for your concern. I’m more interested to know how much you know about Rov. And about Lustrum.”
She nodded. “I call them the Red Scourge. I know, it’s not very PC of me, but then I’ve never been known for my tact.”
“So both Rov and Lustrum are Russian?”
“No, not Otto. But Rov is definitely Russian.” That piqued Bolan’s interest. The very low population on Adak, along with the high use of Alaskan native laborers, would have eliminated the place as a melting pot. Yet here was a business magnate, a union boss, operating with complete autonomy and using Europeans and Scandinavians as little more than thugs.
“How long have you known him?”
“A long time. Lustrum took over as chief of operations down on the docks for Haglemann’s various corporate ventures about eight years ago. Haglemann’s like a spoiled rich kid, and Lustrum, while he may try to be tough, is little more than another one of Haglemann’s errand boys. The way he goes panting after the guy sometimes is sick. Of course, he uses the thugs to enforce things and ensure they’re done his way, since nothing he does is in the interest of the workers. Other than the kickbacks and money he puts in everyone’s pocket. He somehow has managed to keep it all legal and aboveboard. And as long as people are getting paid, they’re willing to look the other way.”
“These union thugs he’s using—is that the job Lustrum’s going to recruit me for?”
“I