Chain Reaction

by Don Pendleton

  Hegre had obtained the required uranium. As with the diamond theft, it had taken a great deal of planning and executing. Such an enterprise had cost money. If successful, it would have allowed Hegre to recoup the outlay. The diamonds had been intended to pay Hegre’s way without having to divert other funds.

  Stepping back to assess the current situation, Hegre realized that was not running the way he expected. The large amounts of up-front money needed to be forthcoming if Hegre was to avoid the unpleasant experience of disappointing the people he had involved in the operation. In his business it was not advisable to let his suppliers down. The people who worked on Hegre’s behalf in numerous capacities had to be kept happy. The word that Hegre was becoming less than dependable would soon be passed around. That would affect future business, and that was something Julius Hegre did not appreciate.

  “Lise, we will come through this,” he said, hoping he sounded confident.

  “The last thing we need right now is for this uranium deal to collapse on us. The Iranians are not known for their tolerance. Upset them and we could have a lot of grief coming our way. These people do not smile and say fine, you screwed up, let’s forget it. They come after you. One way or another, they come after you. So we had better make sure Fikri gets his hands on his uranium.”

  Hegre understood her concern. The Iranians were a worry. He didn’t enjoy the fact, but he took it on board.

  “Then, Lise, my dear, we had better be sure to make a satisfactory delivery to our impatient client. Make sure we can maintain our chain of supply. The last thing we need is a fatwa being issued with our name on it. Avoiding that is our overriding concern.”

  “Julius, is there something you are not telling me?”

  Hegre avoided her direct gaze. He touched the neat line of pens on his desk, moving one to bring it back in line. It was something he did in moments of stress. When he had something on his mind.

  Watching him, Delaware experienced a twinge of concern. He was not a young man any longer. The ever present strain of running the two Hegre divisions was putting great pressure on him. He put on a brave face, but she had noticed the way it was affecting him. Times when she caught him lost in thought, the weariness in his face. Hegre would have denied how much it all was wearing him down if she had spoken up. All she could do was try to shield him as much as she could and carry some of the burden.

  “No secrets, Julius. We always tell each other the truth.”

  Hegre found her intense stare intimidating. She had the unerring ability to see through any kind of deception. And with Hegre her assessment of his moods was unavoidable. He could not hold out for long. She knew him too well.

  Finally Hegre said, “It’s Dolf Stabler. He still owes us a great deal for earlier operations. A very great deal. I think he realizes we are struggling with finances. I have spoken to him twice, and he keeps stalling. With everything else going on I did not want to bother you, Lise.”

  “I thought the Bellarus organization had released that money.”

  Hegre shook his head. “No. I spoke to Stabler again yesterday. He’s enjoying our difficulties. Since he stepped in to take over Kempress’s position, the atmosphere at Bellarus has changed. Stabler is nothing but—excuse my hypocrisy—a crook. He is out to consolidate his grip. Bellarus brings in a great deal of business—and money.”

  “Yes, and we need our owed share of that money, Julius. We need it now.”

  Delaware picked up one of the desk phones and punched in an internal number. She spoke briefly as she gave her orders.

  “This ends today,” she said.

  * * *

  DELAWARE VISITED MELCHIOR in his office. He looked up from his work as she strode in.

  “Tell me about Stabler,” she said.

  “I presume Julius has explained the situation?”

  “You knew, as well? Damn it, Dominic, this is important.”

  When she called him by his full name, Melchior knew she was angry.

  “With everything you are dealing with, Julius did not want you burdened with this.”

  “Don’t treat me like a child. I don’t need shielding from the big, bad world, Dom. Now explain.”

  “The Bellarus group has always been a hard business competitor. Hard but fair. Things have changed. Stabler has taken over because Lewis Kempress has been forced to step back because of ill health. The man has cancer. He’s lost his influence. Stabler is making his play for a better position. I believe he wants to take the chair away from Kempress.”

  Lise considered what Melchior had just told her.

  “He’s not using us as a stepping stone,” she said. “The man is nothing but a wannabe. He throws his weight around with his own people because no one has the backbone to stand up to him, and now he’s practically blackmailing us because we are having a financial crisis. Right now we need the money Stabler owes so we can meet our current obligations.”

  “You do not have to convince me, Lise. But forcing Stabler’s hand could be difficult.”

  Delaware smiled. “I don’t accept failure,” she said. “Let me handle Stabler.”

  “But of course, my dear. I wouldn’t expect less.”

  Delaware was informed her car was ready along with her two-man backup team. She slipped on her black coat, checked the holstered Desert Eagle and the lock knife in her side pocket. She noticed Melchior watching her.

  “Just making sure I have my negotiating equipment in place,” she said. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Our Stabler problem will have gone away by then.”

  Melchior understood.

  Delaware’s vehicle was waiting outside when she emerged. As she climbed into the passenger seat, she glanced briefly at the two Hegre men accompanying her.

  “When we make the meeting, just follow my lead. Understood?” Both men nodded. “This won’t take long.”

  Delaware sat and gazed out the windshield, oblivious to what was going on around her. Nothing seemed to faze her. The screech of tires, the blaring of horns. She was unmoved by it all. She was concentrating on what lay ahead: a confrontation with someone pushing hard to intimidate Hegre. Though the man in question, Stabler, considered himself up to the task, he had yet to experience a face-to-face with Lise Delaware.

  They rolled out of New York, across the Hudson, to New Jersey. A half hour later the SUV turned off the main highway and picked up a quiet feeder road that wound its way through a commercial-industrial park. It cruised the commercial strip and then turned in between open metal gates and stopped outside the office building of the Bellarus company.

  Delaware stepped out and made for the entrance doors, pushing through to a reception area. Her two-man team flanked her as she walked to the desk. A young woman glanced up at Delaware.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “I am here to see to see Dolf Stabler.”

  “Do you have an appointment to see him?”

  Delaware smiled. “Just tell him I represent Julius Hegre. He will see me.”

  The woman caught the expression in Delaware’s eyes and picked up her phone, speaking quickly when it was answered. The receptionist nodded at the answer she received and pointed along the corridor leading off from the reception area.

  “Fourth door on the left,” she said. “Mr. Stabler is expecting you.”

  Delaware turned away without another word.

  At the appropriate office door she paused, then rapped on the panel. The door was opened quickly and Delaware strode into the large, well-appointed office. A large, curving desk dominated the far corner, with a window looking out across the site.

  Dolf Stabler rose from his seat as Delaware and her team entered. The door was closed behind them by the bodyguard Stabler had with him.

  Stabler was tall and solidly built. His square, broad face was t
opped by close cropped dark hair. He wore a suit that screamed money. The cream shirt under the jacket was hand stitched and the leather shoes could have kept a family in food for months.

  “Doesn’t Julius Hegre make house calls any longer?” Stabler asked.

  Delaware paused at his desk, looking him over.

  Behind her the Hegre team had placed themselves where they could easily cover Stabler’s man.

  “My uncle only deals with important clients,” Delaware said quietly. “As Mr. Kempress has temporarily stepped down, he felt this meeting was necessary in order to correct certain imbalances. To put it clearly, you are screwing with us, Stabler.”

  The impact on Stabler was immediate. His face flushed with righteous anger and he leaned forward to slam his heavy hands down on the desk.

  “No one speaks to me that way,” he yelled.

  “But I just did,” Delaware answered. “We need to clear something up right now. Hegre has been dealing with Bellarus for some time. A satisfactory arrangement for both parties. Contracts have always been honored. Until now.”

  Stabler, comfortable within his own surroundings, allowed a slow smile to edge his lips. “Let’s say things change. As in fees for services provided. I have looked at the figures and decided they were not in our favor. So I have changed them.”

  “Nothing like a little self-promotion to give you delusions,” Delaware said. “The trouble with delusions is they make you believe you can’t be touched.”

  Delaware’s right hand had slipped into her coat pocket, gloved fingers closing around the handle of the lock knife. Her gaze never faltered, eyes fixed on Stabler’s. In a smooth, controlled move she drew the knife from her pocket, thumb flicking the stud that opened the blade. Light caught the tempered steel as it locked into position. Delaware’s arm swept up, reached its apex, then descended.

  Her action was too fast for anyone in the office to react. Her aim was true, the six-inch blade a blur. Perhaps, in the microsecond before it happened, Stabler realized her intention. His awareness came too late. The blade entered through the back of his right hand, cutting easily through flesh and tendon and bone with a moist crunching sound. Delaware had put all of her considerable muscle power into the down stroke and the knife sliced its way through Stabler’s hand and buried itself deeply in the desktop. Well over three-quarters of its length lodged tightly in the wood.

  Blood began to spread out from beneath Stabler’s pinned hand even as he began to scream. His cry stopped abruptly when Delaware pulled her Desert Eagle and slammed it across the side of his head. Stabler slumped to his knees behind the desk, held in position by his pinned hand, dazed. The man’s bodyguard responded too slowly, his attention on his boss’s hand. By the time he had reached for the pistol under his coat, one of Delaware’s team was at his side, the muzzle of his own weapon pushed into the side of the man’s skull. He took the guard’s weapon and slipped it under his belt.

  The other Hegre man stepped out of the office and moved back along the corridor to confront the startled receptionist. He showed her his own pistol, slowly shaking his head. His unspoken threat was enough to persuade her not to make any kind of fuss.

  In his office Stabler pushed slowly upright, reaching out with his free hand to draw his chair close so he could sit. He hunched over the desk, his left hand gripping his other wrist. Blood had pooled on the desk top, soaking into papers spread across it.

  “So, Mr. Stabler, do we understand each other now?” Delaware asked.

  Stabler raised his head and stared up at her.

  “I won’t forget this....”

  Delaware smiled. “I hope not, because that was my intention. That you realize how serious I am. I could easily have cut your throat. As it is, I have simply made my point. To show you Hegre does not appreciate your kind of behavior. I do not care about your attempt to climb the ladder within Bellarus. Ambition is fine. But not at Hegre’s expense. Stabler, understand who you are dealing with. Hegre is too powerful, too influential to be intimidated by someone like you. You continue with the agreed arrangements, and this goes no further. If you attempt to continue with your little exercise, I may be forced to take this higher. I leave that for you to consider.”

  Stabler, face oozing sweat, held her gaze for a few seconds before he gave a slight nod.

  “Don’t imagine that after I leave you can suddenly revert to your previous stance. Hegre has too many contacts for you to influence matters. It would surprise you to know just how many. Close attention will be kept from now on. We have an understanding. Yes?”

  “Yeah,” Stabler said hoarsely.

  “Fine. So all we need now is for you to get on your computer and transfer the very large amount of money you have been withholding from us. Money that belongs to Hegre. Are we agreed?”

  Stabler nodded. Using his left hand, he worked on his keyboard, Delaware watching every move until he tapped Enter.

  Delaware took out her cell phone and called Melchior.

  “Dom, go online and check the main account. No time for questions, just do it.”

  She heard the muted sound of keys as Melchior accessed the account. A minute or so passed, the only sound Stabler’s low moaning.

  There was a soft gasp over the phone as Melchior read the figures showing in Hegre’s account.

  “Make the necessary arrangements,” Delaware said.

  Melchior would move the large amount to other Hegre accounts to avoid any chance of it being recovered. And, most important, the money needed to pay off Lubinski would be transferred to the Russian’s Moscow account.

  “Doing it now.”

  “Talk to you later,” Delaware said. She looked down at Stabler. “This was all so unnecessary. All it’s done is left you with an unexpected problem.”

  Stabler frowned through his pain. “What problem?”

  “How you’re going to get that blade out of the desk without tearing your hand apart.”

  She turned to her backup and said, “Time to go.”

  They picked up their man at the reception desk and left the building, encountering no resistance.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Bolan and the others drove directly to OCD headquarters where Seminov ushered his visitors to his office. Dimitri was dispatched to get coffee. Bolan and Mitchell were offered seats in front of Seminov’s desk. The Russian commander threw off his overcoat and sat facing them.

  “Better surroundings than the last time,” Bolan said.

  “Yes,” Seminov agreed, grinning. “Someone realized that OCD deserves the best. Here we deal with the worst criminals running around Russia. So we should have the facilities to match that.”

  They waited until Dimitri arrived with hot coffee for them all. The sergeant drew up a chair and joined them.

  “This information you have from the Israelis,” Dimitri asked. “You believe it is reliable?”

  “My source is a Mossad operative I’ve worked with before, and his people are good. The suggestion that Sergei Lubinski is involved is sound.”

  “Lubinski is a sharp operator,” Seminov said. “He can provide just what a client requires. And we suspect he uses the club, Babushka, for cover.”

  “Contraband is one thing,” Mitchell said. “If Lubinski is helping transport uranium to Iran, it takes him to a different level.”

  “For what gain?” Dimitri asked. “Apart from physical damage, nuclear explosions would simply spread radiation over large areas. Wind could carry the poison, even as far as the country that launched the devices. Where is the sense in that?”

  “We’re talking about individuals steeped in religious fervor,” Bolan said. “Individuals who have convinced themselves that Israel is their sworn enemy. A purveyor of hatred for Islam. The intel from Mossad suggests it’s what Iran is doing. Iran is a wild card. It
has too much invested to pull out now. Fikri has the backing of a number of extreme ayatollahs. They’re against any kind of appeasement with the West or Israel. They would pull the nuclear trigger if they had the hardware, regardless of the consequences. In Fikri’s mind it’s his duty to strike at the enemies of Islam. Any damage done to Israel would be a blessed event. He has a lot of supporters in Iran and abroad. Mossad has identified Fikri as being behind recent issues firing up young followers to strike against Western targets. It doesn’t need to be explained how risky that kind of thinking is. He may not have a battle plan, but his policies are more than just bluster. The man has openly declared his resentment of American and Israeli involvement and promises reciprocal action if Israel doesn’t back off from what they call defensive strikes.”

  “Do you believe this man would use nuclear weapons if he had them?” Dimitri asked.

  “Feasibility studies back home have put Fikri at the top of the list,” Mitchell replied. “The man is an unrepentant advocate of extreme action against what he considers the true enemies of Islam. The only thing holding him back is a lack of the nuclear material required to produce WMDs. Reports from inside Iran passed to U.S. intelligence confirm the man’s willingness to use nuclear devices if he can gain enough material to construct the weapons.”

  “Do these people believe setting off nuclear devices is going to bring about an Islamic victory?” Dimitri asked. “That they would come off without harm?”

  “Nikolai,” Bolan said, “we are talking religious fanatics here. People who see and hear only what they want. No amount of talk, persuasion, will take them off the path. They have judged us and condemned us. Everything we stand for is blasphemy to them. And it justifies the bombings. The killings. The endless vilification of our very existence. They refuse to even sit down and talk. How do we deal with that kind of thinking?”