Road Of Bones

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But whether he’d be able to complete the job remained an open question. Bolan wouldn’t know until they got as far as Magadan and found out what was waiting for them there.

How many enemies?

What kind of help from Hal?

One thing was certain, though: it would be one hell of a road trip.

Nizhny Bestyakh: 11:03 a.m.

IT WAS GOOD to be off the damned ferry at last. Nikolay Milescu had begun to get seasick—or would it be river-sick?—riding the old tub back and forth across the Lena, scanning faces as they boarded, knowing the return trips to Yakutsk were a mind-numbing waste of his time.

At last they had a lead. His team was back together, five men strong, and closing on the target Stephan Levshin had identified. Milescu hadn’t asked the FSB man where he got his information. He didn’t care as long as it was accurate and placed them closer to their targets.

They were still running behind, Milescu understood, but if they managed to acquire fresh information here, the traitor and her bodyguard would be on borrowed time.

The target was a motorcycle shop, not much to look at, with no customers in view as they arrived. The five men had packed into a Lada Samara sedan, with Naum Izvolsky at the wheel. Milescu had him park in front of the shop, blocking off pedestrian access, and told the driver to stay with the car while he led the others inside.

Levshin had given them an address, but no names. A long-haired grease monkey approached them at the shop’s open threshold, half smiling, and asked how he could help them.

“You sold a motorcycle this morning,” Milescu informed him, not asking.

“I sell them all day, every day,” the man replied.

“Only one interests me,” Milescu said. “A man and a woman came shopping. This woman,” he added, producing the photo. “You recognize her.”

“This is just a face,” the shop’s proprietor complained. “With women, you know, it can be distracting. I look more at other things.”

Milescu laughed at that, the others joining him, then asked, “What is your name?”

“Ilya,” the older man replied. “Ilya Vitruk.”

“Ilya,” Milescu said, “I don’t care if this one walked in naked and you spent the whole time staring at her tits, understand me? You saw money, too. You sold a motorcycle to this woman and a man.”