Warning Order

by Jamie Fredric

  Spotting the two jumpers moments before they hit the ground, Manfred extinguished the small lights on the roof of his house, then cautiously climbed down the ladder. Grant and Adler both did a standing landing within twenty yards of one another in the north corner of a plowed field. They quickly unhooked and began figure-eighting their shroud lines.

  Manfred hobbled over to them. His left knee was riddled with arthritis, stemming from an injury received during World War II. He patted Grant on the back. "So, Captain, we meet again, and sooner than we both expected. And this time you've brought company, I see."

  Grant gathered up his chute. "Manfred, this is Joe Adler."

  "Nice to meet you, sir," Adler said, peering over an armful of black parachute silk. He used the shroud lines to tie the chute into a tight package.

  "So, did Herr Captain promise you anything special for making the trip with him, Joe?"

  Deep creases formed in Adler's smiling, rugged face. "We've yet to work that out, sir." After a brief pause, he winked and added, "But he knows I won't forget!"

  They stored their gear in the safe room under the shed and changed their clothes. "Come then," Manfred said as he motioned with his arm, "I have some food for you in the kitchen."

  "Maybe we'd better just stay in the safe room, Manfred," Grant replied, ever wary.

  "No, no. It will be all right. At this late hour it is unlikely we will have to worry."

  Grant gave a half smile. "You know I don't like surprises."

  The hinges squeaked as Manfred opened the solid wood front door covered with scratches. A panel at the bottom had turned a weathered gray color. Dampness pervaded the small house, partly from lack of sufficient heat. One source of heat was an inefficient, small coal burning fireplace in the living room.

  "Wait here," the elderly man said as he closed the door. A moment later he returned with a lighted kerosene lamp. Dark curtains had already been drawn across windows. Manfred removed his cap, revealing silver hair that curled over the tops of his ears. He handed the lamp to Grant as he hung the gray cap on a peg next to the door then took off his gray tweed jacket. "Come into the kitchen," he said as he reached for the lamp. The dim light cast eerie shadows across the walls, ceiling and meager furnishings in the kitchen as Manfred led the two men toward the kitchen table. Motioning towards the chairs he said, "Sit down, sit down.”

  The two Americans complied, pulling out straight-backed wooden chairs from beneath a wobbly, hand-hewn table. Grant unzipped his leather jacket part way, then pulled out a sealed paper bag, putting it in the center of the table. "Thought you might need a refill, Manfred."

  The old German picked up the bag of his favorite Chase & Sanborn coffee and brought it close to his nose. He inhaled the contents' aroma. "Ahh. Your timing could not be more perfect, Captain! Danke." He lifted the kettle from the stove and placed it on a metal trivet. "Help yourselves, my friends, and I will make some of this wonderful coffee. You will eat, warm up, and then we will talk."

  Adler looked at Grant as if to ask, "Where the hell did you get that coffee?"

  Grant used the ladle and spooned steaming porridge into chipped, blue pottery bowls. "Coffee's one of the premium luxuries here, Joe; costs almost as much as a bike." He winked, adding, "The Embassy cook is Fritz Landen. He was President Kennedy's old yacht chef. He assured me the staff will never miss it."

  The porridge was hot and sweetened with honey. Adler ate two bowls, grateful Manfred had insisted. Grant made a note to himself to leave some East German Marks for the old man, even though he anticipated there'd be protesting.

  He pulled back his jacket sleeve just enough to be able to see his watch. At 0530 hours he had to make contact with Torrinson.

  After freshening up their coffee, Manfred placed the pot back on the wood burning stove and asked enthusiastically, "So, my friends, how can I help?"

  "Manfred, does the name 'Greta Verner' wouldn't happen to ring a bell, would it?" The more he had thought about Lampson's relationship with the woman, the more his instincts started to set off a distant alarm. At the moment he couldn't explain why it was trying to warn him.

  The old man shook his head. "No. Who is she?" Grant responded, keeping the explanation brief, and then Manfred said, "These are strange, difficult times, Captain. It is understandable why so many of the young people do what they do. Lampson was an intelligent man and held a prestigious position at the university. Perhaps she saw a way to lift herself out of the mire. Who knows?"

  Adler leaned forward, his blue eyes staring at Grant as he pointed a finger at him. "Yeah, or just maybe she had a deeper ulterior motive."

  The distant alarm suddenly sounded loudly in Grant's head. "Think you may be onto something, Sherlock. It might be a long shot, but, shit! It's all we've got right now." It was obvious the two men were heading down the same path, one of the reasons they worked so well as a team.

  "Of course," Adler said, "if that's the case, why the hell wouldn't she have protected herself, you know, taken the pill or something? The kids couldn't have been part of the plan, if there was a plan."

  "I didn't go into that with Lampson, but it's possible she could've been taking it. I don't think those things are completely foolproof." Grant slowly held up his hand, with the palm facing Adler. "Wait a minute, Joe, wait a minute. I know this'll sound like it's coming out of left field, but what if, and I do mean a big what if, the kids aren't Lampson's?"

  Manfred sat quietly and listened, swiveling his head back and forth from Grant to Adler. Just by the conversation taking place, he knew the two Americans shared a special bond, like brothers.

  Adler's first response was a statement not a question. "You think she was a 'plant.’ Whadda ya think...East German military or the dissidents?"

  Grant shrugged. "Could be either. Or maybe the East Germans have a hold on her, too. From what Lampson said, anyone working on the project was constantly watched and threatened, even though she had a minor role acting as an assistant. Actually, the way Lampson described her job, it was more like she was just a gopher. But with what he brought to the table, he was probably the most valuable. What better way to keep him reeled in, and since he was the only unmarried person among the scientists, they had to come up with a way to be assured he'd be thorough with his work and wouldn't skip town." He leaned back in the chair, momentarily stared up at the rough-hewn beams on the ceiling, then looked at Adler again. "Still got some holes in the plot, Joe, but I'll bet your ass we're onto something."

  Adler laughed, running his hand back and forth across his crewcut. "Oh, so it's my ass!"

  A laugh escaped from deep within Manfred and he rocked back in the chair. He briefly recalled his days at the German field command as one of the officers in the Infantry War Plans Department and how he slowly grew to hate Hitler and all tyrants. It was times like these that made him feel so alive.

  Grant swallowed a last mouthful of coffee, then stood as he said, "We've got to make a call, Manfred. Sorry that Joe and I got off on a tangent. Give us about a half hour, then join us and we'll go over some plans."

  Manfred extinguished the kerosene lamp before opening the door. Then Grant and Adler made a dash across the yard, vapors from their breath dissipating in the air as they ran. A cold wind had started blowing down from the north, causing the temperature to drop to thirty-four degrees. Clouds began to deteriorate. A new moon broke through the heavy gray.

  Grant made contact with Torrinson, who said sources had confirmed a clean check on Professor Schmitt. Not to Grant's surprise, they were unable to find a complete background on Greta Verner. The path seemed to begin at the university and went as far as Lampson. "Does that help any, Grant?"

  "Well, sir, Joe and I came up with our own scenario, and you've just allowed us to fast-forward to Chapter 2."

  "Can you tell me how the chapter will begin?" Torrinson smiled.

  "Not completely sure, sir, but I do smell something fishy. I think it's going to go in two directions, just like Joe and me.
I've gotta find that lab and I've got a suspicion where it might be. On my way in to extract Lampson, I spotted a large pipe, probably about seven feet in diameter. It just seemed to be out of place, like it didn't belong there. So I had one of my sources research some old blueprints of the city before it was divided. The Nazis put in a lot of time and effort excavating under the streets, putting in escape routes. As I was looking at those blueprints, there were two in particular that got my attention. It’s a longshot, sir, but we’ve gotta start somewhere. Manfred will drive us into East Berlin to..."

  "Excuse me? Did you say you're going into the city again?"

  "You’ve got to trust me, sir. We've still got a long way to go. In the meantime, can you confirm that you want Lampson to remain in Germany or do you want us to get him out?"

  "Let him stay where he is for now, unless those instincts of yours start telling you something."

  "Understand, sir. And I've still got to make contact with Grigori."

  Torrinson hesitated but decided to ask anyway. "And when do you plan on contacting Colonel Moshenko?"

  "I'll wait till I find the lab." Grant looked overhead when he heard the sound of footsteps. "Wait one, sir," he said in a hushed voice. Adler drew his "hushpuppy" and backed up into the shadows, then slowly brought back the hammer to full cock. Grant lowered the light on the kerosene lamp.

  "Captain?" Manfred called softly as he tapped on the makeshift trapdoor.

  Adler eased the hammer back, then holstered the firearm. Then he moved the portable wooden steps under the door, climbed up and slid the metal bar out, allowing Manfred entrance. The old German leaned over and handed him two cups.

  "It's okay, sir," Grant continued. "Manfred's here. It's time we get to work. Will make contact again but can't say for sure when."

  "I'll call SECDEF with the update. Good luck, Captain."

  Grant switched off the radio and pulled the headphones off. A strong smell of coffee hit his senses, as Manfred poured the brew into each mug.

  "Something hot to begin the day with, my friends."

  Grant raised the mug in thanks. "I’ve got a big favor to ask, Manfred, above and beyond the call."

  The old man's creased, pale face seemed to light up with the prospect. Grant was giving him a new sense of purpose. "At last!" he exclaimed excitedly as he slapped his knee. "Tell me."

  Adler rested his back against the narrow wooden shelves, obviously rough cut with a hand saw. His eyes settled on Manfred, thinking the man was just the way he pictured him. Grant described the old German as someone full of life with a deep sense of pride and patriotism, willing to take the risks necessary to help bring freedom back to the people of East Germany. Adler liked Manfred right off.

  "We need to find out more about this Greta Verner,” Grant said. "Lampson gave us the location of her uncle's place. It's about five miles from Bernau. How far is that from here, Manfred?"

  After thinking a moment, Manfred responded, "About twenty-five kilometers." He quickly added, "Patrols should be minimal."

  Grant nodded. "What's the countryside like around there?"

  Manfred scratched his unshaven cheek. "Mostly flat, with some small rises and stands of trees."

  "Any ground cover, you know, like bushes?"

  "Some scattered clumps, but there are large boulders in that particular area, if that helps you."

  "Sure does." Grant sipped his coffee. "We've also got an address of the flat she had in East Berlin."

  Shaking his head, the old German responded, "Apartments are at a premium in the city, Captain. Once they are abandoned, new tenants quickly move in."

  "I believe it, but Lampson said he continued paying her rent right up until we snatched him."

  "That may not have been very wise."

  Grant shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I know, but it may be just what we need now. The address is 331 Hufeland Strasse, Flat C."

  Manfred shifted his weight and rubbed his leg. Grant sensed the old man was getting uncomfortable. He rose from the chair, pushed it closer, then patted Manfred's shoulder. "Sit down while Joe and I check our gear."

  They dragged two rucksacks toward the wall opposite from where Manfred was sitting, then knelt on the compacted dark, brown earth. Their planning continued as they checked each item, skillfully preventing Manfred from getting too close of a look. Adler examined one of the five concussion grenades. Each device measured about 1-1/2" high and wide and 6" long. Black, hard pressed paper made up the shell that enclosed the explosive material inside. There wouldn't be any shrapnel when the grenade exploded because of the paper shell. He glanced at several quarter pound blocks of C4. The C4's color and substance resembles white modeling clay. Det cord could be used to connect multiple blocks of C4. The explosive could be formed to almost any shape, then exploded with something like a blasting cap or chemical pencil. The three inch chemical pencils contained a one inch ampoule of acetone, that when crimped would allow the acetone to eat away a plastic washer holding back a striker under spring tension. When the washer erodes, the spring drives the striker into the explosive detonator, setting off the device.

  "So what’s next?” Adler asked.

  "I think we should make a sweep of the uncle’s place. Manfred can drop us off and keep our gear in the truck."

  Adler winked at Manfred and said, "Clever of you to have that false bottom in the bed of your truck, sir."

  Manfred acknowledged the comment with a bow of his head and smiled. "It has come in handy many times. When I'm not carrying potatoes into Berlin, I bring in coal." A deep, hearty laugh exploded from within him. "You, my friends, will become coal miners, hidden beneath layers of black coal."

  Adler grinned. "I can think of some worse places I've been, sir!"

  Grant zipped up the rucksack, stood and walked over to the cot, propping his foot on the edge and resting his arm on top of his knee. "After Manfred picks us up from the uncle’s place, he can drive us into the city. Once we've made it past the guards, we'll head for the factory. Manfred's already checked it out and said there's plenty of activity and that’ll be to our advantage. Welders are putting in long hours working on barge components. So we should be able to get away unnoticed. While you check out the flat, I'll check that tunnel."

  "You got the key to the flat that Lampson gave you?" Adler asked.

  "It's in that leather case," Grant answered as he pointed at Adler's gear.

  "You think she's made any appearances there since we got Lampson?"

  Grant shook his head. "Doubt it, unless there was something special she needed."

  Adler rubbed his eyes, eyes that were tired and bloodshot. "What kind of timeframe are we talking?"

  "I'll meet you at the flat. We'll hang out there till just before daylight and Manfred can meet us." He pulled his knife from a leather sheath and ran the razor-sharp edge across the back of his wrist.

  "Think we'll have any unexpected company while we're there?" Adler smirked.

  With the tip pointed toward the ceiling, Grant swiveled the weapon back and forth in front of his face, a weapon that had seen him through a few life and death encounters. With a cold stare that could send a violent chill up anyone’s back but Adler's, he responded in a deep, low voice, "If we do, then that'll just be their bad luck, won't it?"

  He looked at the old man, who'd drifted off to sleep, his head sagging down. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm with his snoring. Grant poked an elbow against Joe's arm, motioning with his head. "It's been a long day for all of us. We'd better catch some Zs, too."

  Adler stood and brushed dirt from his pants. "Should we wake him up?"

  Grant shook his head, then reached for a blanket on the end of the cot. He draped it over the front of Manfred, drawing it up to the man's whiskered chin.

  "Why don't you take the cot?" Adler said, as he was spreading another blanket on the ground. "You know I'm the camping type. Besides, you senior officers do need your Sealy's."

  Grant reached for his flashl
ight and shot its beam directly into Adler's eyes. "How's your night vision?"

  Adler blinked and chuckled. "Smart ass...sir!"

  Grant dimmed the kerosene lamp, then tucked the flashlight under his pillow. He folded his arms behind his head, staring up towards the trapdoor that concealed their presence. Shards of light from the early morning sun penetrated irregular spaces between the weathered roof timbers covering the shed, making their way down through knot holes in the trapdoor. Grant stared at the beams of light, feeling his body breaking out in a cold sweat, and hearing his heart pounding in his ears. His eyes locked onto the pencil-thin light beams, bringing back images in his mind that were all too real, all too unsettling.

  ********

  As a kid living in California, he and two friends had been buried in an underground pipe by a rockslide. A grate had covered an old water shed drain that had been condemned. As soon as the kids went in, it collapsed.

  Grant's mind went back to that time, seeing again the light beams through the rocks and the crumpled grate that had caused a slight air space for them to survive until they were rescued nearly twelve hours later. It wasn't the only time Grant Stevens had felt as though he was trapped like an animal.

  In February of 1969, Grant and Chief Marty Kilborn parachuted behind enemy lines into North Vietnam, just above the DMZ (demilitarized zone). Their mission--locate and destroy an NVA (North Vietnamese Army) communication's and mortar site set up inside a former POW camp. But something went terribly wrong. Their mission had been compromised--a leak. The NVA had laid a trap. The two SEALs had hidden themselves just outside the perimeter of the camp, observing the activity for a full day and night. The plan called for them to set off the explosives by 0200 hours, then get the hell out before the air strike.

  After the guards around the main hut had been eliminated, they were preparing to set the explosives when Grant's instincts started talking to him. But it was too late. A booby-trapped floor blew up, throwing him and Kilborn into a ten foot deep pit, both of them knocked unconscious. Debris of wood, palm fronds, and dirt rained on top of them, covering their existence. But the hole would become their safe refuge, and as they regained consciousness, the air strike began. Minutes later, an eerie quiet settled over them. The filth and smells of the hell hole made it obvious they weren't the first to occupy the pit. American POWs suffered and probably died there. That's what touched Grant Stevens so deeply. As the dust cleared, the SEALs scrambled out of the pit, racing through the thick jungle to the LZ, waiting for extraction.