Warning Order

by Jamie Fredric

  "You got that right!" Adler roared. He rested his hands on his hips, shaking his head. "And I was naive enough to think you'd grown attached to those four gold bars on your shoulders." Somewhere in his mind he imagined hearing the voice of a bellowing Torrinson and he remarked, "Shit! The Admiral's really gonna be pissed!"

  "Not if he doesn't find out," Grant replied with a grin. "Besides, if the FSG doesn't know where he is, they've lost their ability to threaten him with those kids' lives. It'll be like cutting the cord." Grant also knew he was taking a big risk. There was always a real possibility that whoever had the boys would dispose of them if they no longer felt Lampson could be found. The lives of the twins weighed heavily on Grant’s shoulders--but he had a mission to complete.

  "Aren't you anticipating some resistance from Lampson?" Adler asked, a frown appearing on his rugged face.

  "Not his call," Grant answered bluntly.

  Moshenko squinted his eyes as he analyzed Grant's suggestion, and then finally nodded approvingly. "I like this plan of yours."

  "Wasn't a doubt in my military mind that you wouldn't. Any ideas on how you can pull it off?"

  Moshenko stroked his chin. "How big is Lampson?"

  "He's probably three inches taller than me, about 6'4, and about 220 pounds."

  "You Americans--so tall!" Moshenko said as if in amazement. “Finding him a uniform might be difficult but I will work something out. It will probably be an East German uniform since you said he speaks German fluently."

  "Good idea. Have you thought of a place to stash him?"

  "There is an airfield in Gdansk, not far from the shipyards. We make use of it all the time. In fact, there is a small contingency of East Germans based close by. Within walking distance from the base is a hotel. Lampson will be safe there. I know the owner, Leo Grobowski, quite well."

  "Sounds good. He’s got extra civilian clothes he can use once he settles in. You'll need to exchange some money for him." Grant thought for a moment then added, "We’ve supplied him with an Austrian passport. I'll leave it to your discretion whether he remains a soldier or a civilian." Moshenko nodded.

  The one reservation Grant had was whether Lampson would be stupid enough to try and contact someone back in Germany. "Would that friend of yours consider keeping an eye on Lampson, especially if he tries to contact anybody?"

  "I will see to it."

  "You have my permission to put the fear of God in him, Grigori." Moshenko nodded, as Grant asked, "Last question...how can you get him out of Germany?"

  "We have several helicopters at the base that I have access to. And I have traveled before with East Germans. If anyone questions this, we can use the story that he's under transfer orders, waiting to assume command of the border guards. There should not be any questions. And I will try and get him an officer’s uniform which will draw less suspicion to him being with me." He had anticipated and was prepared for any requests by his American friends. Moshenko would fly a Kamov KA-18. The chopper was identified as a "Hog" by NATO.

  It was obvious from Grant's expression that he had something else on his mind. Adler stepped closer. "Whatcha thinking?"

  Grant readjusted his cap, tugging on the brim till his brown eyes were in its shadow. "The woman. We've gotta find her. My gut's telling me she's a major part of this shit. Grigori, the only accurate information we've got on her is that she worked at Humboldt University. We need to know more. How quick can you get info out of the East Germans?"

  "It is what I do," he smiled proudly, then flicked an ash from the tip of the cigar.

  Adler motioned with his head. "What about Otto?"

  "He didn't happen to give you an address for Steiner, did he?" Grant asked, as he tucked his hands into the side pockets of the leather jacket.

  "The man's invisible, keeps a real low profile. Only time Otto sees him is when it's time for a meeting or by personal invitation."

  "Did he give you a description?"

  Adler nodded. "Matches the one we got from Lampson, so I guess we can rule out a disguise."

  "Probably," Grant responded. "Looks like we've exhausted Otto's resources."

  Moshenko asked, "You want me to take...?"

  "One passenger is enough for you, Grigori. Thanks. No, I think we'll just give Herr Neus another ride ourselves. We'll give him a little something to help him sleep for a couple of hours. Joe and Manfred can leave him a few miles from the city's border. But, unfortunately for him, he'll be unable to produce the necessary papers for the border patrol." Grant glanced at Adler, who was patting his breast pocket. Neus' identification papers and money were tucked inside. The papers would be destroyed before they departed and the money given to Manfred. Grant continued: "And unless Neus is really stupid, I highly doubt he’ll be mentioning his relationship with the FSG to anyone, especially the border patrol."

  Adler laughed, “And, I’ve got a good idea he thinks we may be a couple of Steiner’s men. Poor Otto—so confused!”

  Grant turned toward the shed, then came to a sudden stop. "Son of a bitch! Son...of...a...bitch!"

  "Tell us what you know, boss," Adler anxiously requested.

  Grant pounded his fist against his palm. "I bet I know where those kids are, Joe!" Even Moshenko seemed stunned as both men waited for Grant to explain. "The lab! They're in the building above the lab. What better place? Two to one Steiner figured that if we found the lab and destroyed it, we'd be the ones responsible for killing the kids. We'd be the ones taking the heat. Did Otto say how often Steiner visited the lab?"

  "Otto had never been there himself, but said Steiner usually told him when he went to check on the scientists. It seems lately he’s made a lot of visits.”

  Grant pointed his index finger continuously at Adler as if driving home his statement. "You can bet your sweet ass he's checking on the kids."

  "Oh, hell, here we go again...my ass!" Adler chuckled.

  Moshenko broke off the end of the lighted cigar, then stuck the costly Havana in his pocket. "We have lots to do, my friends."

  "Roger that," replied Grant, "and little time to do it in." His mind was swirling like a category three tornado. "Step one is to see Lampson off safely." He turned to Moshenko. "The chopper's at Schonefeld, right?" The Soviet nodded. "Okay. I know you can fly that thing low and fast enough to hide from radar. So, we'll need you to pick us up here, early, before daybreak, let's say 0430 hours. After we pick up Lampson, can you make a side trip and drop us close to East Berlin?"

  Moshenko instantly pictured and calculated the entire flight plan, then responded, "Da. That should still give me plenty of time to get him to Gdansk then come back to East Berlin and catch a flight back to Moscow."

  "We'll huddle over a map now and talk coordinates, then tonight I'll contact Marie at our prearranged time. She can drive Lampson to the site."

  Moshenko said, "I know a place where we had practiced maneuvers one time with our East German comrades. It should be away from prying eyes."

  "Sounds good." Grant could only imagine what Lampson's reaction would be when he saw a Soviet-made chopper being piloted by a Russian officer. "Lampson’s going to have a heart attack when he sees you, Grigori!" Moshenko just shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

  "We staying with Marie after, or what?" Adler asked.

  "'Or what,'" Grant answered. "We've got to get her out of the picture as soon as possible. Joe, get one of the maps and we'll talk coordinates."

  Within five minutes Adler came out of the shed grinning, as he handed the rolled up map to Grant. "Listen, while you two start your discussion, I think I'd better give Otto a potty break. I'd prefer not to have to clean up after him."

  Grant and Moshenko knelt on the ground, tracing planned routes along the map and finally settling on the coordinates.

  Adler emerged from the shed, smiling. "When we going after the lab?" He rubbed his hands together as if he were a child anxiously anticipating Christmas morning.

  "We'll give Grigori some time to make inquiri
es into who our mysterious woman is. While he's doing that, we'll run surveillance on the lab and see if we can find the kids."

  "What if we don't find them?" Grant just had to give Adler an all too familiar look that seemed to say, You doubt me? "Okay, okay," Adler conceded, lifting his arms as if surrendering. "After we find them, when do we eliminate the lab?"

  "You'll be in charge of guarding the kids, while I..."

  "Whoa! Just a damn minute, sir. No way are you gonna have all the fun on this one. Besides, I've got the ordnance experience. Remember, UDT and EOD (Underwater Demolition Team, Explosive Ordnance Disposal)?"

  "Look, Joe, if it goes wrong, you've gotta get those kids out. You speak German like a native. You'll be their only hope."

  Adler frowned as he turned away from Grant, pondering the unspoken order. He faced Grant again, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Okay, but I don't like it."

  "You don't have to," Grant retorted.

  "What'll happen with all the chemicals? Any side-effects to worry about?"

  "Not according to Lampson. The drug has to be ingested by mouth or needle. And he figured they're still a couple weeks away from bringing it together. Besides, any chemicals should expedite the destruction of the lab." Grant responded to Adler's unasked question. "We'll rely on Grigori's art of persuasion to convince the Russians to pull the plug on the East German's project."

  "And what about Steiner?" Adler asked, as he slid his index finger across his throat.

  "Only if he accidentally falls on my knife. Otherwise, we'll leave it up to the Russians and East Germans to take care of him in whatever way they see fit. Sound okay, Grigori?"

  "We will look after him, my friends, and also have a serious talk with our East German comrades who allowed this to happen in the first place." He thought about his statement then added, "Of course, if their security was as it should be, your Agent Lampson might be in prison, or perhaps...even dead."

  "It's a chance we all take, my friend. Lampson was damn lucky this time." Grant reached inside his jacket pocket, pulling out his wallet. He removed several large bills, handing them to Adler. "Joe, could you take this to Manfred? Ask him if he can make a quick trip in the morning to buy those kids some clothes, especially jackets and boots. They probably don’t have squat.”

  “Can you give me an idea on what size he needs to buy?”

  “Just tell him they’re two years old.”

  “Right.”

  Grant put his wallet away while he looked toward the west, as the last rays of the sun painted brilliant streaks of burnt orange across the horizon. "It'll be dark soon." He zipped up his jacket. "I'll go get your car, Grigori. While I'm gone, would you mind helping Joe get Otto ready?"

  "More than delighted!" Moshenko responded, as he reached into his coat pocket, then chucked the keys to Grant.

  "Spaseeba. You can follow Manfred till he drops off Otto, then you should be able to make it into Berlin on your own."

  Grant started to turn, when Moshenko grabbed his arm. "When this is over, my friend, we will all drink a toast with some of my best Russian vodka!"

  Grant winked. "Salokov?"

  "Da!" Moshenko laughed.

  "Deal!" Grant threw a salute and sprinted across the field.

  Chapter Eleven

  Manfred's farm

  Day 6

  Joe Adler peered through a Starlighter scope into a cloudy, early morning sky. "It's not looking too good, sir. That storm front's moving in fast." The feel of a cold, damp wind reinforced his statement. "The ceiling can't be more than three thousand feet."

  "Grigori loves a challenge!" Grant responded while keeping his head in constant motion, his eyes searching the sky. As he glanced overhead, he strained to hear the familiar sound of a chopper. He thrust his hands into his back pockets, as he retraced his footsteps, pacing back and forth in front of Adler. They both knew time was of the essence now. Moshenko had to get them to Lampson.

  Adler kept the scope pressed against his eye as he asked, "You leave that envelope of money for Manfred?"

  "Yeah. Dropped it on the kitchen table," Grant responded, giving a quick glance at his watch. "Come on, Grigori," he muttered. “It’s nearly 0430.”

  As if on cue, a dull, repetitive sound off in the distance gradually became louder. Both men looked toward the northwest, Adler making a quick sweep with the Starlighter. "Got it!" he shouted. "Two five zero degrees!"

  Grant finally caught site of a black shape heading straight at them. The chopper was coming in at no more than 150 feet above ground level. He grabbed hold of his baseball cap as the helo began its descent. Dirt and debris violently swirled around the two men, both of them shielding their eyes. As soon as the skids touched down, Grant and Adler made a dash for the chopper, Adler climbing aboard first. Grant was ready to pull himself up into the cockpit when he glanced over his shoulder, seeing Manfred standing just outside his doorway, waving the envelope of money. Grant stepped away from the chopper and snapped the elderly gentleman a smart salute before he climbed aboard.

  Soviet Sector - 0500 Hours

  Two beams of bright lights stretched ahead of a black four-door Audi, guiding it along the winding single lane road. The driver, Albert Richter, wrapped his hands around the steering wheel at the ten and two o'clock positions. He glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing nothing but total blackness following them.

  The passenger, Horst Schinkel, flipped on the overhead reading light and spread the map across his lap. He followed their route with his finger. "We should be there in twenty minutes," he said, taking a look at the green light illuminating the dashboard clock.

  Richter slowed the car as it approached a T intersection, then swung the wheel to the left and stepped on the accelerator. The headlights swept across pitch black fields, flat and desolate.

  Schinkel leaned his head closer toward the open window and motioned toward Richter. "Pull over and shut off the lights!"

  Richter switched off the headlights. He quickly downshifted. The steering wheel jerked in his hands as the front tires encountered the rough, irregular shoulder. "What?"

  "Shut up!" Schinkel ordered. He grabbed the night vision goggles from the floor as he shoved the door open. He hit the ground running before the car came to a full stop, not even thinking about the fact that the car’s reading lights were still on.

  Richter threw the gearshift into park and jumped out, running around the front of the car. The toe of his heavy leather boot caught on a half-buried corroded motorcycle muffler, a remnant from World War II. He fell to his knees, his palms skidding along the loose dirt, with the entire incident completely ignored by Schinkel.

  A chopper was flying straight and low, no more than one hundred twenty feet off the ground. Resembling a prehistoric black bug, it flew past the two Germans. Schinkel watched the unusual sight through the goggles, Richter from his ground level location.

  "Let's go!" Schinkel shouted, as he made a dash for the car, catching Richter by surprise, who had to scramble along on his knees before getting his feet back under him.

  The Audi's tires spit gravel as Richter floored the accelerator, the car fishtailing as it hit the road pavement. His palms were bloody. The open wounds stung as he gripped the steering wheel. "What was it?" he asked, now even more confused.

  "A Russian KA-18," he confirmed. If there was one thing Horst Schinkel knew about, it was aircraft. He reached behind the driver's seat and grabbed a night scope from the floor lying next to an AK-47. Looking through the scope, he quickly sighted the chopper again, estimating its speed between 80 - 90 kph. "Step on it," he growled at Richter.

  The heavy, muscular East German tried to sort his thoughts: Flying that low, and close to top speed, somebody's trying to avoid radar. But--Russians? There weren't any airfields in this sector. He made a decision. They were all headed in the same direction, and since the target wasn't far from where they were, they’d have nothing to lose by tailing the chopper. They could always break away if it proved to b
e nothing.

  Richter concentrated on the road ahead of them, staying on alert for any sudden change that Schinkel might throw at him again. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the front of the scope Schinkel had aimed at the windshield. "Keep at this speed. I still have it in sight."

  Within five minutes, the aircraft's speed seemed to decrease as the Audi started to gain on it. There still weren't any other lights or vehicles in the vicinity. The chopper was approaching a tree line just northeast of their location. Richter jumped hearing Schinkel's gruff voice shouting, "Shut off the headlights--now!" He directed Richter to continue along the roadway. Even if this turned out to be nothing, Schinkel had to investigate. Traveling at barely fifteen kph and in complete darkness, they found a rutted trail that led in an easterly direction. Tall heavy shrubs lined both sides. At some points the trail was barely wide enough for the car to fit through. Spindly branches drooped overhead, scraping along the Audi's roof. Gusts of wind slapped branches against its windshield.

  Richter's forehead broke out in a sweat, his eyes aching from trying to see through the blackness. Schinkel put on the night vision goggles, supplying directions for Richter to follow. Downshifting to second gear, Richter tried to press on the accelerator as little as possible, preventing the engine from making any unnecessary noise. They weren’t able to see the chopper, but knew by the distinct sound that it was somewhere close up ahead.

  The car encountered an uphill grade. "Slow! Slow!" Schinkel gruffly whispered. "Right here--stop!" He made sure they were still camouflaged by shrubbery and trees, because ahead of them wasn’t any cover, just open ground. The car came to rest on a small rise. Richter immediately turned off the engine, then rested his arms on top of the steering wheel and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands before rolling down his window. With the help of the night scope, they were close enough to be able to see images on the field.

  "Wait here," Schinkel ordered, as he got out of the car. He crouched low, traversing the incline, then got down and hugged the ground, bringing the scope to his eyes, and then he waited.