Warning Order

by Jamie Fredric

  Winds from the approaching storm buffeted the four-seat chopper as it made a 360 degree sweep around the inside perimeter of the predetermined LZ. The three men aboard scanned the pitch black field. Moshenko guided the chopper toward an oddly shaped object positioned nearly dead center of the field. As it approached, the VW's headlights flashed twice.

  Marie kept her eyes on the hovering helo. Her instructions from Grant had been to not tell Lampson about his soon-to-be mode of transportation, only that she'd been instructed to deliver him to this field on this particular night. Once again, Grant was trying to be protective. She glanced at Lampson sitting in the seat beside her, his tall body looking cramped and uncomfortable in the little car. He rolled down the window, then immediately shielded his eyes from flying debris while he strained his neck to keep an eye on the descending helicopter.

  "I suppose Captain Stevens told you not to advise me about the type of transportation he'd be providing?" Lampson asked with a touch of sarcasm. He pulled off his steel-rimmed glasses and shoved them into his jacket pocket.

  "He only told me to be here at this time," Marie responded quietly. As the chopper's skids touched earth, she turned on the car's parking lights.

  The two Americans jumped from the chopper. Grant had his .45 drawn; Adler carried an Uzi. Their eyes were fixed on the VW as they ducked under the rotating blades then ran toward the car. Adler stopped just shy of the car, taking up a position in front of the boot, continuously sweeping the area with his eyes. The Uzi followed the same sweep, at the same pace.

  The propellers continued rotating while Moshenko stayed inside, his hand resting on the control stick, ready to lift off when all were aboard. The Russian had already removed his military cap and jacket, making it impossible to tell who or what he was.

  Grant reached for the car door handle and pulled open the passenger side door. "Let's go," he shouted above the noise of the chopper. As Lampson was extracting himself from the car, Grant said, "You've gotta trust me, Rick. No questions. Just listen and do as I say." He leaned toward the open car window. "Marie, wait a second and I'll be right back." Grant again turned his attention to Lampson as he pointed to Moshenko. "Our friend over there is going to get you out of Germany and take you some place safe."

  Lampson's heart started pounding. He squinted, trying to prevent flying dust from blinding him, as he tried to identify the chopper. From his angle, he wasn't able to see the red stars painted on the outside of the twin tail sections.

  Grant shook Lampson's shoulder, getting his attention. "I think I know where your kids are, Rick." Lampson didn't have time to react as Grant grabbed hold of his arm and led him away from the VW and out of Marie's earshot. "It's gonna take a few more days to finish up here." Then he poked an index finger into Lampson's chest. "Now listen to me. You've got to do exactly what Colonel Moshenko tells you. Exactly! You understand?"

  Lampson tried to step back but Grant's grip was firm. Completely taken by surprise, Lampson had hoped he misunderstood the name that just heard. "You're turning me over to a Russian?" he asked incredulously and with obvious panic rising in his voice.

  "I told you to trust me! And if I can trust Grigori, you sure as hell can! Now, let's go!" He held onto Lampson's arm, practically dragging him toward the chopper, with Adler bringing up the rear.

  Lampson looked up into the cockpit and into the face of a smiling Soviet military officer, who waved him aboard as he shouted at him in Russian. Grant translated: "Grigori wants to welcome you to Russia!'" Lampson's eyes blinked and he started to turn around to say something, when Grant all but shoved him into the chopper. "Keep an eye on him, Grigori! We'll be right back."

  Back in his hiding place, Horst Schinkel couldn’t believe his luck. He'd never seen Brennar, but with the description Steiner had given him, there was no doubt that’s who he was now looking at through the scope. Steiner never let his men make their own decisions, but this was one time Schinkel would change that rule. The opportunity was too good to pass up. He gave Richter an order to start the car.

  Grant and Adler snapped their heads around, as a set of headlights suddenly came out of the darkness, obvious that a vehicle was traveling at a high rate of speed. Grant yelled, "Go! Go! Get outta here!" Lampson started shouting frantically, but it was too late, as Grant slammed the chopper door.

  As suddenly as lightning strikes, so can plans be altered during covert ops. Moshenko gave one quick look at Grant knowing he had to leave the two behind. His primary objective was to get Lampson out of Germany. His friends were on their own. The rotors whined, cranking up to full power. Barely off the ground, a strong gust of wind hit the chopper broadside, one of its skids striking the ground. Moshenko reacted in a split second and got the chopper airborne.

  The two Americans raced back toward the VW to try and head off the oncoming vehicle. The unfamiliar car barreled across the field, aiming right at them like a raging bull. Suddenly, machine gun fire erupted from the car's passenger side window, sending bullets whizzing around the ascending chopper. Two smashed into the cockpit, narrowly missing Lampson. Moshenko put the chopper into a sharp forty-five degree turn to starboard, applying power. He had to fly low to avoid radar, but now speed would be their only salvation.

  The Americans immediately responded, firing their weapons simultaneously. Grant crouched low, and then flung open the VW door, pulling Marie briskly from the seat and shoved her to the ground. The attacking car, an older black Audi, sped past them on the VW's passenger side. Adler hit the deck, the barrel of the Uzi red hot. Bullets ripped into both vehicles.

  "Get down!" Grant shouted to Marie. With lightning speed, he ejected the empty clip, reloaded, then resumed rapid fire as he attempted to shield her with his body.

  With the chopper all but disappearing into the darkness, the driver of the Audi turned his attention to the two men by the VW. He put the car into a 180 degree spin, aimed it directly at the VW, and then gunned the engine.

  Grant and Adler jumped up, one on either side of the little car. Crouching down in a shooter's stance, with guns aimed straight ahead, they opened fire on the oncoming vehicle. A barrage of bullets struck the Audi. Its front tire exploded. White hot steam shot upward from a demolished radiator. The windshield and headlights disintegrated. The car went into an uncontrolled spin fifty feet in front of them. Its tires kicked up clouds of dirt that obscured it from view momentarily. The Audi's rear end slid around. The car rocked back and forth before finally coming to a stop head-on with the Volkswagen.

  "Stay down, Marie!" Grant shouted over his shoulder. She sat on the ground, curled up into a ball, huddling behind the open door with her arms protectively covering her head. Grant rammed a fully loaded clip into the .45.

  Gusts of wind continued swirling dust around them. Their eyes adjusted rapidly to the blackness. Still not able to see into the car, they walked toward it in a high state of readiness. Grant motioned with his hand for Adler to approach from the driver's side, while he trained his sites on the passenger side. Reaching the dusty, bullet-ridden car, they proceeded cautiously, leaving plenty of room between them and the Audi. They edged closer, finally able to see the driver, who was dressed in civilian clothes, completely bloodied, and slumped over the steering wheel. His chest looked like a strainer and the front of his face had nearly been blown away. Blood was sprayed throughout the interior. Adler's Uzi had found its target multiple times.

  Still unable to see the passenger who'd fired the machine gun, Grant walked along the side of the car, gripping his .45 with both hands. He aimed the muzzle directly ahead of him as he stepped nearer, all his senses on alert. A man's bulky body lay crumpled on the front seat. Grant took another step, confirming the back seat was empty. He again turned his attention to the passenger, noticing a throat and head wound, the blood flowing down across a large barrel chest and beginning to soak through a brown sweater. The back of his head was resting against the center console, revealing a short, muscular neck. Grant reached inside the ca
r and snatched the Uzi off the man's chest.

  Adler ducked down, looking through the car at Grant. "A G2 (interrogation) session's out of the question."

  "Your aim gets better with age," Grant answered.

  Adler came around the front of the Audi, glancing at the shattered windshield, then stooped to look down at the dead assailant. "I'd say those holes in him were made by a .45. I believe they're yours." He stood opposite Grant with his Uzi hanging loosely by his side.

  Grant leaned against the Audi, deep in thought, holding the assailant's gun in front of him as if examining it. But his question had nothing to do with the gun. "How the fuck did they find out, Joe?"

  "It's pointing more and more to some asshole in the Embassy, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, but it still doesn't explain how they knew we’d be here. We never mentioned where we were taking Lampson, and never mentioned Marie's name anywhere near the Embassy or the hotel."

  "You remember that set of headlights we flew past? You think it was these guys?"

  "Could've been. Christ! Talk about luck if it was!" A picture of Lampson screaming at him just before the chopper lifted off made him pause. Bits and pieces of words being shouted hadn't registered until this instant.

  Adler waited patiently for an explanation. Then, he lifted the submachine gun and rested the barrel against the front of his shoulder. "Speak to..."

  Grant held up his hand. Adler immediately went silent. Grant closed his eyes, picturing the scene in his mind, attempting to hear Lampson's words, visualizing his mouth movements. His eyelids shot open. An instant later his fist struck the car's roof, the sound like a sledge hammer pounding sheet metal. He immediately began pacing back and forth, shaking his head. Even in the darkness Adler detected anger on Grant's face. "Jesus Christ! The stupid bastard! I specifically told him not to contact anyone, to keep his goddamn mouth shut!"

  "That's affirmative."

  "I should've yanked his ass out of that chopper!” Grant jerked his arm up, as if pulling a heavy object. “He put everybody in danger, everybody..."

  Adler stepped in front of his friend, bringing Grant to a sudden stop. He found it hard to remember a time when he'd seen Grant so infuriated. "Care to explain?"

  "A letter! He sent that scientist, Von Wenzel, a fuckin' letter!"

  "Uh oh," Adler responded, as he stepped back, giving Grant a wide berth. "Think he wanted to know if Greta showed up?"

  "Wouldn't surprise me," Grant answered, slowly getting his voice and behavior back under control. "And no, I don't think Von Wenzel informed on him." Just then the VW came into his peripheral vision. "See if you can find papers on these two. I need to talk with Marie, then we need to get our asses out of here. Daylight's not too far off." He handed the German’s machine gun to Adler, then holstered his .45. As he walked across the ruts created by the Audi, he brushed dust and soil from his clothes. He bent down and picked up his cap, slapping it back and forth against his thigh, shaking off the dirt.

  Marie was still sitting on the ground with her back against the running board, her chin length dark blonde hair disheveled and hanging in front of her eyes. Afraid to look up, her body went rigid with the sight of a man suddenly standing in front of her.

  Grant knelt down on one knee, brushing hair from her face. He took one of her hands in his, feeling it trembling. "It's over, Marie."

  She looked up into the strong, handsome face, coated with a fine layer of dust. Grant's brown eyes stared at her, his face showing concern and caring. Then he asked, "Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

  Her blue eyes refused to tear. "I'm all right."

  "I'm sorry this happened. I..."

  "No, no," she interrupted, "I never thought I would ever react this way. It's been so many years, but the sounds of the guns brought back horrifying memories." Even though time was against them now, Grant was not about to pressure her into hurrying and let her continue at her own pace. "I was barely a teenager when World War II was drawing to a close. The Nazis stormed into our village, trying to make a stand against the advancing Allies." Suddenly, tears welled up in her eyes, overflowing onto her cheeks. She brushed them aside. "My father and two young brothers died during the fighting. They were used as human shields by the Nazis."

  She was sobbing now. Grant drew her close, cradling her in his strong arms. Since the day they met, three years prior, Grant had known Marie to be a woman of determination and fortitude, belying her frail, slender build. The middle-aged woman had spent nearly two decades of her life offering assistance to the Allies, providing a safe house and transportation whenever she was called upon to do so.

  He helped her to her feet. "I'm going to talk with Joe. Why don't you sit in the car and rest. We won't be much longer." She nodded and forced a smile, creases forming around her mournful eyes. Then, she climbed into the back, hugging her knees close to her chest like a small child trying to make herself feel safe.

  Grant walked away with his head bowed, feeling guilty for having placed her in a terrifying situation, for having exposed her to the violence.

  Adler interrupted his thoughts. "Is she okay?"

  Grant nodded, then asked, "Find anything?"

  Directing the flashlight beam over the blood-spattered identification papers he'd pulled from the bodies, Adler responded, "Couple of names--Albert Richter and Horst Schinkel. Don't mean squat to me. You?"

  "I'll ask Grigori to check with Lampson. Don't want to bring in the Admiral yet."

  Adler grinned. "Can't understand why not." He walked closer to the Audi and shinned the flashlight down on the muscular passenger. "Did you notice this?"

  Grant leaned toward the window, seeing the disfigured index finger. "I'll be damned!"

  "What?"

  "He was the one in the photo holding Lampson's kids."

  Adler snapped off the flashlight. "Do we need to classify this as a 'royal fuck up,’ boss?"

  Grant ignored the question, trying to make some sense of what was happening. "These guys had to be FSG. Steiner's behind this. We're gonna have to rely on Grigori to get us some answers."

  "Whadda we do with them in the meantime?"

  Grant surveyed the area, remembering their flyover in the chopper. He pointed toward the northeast, where a stand of trees appeared as jagged shadows against the horizon. He estimated the distance to be about half a mile. "Drive the car into those trees. We're pretty far off the beaten path, but we'd still better camouflage it. I'll follow you in the VW...as long as it starts."

  They pulled the driver from behind the steering wheel, then pushed him through the open back door, the body flopping over on the upholstery like a discarded piece of rubbish. As Grant slammed the door, Adler unlocked the trunk. He ripped out a piece of the carpet to use as a cover on the front seat to prevent blood from staining his clothes, as he asked Grant, "Think Marie'll be safe?"

  "Can't take any chances, Joe. We'll take her back to West Berlin. It's one more reason for us to finish this shit ASAP."

  "Roger that!"

  Twenty minutes later, the Audi had been hidden, covered by pieces of brush and branches. The two passengers' identification papers and everything from the glovebox were burned and the ashes buried. With the Volkswagen riddled with bullet holes, they would have to find alternate means of transportation in order to pass through the Soviet checkpoint. This car would have to be ditched on the outskirts of Marie's village...and before daybreak.

  A desperate situation calls for desperate measures. 'Nimble fingers' Adler would have to steal another car, selecting a completely nondescript mode of transportation, more than likely another popular Volkswagen then switch the license plates.

  Their cover story would be that Marie was taking her two Austrian friends to Tegel Airport for their return trip to Vienna. But Grant had to do some fancy talking to convince her she'd have to seek safety and protection in West Berlin. Whether she agreed or not, he'd see to it that she made the trip. He instructed her to tell her boarders at the rooming house that she
would be going away for a few days to care for a cousin recovering from an auto accident. He gave her enough Deutsche Marks for her to register at the Hotel Berliner for five days.

  A plan had been quickly put together in determining how to protect her. Over the past years she'd been supplied by West German intelligence with several passports and matching identification papers. Grant suggested she use the Austrian passport when she checked into the hotel, using the assumed name of "Erica Rhone". Before leaving for the airport, they removed the back seat of the "acquired" VW and hid her fake passport and papers inside. The Uzi and .45 were wired to the underbelly of the car--a chance they had to take.

  MILOPS - West Berlin

  As soon as they arrived at the airport, they drove directly to MILOPS. There, Grant placed a call to an NIS officer stationed at the air base at Tempelhof.

  In less than two hours a West Berlin taxi pulled up to a side entrance at MILOPS. The driver, in his early thirties, hopped out of the cab then walked briskly around the rear. A Baltimore Colts patch was sewn just under the epaulette on the right sleeve of his khaki windbreaker. "Captain Stevens?" he asked, his blue eyes going from Grant to Adler.

  Grant extended a hand. "That'd be me."

  "I’m Glen Webster," he grinned as he shook hands with Adler and Marie as Grant introduced them.

  Although they never met, Grant had heard stories about Webster. At 5'9" with an average build, Webster easily concealed the fact that he was a man who possessed a fifth degree black belt in Shotokan karate, a traditional style that emphasizes discipline and the ancient art of the "one punch kill.” His strength, quickness, and sharp mind had made him a valuable asset to the NIS and the occasional covert op.

  Adler tuned in on the conversation but tried to be inconspicuous as he swept the area with his eyes, as would a Secret Service agent with responsibility for guarding a president.

  "As I explained over the phone, Glen, we'd like you to take Marie to the Hotel Berliner. And since Joe and I will be, shall we say, out of pocket for a couple of days, we'd sure appreciate it if you could..."