Warning Order

by Jamie Fredric

  After twelve minutes in a kneeling position, the man started rubbing his legs, finally falling back on his rearend, extending his legs out in front of him.

  Grant's options were very limited when it came to putting this guy out of commission. Positioning the .45 so it was aimed straight ahead, he felt around with his other hand and found a small rock, then tossed it beyond the tree branches. The East German snapped his head around, shifting the Luger to his right hand before getting back into a kneeling position. He gradually stood but remained crouched, while he moved slowly away from the fallen tree, taking one cautious step at a time.

  Grant turned his head to the right, ignoring the scraping of his cheek over prickly pine needles. The man was in clear view now, still trying to find the source of the noise. He was no more than twelve feet from Grant when he heard, "Psstt." He jerked around. A second after his eyes met Grant's, the bullet struck his forehead, dropping him like a rock.

  Grant crawled out from beneath the branch. Staying on his hands and knees, he moved next to the dead East German, whose eyes and mouth were still open as if in shock. Grant thought: No time to find out who you are...were, friend.

  Keeping low, he scrambled back to the tree and grabbed the scope. Where the hell was the other guy? He looked through the scope trying to find the second gunman. A slight movement caught his attention.

  He shoved the scope into the rucksack then took a bearing with his compass that was attached to his watch band. He looked up the hill, verifying his escape route. He was about to stash the rucksack behind another pine thirty feet away, when he heard an engine. Christ! More company. He peered over the tree trunk. A jeep-load of East Germans was driving down the road that led directly toward the entrance. It drove into the circle, then started heading away from the park. Time for you to join the party, Grant thought as he took aim and fired, intentionally aiming at the windshield. The bullet shattered the glass. The driver swerved and slammed on the brakes. Four soldiers scrambled out, taking cover behind the vehicle now sitting at a forty-five degree angle, blocking both lanes. The East German hiding in the trees snapped his head around, clearly surprised and near panic.

  Knowing he'd probably be giving away his position, Grant fired again anyway, this time shooting at the ground close to the lone gunman. Dirt kicked up around the man and he jumped. Then, confused and scared, he fired recklessly into the trees.

  Just as Grant had hoped, the soldiers didn't take the time to analyze which direction the bullets were heading or coming from, never thinking there could possibly be two gunmen. Instinctively, they opened fire with their AK47's.

  Time to haul ass, Stevens! He slung the rucksack over his shoulder, and crouching as low as possible, he beat feet up the hill, ducking behind trees as he ran, not bothering to look back. He ran full tilt, hearing the firefight taking place behind him. Suddenly, everything went dead quiet just as he reached the top of the hill. He glanced back, seeing the soldiers running into the park, all four heading toward the last known position of the lone gunman. Whatever the outcome, Grant wasn't hanging around. Not even out of breath, he started running again, putting as much distance between himself and the East Germans as he possibly could.

  When he had covered nearly two miles, he dropped to the ground then took the walkie-talkie from the sack. "Panther calling Timberwolf. Come in Timberwolf. Over."

  The walkie-talkie crackled. "Timberwolf. Over."

  "Target acquired. Call Silverfox then Chief. On my way to rendezvous. Over and out."

  Adler switched off the walkie-talkie and let out a muffled shout, "Hot damn!" He immediately called Manfred, then Wharton.

  U.S. Embassy

  Wharton had locked himself in his office. He was sitting behind his desk with his sleeves rolled up. Several cigarette butts had already been thoroughly crushed in the ashtray. Nervously, his eyes kept shifting from the wall clock to the walkie-talkie in front of him. He thought to himself: Gotta remember to call that NIS guy when this is over. What the hell was his name? Oh, yeah, Webster, Glen Webster.

  He grabbed a pen from the holder and made the note on his desk calendar, deciding not to trust his memory. Grant asked that when the double-crossing son of a bitch in the Embassy had been identified, Wharton was to contact Webster to have him see that Marie got back home safely. He flipped the ballpoint pen on the desk, ignoring it as it rolled over the edge. All the significant players were in place--Bradley, Canetti and Kelley. Christ! It was almost 2330 hours. Was this plan going to work? He nearly came out of his chair when he heard a crackle from the walkie-talkie.

  "Timberwolf calling Chief. Come in. Over."

  "Chief here. Over."

  "Panther made contact. Repeat, Panther made contact. Three on way to rendezvous. Over."

  "Understood. Good luck. Out." The transmission ended. "Son of a bitch! The bastard!" he swore as he shook his head and dropped the walkie-talkie on the desk. He'd been hoping Stevens was wrong, that his instincts would play him wrong this time. The chair rolled back and hit the wall with a thud as he angrily stood up. He punched in one of the buttons at the base of the phone then picked up the receiver. The button lit up then he dialed extension 55. "Sergeant Major, I want you and one of your men to come to my office on the double!" He slammed down the receiver. Within two minutes there was a rapping at the door. "Come!"

  Sergeant Major Mike Mahoney and Corporal Lewis Franklin entered, immediately bracing themselves at attention, Mahoney saying sharply, "Sir!"

  Wharton noticed both men were wearing sidearms. "Come with me." He barreled past them, nearly knocking Franklin off his feet. The two Marines looked at each other as if to say, "Oh, shit!" They stayed close to Wharton’s heels as he charged down the hallway.

  Without even bothering to knock on the door, Wharton burst into Bradley's office. "Pete!"

  Bradley had a set of headphones on. As he spun his chair around, the wires tangled around his throat. "Jesus, Matt! You scared the shit..."

  "Get off your ass and come with me now."

  "But the radio trans..."

  "What part of 'now' don't you understand? Fuck the transmission! Come with me!" Bradley flung the headphones on his chair, nearly falling over himself trying to get around the desk.

  The four men piled into the elevator. Wharton couldn't stay still, constantly tapping his foot on the floor. Finally, the door opened. Canetti and Kelley both turned around, surprise obvious on their faces.

  "Matt," Canetti said. "What's up?"

  Wharton walked toward them, finally setting his stare on Blake Kelley. "Sergeant Major, I want you to place this man under arrest."

  Canetti jumped up and shouted, "What?! What the hell are you talking about?!"

  Wharton never took his eyes from Kelley, even as the two Marines took their places on either side of him. "You wanna tell him, Blake? You wanna tell all of us why, why you turned?" If the proverbial pin had dropped in the room at that moment, it would have sounded like a bomb.

  Perspiration broke out on Kelley's brow. He was positive he hadn't slipped up. Wharton had to be bluffing. "Like George said, Matt, what the hell are you talking about?"

  Wharton shoved his hands into his pants pockets, and then shifted his eyes to the big Southerner. "George, why'd I ask you to be here tonight?" Canetti hesitated, and Wharton added, "It's okay, George. Navy's already landed. It's all over."

  Canetti glanced at Kelley as he answered. "You said I was to wait for a transmission from one of the Navy boys. He was using the code name ‘Timberwolf.’”

  "Go on," Wharton said.

  "He was to transmit at 2330 hours, as soon as he made it to his drop zone in Kruezgarten Park."

  Wharton nodded. "Have you received a transmission?"

  Canetti shook his head. "No."

  Then Wharton called, "Pete."

  Bradley walked around Wharton and stood next to Canetti. Anticipating Wharton wanted the same type of response from him, he said, "I was expecting a transmission from ‘Silverfox’
at 2330 hours. He was to transmit from Prinzgarten Park. And, no, I didn't get any transmission."

  Wharton turned back to Kelley. "And Kelley, let's see. You were waiting for a call from someone, too, weren't you?" Kelley diverted his eyes from Wharton, staring at the cold, tiled floor. "Code name ‘Panther,’ right? ‘Panther’ was to transmit at 2330 hours, also, only he would be calling from Hurstengarten Park." Wharton was seething. He spit the words out with a booming voice. "Isn't that right?!" Kelley jumped but remained silent. Wharton turned and walked away, standing momentarily in front of a file cabinet. Then he turned around. "At approximately 2329 hours I received a transmission. Timberwolf confirmed that Panther made contact with two East Germans. You care to tell us why they were there and who they were?"

  "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Kelley answered flatly, in a monotone voice.

  "Like hell you don't, you son of a bitch…you bastard!" Wharton shouted as he made a move toward him. Canetti grabbed his arm. Wharton pulled away then resumed talking. "You contacted somebody within the FSG organization. You told him exactly where and when the landing was going to be. You stupid bastard! We set you up, and you took the bait. Now, are you gonna tell us why?"

  Kelley's shoulders went slack. He started sobbing. "I...I can't." He started shaking his head violently and screamed, "I can't tell you! I can't tell you!" He started to wretch then he vomited on his black trousers.

  Wharton motioned to the Marines. They assisted Kelley in standing up then led him away to a secure room located at the opposite end of the Embassy's basement.

  The three remaining men in the crypto room stared at one another in silence until Canetti mumbled, "Jesus Christ!" He looked into Wharton's bloodshot eyes, as he was shaking his head in disbelief. "What the fuck just happened here?"

  "Your buddy's been feeding data to the FSG on Rick Lampson," Wharton answered. "Navy snatched Lampson because he had vital information on a drug the FSG group was working on, along with their plans for its use." He turned and walked slowly across the brightly lit room, trying to stabilize his heartbeat. An overhead fluorescent light bulb flickered and he glanced up at it. "It started when Kelley told them where we stashed Lampson."

  "Christ," Canetti groaned. "But you didn't tell us anything about Lampson until two hours before he was to be extracted. How'd Kelley have the time to notify the FSG?"

  "Don't know yet, George. But I can guarantee you that I'll find out." Wharton dug his hands into his trousers' side pockets. "Tonight Stevens and Adler were going back to take out the lab and rescue Lampson's kids." Canetti and Bradley shot a quick glance at one another, but refrained from asking any questions. "That's why Stevens put this scheme together, and Kelley went for it." He took quick steps over to the entrance. "Listen, George, I think you'd better hang around just in case Stevens calls in. I'll be in my office if he needs anything. Got it?"

  "Right, Matt." When Wharton and Bradley had gone, Canetti got up and paced the room. His headphones were still draped around his neck. "How the hell did this happen? Why didn't I know?" A round stainless steel garbage can was just a little to close to his foot, and he intentionally kicked it across the room. The metal pail went airborne, bouncing off the door of a file cabinet then rolled across the room. Canetti flopped down in his chair, then started rolling the wheels back and forth. He stared at his former partner's chair, disbelieving but madder than hell.

  East Berlin

  0015 Hours - Day 7

  Steiner stood in the living room, adjusting the uniform jacket. He looked down at the medals hanging from different colored ribbons. One ribbon was twisted, with the bronze medal facing backwards. He straightened it then ran his hand along the double row. Making his way into the kitchen, the thoughts of his three missing men came to mind. He went to the window that was facing vacant acreage. A mile away a red blinking light at the top of the television tower, Fernsehturm, marked the location of Alexanderplatz.

  As he stared into the distance, he remembered the last contact he had with Kelley from the U.S. Embassy. Kelley had been unable to find out any information pertaining to Steiner's men. It's too bad, he thought, as he leaned against the window frame. But Kelley did inform him that an American was scheduled to make a drop into the East tonight. Buy why? The Americans already had Brennar. Only six members of the FSG knew the location of the lab. Wait! Could Von Wenzel have told Brennar? Steiner thought for a moment, reasoning that he'd put enough fear in both Von Wenzel and Heisen to rule that out. Suddenly his back straightened. The twins! That American's coming back to look for Brennar's brats. But it was impossible for him to know where they were--impossible. He tilted his head back, momentarily letting his eyes wander back and forth across the discolored ceiling. Unless... He rested his hand against the wall as he continued to try and answer troubling questions. Neus, Schinkel and Richter are missing. Were they dead? Or did the Americans somehow abduct them to obtain further information?

  After he had heard from Kelley, he'd put a plan together swiftly, sending Kirchner and Schloss to the park to handle that one American who was coming back to East Berlin. Was the same fate going to befall them? A strange, chilling feeling came over him. Someone was destroying the FSG, almost systematically, ever since Brennar defected. There seemed to be a pattern. What was the name Kelley mentioned? Stevens? Yes, Stevens. Captain Stevens was the one who took Brennar back to the West. Would he be the one Kirchner and Schloss would have to confront in the park tonight?

  In the distance a bell chimed. Whatever was happening at the park, he didn't have time to wait for the outcome because the military flight to Moscow was scheduled for departure from Schonefeld at 0230 hours. He'd have to depend on his men. More pressing matters were waiting for him in Moscow, the first phase of his plan to rid East Germany of Soviet control. With its success, the second phase, and in his mind, the most important phase could proceed. The people of East Germany would turn to him when they learned he was responsible for freeing them. And who knows where that will lead?

  Reaching into his jacket pocket, he withdrew fraudulent military identification papers and orders signed by General Hermann Stauffenberg. The orders directed him to Moscow to attend a conference at the Kremlin, joining Stauffenberg's group. He tapped the folded papers against his chin. He thought of Fraulein Hannah Zille, who did an excellent job in getting the papers. He’d have to pay her another visit when he returned, so he could show her his gratitude again.

  Hannah Zille, twenty-three years old, worked at the East German Military Command Headquarters as a file clerk. Steiner began a relationship with her five months prior to setting up the lab. Getting more heavily involved with Steiner as the months passed, and with the many promises he made her, she didn't hesitate to supply him with any information or papers he needed.

  No sounds came from the bedroom as Steiner opened the door. The kerosene lamp on the kitchen table barely shed enough light into the bedroom. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw the two boys on one cot, the woman on the other. All were sleeping soundly. He left the door part way open then went back into the hallway.

  Victor Engels and Karl Breite sat on a couple of blankets spread out near the fireplace. Breite was of medium build, in his early thirties and an expert when it came to explosives. He swallowed the last morsel of crusty bread filled with liver sausage, then licked his fingers. He glanced across the room at Steiner while he picked at his overlapping front teeth.

  Engels kept his eyes on Steiner, asking, "You worried about Kirchner and Schloss?"

  Steiner didn't bother answering. As he went to the closet, he rubbed his finger across his clean shaven upper lip. He'd touted a mustache for as long as he could remember, but the sacrifice had to be made. He reached up to the closet shelf and removed an East German military cap then rubbed the uniform jacket sleeve across its brim. He adjusted the cap on his head as he came back into the living room.

  Engels and Breite got up off the floor. Steiner stood opposite them. He spoke with
his voice lowered, looking directly at Breite. "I'm leaving it up to you to take care of them." He motioned toward the bedroom.

  "You don't mean the children, too, do you?"

  "We won't be able to stay here after I take care of our Moscow comrades. I'll need you and the others to be more than just watchdogs and babysitters. All of you will be disbursed to the locations we've pinpointed in the Soviet sector. Those three would just be in the way."

  The idea wasn't sitting very well with Breite, and he tried protesting again. "Why don't we just take them someplace in the country and let them go?"

  "Why?" An artery in Steiner's neck began to pulsate. "They can identify us, Karl. And she can bring the government or anybody else back here to the lab. We need a safe place to keep the drug until we've accomplished what we've set out to do. We still need this place."

  "But if..."

  As he stepped closer, Steiner reached behind his back and withdrew his Walther. Standing close enough to Breite that he could smell sausage on his breath, he ran the barrel of the gun down the side of Breite's tensed jaw. "I'm through arguing, Karl. If you can't do it, I'm sure I can find someone who can. Or maybe you're no longer capable of taking orders. Is that it?"

  "All right! All right! I'll take care of it," Breite responded as he pushed the gun aside then backed away.

  Steiner slowly lowered the gun then placed it back in his waistband. He continued looking at Breite as he said to Engels, "After you leave me at the airport, I want you to take a ride to Hurstengarten Park. See if you can find Kirchner and Schloss then come back here with them. We may need the extra security. Now, let's go." He stopped and turned around. "Karl, by the time Victor returns, I expect you to have completed your task." Breite nodded without responding.

  East Berlin - 0130 Hours

  Two silhouetted figures, with weapons drawn, appeared from around the west-side of the building, flattening themselves against a wall. Having spotted a sentry when the came across the vacant lot, they proceeded cautiously and inched their way toward the front doors. Grant and Adler had small batteries attached to their waistbands, each with a dangling antenna. Wires ran from the batteries up under their sweaters to throat mikes and earpieces. They wore chest vests with additional gear. Adler had a rucksack strapped to his back.