Warning Order

by Jamie Fredric

  "Just kidding. I gotta tell you, though, this stuff's gonna kick start your heart."

  Grant poured coffee into both cups, as Adler reached for one and asked, "Grigori have any good news?" He sipped slowly from the cup, while he walked over to the bed and sat on the edge.

  "He's got the name Steiner is using to get into the meeting, but he couldn't find out any more on our mysterious Greta. Shit! That woman's like an apparition who appears out of the blue, with no traceable past.”

  "Think we need to forget about her? I mean, she's dead, boss."

  Grant shook his head while he swirled the coffee around in his mouth, the bitter flavor rolling over his taste buds. He wasn't satisfied. Ops weren't over till all the puzzle pieces were in place.

  "Hey, Skipper, can we change the subject for a minute? It’s been bugging me and I’ve gotta ask you....you still plan on reaming Lampson’s butt because of that message he sent to Von Wenzel, you know, the one that could’ve screwed up a perfectly good mission?"

  "I was ready to, right up until we walked into his room. I don’t know, Joe, especially after telling him about Greta and then seeing him with those kids..."

  "Yeah," Adler said quietly. "You don’t think we’re turning soft or something, do you?"

  "Who? Us? Hey, you hungry?"

  "Does a bear shit in the woods?" Adler laughed.

  "It sounds like Lampson and the kids are still sacked out. Why don't we grab an early dinner? Our flight doesn't leave for three and a half hours."

  "Follow me!"

  Vehicle traffic had thinned. Most of the residents were already home from work. Narrow sidewalks lined both sides of the side street. Jewelry stores displayed objects made with Gdansk's native treasure, amber, the stones ranging from deep yellow brown to yellow.

  The cafe was located on a corner. Grant and Adler walked in and Adler requested a table near a wall where they could keep an eye on anyone coming and going.

  Old habits are hard to kick, Grant sighed to himself. Better to purposely sit with your back against a wall, than having your back up against one.

  The two Americans ordered from the menu, then sat back and let their eyes roam across the front door and from table to table. Five couples, all different age groups, were seated throughout the dining area. Sitting at a table about fifteen feet away was a young couple in their early thirties, who were getting ready to leave. The man reviewed the bill then removed his wallet from his brown tweed jacket. The woman dabbed a white napkin at the corners of her mouth then she removed something from a small handbag.

  Grant couldn't see what it was until she began using it to apply her pink lipstick. Adler caught Grant's expression out of the corner of his eye but remained silent, seeing him chomping down on his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

  He silently thought: Uh oh. Boss has his wheels spinning again.

  Grant finally turned his head then stared straight at Adler. "She's not dead, Joe," he said with what was slightly more than a whisper.

  "Who? Whoa! You don't mean Greta?"

  "Yeah...Greta."

  "But we saw..."

  "Did you check for a pulse?"

  Adler shook his head. "We'd already spent enough time in that place. Besides, the blood..."

  "And we saw what she wanted us to see." He tapped his index finger on the table as he continued. "I found something outside the lab and just shoved it into my vest. Didn't think too much about it; thought it was some type of gun casing."

  "And...it wasn't?"

  "No. It's one of those single shot, 4.5mm's that looks like a tube of lipstick. She's the one who fired that shot at me while I was in the lab."

  "Jesus! But why didn't she grab the Luger from the guy she killed and use it instead?"

  Grant rubbed his chin. "I didn't say she used the 4.5. I said she fired one shot."

  "Then why didn't she try and finish you off with the Luger?"

  "It's likely she snatched her belongings from the bedroom in a rush, knowing somebody else would be coming back. That East German...what was his name? Victor?" Adler nodded. "She had to have heard him coming down the stairs, that's why she hauled ass. Besides, she didn't know it was me in the lab. They only light was from my penlight. She could've thought I was one of Steiner’s men."

  They cut their conversation short as a waiter arrived with their meals. Once he'd left, Adler said, "Ya know, you just can't buy those 4.5's in a candy store."

  Grant picked up his knife and fork and started slicing through the thin piece of beef. It wasn't a one inch T-bone but at least it was beef. He jabbed a piece with his fork then held it in front of his face, smelling the aroma. He kept his attention on the meat as he said, "I know. I'm working on that. And before you ask...I don't know why she didn't let on she was alive, especially when she knew we were Americans, and we were taking her kids."

  "Maybe she wanted us to take them," Adler commented, while he sprinkled salt on a side dish of roasted potatoes.

  Grant rolled the idea around in his mind. "Good thought."

  "Is that gonna take us back to the question whether the kids are Lampson's?" Adler asked, while he pulled a hard roll apart with his fingers then slathered butter on both halves.

  Grant shoved a piece of meat into his mouth, savoring the distinctive flavor as he chewed and chewed. He shook the fork in Adler's direction. "Look, all this thinking is giving me one helluva headache. You mind if we just eat?"

  "Is that an order?" Adler asked facetiously without bothering to look up from his plate of Polish sausages.

  Grant blissfully chewed another piece of meat and shrugged his shoulders. "What the hell difference does it make?"

  Moscow - 2145 Hours

  Crystal icicles hung like sharpened daggers from window ledges and roof overhangs. The temperature had started dropping steadily since early evening, leveling off at minus six degrees Celsius. At the horizon, a black sky blended with the earth.

  Moshenko sat quietly, with his index finger tracing a pattern along the edge of the white, porcelain top table. He raised his eyes, glancing at the ceiling, hearing Alexandra's footsteps in their bedroom. A radiator under the window hissed as steam escaped from the side valve. He pushed his chair back then walked to the room's only source of heat. He'd just started turning the round handle to adjust the flow of steam, when he jerked his head to the side as he heard the sound of his phone. Taking quick strides to the study, he practically lunged for the phone. "Da!"

  Grant was at a phone booth, speaking the brief, coded message in Russian. "Is this two N three two?"

  "No," Moshenko answered.

  "I'm sorry to have disturbed you." Grant broke the connection.

  Moshenko placed the receiver back in its cradle. With hardly any conscious effort, he deciphered the sequence of numbers. 'Two N' meant Grant and Adler would be at the second entrance of the airport terminal on the north side of Domodedovo Airport and 'three two' indicated the last two numbers on a license plate belonging to a white panel truck. They'd wait till they spotted the truck then backtrack to the men's room.

  ******

  At 2215 hours a white panel truck pulled up and parked outside the second entrance of the air terminal. A man got out and walked around to the back, opening one of the doors. He was dressed in painting coveralls with a white cap pulled down nearly covering his eyes. He lifted out two large paint buckets, locked the door and headed for the building. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a uniformed guard standing at the corner of the terminal smoking a cigarette.

  In less than fifteen minutes, three men walked out through the same door, each dressed in paint-splattered, long sleeve overalls and caps. Under the tarp draped over their shoulders, Grant and Adler had their suitcases concealed. Moshenko led the way.

  The guard turned then took several steps in their direction. Grant immediately started talking loudly in Russian, complaining about the long hours he and his partner had been asked to work that day. Grigori Moshenko shouted back, as
they threw the paint buckets and tarps into the back of the truck. The arguing continued as the three men slid onto the front seat. The passenger and driver doors slammed simultaneously. Moshenko started the engine. The truck stalled. Adler glanced in the side mirror at the guard stepping off the curb, walking toward the rear of their vehicle. Moshenko turned the key again. A backfire sent a puff of black smoke out the tailpipe, and he immediately threw the gearshift into first. The guard stopped dead in the middle of the one-way road as the truck lurched forward. Another disturbance at the front of the terminal between two taxi drivers made him quickly turn his attention from the truck. Moshenko kept driving.

  Lights from passing vehicles glared through the windshield as Moshenko weaved the truck in and out of traffic. A normally twenty minute drive had taken nearly forty-five minutes as he took side streets and alleys, in an attempt to shake off anyone that might be following. He turned onto Pokrovo, then at the second block turned into an alley that was flanked by two-story buildings. He shut off the headlights, leaving only the parking lights on, then slowed down. The sound of hard-packed snow crunching beneath tires was clearly audible inside the truck, as it drove across patches left untouched by wider vehicles, probably delivery trucks.

  A side door of a building off to the right opened. Something was tossed directly into their path. A thick gruel-like substance splashed across the truck's hood. In his rearview mirror Moshenko noticed a man stepping into the alley who was holding a bucket. He briefly looked in the truck’s direction then turned and reentered the building that housed a stolovaya, a Russian workers' cafeteria serving what could only be described as cheap slop. Daily fare would be a dish of rice topped with pieces of fat and a ladle of grease. Adler rolled down the window, trying to rid the cab of the foul smell.

  They'd traveled the equivalent of three blocks when they reached the end of the alley, where a row of run-down, vacant garages beneath abandoned stores lined the right side of the road that was in itself barely more than a wide bicycle path. Moshenko stopped the vehicle and Adler immediately jumped out and pulled one of the door's open, its rusted hinges barely holding it in place. He had to grab the edge and lift up, walking backward with it until it was fully open. Moshenko drove in and pulled alongside his Volga.

  Somewhere in the distance a sound of howling stray dogs generated an eerie sensation on human minds and souls. The lamenting cries continued as the pathetic animals searched for food in dark, cold alleyways. Adler glanced in the direction of the howling, trying to see beyond the darkness through squinted eyes. He closed the door.

  Very few words had passed between them during their hectic journey, allowing Moshenko to concentrate on his driving.

  Finally, Grant grabbed Moshenko's outstretched hand tightly. "Nice ride!"

  "Colonel Moshenko, sir," Adler said.

  Moshenko reached for Joe's hand. "Joe! Welcome to my country," he laughed.

  "Thanks. Too bad we won't have time for sightseeing, though."

  "Ahh, yes. But, maybe next time," he winked. He reached under the driver's seat and pulled out a flashlight, then opened the Volga's trunk. "You might need these," he commented, as he reached in and lifted out two heavy, black parkas. "They may be more cumbersome than what you are used to, but they will keep you warm."

  Grant and Adler took them, Grant saying, "You know us California boys pretty well. We freeze if the temperature drops below twenty Celsius!"

  Moshenko removed a briefcase then led the way up a set of wooden ladder-type steps then through a heavy door. He directed the beam of light around the makeshift safehouse, settling it on a kerosene lamp hanging from a hook on the far wall.

  Adler glanced around, seeing boarded up windows at the front of the building and three straight-backed wooden chairs placed near the kerosene lamp.

  Grant laughed, watching Adler's expression. "Not exactly home, but it's safe to talk." He pulled a chair around and sat backwards, resting his arms on the backrest. "We've got a busy day ahead of us, Grigori."

  "We do indeed...a busy and perhaps dangerous day."

  "You said you have the name Steiner will be using?"

  Moshenko reached inside his coat pocket and handed Grant a piece of paper. "It's the last name on the page. General Stauffenberg could not identify it, and he confirmed his original list only had nine names. As you can see, the list sent to me has ten. We will find out who from Stauffenberg’s office has helped Steiner."

  "Right, but we need to stick to this first,” Grant said as he glanced at the paper, seeing the name ‘Ziegler.’ He handed the paper to Adler, commenting, "This is sounding way too simple."

  Adler tapped Grant's arm with the paper, handing it back to him, saying, "Simple, as in notifying the guards at the Kremlin's entrances to keep an eye out for someone carrying ID papers with the name 'Zeigler'?"

  Grant nodded, "Yeah. But we've gotta hope that he hasn't somehow found out his cover's been compromised. If he has, we're up shitcreek."

  Moshenko withdrew a cigar from his pocket. He stuck it in the corner of his mouth, but didn't light up, as he stated matter-of-factly, "We have to go with what we know for the moment. Do you think he'll try and get the drug into KGB Headquarters today, also?"

  "With all the top dogs at the Kremlin, I'd say that's gonna be his main objective."

  Adler asked, "What if there's more than one of 'em with the drug, one person for each location?"

  "I don't think so, Joe. According to Lampson, Steiner doesn't trust anybody. His profile fits an egomaniac's perfectly. He'll want all the glory. Besides, I'd say we took care of most of the top echelon of the FSG, leaving just the worker bees."

  "You mentioned Lampson before," Moshenko said. "The children...they are alright?"

  Grant smiled. "Yeah, they're okay. They're good little kids." He suddenly went silent, seemingly staring right through the Soviet.

  Moshenko looked hard at Grant. "What is it, my friend? You are thinking about their mother perhaps?"

  Grant stood and rubbed his forehead. He propped his foot on the chair. "I don't think she's dead, Grigori."

  "Didn't you say..."

  "I know, I know. Look, from the very beginning we suspected there might be more to this woman than anyone knew about. She's got no past history; she appears, disappears then reappears. And now..." He cut himself off, before finally continuing. "Grigori, before the meeting gets underway, can you check with your black ops..."

  "You actually think...?"

  "Please, just check. We’ve gotta look at every angle at this stage of the game."

  "When he gets a wild hair, sir, there's no stopping him!" Adler laughed.

  "Wild hair?" Moshenko frowned.

  "I'll explain some other time,” Grant said. “Will you?"

  "Of course. But there will be very little time for me to do it."

  "I know. Just do your best."

  "This may or may not mean anything," Moshenko said, first looking at Adler then up at Grant, "but I met someone in Alexei's office, a Major Zuyeva. They had just finished looking at a movie that the major eventually stashed in his briefcase. Then Alexei introduced Zuyeva as an interpreter." Grant and Adler hung on every word, hoping that whatever Moshenko offered up would help them figure out the puzzle. Moshenko continued. "During this same time, I noticed a folder on the desk labeled with the name 'Heisen.’"

  "What?!" Grant responded in amazement. "Not the East German scientist?"

  "So, you have heard the name," Moshenko answered.

  "Not just the name. According to Lampson, the man's deaf, uses sign language, right?" Grant sat down on the edge of the chair, shaking his head slowly. "Lampson had been so certain Heisen could be trusted."

  "Well, it seems Major Zuyeva reads sign language, my friend, and..."

  "They were 'reading' a movie Heisen sent them," Grant interrupted, smacking his fist into his palm.

  "Bingo!" Adler uttered sharply.

  Moshenko shot a glance at Adler, then back at Grant. "Alexei
knows about Steiner," he sighed heavily, "and by now he has figured out why I met with him." Moshenko stood and walked behind the chair, resting his hands on its splintered, wooden back.

  Grant stared at his friend, who suddenly looked drawn and worried. "Look, the question now is, how the hell is Stoyakova involved?" Grant rubbed his palms together slowly. "Come on, Grigori, think about it. Why wasn't he setting up an agenda to stop Steiner himself? This shit's been going on for nearly two years. That tape couldn't have been the first one he's seen. With what he knew, and in his position, you'd think he would have brought it to the table before now. Right?"

  Moshenko barely nodded his head then he turned and walked into the shadows, his footsteps heavy on the wooden planks. The two Americans watched him closely, concerned.

  Adler intertwined his fingers, then rested his hands on top of his head, saying under his breath, "This is getting pretty heavy, boss."

  Grant slid around to the side of the chair and called, "Grigori." Moshenko didn't respond. "Look, I know you've been trying to work this out in your own mind, probably since you met with Stoyakova. Let's hash it out, okay?"

  Moshenko's head was bowed, but he slowly raised it, as he turned and walked back. "You are right," he finally responded, once again becoming an intelligence officer, searching and probing for answers. "Some people wish for power. I think Alexei is wishing. He does have his own agenda."

  "Keep talking," Grant said, motioning with his hand.

  "We can't be certain if Alexei has been in contact with Steiner."

  Grant shook his head slowly. "Probably not. If he was, there wouldn't be any reason for Heisen and his movies."

  "Right, boss," Adler said. "And from our intel on Steiner, he's not one to share the glory that he's hoping for."

  "Alright," Moshenko agreed, his voice controlled again. "So now we have two individuals to be concerned about."

  Grant stood. Puffs of breath escaped into the cold air as he thought out the problem. "Okay," he finally said, raising a finger, counting each statement. "First, we've got Steiner who's got the drug; second, we've got Stoyakova who wants to take over. So, does Stoyakova wait till Steiner's drugged the liquids, or, does he make an implied threat?"