Warning Order

by Jamie Fredric

  "Either way," Adler said, "that means somebody else is involved."

  Moshenko stood nearby, recording all the data in his brain, and at the same time trying to determine who the other party was. "Whoever it is has to know what Steiner looks like, no?"

  Grant and Adler shot looks at one another. Grant replied. "Only one person we can think of, Grigori, and that would be our mysterious woman, Greta."

  "Christ! The more we think we know about her," Adler said, exasperated, "the more we don't!"

  Moshenko's words came out slow. "More are involved."

  "Well," Grant answered, walking in and out of shadows, "Stoyakova may have backers, but two to one they'll shrink away if anything goes wrong."

  Adler snickered. "Sure as shootin' when Stoyakova takes the fall, he'll be dragging down those so-called backers."

  "So then," Moshenko sighed, "we remove three, and the rest will be taken care of in the scheme of things."

  "Roger that, Grigori," Grant answered with a slight curve to his mouth.

  "Only problem is, how the hell do we remove the three?" Adler questioned, rocking back and forth on the back chair legs. "I mean, we don't even know where Greta is."

  "Our main objective's gotta be stopping Steiner, Joe. Without him or the drug, Stoyakova's got squat."

  Moshenko finally sat down. He pressed his broad back against the chair, folding his hands in his lap. "Let's discuss what has to be done."

  Grant nodded. "Do you know if traffic will be limited to certain entrances?"

  "Yes. Spasskaya Tower. All others will be secured and guards posted."

  "Wait one, sir," Adler piped up. "Aren't there some tunnels under one or two of the towers?"

  Moshenko nodded, adding, "There are several so-called 'secret' passages beneath Spasskaya Tower, but only one of those travels under street level beyond the Kremlin walls. I believe it exits at...hmm, let me think." He closed his eyes, picturing the tunnel, but his mind followed the path above at street level. "Yes, yes, it exits at a storm grate just beneath the highest part of the wall at St. Basil's Cathedral." The cathedral, with its multi-colored, onion-shaped towers, was positioned at a twenty-five degree angle from Spasskaya Tower and Red Square. A gray-colored wall formed a half-circle around the grounds. It started level with the cobblestone street then gradually rose to a height of approximately thirteen feet at its halfway mark.

  “We've gotta cover all bases in case Steiner somehow knows about the tunnels and manages to slip by you," Grant said. "Look, you can't be in more than one place at the same time, so guess Joe and I will have to situate ourselves somewhere. I don't think the guards would welcome these two Americans with open arms," Grant answered, moving his thumb side to side. "We'll have to try that tunnel. So, we'll leave the hotel well before daybreak then hope we can climb down into that thing without being spotted. Did you bring us any firepower?"

  Moshenko pushed the briefcase with his foot toward Grant, who picked it up and put it on the chair seat. He pressed the latches outward and the locks popped open. Inside were two Makarov 9mm PMs (Pistolet Makarov), chambered for Soviet 9x18mm cartridges. Four extra fully loaded clips, two throat mikes with earpieces, and two hand-held radio transceivers--one for him, one for Moshenko. They were resting on thick, black protective foam.

  Grant handed a Makarov to Adler along with two extra clips and a throat mike. Adler glanced down at the gun in his palm. A five-pointed star was centered in the grip.

  After checking the clip that was already loaded in the weapon, Adler asked, "Time to get out of these?" He tugged on the front of the oversized coveralls.

  "Do it," Grant answered, as he unzipped the overalls then stepped out of them. They slipped the firearms into the waistbands at the small of their backs, readjusted their heavy sweaters and leather jackets, and finally put on the parkas. Grant took a transceiver from the case and confirmed the number they'd be using to transmit. "Okay, time for us to go to the hotel. You've got the address, right?" he asked Grigori, who nodded. The hotel was located a half mile from the garage. "Let's do the synchronize thing with our watches. It's 0015 hours. Grigori, what time will you be leaving for the Kremlin?"

  "I should be on my way at 0700."

  "Can you swing by the cathedral, say around 0715? That should give us clear reception. Contact me over the radio."

  "I'll be there at 0715," Moshenko said as he led them back down to the garage. He got into his car while Adler cracked open one of the garage doors, then eased through sideways, checking to see all was clear. As he pulled the door open, Moshenko started the engine.

  Grant leaned closer to the open window, putting a hand on Moshenko's shoulder. "This is it," he said, his voice low and deep, filled with obvious concern.

  "Yes, my friend. Do not worry. We will find him in time."

  Red Square, Moscow - Day 8 - 0545 Hours

  Even though the moon was hidden behind heavy cloud coverage, bright floodlights cast long shadows across Red Square. Around the base of St. Basil's Cathedral, white lights directed their brilliant glow upward onto the colored domes. The streets were nearly deserted, except for city buses and taxis. But the conditions were still less than perfect for Grant and Adler.

  Trying to conceal themselves was becoming increasingly difficult. They stayed close to the buildings on their way to the river, ending up across from the southeast corner of the Kremlin wall. Their timing would have to coincide with the movement of the guards around Spasskaya Tower and Lenin's Tomb. From the river to the cathedral was all open territory.

  They stood in an alley with their backs flattened against a building. Adler poked his head around the corner, judging the distance to the grate to be about seventy-five yards. He talked softly into his throat mike. "Seventy-five yards; open ground."

  Grant's eyes shifted from Adler to the corner of the wall. Adler jerked his head around, seeing a city bus coming toward them that was preparing to make a left turn. He gave a thumb's up. As the bus made the corner, the two men took off, staying as low as they could, then they jumped onto the back bumper, desperately trying to gain a handhold along the protruding taillights. Following the curving road around the cathedral wall, the bus leaned slightly to the right. Grant motioned with his head and they both jumped off the bumper, doing a touch and roll as if they'd completed a parachute landing. The thick parkas were awkward, slowing their progress, but they were warm and offered some protection from the rough cobblestone. Staying on their bellies, they hugged the ground as if they were crawling under barbed wire. Crabbing their way along the dirty pavement another ten feet, they reached the wall around the cathedral, in direct line with the grate.

  Grant cautiously got up, staying close to the wall. His eyes continuously scanned their surroundings. Overhead, barren, drooping branches of shrubbery rustled against the wall. Suddenly, harsh sounds of voices made the Americans go stone-still. Guards, Grant thought. The voices gradually grew weaker as the two Russians made their way inside the short tunnel leading to Spasskaya Tower.

  Adler got on all fours then reached for the grate and pulled. It didn't budge. He reached between the bars with one hand, trying to grasp the slide bolt Moshenko had told them would be there. It was stuck. Shit! He quickly reached for his belt, stripping it off. He folded it in half, formed a loop, and gingerly reached in again, slipping the loop over the slide bolt's handle. Giving a quick look around and seeing it was clear, he jerked hard on the belt. The bolt slid back with an abrasive sound. Gotcha! He grabbed hold of the grate again. With a jerk, he pulled it from the ground, laying it to the side of the opening.

  Grant scrambled around him and climbed down the steel ladder backwards, jumping off when he was about six feet off the ground. Adler climbed down just enough so he could slide the heavy grate over his head, feeling it settle into the lip of the opening. He met Grant at the bottom. Their eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness as they moved farther away from the opening.

  The wall was damp and rough; small protrusions cau
ght on their clothing. Grant finally pulled his penlight from his pocket and shined the light on his watch. Oh six hundred hours. They had about a hundred fifty feet to go before they'd be at the tower. Grant whispered the time to Adler, then, "We'll wait here till we talk with Grigori." Adler nodded.

  The members of the People's Congress would start arriving in another couple of hours or so, unwittingly setting the stage for the plan. Moshenko indicated the conference was to be held in the Meeting Hall of the Supreme Soviet, part of the same building as the Grand Kremlin Palace. Located opposite Spasskaya Tower, the hall was on the southwest side of the Kremlin, facing the Moskva River. With a history of revolution and war, the Soviets strived to protect its members of the Politburo. Beneath each building a shelter had been constructed, each one linked to a passageway leading to Spasskaya Tower.

  Moshenko would be wearing civilian clothes. The only indicator that he was KGB was a small lapel pin. He'd wait alongside the guards at the checkpoint in Spasskaya Tower, already having given them specific orders to exam every identification more thoroughly. They were to be on the lookout for an East German named ‘Major Zeigler.’ Once he was identified, they were to give a signal to Moshenko. As KGB, Moshenko's reasons for his request would not be questioned. He would then follow Steiner, whether by car or foot, making contact, if possible, before he entered the Meeting Hall of the Supreme Soviet.

  Grant's radio sounded. He answered, "Da."

  Moshenko responded, continuing in Russian, "I am at the Tower. When I have the perpetrator, I will bring him to you." Exiting back through the main Kremlin entrance with Steiner might draw too much attention, so Moshenko decided to use one of the shelter accesses leading to the tunnel. Once Steiner was in Grant's hands, Moshenko would return to get his car, then drive it back outside the Kremlin walls, parking near the grate. The three men would crawl out then get into it without being seen. He counted on normal, everyday tourist and citizen activity for them to blend into the scenery.

  Grant's voice went low. "You contact me if you run into trouble."

  Moshenko smiled to himself. "My friend, just being here you are taking enough of a chance. Be patient."

  A strange feeling went through Grant as he answered, "Keep me posted."

  "Do svidaniya."

  Grant switched off the radio, checked his watch, then tapped the radio against his forehead. "I don't know, Joe."

  "Problem, sir?"

  "Let's move farther down the tunnel."

  There was silence between them as they made their way along the corridor, trying to sidestep puddles of filthy water. Rancid smells overpowered their senses at times. Their pace slowed as the penlight beams moved from the pavement to a heavy metal door twenty feet ahead.

  Adler asked, "You think something'll go wrong, Skipper?"

  "Odds aren't exactly in our favor, Joe." He switched off his penlight. "I can't put my finger on it," he said as he shrugged his shoulders. "We've gotta be ready for anything."

  "So, what's new?" Adler grunted.

  In their homes, the people of Moscow began to stir, struggling to get out of warm beds, then dressing and eating typical breakfasts, all before bundling up and taking to the streets.

  While the hustle and bustle of everyday life was taking place at street level, two Americans waited in the filth and stench of the Moscow underground. As cars and buses drove by Red Square, their exhaust fumes descended into the tunnel where they waited, cold and hungry.

  Grant was pacing while Adler picked out a dry spot on the floor next to the wall, making himself as comfortable as possible, trying to pull his parka down far enough to cover his butt.

  "Can't you keep that thing quiet?" Grant chided.

  Adler patted his growling stomach. "Mmm, want food! Need food!" he grinned.

  Grant squatted down next to him. "Well, then, it looks like you're gonna have to catch something down here."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Spasskaya Tower - 0810 Hours

  A thin layer of ice began forming along the banks of the Moskva River during late October. For the past week, the gray thickness stretched itself outward like an icy hand, reaching toward the opposite shoreline. Along the riverbanks the ice was already three inches thick, thinning down to only one inch at the midpoint of the river. The yellow-white light of the morning sun hung like a shield, covering the eastern horizon. Shadows created by the spires of St. Basil's Cathedral began to stretch toward the Kremlin wall.

  Two guards, dressed in full length, olive drab coats with AK47s slung over their shoulders, were stationed on either side of the portal. Their assignments were to keep back curious onlookers. Two others stood farther inside, sheltered somewhat from the cold morning air, but they wouldn't consider themselves luckier than their counterparts. It was almost impossible not to feel the cold, penetrating eyes of Colonel Grigori Moshenko watching them as they diligently checked papers.

  Moshenko stood in the background, keeping himself in the shadows on the south side of the entry. His arms hung relaxed by his sides, but his gloved hands convulsively flared open and then clenched, the anxious gesture unnoticeable to others. An overhead spotlight was directed to shine into the windshield of vehicles entering. As each vehicle was stopped, Moshenko would lean slightly, trying to get a glimpse of each driver and passenger.

  A 1971 black, two-door Volvo paused momentarily a few feet from the guards, as a group of four Russian officers crossed in front of it. Gray white smoke rose from the car's exhaust pipe as it idled. Finally, a guard waved the car forward then held his arm out, waiting for the vehicle to stop. He leaned toward the closed window, motioning for the driver to roll it down. Noticing the East German uniform, the guard said one word in German, "Papers."

  Klaus Steiner reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a single sheet of paper, handing it to the guard through the half-opened window. Steiner sat very upright in the bucket seat, trying to keep his face out of being in direct line of the spotlight. His military cap was pulled down, hoping the brim would help shield his eyes. Beyond the guard he spotted someone standing in the shadows but could only see the lower portion of a long, black leather coat.

  Without giving any indication of recognition, the guard handed him his paper, then waved him through. Steiner folded the paper, put it back in his pocket, then slowly released the clutch and proceeded forward.

  First Officer Chernov immediately stepped back, being careful not to make any motion that could be noticed by the driver in his rearview mirror. He turned his head and said over his shoulder, "Colonel Moshenko. That was Major Zeigler."

  Without a word, Moshenko walked through Spasskaya Tower, glancing around the corner before stepping into the open. The Volvo was bearing left, following the road in a southerly direction. Moshenko dashed to his car, certain he wouldn't be seen by Steiner because of the car's angle. He already had his keys in hand as he reached the Volga. Quickly sliding onto the seat he started the engine. He shifted into reverse then waited for a dark green Mercedes to drive past before backing up. He threw the gearshift into first. The rear tires spun on a patch of ice before grabbing hold of pavement. Moshenko stayed well behind the two vehicles.

  As Moshenko drove, he made a last minute decision. He'd wait until he and Steiner had entered the hall. In the midst of the assemblage, chances were in his favor that he wouldn't be noticed when he confronted the East German troublemaker. He wondered what his plan was for using the drug. Will he dump it in the main water supply, or a more controlled method? His thoughts abruptly changed as he noticed the Volvo turning into a parking area in the shadow of the great hall. Moshenko followed the green Mercedes then drove past the Volvo before parking.

  Two Russian officers immediately exited from the Mercedes, and slammed the front doors. As they passed the Volvo, one of them glanced at Steiner through the rear window. He made a comment to his fellow officer, both men erupting into loud laughter. Steiner glared at them in the rearview mirror.

  Moshenko looked through
the passenger side window of his car, trying to catch sight of Steiner. After a few moments, Steiner finally exited the car and readjusted his cap. He slipped his hand inside his coat, feeling the case concealing the two vials of SD-7, at the same time looking up at the three story, gray concrete building. He turned on his heel and followed the walkway leading to the doors facing the river.

  Getting out of the car, Moshenko felt for the Makarov in the side holster, all the while, his eyes never leaving Steiner. As he made his way to the corner of the building, a sudden, icy wind blew from the northwest. He glanced up at the gray, overcast sky. Storm clouds, driven by the wind, rushed toward the horizon and quickly concealed the sun. A sign of the day ahead? he wondered. He grabbed the brass door handle just as the first flakes of snow began falling.

  The grand main entryway, with thirty foot ceilings, echoed with the sound of voices, both Russian and German. The walls and ceiling glittered with gold leaf. Three large archways paralleled one side of the wide marble staircase. Above the arches was a hallway, forming a balcony leading to two separate meeting halls.

  Steiner stood on the lower steps of the staircase, resting his forearm on the smooth white marble banister, slowly swiveling his head from side to side. Cold, ruthless, calculating eyes swept over a sea of faces in front of him. He unbuttoned his coat, then turned away and started up the staircase, falling in among the strangers.

  No one but Grigori Moshenko noticed the look of malevolence on the East German's face. Staying close behind, his eyes focused on the back of his "mark.” Following Steiner's lead, he left his coat on, his firearm tucked under the right side of his civilian suit jacket. He did take off his thick brown sable hat, stuffing it into his pocket.

  At the second floor landing everyone was directed toward the left, following the red carpeted balcony to the opposite wall. Two Russian guards stood on either side of opened, double doors that were eight feet in height, made of heavy, carved oak. Moshenko pushed through several people in front of him. He was now directly behind Steiner, close enough to see the red rash along the East German's hairline. Probably a dull razor, mused the Russian.