Sacrifice of One

by Jamie Fredric

  “Morning, admiral,” Grant smiled, shaking his boss’ hand.

  “Sir,” Adler said, reaching for Torrinson’s hand.

  “Have a seat,” Torrinson motioned. Grant and Adler complied, placing their covers on their laps. Torrinson glanced at his watch. He sat back in his chair, with his eyes moving from Grant to Adler. “We’ve still got a few minutes before the President is due in. Is there anything else you need to tell me about your meeting with Agent Mullins?”

  “Didn’t you speak with Director Hannigan yesterday, sir?” Grant asked, not sure where the conversation was going.

  “I did. He informed me of a phone call made to the Agency by your friend, Colonel Moshenko, and the reason for his call.”

  “Sir, that was basically what we discussed. I was totally surprised when Tony, I mean, Agent Mullins said it was Grigori. But that’s all I know, sir, except to learn there are supposedly five American POWs being held somewhere. Grigori is planning to call tomorrow around noon, and hopefully, he can give us further details.”

  Torrinson leaned toward the conference table, detecting something in Grant’s eyes. “Captain, you don’t believe those men are the same men you tried to rescue back in ’75, do you?”

  Grant took a deep breath. “I don’t know, sir, but even if they aren’t, we’ve gotta get them back. They deserve to be home, sir.” Grant hesitated, unsure whether he should let Torrinson know his concern. What the hell, he thought. “Sir, you don’t think this issue is going to turn into a political game, do you?”

  Adler blinked. Yikes!

  Torrinson had his own suspicions, and they were the same as Grant’s. “I sure hope not, Grant, but we’re going to have to let it play out for now.”

  Just as he finished his statement, the door opened, and Torrinson abruptly stood. “Attention!” Grant and Adler followed immediately, bracing themselves at attention.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” President Carr said as he entered the room. Andrew Carr was sixty-four years old, nearly 6’4”, slim, and had thinning gray hair. He was wearing a dark blue suit, white shirt, and a blue tie with small gold stars.

  “Good morning, Mr. President,” all three men responded.

  Carr stepped near Torrinson and offered a hand. “Admiral, good to see you.”

  “And you, Mr. President,” Torrinson answered. “Mr. President, I’d like to introduce you to Captain Grant Stevens and Lieutenant(j.g.) Joe Adler.”

  Carr reached across the table to Grant, offering his hand. “Captain, I’ve heard nothing but good things about you from Admiral Torrinson.” His grip was firm as he shook Grant’s hand.

  “I appreciate the admiral’s comments, Mr. President.”

  Releasing Grant’s hand, Carr shook Adler’s. “And Lieutenant Adler, the admiral had high praise for you, too.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  Carr stood opposite the three men, then, as he looked at Grant, he said, “I understand you two have been involved in several very successful missions together.”

  “Yes, sir, we have,” Grant replied, keeping his answer short.

  “Please,” Carr said, indicating with his hand, “sit.” He pulled a chair from under the table and sat down. He rolled the chair forward, then put a folder on the table, leaving it closed. Folding his hands on top of it, he looked at Grant and got right to the point. “Captain, I’ve been informed that Colonel Moshenko has contacted the CIA with information on our POWs.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s what I’ve also been told.”

  “I understand that this Colonel Moshenko is a friend of yours. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. Grigori and I go back a long way.”

  “Very unusual, wouldn’t you say, captain? I mean, having a KGB officer as a friend?” Carr questioned with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yes, sir. Very unusual,” Grant responded.

  Carr opened the folder, perusing the top paper, before looking up at Grant. “And do you believe what he’s told the Agency?”

  “Yes, sir, I do,” Grant answered emphatically, before throwing out some food for thought. “As long as that was Grigori on the phone, sir.” Adler held his breath. Torrinson shifted in his chair, not having even thought of such a possibility.

  Carr pushed himself away from the table, laying his hands on his stomach. “Any reason we should believe otherwise?”

  “No, sir, not at this time. I guess there is the possibility, but I’ll know when the call comes in tomorrow.

  “Mr. President, may I say that both Joe and I would put our lives in Grigori’s hands in a heartbeat. We already have, sir, and we’d do the same for him.”

  Carr nodded in understanding, as he leaned toward the table, and folded his hands in front of him. “I do have one more question concerning Colonel Moshenko. Has he discussed with you the possibility of his defecting?”

  Grant’s heartthumpedagainst his chest. “No, sir. We haven’t had that discussion.” Hinted maybe; not discussed, he thought.

  Carr’s expression had an almost imperceptible smile, as he responded, “All right, captain. Now, do you have any plan in mind on how you can carry out this operation? Anything at all?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we just don’t have any significant information yet. Everything depends on where they are, who’s holding them, how many. There are many factors that come into play, Mr. President.”

  “I understand, but once you find out, any idea on how long it will take to put something together?”

  Grant’s mind was working at top speed, as he thought about the possible political implications and a plan. “Again, sir, it depends on the information, but maybe a couple of days. We want to bring those men home ASAP, Mr. President.”

  Carr’s face finally broke into a smile, with deep creases forming along his mouth and blue eyes. “As do I, captain.” He was quiet for a moment before he commented, “I haven’t received any word from the Russians, so I’m not sure what they have in mind, but there sure has to be a reason.

  “I don’t want this to turn into a political game. So, gentlemen, I’d like to try and keep this under wraps as long as possible.” Grant began to feel more at ease after those statements. Carr continued, “I have a request, though. Whatever plan you come up with, I hope there’s a way for you to avoid any bloodshed.”

  Carr realized he was placing an enormous burden on these men, these men who were willing to risk it all to save their fellow Americans.

  Torrinson spoke. “Mr. President, I can assure you Captain Stevens and Lieutenant Adler will do their utmost to follow your request. But missions can go south very rapidly, sir. There really can’t be any guarantees.”

  Carr nodded. “I understand completely, Admiral. As I said, it’s just a request. Now, once the captain has completed his call to Colonel Moshenko, I’d like you to contact me with further details.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  Carr picked up the folder then stood. The three men immediately got up and braced. “Well, if there isn’t anything else, I guess our meeting is over.” He walked around the table and shook hands with each man. “Good luck, gentlemen, and Godspeed.”

  Chapter 4

  CIA Headquarters

  Langley, VA

  Friday - 1158 Hours

  An American flag hangs limply from a wooden pole in a corner of the twelve by fourteen, windowless, soundproof room. Three rectangular florescent lights, encased in wooden frames and covered with frosted sheets of plastic, are spaced evenly down the center of the ceiling. A white Formica top console extends the length of the shorter wall, with several electrical outlets spaced evenly across the back panel.

  Three men sit quietly at the console. Adler and Mullins are each holding a set of headphones, already plugged into a central outlet. In front of Grant is a phone receiver, with the earpiece hanging from a black plastic “cup.”

  Their eyes dart back and forth from a clock above the door to a round, clear glass bulb, one inch in diameter, protrud
ing from the panel in front of them. Their growing nervousness is obvious, as they constantly swivel back and forth in their chairs.

  Grant checked his watch, comparing his time with the wall clock.

  “Don’t worry, skipper. He’ll call,” Adler said, trying to sound reassuring.

  With anticipation, Adler and Mullins slipped on their headphones. At exactly 1200 hours, the bulb on the panel suddenly started flashing yellow. Mullins flipped the switch next to it, and nodded in Grant’s direction.

  Grant picked up the receiver and answered, “00628973257.”

  “Is it you, Grant?” the familiar voice asked.

  “Grigori! Yeah, it’s me! Are you okay? Are you safe?”

  “I am.”

  “Listen, if you feel more comfortable talking in Russian, do it.” Mullins jerked his head around, giving Grant a what the shit? kind of look.

  “No. English is good, but I do not have much time, Grant.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “The men, they are to be transported by helicopter to East Germany, the Soviet sector, in five days.” As Moshenko spoke, he continuously looked around at cars and pedestrians passing the phone booth, keeping a watchful eye out for anything, or anybody suspicious.

  Grant’s surprise was obvious. “East Germany?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure, Grigori? Are you positive?”

  “Yes. I will be taking them.”

  A cold shiver ran up Grant’s spine. He leaned closer to the counter. “You? Why you?”

  “I will be going as security for KGB as ordered by Director Antolov. There will be three others, a pilot and two guards.” Mikhail Antolov is the Director of the KGB.

  Grant had a shitload of questions but right now he just needed facts. “Grigori, where are they now? Where are they being held? Do you know?”

  “I have not been given that information, but I will find out soon.” The tone of Moshenko’s voice changed, sounding distressed as he said, “I do not know where these men have been, or why they were brought to Russia, Grant, but they have been here for two years. I am sorry my government is doing this, my friend.”

  “Hey, Grigori! Screw your government, okay? What you’re doing is the right thing. You believe that, don’t you?”

  “It is the right thing.”

  “Remember at AFN, Grigori? Remember you said you thought you were going soft? What’d I tell you?”

  “You said I was just being human.”

  “Damn straight, my friend.” With an index finger tapping on the counter as if trying to drive a point home, Grant said, “Promise me something, Grigori. Promise me that you’ll back out of this if you start to get a bad feeling, like someone suspects you, or suspects what you’re doing.” With his voice low, his words were emphatic, as he said, “Promise me.”

  There was a slight hesitation before Moshenko replied, “I...will.”

  Grant continued talking in a low voice, his words coming slowly. “Grigori, I know you, and my gut’s telling me you’ve got something in mind. I’m asking you as a good friend...don’t do it. We’ll take care of everything. That’s all I’m gonna say, my friend. Tell me you understand.”

  “I will only do as instructed, Grant.”

  Grant breathed a deep sigh. “Okay. Now, where will you be between now and when you’re given the information?”

  “I will be here, in Moscow, either at KGB or at home.”

  “Okay, Grigori. When it’s time, I’ll contact you our usual way.”

  “If I find out more, Grant, what do you want me to do?”

  Grant decided enough calls had been made to the Agency. “First of all, you be careful. Then, you call Admiral Torrinson on his secure line. He’ll know how to reach me, whether I’m still here or on my way with Joe.” Grant gave Moshenko the information, finally saying, “Look. I think you’ve spent enough time on the this call. You’d better get going. You’ll hear from me soon.

  “Don’t vary your routine, Grigori. Go on with your regular life, you know, do your KGB thing,” he said, with a slight laugh in his voice, hoping to ease Moshenko’s mind.

  “I will.” Moshenko turned toward the phone, leaning close. With no hesitancy whatsoever, he asked, “How is Washington this time of year, my friend?” He hoped Grant understood.

  Grant’s heart suddenly pounded against his chest, nearly taking his breath away. “It’s perfect.” Grigori wanted it to happen. Grant and Adler now had two missions ahead of them, with seven lives in their hands.

  “Da sveedahnya, my friend!”

  “Da sveedahnya.” Grant put the receiver back in the holder.

  Mullins and Adler pulled off the headphones, dropping them on the counter. Mullins spun Grant’s chair around, facing him, and with his eyes narrowing, he asked, “What’d he mean by ‘how’s Washington this time of year’?”

  Grant and Mullins had to let this play out. Mullins already knew about the possibility of a defection. This call confirmed it. The conversation taking place now was just in case “eyes and ears” were hidden in the room.

  Grant answered, “Whenever there’s a sticky situation, he’ll ask me that or I’ll ask him about Moscow. It’s just one of those tension-breakers, I guess.”

  Mullins rubbed his chin, and responded somewhat skeptically, “I see.” As Grant started to get up, Mullins pulled him back into the chair. “And the shit about your gut? What the hell...?”

  “No need to go there, Tony; issue’s resolved.”

  Adler thought it was time for him to turn the conversation in another direction. “Well, what do we do now, skipper?”

  Grant stood, as he was vigorously kneading the back of his neck. “We need to get our asses in gear.” They put their caps on as they left the room.

  Mullins led them out to the parking lot and walked with them to the Mustang.

  As they stood by the car, Grant put on his aviator sunglasses then turned to Mullins. “Tony, can you be our contact here?” Mullins had already talked to Grant after their conversation at the Iwo Jima Memorial, admitting his idea to go on the mission had not been well thought out.

  “Of course, buddy. You let me know what you need before you go and if you need anything once you’re there.”

  Grant slapped Mullins’ shoulder. “Knew I could count on you! Come on, Joe. Guess we’d better head to the office.” He had one foot in the passenger side of the car when he stopped and said, “Would appreciate it if you could give the admiral a call and advise him we’re on our way.”

  Mullins grabbed his friend’s hand, holding it firmly in his grasp. “As soon as I get back to the office. Listen,” he said with seriousness, “be careful, Grant. You’re going into dangerous territory, in more ways than one.”

  “I hear ya.”

  Mullins leaned forward, looking through the car at Adler and gave him a slight wave. “Joe, take it easy.” Adler gave a thumb’s up.

  As the Mustang started backing up, Mullins held a fist high overhead, and shouted, “Hooyah!”

  For the first ten minutes of the drive, the two men discussed the upcoming meeting with Torrinson, when suddenly, Grant went quiet. He rolled down the window, then rested his arm on the door, as he stared out the windshield.

  Adler gave a quick look over at him, seeing the familiar clamping of the square jaw, the grinding of the teeth. “What’s wrong, boss?”

  “Just got a bad feeling, Joe. Remember the two comrades with Grigori at AFN?”

  “Sure. Tarasov and Rusnak. What about ‘em?”

  “Grigori didn’t seem concerned about them spilling the beans when he helped us in Sicily, but...”

  “But you were. Right?”

  “Yeah, Joe. Christ! With what’s he’s trying to do now, what if those two bastards ‘threw him under the bus’? I mean, what are the odds of him being the one to fly those POWs outta Russia?”

  Adler thought for a moment. His eyebrows shot up, and he asked with surprise, “You can’t think that he’s being set up,
do you?”

  Grant gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Don’t know, Joe, but I’m really worried.”

  It was Adler’s turn to try and be reassuring, to try to ease Grant’s mind. “Skipper, don’t go there. You’re just assuming, and you know we don’t assume.”

  Grant tried to think more rationally. “Yeah. I know. It may be that Antolov’s just putting his trust in Grigori. I suppose I’m not giving Grigori enough credit for who he is, for what he knows, Joe, and that’s being fuckin’ stupid.” He reached across the console and punched Adler in the shoulder. “Stupid! That’s me. Right, Joe?”

  Adler laughed. “If you say so, skipper. Wouldn’t think of arguing!” Adler realized Grant was just covering up what was really going on in his mind.

  *

  NIS

  Office of Rear Admiral John Torrinson

  Friday

  1445 Hours

  Two stacks of papers and several file folders were piled on the right side of Torrinson’s desk. Since he arrived at 0600 hours, he’d been shuffling papers and folders, scribbling notes, eager to hear from Grant. Whatever new information Colonel Moshenko had was going impact the mission dramatically, in time and perhaps lives.

  Finishing off the last bite of a chicken salad sandwich, he brushed crumbs off his desk. He slid a blue-lined notepad toward him, where he’d already started making a list of equipment and weapons he was anticipating Grant would need. Glancing at the clock above his door, he was expecting the two officers any minute.

  Hearing sounds from the typewriter in the outer office, he rolled his chair away from the desk and got up. Taking slow strides, he walked to the open door, and stuck his head out.

  Yeoman Phillips spun his chair around. “Admiral! Can I help you, sir?”

  Torrinson put a hand up. “No, no, Zach. Just needed to stretch my legs.” Sniffing the air, he asked, “Is that fresh coffee?”

  “Yes, sir. Just finished perking.”

  Phillips started to get up, when Torrinson motioned him back down. “As you were, Zach. I’ll get it. Need something to wash down that sandwich.” He poured a cup, added a teaspoon of sugar, then took a sip. As he started to go back to his office, he heard hurried footsteps in the hallway. The door swung open. Grant and Adler came in.