“Afternoon, gentlemen.”
“Afternoon, sir,” both replied.
Torrinson held his cup out. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Not for me, sir,” Grant answered, as he removed his cap, then his sunglasses.
“I believe I’ll have a cup, sir,” Adler responded, putting his cap on the credenza.
“Help yourself, Joe, then join us,” Torrinson said over his shoulder.
While he poured the coffee, Adler looked around for something to eat, like possibly donuts. Nothing. Total disappointment.
Zach continued typing, and without looking up, he said, “There’re some chocolate chip cookies in that top drawer, sir.”
“You’re my hero, Zach,” Adler laughed.
“Glad I could be of service, sir.”
Adler took two, ate them quickly, then washed them down with his coffee.
Once the three men were seated in Torrinson’s office, Torrinson got right to the point. “So, what did the colonel have to say, Grant?”
Grant relayed the entire conversation he had with Moshenko. Torrinson sat in silence, astonished by every piece of news Grant was now telling him. When Grant finished, Torrinson pressed the intercom switch. “Zach!”
“Yes, sir?”
“Call the White House. See if the President has time to talk with me. Tell him it’s about the phone call from Colonel Moshenko.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Torrinson took a couple of deep breaths, finally asking, “Anything else, Grant?”
“Sir, I directed Grigori to contact you with anything further, either before or after we leave for the mission.”
“No contacting the Agency?” Torrinson asked with a half smile.
“Already enough information is in their hands, sir.” Grant quickly backed up his request. “Besides, sir, the President said he wants to keep this under wraps as long as possible, and to me that means the fewer who know, the better off we’ll be. And we can trust Agent Mullins, sir.”
“Before we go any further,” Torrinson said as he pointed toward Grant, “has that shoulder of yours been giving you any problems?”
“Negative, sir. No problems whatsoever. Doc officially released me.”
“Will you be able to handle everything this mission might entail?”
“Affirmative, sir!”
Torrinson nodded, then said, “Okay. Then let’s proceed." He tore the top paper from the notepad and handed it across the desk to Grant. “Here’s a list of everything I could come up with that I think you’ll need.” He reached for his jar of Tootsie Pops, picking three at random. “Anybody?” he asked, holding them toward the two men.
“I’ll take one, sir,” Adler answered, choosing an orange-colored wrapper.
“Grant?”
“Unless you’ve got a stash of Snickers somewhere, sir, I’ll pass.”
“Sorry. I’ll ask my wife to pick some up at the commissary; have them waiting for you when you get back.”
Grant quickly scanned the list, then handed the paper to Adler. “Sir, I don’t think we’ll be able to take most of this.”
Torrinson was surprised, as he asked, “You already have a supply somewhere, Grant?”
“No, sir, at least not yet. Grigori will supply the hand weapons and ammo. We can’t take the chance bringing that across the border. Hate to get stopped before we even get started, sir.” This wasn’t the time for him to mention Mullins’ offer.
“Understand,” Torrinson replied.
Grant looked at Adler. “Joe, see anything on there you can use?”
Adler nodded. “We can take the det cord and pencils; should be easy to stash.”
“Something we’re definitely going to need, sir, is money. Rubles, dollars, Deutsche Marks, and East German Marks should see us through. Probably need to be a little ‘heavier’ on the rubles and East German Marks, sir.”
“Hmm. Somebody has travel plans,” Torrinson smiled as he put his hand out for the list Adler was handing over to him.
“Will we be running this as a black op, sir?”
“Well, since you want the Agency left in the dust, I’ll get with SECDEF, and have the money pulled from a different pot.” As he made a note, he said, “I’ve got your flight out of Andrews on standby. The President’s approved an Air Force C-9A. The aircraft’s equipped to handle whatever care those men may be in need of. I’m afraid this won’t be a non-stop flight, though, so you’ll probably have a refueling stop in Shannon before going on to Tempelhof.”
“Thank you, sir. I hope we can bring them home.”
“So do I, captain. So do I.”
*
Moscow
Apartment of Grigori and Alexandra Moshenko
2200 Hours - Local Time
The kitchen space was barely five feet wide, but it was better than most. Since Moshenko was a colonel, and KGB, he had been given better choices.
Alexandra loved this apartment, especially in the morning, mainly because of the large window in the kitchen. The early morning sun warmed and brightened the whole room. It was something as simple as that. Shelves were low, putting everything within easy reach. That was important to her, since she was barely five foot three.
An aroma of pirozhki, one of Moshenko’s favorite foods, lingered in the apartment. Alexandra made this evening’s pies with a yeast dough, filling them with onion, mushroom, rice, and pork. It was another late meal. She understood.
Standing in front of a massive stone fireplace in his study, Moshenko opened a box of matches and lit his cigar. Placing the box on a mantel constructed from Russian oak, he tossed the match into the fire, then went to his chair. He turned the high-back leather chair toward the fire, then made himself comfortable.
Resting his head against the chair, he heard Alexandra humming one of her favorite folk songs, The Violet. He closed his eyes. The sound of her soft voice helped to temporarily alleviate some of the turmoil in his mind. The time was drawing nearer when he would have to tell her.
With his decision to help the Americans, it would be perceived by everyone that he had turned against Russia, his homeland. In his heart he would never turn against or condemn Russia. What he was condemning was the inhumanity being carried out against these Americans. He told Grant he knew it was the right thing to do, but then again, he was betraying his country. A KGB officer betraying his country.
The day he learned about the POWs, he didn’t hesitate in making a decision, and with that immediate response, he knew he was right. He could not stand by in good conscience and not do anything to help. Perhaps Grant’s statement was accurate after all. He was just being human.
He got up and went near the fireplace, flicking in a cigar ash. Resting an arm on the mantel, he stared into the dying flames, only imagining what Alexandra’s reaction was going to be. Not just in what he’d done, but what it meant for their lives, for their future...if they had any.
Even though Grant promised to help them, the risk would be just as great. Still, there was no other alternative now. Grant told him to back out if he felt he was in danger. Only one reason would prevent him from going through with this, and that would be if Alexandra’s life was threatened.
“Grigori,”Alexandra called, coming into the study. She carried two glasses containing steaming hot tea. The glasses were set inside traditional tulip-shaped silver holders.
“Ahh, Alexandra. Thank you.” He reached for the silver handle.
She put her glass on the small table between their chairs, then went to the window next to the fireplace and drew the dark blue curtains together.
“Come and sit by the fire with me,” Moshenko said.
They sat quietly, sipping the tea. He turned slightly to look at her. Her dark brown hair was short, the same way she had worn it from the day they married. They were so young those many years ago.
She glanced over at him with her warm brown eyes and smiled, before asking in her soft voice, “Are you all right, Grigori? You have been
quiet these past few days.”
He reached over and patted her arm. “I am fine, my dear. Nothing for you to worry about.” He took a sip of tea, tasting the Ryabinovka-flavored vodka she always remembered to add.
“Grigori, after twenty-seven years, I like to think I know you, and...”
He put a finger to his lips, and gave a slight shake of his head, pointing overhead, indicating their bedroom. “And you have imagined things in the past, have you not?” he laughed.
She looked at him quizzically for a moment, before understanding. There was something he wanted to tell her, but he would wait until they were in their bedroom. The word “fear” had not yet entered her mind, though.
*
Alexandra lay quietly in bed, her eyes never leaving Grigori as he hung his uniform on the chair. She folded the cotton blanket back on his side of the bed. As he laid next to her, she turned on her side, facing her husband, pulling the blanket under her chin.
She placed a hand on his chest, whispering, “What is it, Grigori? What do you want to tell me?”
Moshenko breathed deeply before beginning his story. As he quietly spoke, Alexandra began to shiver. She moved closer to her husband.
Finally, he finished his story, and he put an arm around her. Drawing her closer to him, the feel of her trembling body made his heartache.
“What will we do, Grigori?” she whispered, as tears started welling up in her eyes.
“I do not know, but I do know what I have done was the right thing. I hope you can understand that, Alexandra.”
“I...I am not sure. I understand you wanting to help those men, but at what cost, Grigori?”
“The cost? If I do not help, Alexandra, the cost will be guilt...my guilt, to stay with me for the rest of my life.” She remained quiet, taking in his words. Then he said, “Alexandra, listen to me. We must consider leaving Russia.”
She pushed herself away, staring at him in the darkness, unable to comprehend his words. “Leave?”
“We have no family here, and I think it would be best. But, whatever happens, whatever we decide, Alexandra, we must place our trust in Grant. I know, as do you, that he will do all he can to help us.”
She moved closer to him, needing his warmth, his strength. “How much time do we have to decide, Grigori?”
“I have already spoken with Grant. He will continue with plans to help us, unless you do not want to do this.” He regretted the situation he had put her in, but it would be her decision now. “I know you are afraid, Alexandra, and I understand your fear, but...”
“No, Grigori,” she said in barely a whisper. She put a finger to his lips. “Do not say more. We will go.”
Husband and wife remained quiet the remaining night hours.
Chapter 5
NIS
Special Operations Office
Saturday - 0600 Hours
Before daybreak a storm moved rapidly through D.C., being driven by thirty knot winds with occasional forty knot gusts. Rain droplets were still splashing against the two office windows, with daylight trying to break through fast-moving gray clouds.
Adler got up and looked down at his dress blues trousers. The bottom of both trouser legs were still wet. When he and Grant arrived at 0530, the storm was still going strong. Rain came down so heavily, storm drains backed up.
He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, then put a foot on the chair, trying to put a shine back on his black shoes. Folding the handkerchief, he put it back in his pocket, then he went around the desk, stretching his back as he walked to the window.
He pulled up the blind, focusing his eyes on the horizon. “Looks like the storm’s finally over. Jesus! That was like a mini-hurricane!”
Grant sat behind the desk, rocking back and forth in the black leather chair. “Huh? What’d you say, Joe?”
Adler turned away from the window, then stood opposite Grant, resting his fists on the desk. “I said, it looked like a mini-hurricane went through here.” No answer again. “What’s on your mind? Grigori?” he asked as he came around and pulled a chair closer to the desk.
“Grigori, the POWs, the mission.”
Adler leaned back, pushing the chair so it rested on its two back legs. Locking his fingers behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling, with the same three issues going through his mind. “Yeah, and we still don’t have any clear direction.” Looking again at Grant, he asked, “Are we gonna wait for him to call again or get our asses over to Germany?”
Grant got up then sat on the corner of the desk. “Once our gear is at Andrews, we’ll head out.” He snapped his fingers, remembering he had to call Zach. The medical staff had to be notified.
As soon as Grant hung up the phone, Adler asked, “Say, skipper, wanna go get some breakfast in the geedunk? We’ve got time.”
“Maybe that’s what I need. Some protein to help me think better. Come on.”
Adler punched the ground floor button with a knuckle, immediately hearing the elevator motor beginning to whine. He gave Grant a sideways glance, seeing him staring up at the lighted floor numbers
above the elevator door.
“Come on, skipper; give your brain a rest, okay?”
“You’re right, Joe.
The sound of the motor stopped, the doors hissing as they parted. Just as the two men stepped inside, they heard hurried footsteps coming down the hall. As the doors started closing, someone shouted, “Captain Stevens!” Adler quickly put a hand out, pushing them open again.
Zach skidded to a stop in front of the elevator, saying out of breath, “You’ve gotta come to the admiral’s office, sir! The colonel’s on the red one!”
*
Torrinson was sitting behind his desk, holding the receiver, with his eyes focused on the outer office. He tried to remember the last time a call came in from a KGB officer. Never.
“Sir?” Grant said, standing just outside his office.
Torrinson motioned him and Adler in, then held the receiver out. Grant walked toward the desk and reached for the phone. Torrinson pushed his chair back, and walked over to the window, standing there quietly, with his arms behind his back. Adler stayed by the door.
“I’m here, Grigori,” Grant answered, as he stood to the side of the desk, rubbing his fingers briskly across his forehead.
“Grant, I will arrive at Domodedovo Airport before 1800 hours tomorrow, Russia time. I will be told upon my arrival where I must go to pick up the passengers.”
Domodedovo Airport is twenty-nine miles south southeast of Moscow. It was officially opened in 1965, with the intent to handle long distance domestic travel in the Soviet Union. In 1975 the airport was selected for the inaugural flight of the supersonic Tupolev Tu 144.
Moshenko turned around in the phone booth, with his eyes scanning every person walking by. Then, with a lowered voice, he said, “I have told Alexandra everything, Grant. She agrees with me. We have decided.”
Grant’s heart jumped. He sucked in a deep lungful of air, then exhaled through tight lips. “I understand.”
Moshenko continued, “I have given her the codes we use. If I do not have time to call you, you contact her when you arrive. She will be waiting for you. I will try to give her as much information as possible.”
“You sure that’s what you want to do?”
“We are sure.” Before Grant could comment further, Moshenko said, “My friend, your mission to help these men, it will put you in grave danger. You will let me know if this task, to help us, will add to that danger. I do not want you...”
Grant detected the emotion in Moshenko’s voice, as he responded, “Remember my words, Grigori. Remember.” There was quiet between both men. Grant cleared his throat, finally saying, “We have a flight to Tempelhof this morning. You call Admiral Torrinson if you need to reach me, okay?”
“Yes, my friend. We will be waiting for you. Da sveedahnya.”
“Da sveedahnya.”
Grant put the phone down slowly, with his hand
lingering on the receiver. He suddenly felt a heaviness on his chest, his heart. The realization hit him hard. Had he instigated this? Had his honest offer to help his friend, come to this...a defection?
Torrinson turned away from the window, walked toward Grant, then stopped directly in front of him. “Captain, are you going to fill me in?”
Grant looked into the eyes of John Torrinson. His boss wanted an answer, expected an answer. Could he tell him everything?
Without taking his eyes from Torrinson’s, Grant answered, “Grigori’s been given instructions to go to Domodedovo Airport tomorrow at 1800 hours, Russia time, sir. At that time he’ll be told where the POWs are.”
“And?”
“That’s all he knows, sir.”
Torrinson knew there was more, just from listening to the conversation. “Grant, I think we’ve been honest with each other since I came onboard. Am I right?”
“That’s affirmative, sir.”
“Then, I want you to be honest with me right now. What the hell’s going on?”
Adler walked a few paces farther away from the door, debating whether he should slip out into the outer office. Shit, skipper; how the hell are you gonna handle this? He didn’t have any doubt that nothing, barring prison, would prevent Grant from helping Moshenko.
Grant took a deep breath, then took a step away from Torrinson. Adler’s eyes darted from Grant to Torrinson, concerned on what the next move would be, and who’d be making it.
Finally, Grant turned around, standing with his arms behind his back, at parade rest. “Sir, what Grigori is doing is...well, sir, it takes balls, sir. He’s my friend and I’m really concerned. But in order for us to get final info on the POWs, he knows it’ll be almost impossible for him to contact us. He feels the only way he can do it is through Alexandra, his wife, sir.”
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