“Agent Mullins, sir?”
“Yes. Agent Mullins. Director Hannigan questioned me this morning at the White House. Seems CIA hasn’t seen or heard from him in a couple of days.”
“I...I’m not exactly sure where he is at this time, sir.” Grant squeezed his eyes shut, smacking his fist against the wall. Shit!
“Ah-ha. I see.” Torrinson said. “Well, Godspeed, captain.” Torrinson’s next task was to relay the information to the President, everything except the Mullins’ issue.
*
Stratsnoy Metro Station
Moscow
2100 Hours - Local Time
Grant hustled out of the Metro, pissed as all hell. Mullins! Dammit, Tony, he angrily thought. The damage had been done. Mullins would most likely be reprimanded. The Agency might even give him his walking papers. Shit!
He got his mind back on track. He had to find a place where he could safely contact Adler. His eyes searched up ahead. There was a narrow alley two blocks away at a bus stop.
Stopping at the corner, he looked at his watch, then glanced down the street, seeing a number 18 bus approaching. Several people lined up along the curb, waiting. As soon as the bus stopped, passengers started exiting, pushing past those trying to get on.
That was his chance. He slid around the corner, then ducked into a doorway, taking the radio from inside his jacket. “Joe,” he called, as he leaned his head out just enough to check the alley.
“Here, skipper.”
“Get everybody out! Find anything in the room we can use...anything! Meet me in front of the Metro at Stratsnoy. Grigori should know it. Look for me on either side of the street, in case I’ve spotted ‘eyes.’ And, Joe, tell Grigori Alexandra’s safe at the Embassy.”
“Copy that! Out!”
Grant slipped the radio back under his jacket, then took a check of the time before walking back to the main street. Again, trying to be inconspicuous, he gave a quick glance at cars and pedestrians, then he turned left, heading back toward the subway.
Keeping up a steady pace, he wove in and out of pedestrians, never making eye contact with anyone.
He pushed open the door and stepped just inside the Metro lobby. Looking around the perimeter, he caught sight of a small kiosk selling the newspaper Pravda,and headed for it. He thought it might help him blend in with the average Moskovite by reading a piece of Communist bullshit. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out coins, then dropped one kopek on the counter, before picking up a paper and tucking it under his arm.
Once outside, he walked north about twenty feet and backed up against the building. Snapping open the paper, he folded one side behind the other, then in half. He lowered it just enough so he could look over the top.
Pedestrians and traffic kept moving. Vehicle headlights started coming on. Twilight was just beginning to approach. Sunset was close to 2200 hours during the summer months.
His eyes scanned doorways and alleys across the street. All were clear. A red and white bus stopped in front of the subway entrance. Passengers exited from front and rear doors. No one lingered. No one glanced in his direction. Either they didn’t give a shit about him, or someone was very, very good at his job.
He turned the paper over and refolded it. As he continued “reading,” a black Mercedes pulled next to the curb. No flags, but definitely an official vehicle, he thought. The average Russian couldn’t afford a Mercedes. Grant stiffened. Doors and windows remained closed. Could there be cameras behind those windows? he wondered. Slipping the paper under his arm, he headed south, ignoring the vehicle.
He kept walking past the Metro entrance, threading his way through passing pedestrians at a normal clip. Once he was at the next intersection, he turned left and immediately stopped. Taking a breath, he positioned himself just close enough to the edge of the building, poking his head around the corner. The Mercedes was gone. Did that mean it was a false alarm? Or was someone driving around the block, heading for this street?
He wasn’t about to wait. Hurrying to the curb, he checked left and right, then he sprinted across the intersection, dodging cars and an electric tram. Making haste along the sidewalk, he posted himself directly across from the Metro, backing up into a darkened corner of a clothing store entrance. He pulled the edge of his sleeve back. Fifteen minutes had passed. Anytime now, he thought.
Still no sign of the Mercedes on the side street. But there was a white truck approaching the intersection. Grant moved cautiously toward the sidewalk, still not exposing himself completely.
The truck turned right, then pulled next to the curb. Adler looked out the passenger side window. “Don’t see him.”
Moshenko scanned the opposite side, looking in between passing cars. Just then, he spotted Grant making eye contact with him. “There he is.” Grant jerked his head left, then started walking in that direction.
Moshenko pulled away from the curb then eased his way into the left hand lane of traffic, slowly following Grant. At the next street, Grant hung a left. Moshenko turned onto the street and slowed. That’s when Grant ran across to the other side, being partially shielded by the truck.
Adler opened the door part way. Grant grabbed the door handle and jumped into the cab. “Keep going. And keep an eye out for a black four-door Mercedes. One might be shadowing us.”
Moshenko readjusted the side view mirror. “No one is there. Where are we going, Grant?”
“West. Head out of Moscow, Grigori.”
*
Outskirts of Moscow
More than twenty minutes had passed. They were just reaching the western outskirts of Moscow. No one spoke. Grant kept his eyes glued to the side mirror. Moshenko did his best to do the same, but heavy traffic commanded his total concentration.
Finally, Grant asked, “How are the fellas, Joe? Can’t imagine what’s going on in their minds right now.”
Adler gave a brief nod in agreement, then replied, “All things considered, not bad. They managed to eat a little more. Nobody had any stomach problems. Think we’ll need to get more supplies, though, skipper.”
“Yeah. I know.” Grant thought about the men having to sit in the enclosed dark space, with little fresh air circulation. “Joe, what are the odds you could ‘blow’ a couple of small holes in the back?”
“Huh?”
“Need to get those guys some air and not make them feel so closed in.”
“Yeah. It can be done, but we’re gonna have to get somewhere outta sight.”
“Grigori, find someplace.”
Fifteen minutes later, and away from city lights, everyone got out of the truck, and went a safe distance away. Adler made two very small wraps of det cord, putting them high up on the side, closer to the cab. A couple chemical pencils, and it was done. Two semi-round air vents.
Once they were back on the road, Grant said, “So, Grigori, I guess Joe told you that Alexandra’s safe at the Embassy.”
“Yes! I am grateful and relieved, my friend! Is your Agent Mullins still there?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s there all right.”
“Uh-oh,” Adler said. “Don’t like the sound of that. Bet that means the Agency doesn’t know, right?”
“He’s in a world of shit, Joe.”
“Nothing we can do, skipper.” Grant just nodded. Adler finally asked, “Hey! Why’d we have to haul ass?”
“Talked with the admiral. Seems that chopper went down.”
“No shit? So you were right.”
Moshenko had mixed feelings about the news. “It is too bad anyone had to die.”
“I know, Grigori,” Grant answered. “Did you have any time to think about what I asked you?”
“Yes, but I have not come up with any names.”
“Well, let me throw out a couple.” Grant leaned forward just enough to see Moshenko. “Tarasov and Rusnak.”
Moshenko’s brow wrinkled. “But why them? The most contact we had was during the time in Sicily.”
“You know they weren’t happy w
hen you helped us, plus you did, shall we say, threaten them on the way back to the Leningrad.” The Russian ship is a Moskva class helicopter carrier. “And biggest fact...they’re comrades, in every sense of the word.”
“Yes. That is true. I also threatened them while we waited for you to rescue us.” Moshenko pictured himself waving his Makarov in front of the two. “But do you think that would be enough reason to want to kill me?”
“People have killed for even less, my friend. It was just a thought,” Grant answered, shrugging his shoulders.
Adler got the conversation back to the chopper. “Did the admiral say where it went down? Did they find any wreckage?”
“Didn’t have much time to talk to him. All he said was it went down after leaving Domodedovo and the wreckage had been spotted about seventy-five miles away. If that thing exploded in midair, it might take time to determine how many were onboard.” He glanced out the window at a clear, dark sky. “Don’t expect they’ll be able to continue with the search effort now that it’s dark. We’ll need all the extra time we can get.”
*
They needed transportation, transportation to Berlin and a helluva lot faster than a truck. Grant could only come up with one way. “We need a chopper,” he said under his breath.
Both Moshenko and Adler gave him a sideways glance, with Adler saying, “That’d be perfect, skipper. Do you know of a Boeing plant nearby?”
“We’ve gotta find one, Joe. There’s no other damn way to get us to Berlin in any reasonable time. Those guys back there won’t last on a long trip. Hell, we won’t last. Driving time has gotta be over twenty hours. Right, Grigori?”
“Yes, at least.”
“We’ve gotta get an aircraft. Flying time will take at least four to five hours the way I figure.”
“Jesus, skipper! We’re talking trying to avoid radar for four
hours! How the hell are we gonna avoid the radar? You do realize they shoot at unidentified, and maybe identified flying objects around here.”
“You telling me my plan is insane?”
“Affirmative! But it’s also the only one I can come up with,” Adler answered, shaking his head.
Grant turned to look at Moshenko. “So, Grigori, you think it’s insane?”
“I do...but I agree. There is no other way.” His mind was already working. “There will have to be refueling, of course.”
“Any ideas where?”
“We must not land in Russia. We should be able to reach Warsaw, Okecie Airport. I have flown from there to Gdansk.”
“Ah, Gdansk,” Adler said, patting his stomach. “Good food.”
Grant just shook his head, then asked Moshenko, “Do you think you’ll be recognized?”
“Possibly, but I am KGB. They may need to forget I was there.”
Grant and Adler laughed, with Grant saying, “I don’t know, Grigori, but you seem to be picking up some nasty habits hanging around with us.”
Moshenko just smiled, but then turned serious again. “I will not be KGB much longer, my friends.”
“How do you feel about that?” Grant asked.
“I think I will miss it.”
The three sat quietly, until Grant said, “Yeah, my friend, we know what you mean. Tough decision, huh, Joe?”
“Yeah. Tough.”
“Okay. So, where do you think we can find our ‘ride’?” Grant asked.
“A maintenance facility would serve our purpose. There is a small facility just outside Shelkovka. They mostly service helicopters and the security is usually minimum. We can be there in about one hour.”
“Go,” Grant said.
In addition to maintenance facilities, Moshenko knew locations of radar installations; he knew military bases; he knew the shortest route to Berlin. Nothing would guarantee their safety, but these were the factors tilting the scale in their favor, with the biggest factor of all...Grigori Moshenko knew how to fly.
Chapter 9
Shelkovka, Russia
Maintenance Facility
The Shelkovka Maintenance Facility was located about fifty miles west of Moscow. During World War II the building was used for the production of T-34 tanks. The tank had heavy armor and heavy dual-purpose guns making it the best medium tank of the first half of World War II.
One long prefabricated building, about thirty feet high and fifty feet wide, stood in the middle of the facility. Large roll-up metal doors were on both ends, with a short concrete driveway starting from the east side, and exiting the opposite end of the building. The drive was used for “running” tanks in and out during the war.
After the war, the building had been stripped of all production equipment and machinery. Now, wooden crates and cardboard boxes are piled around the inside perimeter. Trucks, utility vehicles, and flatbeds ferry parts to designated locations near the building where aircraft are assigned parking spaces. The facility doesn’t accommodate jets or large aircraft, but mostly helicopters and utility aircraft.
Parked along the north side, off a short runway, are two utility aircraft: AN-2s with NATO idColt. The AN-2 is used as a light utility transport, parachute drop aircraft, and many other tasks suited to a large, slow-flying biplane. The aircraft was used also during the Vietnam War as a naval interceptor. This modification had two "Skvall" torpedoes under the wing and was difficult to detect due to its low-altitude flight.
A Yakovlev YAK-38, code name Forger,is a vertical takeoff and landings aircraft. Parked farthest from the building, the front landing gear was still attached to a towing vehicle.
Dispersed across the back of the building are four helicopters: one Kamov KA-25, two KA-27s, and one Mil MI-24 armed assault/attack helicopter, designated Hind by NATO. The MI-24 is the only aircraft in the facility covered with camouflage netting.
As soon as Moshenko turned the truck onto a nearly deserted road, he killed the lights, slowed down, and drove farther off the road. They were less than a quarter mile away from their objective.
“Joe, give the men a briefing. Maybe they should get out and stretch their legs while we hash out the details. They may want to eat and drink something,” Grant said. Adler hopped out. Grant slid near the door. “Well, Grigori, what do you think? Will this work?”
“It must, my friend,” Moshenko answered.
Grant blew out a long breath. “Yeah. This is one of those ‘fly by the seat’ things, with fingers crossed. What do you know about security here?”
“I was here one year ago. This is not considered high security. I believe there are two or three guards, and of course, both large doors are locked. If I remember correctly, there is a security alarm.”
“Motion activated?” Grant asked.
Moshenko shook his head. “I do not believe so. Most of the facilities are the same. There are two emergency switches, one at the front and one at the back.”
Adler stood by the door, commenting before Grant could ask. “They’re okay. They didn’t want to disturb you.”
Grant nodded. “We’ll leave them here for the time being, out of harm’s way.”
“What about the guards?” Adler asked, resting a hand on the doorframe.
“We’ll take them out by whatever means necessary. Whether they’re hog-tied or disposed of, somebody’s gonna find them eventually...and possibly us,” he said, grimly.
“Grigori, as soon as I signal the all clear, you find a chopper that’s ready. Joe, when the guards are out of the way, you come back and get the men and our gear.” Grant got out of the truck and reached behind the seat, lifting the satchels.
“What about the truck?” Adler asked.
“Grab the plates,” Grant responded, as he was strapping on the holster. “In case it goes wrong, we’ll have to come back.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.”
Grant pulled the Makarov from the holster, and checked the clip. Eight rounds. “You need a ‘refill’?” he asked Moshenko, as he slammed the clip home.
“‘Refill’?”
&
nbsp; “Yeah. Do you need any rounds?” Grant asked, grinning.
“Ahh. ‘Refill.’ No. I refilled at the safe house.”
Adler walked near Grant, who handed him another holster with pistol. “Let’s go.”
*
The three men stayed to the left of the road, until they were able to see the entire facility. Two large lights hung from either side of the doors, both front and rear. A single door, with a small rectangular window, was about fifteen feet from the front corner. There wasn’t any sign of guards, but a light was on inside.
Grant whispered, “Grigori, wait here. Joe, you take the far side.”
Pulling their masks down and crouching low, they hustled to the chain-link fence. Adler pulled wire clippers from his back pocket. Grant was down on one knee, holding the Makarov close, keeping his eyes in constant motion.
Adler tugged on his arm. They crawled through the opening then bolted across the field. Both of them ran to the front roll-up door, then Adler continued toward the side.
Grant slid his back along the building, stepping closer to the corner. With his pistol held tightly in his right hand, he poked his head around the corner. Clear. Sliding around the corner, he edged closer to the entry door, noticing hinges on the outside, meaning the door would swing out.
Stopping to listen, he could faintly hear a voice. Whoever it was, wasn’t near the door. He ducked under the window and went to the other side. Cautiously, he leaned his head, trying to see inside, but he still couldn’t see anyone.
As he straightened up, he saw Adler moving toward him, shaking his head. Grant reached across the door, gripping the knob with his left hand. With a quick look at Adler, he slowly turned it. Unlocked. He continued turning the handle, and little by little, pulled the door open half way.
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