"Look, don't even go there for now."
"Yeah. You're right, I guess. We'll wait for the Prowler, and I've gotta talk to the chopper pilot. I want him to wait until Pankova's on her way."
"Contact me from the embassy. Stay safe, buddy."
The lockbuzzedagain, and Adler came rushing back just as Grant hung up. Seeing Grant's worried expression, he leaned closer. "What the hell else is wrong?"
"We're to go to the embassy until we get further orders." Grant reached for the phone again. "While we're here, I'd better call Nichols."
The operator put him through to Sam Nichols' office. "Mr. Nichols, it's Grant Stevens."
"I guess you've heard, Captain."
"Yes, sir, we have. Is the embassy secured?"
"It is. Luckily, it's been relatively quiet."
"Glad to hear that. Listen, the main reason I'm calling is to update you. The Team's been requested to help maintain security there."
"I guess you mean for Mr. Dotsenko."
"The entire compound, sir. We still don't have orders concerning him. We'll just have to wait it out for now."
"Your presence will be welcome, Captain!"
Grant checked the time, but he decided not to mention Pankova to Nichols. "We'll be leaving here soon, flying back to Schonefeld."
"I'll advise the guards. Oh, I almost forgot. Someone called and left you a message."
"Who?"
"He only gave a first name -- 'Nick.'"
Grant's eyebrow arched. "Excuse me?!"
"He said 'Nick.' Do you know him?"
"Yeah, I do. It's just a . . . surprise, that's all. What was the message?"
"He left pretty specific instructions, but basically, he wants to meet you near the Brandenburg Gate tonight."
"Okay. Thanks."
"I'll be expecting you soon."
Grant hung up, then leaned back against the desk, remaining quiet, rubbing his hand across his chin. He decided against telling Nichols to keep the message "close to the vest." It could raise questions, and maybe that would lead to an intel check on the name "Nick."
Adler waited for an explanation, until his curiosity got the best of him. "What's the surprise? Are you gonna tell me?"
"What? Oh. Nick called the embassy."
Adler's eyes went wide. "Nick?! OurNick?!"
"Yeah. He wants to meet near the Brandenburg Gate tonight."
"Jesus! What the hell are those odds, I mean, him and us being here?"
"The bigger questions are how'd he know to call the embassy, and why?" Grant started toward the door. "We're wasting time. Let's go."
As they jogged toward the Gulfstream, Adler couldn't hold back a laugh. "Do I give you my money now?!"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Remember after the last op? I said the next time the two of you met up, I'd pay big bucks for tickets!"
"I take cash."
While Grant and Adler sat with Pankova in the Gulfstream, the Team stood watch around the plane. Stalley and Diaz had binoculars, waiting for the Prowler.
Stalley walked up the steps, then leaned toward the open doorway. "Boss, Prowler's on its final approach."
"Okay, Doc." Grant and Adler both stood, as Grant smiled at Pankova. "We'll be right back, ma'am."
They joined the rest of the Team at the front of the Gulfstream, watching the plane touch down on Runway 08.
"Joe, I'm gonna go release the chopper." He took off jogging across the concrete pad toward the Sea Knight.
The crew was standing in the cargo bay. Grant shook each of their hands. "Can't thank you enough, guys. You made the mission a success, and saved our butts!"
"Our pleasure, sir," Lieutenant Anderson responded.
Grant snapped them a crisp salute. "Safe trip back to base!"
The high-pitched whine of the Prowler's two turbo-jet engines signaled it's arrival at MILOPS. It pulled closer to the Gulfstream, following signals from the marshaller. Pilot and co-pilot would remain on board, readying for takeoff.
Grant and Adler hustled up the Gulfstream's steps. "Well," Grant said, "your special ride is here." Pankova exhibited a nervous smile. He tried to reassure her. "The Navy's fly boys are just about the best of the best, ma'am. They'll take great care to see you safely back to the States."
Petty Officer Jim Blackman (corpsman) stood at the bottom of the steps. "Sir?"
"Come aboard, Petty Officer," Adler motioned.
Blackman had a green flight suit folded over his arm, a pair of boots, with heavy socks stuffed inside. Pankova was standing near the forward bulkhead.
Grant made the introduction. "Petty Officer, this is your passenger."
"Ma'am," Blackman smiled, with a nod of his head. He held the flight suit and boots toward her. "We'd like you to put these on over your clothes. Everything's gonna be a little big, I'm afraid, but they should help keep you warm. There are gloves in the pockets." She took the clothes then went aft to the restroom.
Once she was behind the door, Blackman softly said, "Looks like she's had a pretty rough time, sir."
"You could say that," Grant replied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stalley. "Listen, why don't you go talk with Doc. He'll bring you up to speed on injuries that he treated. I think she only had one or two aspirins."
"Very well, sir." As Blackman started down the steps, he turned to Grant. "She'll be fine, sir."
Pankova walked through the cabin, with the flight suit's sleeves and pant legs rolled up.
"Are you ready?" Grant smiled down at her.
"Yes." But then she had to ask, "And Alexei?"
"As soon as we leave here, we'll be meeting with him, ma'am. But there still isn't a timeframe for his leaving. That's all I can tell you."
She extended her hand to both Grant and Adler, then Grant motioned for her to go ahead. The rest of A.T. stood on both sides of the stairs, giving her a nod as she went past.
Once she walked off the last step, she turned. "Thank you all."
Doc Blackman escorted her to the Prowler. Ten minutes later, the aircraft was taxiing to Runway 08. Five minutes later, it was in the air.
The Gulfstream headed back to Schonefeld.
*
The sound of the car's engine and rushing wind was all that was heard inside the rented black BMW. The green countryside became almost a blur as the car sped along the motorway.
Draper and Garrett were slouched down in the rear seat. All hands were needed to help guarantee the safety of Dotsenko, and the embassy. Leaving the Gulfstream at Schonefeld was a risk, but one that had to be taken.
With an elbow resting on the open window, Adler controlled the steering wheel with a light touch of his hand. He took his eyes from the road, then briefly diverted them to the rearview mirror. Slade was driving the second BMW, carrying the rest of the Team. He kept the car within three car lengths of the lead BMW.
Adler glanced at Grant, seeing the familiar locking of the square jaw. "Is this about the message?"
"No, but that's still got me wondering."
"Well, then, what is it? Can I help?" Adler finally asked, seeing Draper and Garrett in the back, paying attention.
"Hope so," Grant answered, as he brushed back strands of wind-blown brown hair. "I've been 'busting my balls' trying to come up with an explanation why CIA turned over Dotsenko. What Bancroft told me at the meeting stunk."
"Is that gut of yours telling you some bad shit?"
"What if the 'Cowboys' wanted all along to send him back, to become one of their operators again? And when Pankova went missing, they saw their chance."
"That's one helluva supposition!"
"Yeah, I know."
"And just how do you plan on resolving the issue?"
Grant draped his arm over the seat, turning to look at his good friend. "Either option might send me up shit creek."
"You've made that trip before."
"Look, I can confront Dotsenko, pick his brain, and see if that's his plan."
"Wait a minute! That's fuckin' stupid."
Grant had to laugh. "Nothin' like being honest, Joe!"
"C'mon! What good would it do? I mean, if he's going back, you couldn't stop him!"
"Maybe not. Maybe I just need confirmation the Agency instigated a bullshit 'snatch' and pulled the wool over everyone's eyes, including the President's."
"Christ! You aren't thinking what I think you're thinking, are you? You're already halfway up that creek!"
Grant turned halfway, looking at Draper and Garrett. "Comments?"
"Not at this time," Garrett answered, giving a wave of his hand.
"Me neither," Draper said, taking the silver wrapper off a stick of Wrigley's.
Chapter 11
Near the Village of Lanke
Reznikov gripped the steering wheel, preventing it from being ripped from his grasp, as he drove the Trabant at a steady speed across uneven ground. Nearly bald tires rolled over rocks and solid mounds of dirt. Driving during daylight made the drive easier, but it was still nearly impossible to avoid every pot hole or trench.
Botkin and Orlov were in the rear seat. Botkin had his weapon drawn, with his eyes constantly searching, looking for possible trouble. Orlov had binoculars pressed against his eyes, trying to steady himself as the car jerked side to side. "Still clear!" he reported.
Reznikov briefly diverted his eyes to the rearview mirror. Not being followed could only be attributed to three words: planning, panic, surprise. The risk they'd taken was enormous, but they successfully completed three attacks in one day, and during daylight hours. Their surveillance at each target had paid off.
Reznikov silently mocked Yermak, and also thanked him for providing new papers and IDs when they agreed to "work" for him. During each of Orlov's visits to the embassy, his papers were never questioned.
The three men planned their attacks carefully: first the embassy, then, simultaneously, the rifle brigade compound and command center. If their vehicle were to be identified, it would happen at the embassy. But the route from the two compounds back to Lanke would keep them in the Soviet Sector the entire trip, and most of it was through open farm country. No passing through checkpoints, no worrying about border guards.
Reznikov parked behind the house, then killed the engine. After spending most of the morning causing mayhem and destruction, the sudden quiet was a welcome change, if only briefly. With each return trip to the farmhouse, a thorough inspection, both inside and out, was always necessary, never knowing if they'd walk into a trap.
The next attack was already in the works. They weren't ready to stop pushing their luck. Above all, Reznikov was determined to find who had been in control, and who now wanted them dead.
*
U.S. Embassy
1115 Hours - Local Time
Sam Nichols waited just outside the front door, with a hand resting on his holstered .45. His eyes scanned the grounds, seeing guards patrolling. They were trained for any situation that might materialize, but the attacks left everyone on edge.
Two BMWs pulled up in front. A.T. immediately exited, then opened the trunks. Grant went to Nichols. "Mr. Nichols."
Nichols offered a hand. "Glad to see you and your men, Captain. Mr. Dotsenko has been waiting for you. He's pretty much near the end of his rope."
"I can well imagine," Grant responded, before turning and pointing toward A.T. "We've gotta clean our weapons. Is there a small space we can use?"
"There's a room beyond where Dotsenko is. You can use that."
"Also, I'd like one of your guards to show the men around the compound. They can take it from there."
"Sure. Come on inside and I'll call Sergeant Rinaldi."
"I'll meet you in your office. I need to talk with the guys, and grab my weapons."
Five minutes later, Grant was in Nichols' office. He adjusted the rifle strap on his shoulder. "How are the two injured agents? Are they still in the East German hospital?"
"After mounds of paperwork, the East Germans released them. We transferred them to Landstuhl."
"Those doctors will take real good care of them." Grant's time at Landstuhl flashed through his mind, before he changed the subject. "Can you tell me whether Reznikov's been found? Or at least is there some idea where he is?"
"No to both your questions, I'm afraid."
"Dammit! He's gotta be within striking distance, 'cause he's gonna strike again."
"How can you be sure?! He's been lucky so far in getting away. Maybe he won't risk it."
"Trust me, sir. Reznikov is out for revenge, and he hasn't finished yet."
Nichols leaned forward and rested his arms on his desk. "Any idea where he might strike next?"
"No, sir. Not a clue. But he seems hell bent on attacking Russians, since they're the ones who turned him over to us."
"So, do you think we're in the clear?"
"Don't count on it." Grant stood. "Guess it's time to talk with Dotsenko."
"Oh, here's the message I told you about."
Grant reached for the paper, immediately putting it in his pocket. "Thanks." As he turned to leave, he said, "I'll check back with you after my conversation with Dotsenko. Would it be okay if I used the scrambler room again?"
"Of course. I'll call the crypto guys."
Grant left and met Adler in the hallway. "Any news?" Adler handed him a Coke.
As they walked down the hallway, Grant filled him in on the injured agents and CIA's inability to find Reznikov. Noticing a security guard standing next to the conference room, they took out their wallets, and flipped them open.
Inside the room, a haggard-looking Alexei Dotsenko sat quietly, waiting for word on Pankova. Since he was first brought to the embassy, he hadn't slept, barely ate. A little over an hour ago he'd been informed that the Team was on its way. Only then would he learn whether she was alive, rescued -- or dead. A knock at the door made his heart jump.
When it opened, Grant and Adler entered. "Mr. Dotsenko," Grant said, walking toward the Russian with a hand extended.
"Please . . . tell me."
"She's on her way to the States, sir. We personally saw her get on the plane."
"Was she all right? Did they find out she . . . ?"
"Sir, I'm sorry, but we didn't have time for questions once we found her. Our concern was getting her out safely."
"I understand."
"Can I get you something to drink, sir?" Adler asked, stepping closer.
"No."
Grant slid a chair next to Dotsenko. "I guess you've heard about the attacks on the Russian Embassy and the two other commands." Dotsenko looked at him, but merely nodded before Grant continued. "I don't have any word on how or when we're to get you outta here. I guess for now you'll just have to hang tight." The whole situation was making both Grant and Adler feel uneasy. Grant glanced at his watch. "Listen, her plane's been in the air for a little over two hours. Would it help if I requested someone contact us when it lands?"
"It might," the Russian replied, lowering his eyes.
Grant noticed Adler giving an almost imperceptible shake of his head. The two were on the same wave length. This was turning into Grant's "bullshit scenario." Grant leaned closer to Dotsenko, speaking with his voice low. "Is there anything you want to talk about? Or tell us? We're pretty good listeners."
Dotsenko fixed his eyes on Adler then Grant. How is it possible? These men, somehow, they seem to know! he worried. A sound of silence permeated the room, until Dotsenko finally said, "You have already done enough. There is no need for you to become involved."
Grant leaned back. Clamping his jaw tightly, he let the whole idea roll around in his brain. Somebody talked this man into going back to Russia. He abruptly stood, walked behind his chair, and grasped the top of it until his knuckles turned white. "Sir, we're already involved. I wish we could talk you out of it, but it sounds like your decision's been made."
Grant caught Adler's attention, and motioned toward the door. As the two men started to walk
away, Grant stopped, then turned again to face Dotsenko. "I want you to think about this. When we found Miss Pankova, her one thought was whether you were safe. And I realize you were more than concerned about her, too. So, I ask you . . . how do you think she's gonna react if you don't return? She sacrificed a helluva lot for the U.S. . . . and for you, sir." Grant made a final comment. "You've most likely heard of the Witness Protection Program. That could be a safe option for you both."
Adler changed the subject. "Sir, you look as if you could use some food. We'll send someone to escort you." He and Grant left the room.
As they walked down the hallway, Adler grabbed Grant's arm, then spoke softly. "So, we aren't gonna do anything to stop him?!"
"What the fuck can we do, Joe?! Kidnap him again?! He's made up his mind."
"You're not planning on going all the way up shit creek, are you?"
Grant flashed his friend a shit-eatin' grin. "Only if you make the trip with me!"
"Be more than happy to! This is one time somebody needs to have his balls ripped out through his throat."
"I don't even wanna picture that!" Grant shuddered.
*
Two hours later, after inspecting the embassy grounds, then thoroughly cleaning all weapons, A.T. had a bite to eat. When finished, Grant stood, then strapped on his holster, and check his weapon. "Okay, guys, take up positions outside. Joe and I are gonna stop in and see Dotsenko, then we'll join you."
Just as they walked around the corner, they spotted two men talking with a security guard near the conference room.
Adler whispered, "'Cowboys.'"
"How about we do some hassling?" Grant headed toward the men. "Hey! What the hell are you guys doing here?! That room's secured."
The two men swung around, just as Grant and Adler reached them. Without responding, the men removed black leather badge wallets from inside their jackets, then flipped them open, revealing CIA Special Agent gold badges.
The taller agent spoke. "I'm Special Agent Abbott, and this is Special Agent Zwick.
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