Grant motioned his thumb to his left. "The individual in that room is our responsibility. So for now, he's off limits."
"Not any more," Abbott said, putting his wallet away.
"On whose authority?"
"Langley."
"We haven't received orders to turn the gentleman over to anyone. You don't mind if I make a call, do you?"
"Knock yourself out," Abbott smirked. He and Zwick had already made a visit with Dotsenko.
Grant turned. Looking at Adler, he gave a slight tilt of the head. Adler would stay near the conference room.
Inside the scrambler room, Grant waited for Mullins to answer. "Mullins."
"Hey, Scott. No time to chat, and I know I'm breaking protocol, but I've gotta speak with the President on the scrambler."
"Let me see what I can do!"
Grant's insides were churning. Was he doing the right thing? Whatever the outcome, the question on Dotsenko had to be answered.
"Grant?"
"Mr. President, I don't have much time, but we may have a problem." Grant proceeded to quickly brief Carr on his theory, and the private discussion with Dotsenko, before ending with, "The two agents are assuming control of him. I'd like your permission to put a 'tail' on them, sir."
Carr was finding it difficult to believe someone went over his head and made the decision to allow Dotsenko to return to Russia. Then he recalled the meeting when Grant questioned the reason Dotsenko was going back back to Germany. Carr's head began to throb. "Shit!" he mumbled softly.
"Beg pardon, sir?"
"Just talking to myself, Grant. Now, you do realize where your theory could lead, don't you?"
"Yes, sir. I sure do."
"Do you think Moscow is involved, and will be expecting Dotsenko?"
"Honestly, I don't know, but it's not likely they'd be staying quiet about it if they did. I take it from your question, sir, that no one has updated you with possible transmission intercepts."
"You assume correct. Grant, why bother with the 'tail'? If he ends up being a 'no show' here, we'll have our answer."
"That's very true, sir, but explanations could be contrived." Grant waited for Carr's decision.
"I realize you're 'going out on a limb' with this, so I'll give you some leeway for now. You follow the vehicle to obtain positive proof either way."
Grant couldn't disguise his relief, as he answered, "Very well, sir. What if Dotsenko indicates he'd prefer to return to the States?"
Carr expected the question. "How do you plan on approaching him?"
"Don't have a plan yet, sir. And right now, I don't think the agents will let us close to him."
"Well, if he's willing, you see that he gets here."
"Yes, sir. And as soon as the question is answered, I'll use our s.o.p. and call Agent Mullins."
"One last question, Grant."
"Sir?"
"Anything on Reznikov?"
Grant couldn't reveal his upcoming meeting with Kalinin, at least not yet. "No, sir. I guess the two CIA agents taking Dotsenko have been pulled off that investigation. We'll try to be back on it later today."
"Anything in the newspapers about the bombings?"
"All we've seen is a West Berlin paper, and that was sketchy. If we have a chance, we'll see if we can do a drive by."
Carr sighed. "All right, Grant. Get going." The conversation ended.
Grant took the elevator to the main floor, and ran to the front door, looking for any of the men. "Doc!" he pointed at Stalley.
Stalley jogged across the driveway. "Yeah, boss?"
"Doc, get one of the 'Beemers' ready to roll, the one we used for snatching Dotsenko. I don't have an exact exit time, just keep it out of sight, with the engine running. We'll be putting a 'tail' on a vehicle, probably that one," he said pointing to a black, four-door Audi. "Joe and I'll be riding with you. We'll need binoculars, camera, and our mikes. Pass the word, Doc, so the guys know what's happening." Not needing further instructions or explanations, Stalley took off, as Grant ran back into the embassy, then up the stairs. Adler was pacing in front of the two agents.
"Did you get your confirmation?" Abbott asked, with his hands on his hips.
"He's all yours," Grant replied disgustedly. As Abbott went toward the door, Grant put an arm in front of him. "I guess you can't tell us where you're taking him."
"You guessed right," Abbott replied, as he opened the door. Once both men were inside, Zwick closed the door.
Adler mustered alongside Grant, as Grant whispered, "The President's been informed, Joe. We've got authorization to put a 'tail' on 'em."
Just then the door swung open. Zwick walked out with the Russian in between him and Abbott.
Dotsenko stopped in front of Grant and Adler. Without any emotion showing on his face, he extended his hand to both of them. "I appreciate what you did."
Grant returned the firm handshake. "I'm glad we could help, sir. We hope everything turns out the best way possible."
"Good luck, sir," Adler nodded.
As the agents and Dotsenko walked away, Adler quietly asked, "Why the hell didn't he just tell them he wasn't going?"
"Don't know, Joe. Who knows what was said to him."
"How far does the authorization go?"
"All the way to the States."
"Outstanding!"
They listened for a sound of footsteps that gradually faded in the distance. "Let's go," Grant said. "Doc's waiting in one of the vehicles."
Walking out the door, they stood on the top step, just as Dotsenko got in the rear passenger seat of the Audi, and Zwick the front seat.
With an unmistakable pissed off look, Grant locked his jaw, spread his legs, and crossed his arms over his chest. Adler jammed his hands into his back pockets, and leaned toward Grant. "Sure as hell hope we can pull off the 'surprise.'"
Just as Abbott opened the car door, he glanced at the two men. Nothing was said, no emotion expressed. He got in and slammed the door.
No sooner had the Audi turned on the main road, when Stalley drove the BMW around the corner of the building. He already had his throat mike on. Grant took the front seat, Adler the rear. The two of them scrunched down, trying to stay low, out of view.
"Okay, Doc," Grant said, as he picked up the throat mike from the center console. "You've done this before."
Stalley edged the BMW closer to the end of the driveway, letting the car roll forward until he spotted the Audi's taillights flash for an instant. The vehicle turned right. Stalley pulled out, then stepped on the gas, trying not to let the Audi get too far ahead.
Adler hooked the small battery to his waistband, then adjusted the throat mike and earpiece. He scooted sideways, lining himself up with an unobstructed view through the front windshield.
Traffic began slowing as they approached the center of West Berlin. The BMW was six cars behind the Audi. The Americans knew this part of the city and what was ahead. Checkpoint Charlie.
Adler lowered the binoculars. "Where the fuck are they goin'?"
By the time the BMW and its passengers were finally passed through the Soviet side of the checkpoint, the Audi was nearly out of sight, until its brake lights lit up. The car slowed just enough before it made a right turn.
"C'mon, Doc!" Grant said, as he raised the binoculars. The BMW's engine roared as Stalley hit the gas. "Next turn!" Grant pointed. The Audi was picking up speed, as it pulled away. Tires screeched as Stalley made a sharp right-hand turn. Grant reached for the armrest. "They're in the right lane, about 200 yards ahead!"
Stalley eased up on the gas. "I see it!" He fell in line behind four vehicles.
The road was familiar to all of them. Adler scooted forward on the rear seat. "Shit! They're headed to Schonefeld!"
Grant zeroed in on the Audi. "Yeah, Joe, but does it mean a U.S. or Russian flight?"
"How about we make a 'snatch'?" Adler suggested.
"First we need proof." Grant began to formulate a plan. CIA wasn't about to let Dotsenk
o out of their sight. Keeping his eyes on the Audi, Grant said, "Doc, you'll take the camera."
"Roger, boss."
Adler asked, "You think they gave him a new passport?"
"Not a doubt in my military mind, Joe. His U.S. passport's in my rucksack."
"Let me throw this at ya," Adler began. "What if they side-step the terminal, and escort him directly onto the plane? Huh? Then what?"
"Possibility, but that would draw attention. I'm counting on them going into the terminal, then to the gate."
Adler nodded, as he said, "That's why they showed up at the embassy when they did. They had a particular flight in mind, and the wait at the terminal would be less."
The airport tower came into view. Traffic slowed. Parking was straight ahead, which meant a five minute walk to Terminal A.
"Looks like they're parking," Adler said.
Stalley parked two rows behind the Audi, and immediately killed the engine. They still had a clear view, able to see the three men exiting.
Grant laid down the binoculars. "Doc, follow them into the terminal. They shouldn't recognize you. We'll be hanging back. It's important, Doc, that you shoot pictures of them at the check-in counter. We need proof of what airline he's taking. Just keep snapping away."
"Roger, boss." Stalley slipped the strap of the camera over his head, adjusted his earpiece, then got out. Keeping his eyes on the three men, he quietly closed the door, confirmed his weapon was hidden under his sweater, then he headed toward the terminal.
Giving Stalley a two minute lead, Grant and Adler got out of the car and started walking. Adler quietly asked, "What if he's on a U.S. flight? Maybe the two agents will escort him."
Grant leaned slightly, trying to see past several suitcase-carrying passengers. "Then my theory will be shot all to hell. In a way, I'm kinda hoping that's what happens, Joe. The thought of the President having to deal with a shit issue . . ."
"See your point. But what if . . ."
"We'll have to find a way to give him the option."
They heard Stalley in their earpieces. "Ground level. Wait one." Stalley aimed the camera with its telephoto lens. "Shit! He's got a red passport. Nearing Aeroflot counter. Fifth in line." He snapped a close-up shot of Dotsenko, then a regular shot with the Aeroflot symbol above the three men's heads.
Grant pressed the PTT. "Stay with him. On our way. What's next flight to Moscow?"
Stalley aimed the telephoto lens, zeroing in on the board behind the counter. "Flight zero one five in forty-five, Gate 6."
Grant and Adler walked into the terminal. "Joe, look for a phone booth."
Adler swiveled his head. "Three o'clock."
The two hurried across the terminal, as Grant said to Adler, "Check number of stalls in that WC." As Adler headed for the restroom, Grant started taking off his windbreaker, then stuffed his ball cap into a sleeve. As soon as he was in the phone booth, he tore out a page of the phone book.
Adler mustered alongside. "Eight, six unoccupied."
"Gotta chance it," Grant mumbled. "Go occupy one, closest to back wall. Take these."
Adler took the windbreaker. "And just what should I be waiting for?"
"I'm gonna try and get Dotsenko over here. Just be ready." Adler didn't question further.
Grant pressed the PTT. "Report, Doc."
Stalley answered softly, "Third in line." He snapped more pictures.
Grant scribbled a note: "Gray Fox, go 2 WC at east side. U.S. on your horizon." If Dotsenko ignored the message, the mission was over. Grant scanned the terminal, spotting Stalley. He pressed the PTT. "Go to escalator at your seven."
Ducking in and out of passengers, visitors, airline staff, trying to stay out of the agents' view, Grant made it to the left side of the escalator. He cautiously looked past it, seeing Dotsenko standing perfectly still, in between Abbott and Zwick. They were second in line for the ticket counter.
"Behind you, boss," Stalley said quietly.
Grant turned, and handed the folded note to Stalley. "You've gotta get this to Dotsenko."
"Whoa, boss!"
"I know, Doc, but you've gotta do it." Grant leaned his head, seeing Dotsenko still second in line. "Your best shot will probably be right after they leave the counter, when they're walking through the crowd. Approach from the front. Usual routine. Accidentally bump into him, and put it in his hand." Stalley nodded, as Grant continued. "If you say anything, use your French, not English. Then high-tail it to that bathroom," Grant pointed. "Joe's in one of the stall's. I'm sure at least one of the agents will escort Dotsenko, so be prepared. I'll handle the second agent. Once it's clear, you and Dotsenko 'beat feet' and go to the car. We'll be right behind you. You can do it, Doc! Go."
Grant rushed toward the phone booth, as two men exited the restroom. Too fucking much can go wrong on this one,he worried as he ducked into the phone booth.
Somehow Stalley managed to press the PTT. Grant and Adler heard, "Pardonnez-moi!" Five seconds later, Stalley ran into the restroom.
Now, all they could do was wait. The second part was up to Alexei Dotsenko.
Grant looked over his shoulder, then immediately turned and picked up the receiver. Sonofabitch! Dotsenko and the two agents were walking toward the restroom. If any passengers were in there, it was too late to do anything about it.
As Grant suspected, Abbott posted himself in front of the entrance, Zwick accompanied Dotsenko. Abbott checked his watch, then folded his hands low in front of him.
No sooner had he done that, when two passengers, carrying suitcases, walked toward the restroom. Abbott put a hand out, shook his head, then pointed toward the opposite side of the terminal. Without question, the men left.
A sound of a moan, then a shuffling noise in the restroom made Abbott rush to investigate. Grant was close behind him.
Stalley was dragging Zwick into one of the stalls. Abbott had his hand on his sidearm as he shouted, "Hold it!"
Grant's fist was already balled up, when he yelled, "Hey!" Abbott spun around. Grant struck him with a quick, sharp, powerful punch. Blood spurted from the bridge of the agent's nose. He collapsed, unconscious.
Adler was helping Dotsenko put on the jacket and cap, as Grant started dragging Abbott into a stall. "Doc, get outta here . . . now!"
Stalley grabbed Dotsenko's arm. "Let's go, sir!"
Grant propped Abbott on a toilet. "It suits you, you piece of . . ."
"Skipper! Move it!" Adler picked up a trash can. As they hustled out of the restroom, he plopped it down at the entrance, hoping to delay anyone from going in.
They hauled ass through the terminal, hearing a commotion behind them, figuring it was the agents. They picked up the pace and ran towards the parking lot. Stalley had the engine running. Dotsenko was in the rear seat, overwhelmed for the second time.
Stalley pointed toward Grant and Adler. "There they are, sir!" He backed out of the parking space.
Grant yanked open the front passenger door. "Doc, let Joe drive!"
Stalley was barely settled in the back, when Adler peeled out of the parking lot. "Where to?!"
"The safe house. No! Hotel Berliner!" Grant looked out the back window, not seeing any sign of the Audi -- or police.
"Worried about them recognizing us?" Adler asked giving a sideways look at Grant.
"Abbott barely had time to see my fist! But you know what? I say fuck it! They're gonna have to answer for what they tried to do, along with whoever made the decision."
"Hooyah! Stalley called out, raising a fist.
"Damn straight, Doc," Grant responded before asking Adler, "How's it looking, Joe?"
Adler glanced in the mirror. "Got some traffic behind us, but no 'little agents' or flashing lights following."
Grant turned, setting his eyes on Dotsenko. "Sir, are you all right?"
"I am. Yes, I am."
Grant offered his hand. "Courage again, sir. You did it!"
"And I'm grateful again, to all of you."
"We're
taking you to the Hotel Berliner. We've used it before, on 'special occasions.' There's good security, but Doc will stay with you." Grant dug out his wallet from his back pocket, then counted out German Marks. "Here, Doc. That should cover the room for a couple of days. I want you to stay with Mr. Dotsenko the whole time, but I'll put the guys on four-hour shifts to come and give you updates. They'll see that you get three squares a day." As Grant put his wallet back, he reminded Dotsenko to not make any phone calls. "Doc, use the radio in an emergency. It should be back there with you."
Adler had one last question. "Tell me again why we're not going to the Gulfstream instead of the hotel?"
"Can't chance it, Joe. Besides, the more places they have to look, the longer it'll take them. And we need final confirmation on what we're to do next."
*
With Stalley and Dotsenko safely checked into the hotel, Grant and Adler drove back to the embassy. As Grant closed the car door, he looked across at Adler. "Joe, round up the Team. Have them go to the conference room, then you meet me in the scrambler room." He took out his wallet then handed Adler some dollar bills. "Get them drinks and whatever."
Grant was leaning against the counter in the scrambler room, waiting for the call to go through. Adler came in, and handed him a Snicker's candy bar.
"Everything okay?" Grant asked reaching for the candy.
"I thought they'd go apeshit when they didn't see Doc. I squared them away."
Grant nodded as he heard: "Mullins."
"Scott. Got news."
Without interrupting Grant, listening to his every word, Mullins rocked back and forth in his swivel chair. After ten minutes, Grant went quiet, waiting for Mullins to comment. "Scott?!"
"You need to talk directly with the President! Hold on . . ."
"Wait! Scott! Before you do that, I need your help with something."
"Go ahead."
"I should've asked for your help on this before, but time got away from me. I've got a list, seven men, all Russians. You may need to 'call in' some markers, though."
"My pen awaits."
Grant gave Mullins the names of the four Russians who were transporting Dotsenko, then Reznikov and his two men's names. "I'm trying to connect the dots, Scott. I need anything that can link all or some of them together."
Operation Gold Eagle Page 13