Operation Gold Eagle

by Jamie Fredric

  "When do you need it? Wait! I know -- yesterday, right?"

  "You got it, buddy."

  "Hang on while I dial the White House."

  Adler tossed the candy wrapper into the trash can. "Do you think he'll be able to help with those names?"

  Grant stood then stretched his back. "Sure as hell hope so. We might be running outta time."

  *

  Situation Room

  White House

  Washington, D.C.

  Andrew Carr sat quietly, swirling the black coffee in a white ceramic cup. Scooting farther back in his swivel chair, he sipped the warm brew. His earlier conversation with Grant had to be kept under wraps for the time being. He was worried. What if Grant's theory proved to be correct? What if . . . ?

  National Security Advisor Hillman interrupted his thoughts. "Would you like me to call Langley, sir?" Hillman adjusted the leather band of his Bulova watch, glancing at the time, while he waited for Carr's response.

  "Yes, and you'd better call NSA." Hillman rolled his chair back, but as he started to leave, a frustrated Carr said, "Stan, tell the director and general to join us. I want to know why no one can give me updates. It's too damn quiet, and that worries me." Hillman left for the Watch Room.

  V. P. Forbes shuffled through papers on the table. "What are you thinking?"

  Carr stood, and carried his cup to a credenza. He poured fresh coffee from a carafe, then took a sip before responding. "I don't know, Evan. A lot's happened over a span of a few hours, and the day isn't over yet."

  "Well, at least Operation Gold Eagle was a success."

  "The bright spot of the day," Carr managed to smile. "But Alpha Tango still hasn't completed the mission. They've gotta find that sonofabitch Reznikov."

  Hillman returned and walked near Carr. "Mr. President, the Prowler's scheduled to arrive at Andrews around noon. Miss Pankova will be escorted by agents and taken directly to Langley."

  "Good. And NSA?"

  "General Prescott is bringing new satellite images taken of Berlin, mostly of the bombed sites."

  Carr returned to the head of the table and spun his chair around. "Any additional reports on casualties?"

  Hillman shook his head. "Nothing since the announcement about the ambassador. The city's been locked up pretty tight. I think Director Bancroft's bringing transcripts."

  V.P. Forbes made a suggestion. "Maybe you should call Gorshevsky. Pick his brain."

  "What would be the point, Evan? If anyone were to call, I would think it would be him, digging for information. No. I think I'll wait. Besides, he's got a lot on his mind about these days, especially with Russia becoming more heavily embroiled in Afghanistan."

  "Mr. President!" Clark Barry, one of the duty officers of the Sit Room staff, stood near the Watch Room. "I have a secure phone call for you, sir. Do you want me to transfer it?"

  Carr rolled his chair back, then stood. "No, Clark, I'll take it in there." Forbes and Hillman shot quick glances at each other, as the President left them.

  He walked toward the Watch Room. It must be Grant,he thought. Work continued in the room as the President answered the phone. "Andrew Carr."

  "Grant here, Mr. President."

  Carr sat on the edge of a desk, keeping the receiver pressed against his ear, and his eyes downcast as he listened to Grant's report.

  Finally, Grant finished. "I'm sorry this ended the way it did."

  "So am I, Grant, but you learned the truth. That's what mattered."

  "Yes, sir. Oh, I don't think I mentioned this, but as a 'just in case' we snapped some photos at the airport. They could be your additional proof, Mr. President."

  Both men went quiet. Carr thought about what his next move would be, and the meeting when Dotsenko returned to the States.

  Grant finally asked, "Sir, what are your plans for Mr. Dotsenko? I mean, when and how do you want him transported?"

  "Confirm for me again that he's safe."

  "He is, sir. Doc will remain with him. One of the men will check on them every four hours, sorta like being on 'watch' again." Carr detected a smile in Grant's voice, until Grant said, "I know you're concerned about a possible attack, but if Reznikov holds true to form, he won't do anything in West Berlin. Even if he and his men have new identity papers, their photos have been plastered in every checkpoint building on the Allies' side. That's been confirmed."

  "What about on the Russian and East German sides?"

  "That had to be one of the first security measures they took, sir."

  "Give me a day to work it out. A lot depends on your mission to find Reznikov, too."

  "Very well, sir. Oh, one last comment."

  "Yes, Grant?"

  "The agent, the one I cold-cocked?"

  The remark caught Carr off-guard. He stifled a laugh before responding, "I'm listening."

  "No regrets, Mr. President!"

  *

  U.S. Embassy

  In the conference room A.T. waited impatiently for Grant and Adler. Coke cans, candy wrappers littered the table.

  The door opened and Grant and Adler walked in. As Adler took a seat, Grant's eyes fell on each man. "I know Joe told you Doc's all right. He's at the Hotel Berliner guarding Dotsenko."

  "You got him!" Slade responded, raising a fist.

  "Damn straight we did," Grant answered. "By the way, has anyone seen those two 'Cowboys' lately?"

  "We saw the Audi parked out back, but haven't seen either one of them. Problem?" Novak asked.

  "Not for us," Adler smirked.

  Grant pulled out a chair then sat. "Before I fill you in, has it been quiet? Any disturbances or sign of possible Reznikov activity?"

  Garrett responded, "Nothing, Grant. We've worked out a schedule with the regular guards, so every point in the compound is covered."

  "Thanks, Matt. Now, here's how it went down at Schonefeld."

  When he finished, Slade asked, "How come you didn't stash him at the safe house, boss?"

  Grant shook his head. "Agency 'peeps' are aware of that place, Ken. Joe and I know the hotel and its security. I want Doc to stay with Dotsenko until we have orders. Set up your own duty roster, because I want someone checking on them every four hours. They're in a double room, accessible through #308. Oh, and arrange it where they get at least three squares a day. There are a few cafes close by."

  Garrett asked, "Do you think the Agency has sent their passport photos to hotels, you know, like a 'bolo'?" (Be on the lookout.)

  Grant rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't know, Matt. They may not have the authority unless they convince the West German police to cooperate. But we've got proof of the agents' little escapade, and the President's been made aware of it. As an FYI, Doc's using his French passport, Dotsenko, U.S.

  "A word of caution: keep an eye out for those two agents. I don't want them getting suspicious if they notice you leaving on a set schedule. You can handle it. Questions?" Silence.

  "Now, what I'm about to tell you stays in this room." He glanced at Draper. "Rob, one of us will give you the details later." Draper nodded, then Grant continued. "You all remember our last mission and Nicolai Kalinin."

  "Sure, boss," James answered. "The Russian who's your double!" He quickly added, "Sorry, boss. Maybe I shouldn't have said that."

  "Not a problem, DJ."

  Novak interjected, "And if it wasn't for him, you might not be here."

  "That's affirmative, Mike. Well, anyway, I've got a meeting with him tonight."

  "No shit?!" echoed from most of the men, as they rolled their chairs closer to the table, anxious to hear more.

  Grant proceeded to explain the phone call and place of the meeting. "That's all I can tell you. In the meantime, set up the duty roster. Start time will begin at 2200. We can't take any chances." Grant finally smiled. "Yeah, you already knew all that, but, hey! It's just overly-cautious me."

  *

  Office of Premier Gorshevsky

  Kremlin

  Moscow, Russia

/>   Gorshevsky sat behind his ornate wooden desk, sliding the empty glass back and forth between his palms. He was expecting the arrival of KGB Director Mikhail Antolov, Minister of Internal Security Vasily Sokoloff, General Vladimir Borskaya, and Lieutenant General Nikita Komarov.

  Growing impatient, he swiveled his chair around, and eyed the bottle of Stolichnaya Vodka on the corner of the credenza. After a quick glance at his watch, he unscrewed the cap, and poured another shot. Holding the glass under his nose, he sniffed the sweet aroma, then took a sip, tasting its distinct smoothness. He gulped down the remaining liquid, then rubbed an index finger across his mouth, before eyeing the bottle again. "Enough," he said quietly, before putting the glass on a silver tray on the side of the credenza.

  Going to the large plate glass window, he pulled aside the heavy blue drapes, and thought about the unbelievable events in Berlin: the disappearance of Alexei Dotsenko; Ivan Reznikov's escape; and three major bombings, all in the same day, for which no one had claimed responsibility. He was becoming more suspicious, thinking about attacks nearly two years ago, but those were against Americans.

  A knock at his door made him turn. "Come!"

  The four men he was expecting entered, one behind the the other, with Minister of Internal Security Vasily Sokoloff in the lead. Standing in front of plain wooden chairs lined up opposite the desk, each man gave a quick nod to the Premier.

  Gorshevsky unbuttoned his dark brown suit jacket, then sat in his leather chair, rolling it closer to the desk. He motioned toward the men. "Sit." They complied.

  He swiveled his chair, setting his dark, brooding eyes on Komarov. "I want to hear what you have to say, Comrade General. Can you explain how you let Comrade Dotsenko slip through your fingers?!"

  Determined not to be held totally responsible, Komarov answered, "Sir, seven heavily armed individuals ambushed us along a dark stretch of Konigstrasse. They wore . . ."

  "I did not ask you what they were wearing! I want to know how they managed to take Dotsenko?!"

  Komarov shifted in his chair. "As I said, sir, they ambushed us, took our weapons, and they shot Sergeant Baskov."

  "Who?"

  "Our driver. Sergeant Baskov."

  "Why just Baskov?"

  "Comrade Baskov was trying to get away, when he was shot. He was dumped in the Mercedes." Before Gorshevsky could ask, Komarov added, "He is still in hospital in East Berlin, sir."

  "With that much firepower, General, why do you suppose they did not kill all of you?"

  Komarov hesitated. "I have no answer, sir."

  Gorshevsky's eyes narrowed as he continued glaring at Komarov. "Do you have any idea who the assailants were?"

  "I can only tell you they spoke Russian, carried Makarovs and AK-47s, sir."

  Gorshevsky rocked back and forth in his chair before turning his attention to General Borskaya. "And what of our agents in Berlin, General? They have not been successful in finding either Dotsenko or Reznikov, have they?"

  Borskaya opened a folder on his lap, and removed a paper. He glanced at it before handing it across the desk. "The agents identified Reznikov driving past the embassy just before the explosions."

  Gorshevsky quickly perused the paper. "This does not answer my question! They have not found him, have they?!"

  "No, Comrade. There was no trace of him or his men, no trail to follow. I made a decision and gave the agents orders to first look for Comrade Dotsenko. But after the embassy was destroyed, I had them looking for Reznikov."

  "Did you give any thought to contacting Director Antolov?"

  "I did, sir. But I wanted to have more definitive information."

  Gorshevsky's grey eyebrows knitted together, as his hand crumbled the white paper. "If memory serves me correctly, Comrade, the embassy was destroyed well after Reznikov escaped. So, while you had your agents searching for Dotsenko, Reznikov was planning his attacks!" Borskaya's shoulders went slack. "You and General Komarov wait in the outer office!" Borskaya and Komarov stood, saluted, then immediately left.

  "See to it, Vasily, that those two are transferred someplace not too comfortable."

  "I will take care of it, sir."

  The Premier turned his attention to KGB Director Antolov. "Has there been a final count of those killed at the embassy?"

  The silver-haired Antolov handed Gorshevsky a piece of paper, listing names and titles in two separate columns. "Fifteen have been positively identified. Four were taken to hospital. As you can see, most of those killed were regular staff, including Ambassador Sidorov. All the bodies have yet to be identified."

  "Did you lose any men, Mikhail?"

  Antolov took a breath. "Two identified so far."

  "And the agents who saw Reznikov, have they reported anything further?"

  "Not yet. My staff is trying to locate them. I will advise you as soon as I have word."

  Gorshevsky set his eyes on Minister Vasily Sokoloff. "And you! What can you tell me about Drazowe? How the hell did that happen?!"

  Sokoloff cleared his throat, and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. "There is only one reasonable explanation, sir. The woman who was taken had to be spying for the Americans. They used their satellites to pinpoint the base, then they sent in a team of men to rescue her."

  "And our radar did not detect a helicopter entering or leaving our airspace?"

  "Apparently it flew across the French Sector."

  "The Americans," Gorshevsky remarked, disgustedly. He diverted his eyes to Antolov. "Anything to add, Mikhail? Is anything being done in Drazowe?"

  "I have sent a couple of agents to investigate. But I do not know how much more they will learn. The incident happened so quickly. And with Comrade Oleniv dead, we may never know about the woman, how long she was spying, or how much she may have revealed." Antolov sat up straighter. "You were aware that she and Oleniv were involved. She had been with him since his station in Tbilisi." He immediately added, "We re-examined her dossier. It will also take time, but it appears she was a deep cover operative for the CIA."

  Gorshevsky grumbled, "Perhaps those who attacked that base did us a favor in killing him."

  Antolov and Sokoloff exchanged quick glances, then Antolov continued. "The investigation will continue, sir." He decided to present his theory. "Sir, I think we must consider the possibility that the men who took the woman also were responsible for kidnapping Comrade Dotsenko."

  The Premier swung his chair around, poured himself another shot of vodka, and guzzled it down. Knowing Gorshevsky's love of the liquid, Antolov and Sokoloff were troubled. Lately he'd been sipping a lot more -- and more often. The Afghan situation was weighing heavily, and now Berlin.

  Gorshevsky slowly stood, shoved his gnarled hands into his pants pockets, then finally turned around. "And even if that is the case, do you honestly believe we will find those two?! They are probably out of the country by now!"

  "I realize that. But we must continue searching for them. Do you have any intention of phoning the American President?"

  "For what purpose, Mikhail? Do you think I will get honest answers? Remember the last time? He made fools of us!"

  "I remember. But if you have a conversation with him, perhaps . . ."

  Gorshevsky cut him off. "And what about you, Vasily? Should I call the President?"

  "Sir, while we have our suspicions, we do not have final proof. You still want Comrade Dotsenko, and I am sure the President wants Reznikov. Perhaps if you speak with him, the two of you can work together in finding the attackers, or at least work out some kind of deal."

  A rapping at the door made the three men turn. "What is it?!" Gorshevsky shouted in annoyance.

  "Comrade Gorshevsky! There is a call for Comrade Antolov!" a voice on the other side of the door responded.

  Antolov stood. "Is it all right if I answer that? It may be Berlin." Gorshevsky flicked his hand, motioning Antolov to leave.

  Several minutes later, the barrel-chested Antolov came into the office. Gorshevsky immediatel
y asked, "Who was it?"

  Antolov sat down, then looked at his handwritten note. "Agent Kalinin was phoning from our intel center. He and Agent Zykov managed to rescue some records from the embassy. They were reviewing files on Reznikov and his two men."

  Gorshevsky pounded his fist on the desk. "What have they found on Comrade Dotsenko?! Does anyone have any idea on how important that man is?!"

  Antolov had no choice but to make a suggestion. "Sir, the two men in Berlin cannot work two missions. I can send more agents to assist."

  "Yes. Go ahead." But as Antolov stood to leave, Gorshevsky ordered, "Listen to me, Mikhail. When Reznikov is found, he and his men will be returned to Moscow. I want them dealt with immediately upon their return! Is that clear?!" Antolov nodded. "And when it is done, I never want to hear that name again!" He took a couple of deep breaths, before turning toward the credenza. "You two plan on going with me to Berlin."

  "Sir," Antolov said surprised, "go to Berlin now? Is that wise? The danger still may not be over."

  Gorshevsky began pouring another shot of vodka. "I must show my respect for Ambassador Sidorov, and I want to see the destruction for myself." He thought briefly about his decision, and decided it was politically correct. "Notify the East Germans that we will take our dead comrades back to Moscow. See that the coffins are covered with our flag. Upon our return, I want newspaper and television coverage at Domodedovo."

  Minister Sokoloff asked, "When do you wish to leave for Berlin?"

  "As soon as those preparations are completed. Now, both of you -- go."

  Chapter 12

  Near Brandenburg Gate

  West Berlin

  2150 Hours

  The temperature dropped to 48 degrees as winds shifted and started blowing from north northeast at seven knots. Traffic continued at a steady pace, passing in front of the Berlin Wall, totally blocking access to the Brandenburg Gate. Built in an arc shape, the Wall curved outward, away from the structure.