Operation Gold Eagle

by Jamie Fredric

  As Baskov started talking, Kalinin sat down. By the time he finished, Kalinin felt overwhelmed with the information revealed to him.

  Silence between the two men lasted only briefly, when Kalinin shoved his chair back, palmed the recorder, and pressed the "off" switch. "You are to repeat everything you told me to Agent Zykov. Do you understand?!" Baskov's chest was heaving. All he could do was nod in response.

  Kalinin felt his pulse racing as he walked toward Zykov. "Oleg, I want you to record everything he has to say -- everything. He has confessed."

  Zykov took a step back, slowly shaking his head in surprise. "Confessed?!"

  "Yes. Tell him to begin when he was on staff at the Kremlin." Kalinin leaned toward his partner. "I am going to request that the other patient be transferred to another room. I want Baskov to feel completely alone. Wait until that happens, then you start recording. And, Oleg, whatever you hear, you will not repeat to anyone for the time being. Too much is at stake. You will soon understand."

  He started to turn when Zykov grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?!"

  "I have to make a couple of phone calls. When you are through, meet me at the car." He walked away. But he didn't plan on making any phone calls. He left the building, and walked, and walked, and continued walking. What he learned from Baskov shook him to his core. Everything Baskov revealed could be proved. There wasn't any doubt about it. But the responsibility for presenting the evidence to Director Antolov now rested entirely on his shoulders -- him -- a new KGB agent who now had it in his power to possibly bring down the Premier of the Soviet Union.

  "Jesus!" he mumbled quietly, as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets. The recorder brushed against his hand. The proof, the evidence on one small tape.

  He came to a standstill and checked his watch, figuring Zykov should have finished taking the information. He jogged through the parking lot, seeing his partner standing by the Volga.

  Both men leaned back against the car. Zykov stared at the recorder in the palm of his hand, hearing evidence in his mind he never would have imagined or expected. "What now, Nicolai?! What the hell do we do?!"

  Kalinin took the recorder and slipped it into his jacket pocket. For now, the two recordings would be known only to him, with his being the more important one, recording all his questions, and intimidation tactics.

  "Oleg, you must guard Baskov, while I return to intel. I must confirm the Premier's flight, then contact the East German police and have them send men here. You will be in charge of them and Baskov." He unlocked the trunk. "Here. Maybe you had better take these." He flipped a set of handcuffs to Zykov. "Secure him to the bed."

  Kalinin needed to buy extra time. "While I am at intel, I had better check on any recent transmissions they may have picked up that could have to do with this. Baskov could always say we coerced him into that confession. It might take me awhile." The look on his partner's face gave away his immense concern for what the two of them were up against. He laid a hand on Zykov's shoulder. "Oleg, listen to me. It will be all right. We were doing our job, following all procedures as we were instructed. We will present our evidence, then it is up to Comrade Antolov to take the lead. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, you are right."

  "Time to get back to work."

  In less than five minutes Kalinin was at the intel building. The Russian plane was not due until early afternoon the following day. He had to make a decision: either contact Antolov from intel or wait until he arrived in East Berlin. He would wait. His own phone call could be recorded by intel.

  As he left intel and walked to the car, his next concern was planning the capture of Reznikov. He wanted to work with Grant and his Team, but if Antolov ever found out, how would he explain his involvement? "Shit!"

  *

  Cafe Near Museum Island

  1825 Hours

  Grant pushed away his empty plate, wiped clean of the grilled trout, potatoes, and red cabbage. He took off his aviator sunglasses, cleaned them with a napkin, then put them on, pushing them back on the bridge of his nose. His attention returned to Adler, watching him savor his meal as if it were the last thing he'd ever eat.

  The last bite of sausage, some mashed potatoes and sauerkraut were shoveled onto his fork. He twirled the fork slowly in front of his face, quietly sighed, then devoured the final mouthful.

  Grant stifled a laugh. "Are you finished?"

  "Never! What's for dessert? Hand me that menu." Speaking to the waitress in German, Adler ordered two coffees, and an apple strudel. When the waitress left, he rested his arms on the table, and said quietly, "It'll be interesting to hear what Nick has to say."

  Grant rocked back in the chair, trying to get a clearer view down the street. "I'm worried, Joe. This might be our last shot at finding that sonofabitch Reznikov."

  They both went quiet as the waitress brought their order, and Adler asked for the bill. As he cut into the strudel, he glanced at Grant. "Don't tell me you're not worried about Nick."

  Grant sipped on the strong black coffee. "Can't imagine him having to face the director when the time comes."

  "Yeah, but you're gonna be in the same boat when we get back to the States." He held up a hand. "I know. You've been there, done that, but still . . ."

  Just then Grant spotted Kalinin walking toward the cafe. Kalinin signaled to follow him. Grant nodded. "There he is, Joe." He glanced at the bill, took Marks from his wallet, and dropped them on top of the bill. He pointed to the strudel. "Take that with you. C'mon." Adler scooped up the pastry, and followed him out the door.

  After two blocks, Kalinin turned down a side street. The Volga was parked in the third space. As he unlocked it, he spotted Grant and Joe turning the corner. Without acknowledging them, he got in the driver's side.

  The Americans walked past the car, then after doing a quick scan of the area, they doubled back, and immediately got in the Volga.

  "Nick, you okay?" Grant asked, detecting an unfamiliar expression on Kalinin's face. Worried? Pissed?

  Without responding to the question, Kalinin opened his hand, revealing the mini-recorder. "Baskov's full confession."

  Adler leaned toward the front seats. "Jesus! Itwashim?!"

  "Yeah, Joe. Here. Listen." He pressed the 'play' button.

  After fifteen minutes, the recording automatically shut off. Fifteen minutes of hearing Kalinin's questions, and Baskov's voice shaking as he answered. Reasons for committing the attacks at times seemed preposterous, and the person who headed it all, even more so -- Premier Gorshevsky.

  Lowly Sergeant Baskov fell under Gorshevsky's control when the Premier discovered Baskov had a brother. He'd been convicted of drug possession and was sentenced to twenty years in a Siberian gulag. Baskov could either help with Gorshevsky's plan and have that sentence reduced, or never see his brother again.

  Baskov revealed that during more than one of their meetings, Gorshevsky drank heavily. It was then he ranted about being totally embarrassed, ridiculed, made a fool of by his rival, President Andrew Carr. The escape of American POWs, and the defection of Colonel Grigori Moshenko only added insult to injury.

  The silence inside the car was finally broken as Grant asked, "Is he still in the hospital?"

  Kalinin nodded. "Oleg and a couple of East German police are standing guard. I had him handcuffed to his bed."

  "Christ, Nick!"

  "Yeah, but I'll worry later about what's next in the scheme of things. Right now we've gotta plan on tracking Reznikov. That farm where they're staying shouldn't be hard to find, with Baskov's explicit directions."

  Grant looked at his watch. "We'll have time to put the op together, but we've gotta leave the embassy not long after dark."

  Kalinin kept his eyes on his friend. "You know I want to be part of it when you find those bastards."

  Understanding Kalinin's comment, Grant answered, "I know, but how would you explain that to Antolov, right?"

  "Yeah. The only way I can help is to wait until you fin
ish the op before turning the evidence over to him," he said with a sly grin.

  "Think about this, Nick. The op should be over well before daylight. If you and your partner decided to look for Reznikov on your own, who knows what you'll find."

  Kalinin let the suggestion roll around. "Are you saying you know how it's going to end?"

  Grant shook his head. "It depends on the cooperation we get. Plus, there's always a possibility they could 'accidentally' fuck up fooling around with those explosives, you know?"

  "Understand. I think Oleg and I will make the trip."

  Adler had been thinking about the explosives inside the house. "We're still gonna have to be cautious not knowing completely about those interior explosives, you know, if Reznikov booby-trapped them."

  "Roger that, Joe. It's too bad that Baskov didn't have time to finish his earlier work. Our problems could've been over. Nick, you think he told the truth about that?"

  "Positive."

  Adler leaned over the center console. "If Baskov had succeeded in killing those three, do you think the Premier would've let him live with what he knew?"

  "Good point, Joe," Kalinin answered. "But, he won't have to worry about that now -- just gulag time."

  Grant turned sideways in the seat. "Listen, Nick, that was one helluva G2 you ran on that guy. You were masterful in getting him to reveal the info about the explosives."

  "I'm KGB! It's what I do!"

  In his mind, Grant heard those exact words spoken by his other Russian friend, Grigori Moshenko. He also knew with the info revealed about the POWs and Moshenko's defection, it wouldn't take long for Kalinin to realize who pulled it off.

  "Nick, all I can say is, I'm mighty glad we've become friends -- if you get my drift!" He glanced out the windshield, then side window. "We've gotta go. Joe, you head out first. I'll meet you at the car."

  Adler reached over the front seat, offering a hand to Kalinin. "Nick, you take care of yourself. Maybe we'll talk before we fly outta here."

  "Thanks, Joe."

  Adler got out and walked away, not hurrying, but keeping up a steady pace.

  Before he lost sight of Adler, Grant grabbed Kalinin's hand. "Nick, again, thanks for your help on this one. I wish we could've done more or at least filled you in, but that's the way it had to be."

  "No problem, Grant. I was pretty much able to fill in the blanks anyway."

  "Thought you would! Oh, one suggestion. I know you've already got two tapes, but think about another copy, in case you've gotta turn both of those over. CYA, my friend."

  "CYA?" Kalinin asked with wrinkled brow.

  "Cover your ass!"

  The Russian laughed. "Oh, yeah. Hadn't heard that for a while! But I'll take care of it. Do you need a copy?"

  "Only if you can get it to me without running into trouble."

  After he got out of the car, Grant ducked down, and looked over the top of his sunglasses. "Listen, have Antolov call me if he has any questions!" He flashed a grin through perfect white teeth, then closed the door and took off after Adler.

  *

  U.S. Embassy

  Scrambler Room

  A.T. sat in the conference room, reviewing a hand-drawn map of the property and Reznikov's hideout. Gear was ready, weapons loaded. All they needed was the plan of attack.

  In the scrambler room, Grant and Adler put a call through to Scott Mullins. They couldn't delay any longer in getting the answer to the question: What the hell were they to do with Alexei Dotsenko?

  After giving Mullins updates, and an overview on how they found Reznikov's hiding place, Grant couldn't leave it up to Mullins to pass the intel onto the White House. He'd have to take the responsibility and tell the President himself.

  "Scott, we don't have much time, but if you can hook me up, I think it'd be best if I talk directly with the President. May as well get my ass reamed now."

  "Hold on, Grant, and, good luck."

  Carr answered the call on his scrambler. "Grant? What's wrong?"

  "I'm not sure how to answer that, sir. I mean everyone's okay, including Mr. Dotsenko."

  "Then, what is it?!"

  "Sir, we've discovered where Reznikov's hiding out."

  "You found him?!"

  "I should rephrase that, sir. We know of his last hiding place, but we're pretty damn sure he's still there. Since he usually attacks during daylight hours, tonight might be our best, and maybe our last shot. The op should be underway no later than 2300 our time."

  "You haven't heard about him launching an attack, have you? Our intel hasn't picked up anything."

  "No, sir, nothing definitive, but we do know that the Premier and his party are to arrive in East Berlin sometime tomorrow afternoon. That could be his next target." Grant waited for the big question.

  "Captain, how did you find him?"

  That was the question. "Mr. President, I know you recall the name Nicolai Kalinin."

  "Sure, but . . . Hold it!" Carr spun his chair around. "Was he your informant?!"

  Grant cleared his throat. "Sir, if you'll bear with me, I'll try and explain." Hearing nothing but Carr's breathing, Grant continued. "Nick's been assigned to the embassy as KGB. He was in charge of the investigation after Dotsenko, uh, disappeared, and then the search for Reznikov."

  "Jesus Christ!" the President said quietly, between clenched teeth.

  Grant grimaced. He had no choice but to finish. "Let me clarify, sir, that he doesn't have any information on Dotsenko. Nick contacted me; we met and decided to work together on finding Reznikov." Before Carr could say anything, Grant added, "But it turned out to be more, sir, a helluva lot more."

  "I'm listening."

  "Mr. President, with tremendous G2 skills, Nick not only found the location of the hideout, but he found the person who was the group's handler, and the . . ."

  Carr waited, but he knew it wasn't like Grant to have so much hesitation. "Finish, Grant!"

  "We know who was behind the attacks on the barracks, the ambassador, and the others. Nick has the handler's confession on tape, reasons why, and person identified. No bull, sir, just facts."

  "You can tell me anytime you're ready, Captain, but it'd better be damn soon."

  Grant just blurted it out. "Premier Gorshevsky, Mr. President. He was the cause of all those deaths and destruction."

  Not what Carr expected. "Holy . . . Grant, any chance that's a mistake?" he asked in a low voice.

  "No, sir. None, Mr. President." Silence. Grant finally spoke. "Nick has the handler in custody, and he has the tapes. All are secured. He's assumed responsibility for taking the tapes to Director Antolov when he arrives in East Berlin."

  "What are his chances for making that 'stick'?"

  "I'll think he'll do fine."

  "And can you trust him about withholding the 'non-information' on Dotsenko?"

  "He knows Dotsenko is missing but not where he is. As far as who kidnapped him, well, that's pure conjecture. If he's questioned, he'll be telling the truth without giving us away. And can I trust him? With my life, Mr. President."

  "He sounds like a younger version of Colonel Moshenko, Grant."

  "I believe he is. Oh, about Mr. Dotsenko. Doc is still with him at the hotel, and I'd like your permission to have him escorted to the Gulfstream before our mission. The camera with photos from the airport, his Russian passport and airline ticket are secured. Two or three men will remain with him on board. I'll direct Matt to depart at 0500 -- with or without everyone."

  "Just how much trouble are you expecting?"

  "Well, sir, from what we've been told, Reznikov's hideout is loaded with explosives, both inside and out. We know where and how the handler placed them, but the group could've changed or added anything. And apparently, they have a sh... -- a stockpile buried on the property."

  Carr blew out a breath, as he swiveled in his chair. As much as he wanted Reznikov on U.S. soil, facing prosecution . . . "Grant, I would like some form of proof that you got him, but you let your miss
ion 'play out' the best way possible. Is that clear?"

  "Completely, sir."

  "All right. Contact Agent Mullins when the Gulfstream's two hours out from Stateside. Secret Service agents will be ready at Andrews. Godspeed, Captain."

  *

  U.S. Embassy

  Conference Room

  2125 Hours

  Team A.T. sat around the table, listening to a brief overview Grant was giving on his call to the President. Then, Grant asked, "Who went to the hotel last?"

  "I did, boss," James replied. "Everything was quiet. I brought them dinner."

  "Thanks, DJ." He focused on Garrett and Draper. "Matt, Rob, you're to pick up Doc and Dotsenko, then go directly to Schonefeld. Before you leave here, put most of the gear and weapons in the second vehicle.

  "Listen, Matt, if none of us make it to you by 0500, you're to depart immediately. Be sure to notify Scott when you're a couple of hours from the States. Secret Service will be waiting at Andrews."

  "Understand," Garrett nodded. "What time should we leave here?"

  "Now, before it gets too dark."

  As Garrett and Draper rolled their chairs back, Garrett asked, "Do we need to contact Doc ahead of time?"

  "Negative. Even though you're passing through Checkpoint Charlie, maybe you'd all better use your U.S. passports."

  Garrett reached for Grant's hand. "Take care of yourself. We'll see you all in the a.m."

  Handshakes went around to every man, then Garrett and Draper left.

  Grant rolled his chair closer to the table, then glanced at his watch. "It's about 20 miles to Lanke, so we should be outta here by 2300. It'll be plenty dark by then.

  "Now, tell me what you've come up with. How do we attack that property?"

  *

  2330 Hours

  The temperature was still in the low sixties, with a light breeze at six knots. In the interior of the forests, foxes, badgers, wild boar roamed, searching for food, occasionally venturing across the open fields. Sounds of screeching owls, a distant high-pitched train whistle, constant cricket chirps seemed more distinct in the surrounding quiet.