Operation Gold Eagle

by Jamie Fredric

  "I told the police we wanted to do our own inspection. Are you coming?"

  "Sure!"

  Zykov's enthusiastic reply surprised Kalinin, in a good way. "Get the flashlights from the trunk, Oleg, and see if there is anything we can use to stash evidence . . . if we find any."

  Heavy clouds drifted across the horizon, darkening the morning sky. The two men walked across the property, ignoring distant sounds of rumbling thunder. Moving the flashlight beams in different directions, they stepped over varied sizes of broken concrete, chunks of thick wood, objects that were no longer recognizable. There was a lingering smell of smoldering wood and other flammable material.

  "Looks like Baskov was right about the amount of explosives stored here." Kalinin aimed the light over the rubble, as he stepped carefully. "Oleg, take a look back there," he pointed with the flashlight's beam. "See if there is any evidence of a Trabant."

  The two agents didn't have time to wait for the East German medical examiner. They had to get any kind of evidence to prove the terrorists were dead.

  "Nicolai!" Zykov called, waving his flashlight overhead.

  Kalinin tried his best to scramble over the debris, finally catching sight of Zykov, who was standing next to what once was a vehicle. The blast had flipped it onto its side. All that remained was its frame, and much of it was burned and under cement, dirt, wood.

  The two men directed the flashlight beams around the entire area. "It had to be the Trabant," Zykov commented. "It is about the same size and shape."

  Kalinin just nodded. "It might be futile, but see if you can find a license plate." He looked overhead, beginning to feel light rain on his face. The sound of thunder grew louder. He climbed over the rubble, and headed toward a section of debris, when something caught his eye, and he scrambled closer. He squatted down next to a shoe still attached to a foot, but the rest of the body was under too much debris. He stood, then directed the light around the remains of the building. If the police and firemen hadn't found any identifiable parts, he sure as hell couldn't. "That's enough."

  "Nicolai!"

  Kalinin looked up at Zykov trying to hustle to him. "Look!" He handed him a bent and twisted license plate. "I was just about to give up when I saw it."

  "Good work, Oleg!" There was always a possibility the plate had been stolen, but at least it was something. "Did you check anywhere else?"

  "No. Just in the back."

  "There has got to be something else that was not destroyed. I want to check there before we go," he pointed toward the north side. "That should have been where they stored all equipment and explosives."

  "But that's what blew up!"

  "Anything metal could have survived the blast. You look over there!" Directing the flashlight beam away from the debris, he swiveled it side to side, working his way toward the trees. After several minutes of diligent searching, he spotted something. "Sonofabitch!" He started running. When he stopped, he was standing near the battered remains of an RPG launcher.

  "Oleg!"

  Zykov spun around and ran to where Kalinin was standing, holding the launcher. "Our proof they were here. There are probably more, but this is all we need." A sudden flash of lightning made them instinctively duck. "Come on!"

  Rain came down heavier as the two Russians sprinted across the property, then stashed the launcher in the trunk. They'd head back to the hospital, check on the prisoner, then go to intel.

  The two men remained quiet during most of the drive to East Berlin. Kalinin tried to put his thoughts in order. There couldn't be any fucking up when he presented the evidence. Antolov had to believe Reznikov and his men were dead. If he was determined to have further proof, he would have to wait until all the debris had been cleared by the East Germans.

  He turned his head toward the side window, hiding a smile. He had done his best in trying to act surprised in finding the aftermath of the explosion. He glanced at the dashboard clock, then pictured a Gulfstream on course to the U.S., as he thought,You did a good job, my friends, perhaps too good!

  *

  Andrews Air Force Base

  Maryland

  0830 Hours - Local Time

  Breaking through a thin layer of clouds, the Gulfstream was on its final approach. Taking directions from the control tower, Garrett adjusted the plane’s heading, speed, altitude. Flaps adjusted, sounds changed.

  Tires met concrete on Runway 01L. As the plane slowed, and began taxiing, Garrett and Draper heard the controller in their headphones: "Mike 581, you are to follow the two vehicles pulling alongside."

  Draper put a hand over the mouthpiece, leaned against the armrest, and called over his shoulder, "We've got escorts!"

  Everyone in the cabin tried to get a clear view of the vehicles. Two black Chevy Suburbans, one behind the other, kept up with the plane's speed. Once it slowed, one vehicle finally pulled ahead of the Gulfstream, leading it to a deserted area of the airfield, south of the control tower and base ops.

  "Secret Service," Adler said, glancing across at Grant.

  Dotsenko was sitting behind the cockpit bulkhead in a single seat, with his seatbelt pulled tight.

  Grant leaned closer. "It's all right, sir. The President has sent a special escort for you."

  "Where will they take me?"

  "Don't know. But you can be assured it'll be one of the safest places in D.C.," Grant replied with a reassuring smile.

  "Have you . . . have you had any word on Sophia?"

  "No, sir, only what we told you."

  The plane finally came to rest. Both Chevys parked opposite the port side, close to the exit door. Two agents exited from each vehicle, then posted themselves in between the cars and plane, waiting for the plane's door to open.

  Grant went to the cockpit. "May as well let us out, guys."

  As the door opened and steps unfolded, the agents walked closer. Dressed in black suits, and wearing dark sunglasses, two of them posted themselves at the foot of the steps, while the other two stood watch.

  Grant walked halfway down the steps, when Special Agent O'Connor asked, "Are you Captain Stevens?"

  "I am. You don't mind if I see some identification, do you?"

  O'Connor unbuttoned his jacket. A gold Special Agent's badge was hooked to his belt.

  Grant turned and gave a slight jerk of his head, signaling Adler to escort Dotsenko. A.T. gathered near the doorway. The mission was over.

  "This is Mr. Dotsenko," Grant said, placing a hand lightly on Dotsenko's arm. "We've assured him he'd have the best protection possible wherever he's being taken."

  S.A. O'Connor gave a quick acknowledgement to Dotsenko. "Sir, those two agents will escort you to the vehicle."

  Dotsenko hesitated, then focused his eyes on Grant. "I appreciate everything you've done for me and Sophia, Captain . . . you and your men," he added, looking toward the Team.

  "Our pleasure, sir. Good luck to you both."

  As Dotsenko walked between the two agents, Grant and Adler started toward the cabin, when O'Connor called, "Just a minute." He looked at Adler. "Are you Lieutenant Adler?" Adler nodded. "The two of you will have to come with us, please."

  "Go with you?" Grant asked, with obvious surprise and suspicion.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Can you tell us where and under whose orders?"

  "The White House, sir, by order of the President."

  Grant looked over his shoulder. "Joe, get the camera, and that map we found."

  Before he left the plane, Adler commented to the Team, "Hang tight, guys. We'll let you know what's going on as soon as we can."

  Dotsenko was settled in the back seat of the first Chevy, but Grant and Adler were being led to the second vehicle.

  "We'd like to ride with Mr. Dotsenko," Grant indicated pointing toward the lead vehicle.

  O'Connor hesitated, then gave a quick nod. "Sure. Not a problem."

  Thirty-five minutes later, the vehicles turned off Pennsylvania Avenue, stopping at the West gate of the White H
ouse. IDs were presented then they continued south along West Executive Drive, parking next to the West Wing ground floor (basement) entrance.

  O'Connor opened the rear door. The three passengers exited, then followed two of the agents to the entrance. After having been informed of Dotsenko's upcoming arrival, and after inspecting the passport, the guard passed him through. The other visitors presented White House clearance IDs.

  The group went down a few stairs, past the White House Mess, then were led to the Sit Room.

  O'Connor opened the door. "Someone will be with you shortly." Once the door closed, the four agents posted themselves along the passageway.

  Grant rolled a chair toward Dotsenko, motioning for him to sit. "I see there's some coffee, sir. Can I pour you a cup?"

  "No, thank you."

  "Joe, how 'bout you?"

  "Definitely,"Adler replied, as he put the camera on the table. Reaching for the filled white cup, he whispered, "Any idea why we were invited?"

  Grant sipped the coffee. "Don't know, Joe, but the President hasn't been completely filled in with what we accomplished -- or how. The photos should answer most of the questions."

  "Do you think our friend had his meeting yet?"

  "He said the individuals were supposed to arrive this afternoon. It's still early." He glanced at Dotsenko, who wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings, and probably had no idea he'd be meeting the President.

  The Secret Service agents remained in the hallway when Carr walked in. "Gentlemen, welcome back!"

  "As usual, sir," Grant smiled, shaking Carr's hand, "it's good to be home!"

  "Joe," Carr said, shaking Adler's hand. "You doing okay?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Hope you'll excuse the way we're dressed," Grant said. "We didn't expect to . . ."

  "Don't worry about it." He nodded at Dotsenko, and extended his hand. "Mr. Dotsenko, welcome home to you too."

  For the first time since Grant and Adler met him, Dotsenko smiled. "Mr. President, it is a real pleasure to meet you."

  Carr went to his chair at the head of the table. "Please, sit. I see you already have some coffee," he said looking at Grant and Adler.

  "Hope it was okay that we helped ourselves," Grant responded.

  Carr let out a short laugh. "Of course. You two should feel right at home by now!" He spotted the camera, and pointed to it. "Does that contain the photos you mentioned, Grant?"

  "It does."

  Carr reached for the phone, and pressed the intercom button, the connection going directly to his secretary. "Rachel, I need to have film developed. Can you send someone down here?"

  "Right away, Mr. President."

  "Excuse me, sir, but will anyone else be joining us?" Grant asked curiously.

  "Not for the time being." Carr swiveled his chair, focusing his eyes on Dotsenko. It was time to get down to serious business. "Mr. Dotsenko, let me first tell you that you have nothing to fear. I will see that you -- and Sophia -- have permanent protection."

  A knock at the door interrupted the meeting. It was an office assistant who waited until the President told him to enter. Carr handed him the camera. "See that the film is developed asap, then bring the photos to me."

  "Right away, sir." The assistant left.

  Dotsenko cleared his throat. "Mr. President, when will I see Sophia?"

  "Arrangements are being made." Carr rested his arms on the table, and intertwined his fingers. "Mr. Dotsenko, do I have your permission to record your statement?"

  "Of course, Mr. President."

  Carr set his eyes on a member of the Watch Room staff, who was standing behind a glass panel. Carr nodded, then refocused on Dotsenko. "I would like you to tell me exactly what was supposed to happen after Captain Stevens and his Team brought you to the embassy."

  Dotsenko appeared to be very at ease, as he relayed his story. He had volunteered to be sent to Germany, with the assurance Sophia would be rescued. He expected to become part of the team going to Poland. But that was when everything changed, when he learned he would be left at the embassy. "You see," he said, staring directly at Carr, "if I had gone to Drazowe, and once Sophia was rescued, I was to make my escape. Somehow, I was to turn myself over to the Russians at the base. I fully expected to go back to Russia and resume my role at internal security. It was part of the deal to save Sophia. I was guaranteed that she would never be sent to Europe again."

  Adler didn't need to look at Grant who was sitting next to him, because he could hear the teeth grinding away.

  Carr asked another important question. "Can you tell me if anyone inside the Kremlin was expecting your return?"

  "Not that I was aware of."

  "Mr. Dotsenko," Carr began, "none of us in this room can fully appreciate what you were willing to do, but there's more to the story, isn't there?"

  "Yes. When I learned Sophia was safe, there's no way to explain how I felt, Mr. President. But I had made a deal, and I was prepared to see it through."

  "Then what changed your mind?!"

  "It was something Captain Stevens said before I left with the two agents."

  "And that was?"

  "I asked him if she was all right, if her cover had been compromised, but he side-stepped the question. Right then and there I knew she had most likely gone through interrogation. I had a vision in my mind, and what I saw broke my heart, Mr. President.

  "Captain Stevens asked me how Sophia would react if I didn't return to America. I knew she sacrificed so much." Dotsenko paused, as his eyes pooled with tears. He drew in a breath, then said, "I made my decision to return to the U.S. on the way to Schonefeld, but realized it was too late." He glanced at Grant then Adler. "That is, until I was given a second chance."

  "Mr. Dotsenko, why didn't you just tell the agents who escorted you, that you changed your mind?" Carr asked.

  "Mr. President, I didn't know what their orders were if I suddenly refused to return to Russia." The silence in the room was almost overpowering.

  Grant shifted in the chair, amazed at the response. But now he waited for the final question: Who? Who convinced Dotsenko to return to Russia, without the President's knowledge?

  "Mr. Dotsenko, can you tell me who the person was that asked you to give up everything here, and return to Russia?" Dotsenko brought his hands together in the shape of a teepee, tapping them nervously against his mouth. Carr tried to sound reassuring. "Sir, I promise, you will be protected. You have nothing to fear."

  "Mr. President, my conversations were with Mr. George Platt."

  Carr flopped back against his chair, totally taken aback. He looked toward the Watch Room, and slid a finger across his throat. The recording was stopped.

  Grant and Adler turned toward each other, both of them slowly shaking their heads in disbelief. Adler mouthed the words: Holy fuck.

  George Platt. Deputy Director of the CIA, reporting to Director Bancroft.

  Carr rolled his chair back and stood. "Mr. Dotsenko, everything you've done took a powerful amount of courage. I want to thank you, sir." He extended his hand. Dotsenko stood, accepting the firm handshake. "I'll have the agents take you to a safe location. You will have protection 24/7. Give me a little time, and I'll see to it that Miss Pankova joins you, then we'll take it from there."

  "Thank you, Mr. President."

  As Carr opened the door to speak with S.A. O'Connor, Dotsenko walked around the table, stopping near Grant and Adler. "I've thanked you both before, but it doesn't seem to be enough."

  "Just have a great life, sir," Grant replied, giving Dotsenko's shoulder a light tap. "That'll be enough for us."

  "Mr. Dotsenko," Carr said, "please follow Special Agent O'Connor." Dotsenko nodded, then left with the four agents.

  Carr closed the door, and went to the credenza, pouring a cup of coffee. Grant and Adler remained standing, waiting for the "next round."

  "You've got a lot on your plate, sir," Grant remarked.

  Carr sipped on the coffee as he walked back to
his chair. A knock at the door. Carr opened it, then took a manila envelope the office assistant handed him. "The pictures, sir."

  Without responding, Carr sat down and opened the envelope. "You can sit, gentlemen." The two complied.

  Carr drew the photos from the envelope, quickly looked through the airport photos, then laid them aside. He studied the photos of the terrorists more carefully, turning each photo, to view it from different angles.

  "Was there much resistance?"

  "Not much," Grant replied, "just when they went for their weapons. I know this won't matter, but I heard Reznikov mumble the word 'Spetsnaz.' He thought that's who we were, so I guess he decided he wasn't about to be sent to Lubyanka or wherever."

  Carr flicked a finger against a picture. "Will these bullet wounds arouse suspicion when the autopsies are performed?"

  "Honestly, sir?" Carr nodded. "Everybody knew who they were, and how many people they killed. After the bombings in East Germany, those three were already dead men."

  "What happened to the hideout?"

  "Frank set a charge in the underground storage, and Joe took care of the inside explosives with an RPG."

  "Not much left then."

  "We didn't hang around, but from what we saw explode, I'd say it turned into rubble."

  "Your friend wasn't with you, was he?"

  "No, sir. He wasn't anywhere near that place."

  Adler reached into his back pocket. "Almost forgot." He handed Carr an envelope. "Sir, the Russian passport and the Aeroflot ticket are inside, plus a map we found at the hideout. It looks like Reznikov was planning an attack on that base, Sperenberg."

  Carr left the passport and ticket inside the envelope, but withdrew the map. As he examined it, he noticed 'Xs' and arrows pointing to different locations. More deaths prevented,he thought. As he slid the map into the envelope, he saw one of the Watch Room staff looking at him. He motioned him into the Sit Room. "What is it, Marv?"

  "Premier Gorshevsky's plane landed at Schonefeld, sir."

  "Is that all you've got?"

  "Reports are he'll be going to the Interhotel Stadt Berlin."

  "All right. Keep me posted." Carr refocused again on the two men. "I have a feeling there's something you want to ask."