Operation Gold Eagle

by Jamie Fredric

  Grant didn't expect an answer. "Sir, would you be able to tell us what was found at Drazowe?"

  Carr leaned back in his chair, swiveling it slowly. "Grant, Joe, I wish I could."

  "Understand, sir."

  "What I can tell you is those bunkers were more than they appeared to be. Scud missiles and launchers were 'buried' deep inside. Apparently, all equipment was assembled underground, then an electrical system would roll the launchers horizontally out of the bunker.

  "But with what Miss Pankova gave us, we'll have 'ammo' to take to the Russian Premier, whoever that may be," Carr said with a shake of his head.

  "Too bad we didn't have more time," Grant said. "There might have been a slight 'accident' that would've taken care of that equipment."

  Carr simply responded, "Wish you could have, Grant." He rolled his chair back. The meeting was over. "I'll have someone drive you back to Andrews."

  Just prior to her capture, operative Sophia Pankova discovered what was being produced and stockpiled underground at Drazowe: Novichok --"newcomer" -- a series of nerve agents, allegedly the deadliest ones ever made, with some variants possibly five to eight times more potent than VX. They belonged to "fourth generation chemical weapons" designed as part of the Soviet "Foliant" program. Dispersed in an ultra-fine powder instead of a gas or a vapor, their qualities were unique. A binary agent was created that would mimic the same properties but would be manufactured using materials undetectable by regime inspections. The agents were designed to achieve three objectives: be undetectable using standard NATO chemical detection equipment; defeat NATO chemical protective gear; and be safer to handle.

  Going through proper channels, Andrew Carr would see to it that NATO was advised. Armed with current information, the organization would eventually make an inspection, fully prepared with other than the standard detection equipment.

  Carr remained alone in the Sit Room, swiveling his chair back and forth. As pissed as he was, he couldn't delay his next meeting. He flipped the intercom switch.

  "Yes, Mr. President," Rachel answered.

  "Rachel, please have Evan, Stan, and Marjorie (Marjorie Clemmons, Office of Legal Counsel) meet me in the Oval Office asap. Then put calls through to Hank Bancroft and George Platt." He glanced at his watch. "I tell you what, Rachel. After Evan, Stan and Marjorie arrive, then you call the other two gentlemen. I want them in the office an hour later."

  "I'll take care of it right away, sir."

  Carr stood, grabbed both envelopes, then left the Sit Room, following a familiar route he'd taken so many times to the Oval Office.

  *

  Oval Office

  Carr stood behind his desk with shoulders slumped, while he stared down at two envelopes. A recorder was near the front of the desk, on the green desk blotter. Two wooden, straight-back chairs faced the desk.

  Vice President Forbes, Stan Hillman, and Legal Counsel Marjorie Clemmons sat on couches positioned on a rug with the Presidential Seal. The furniture was separated by a glass-top coffee table.

  Carr's meeting with them had been brief, just long enough to give them essential details, and ask Clemmons for advice. They were prepared for a meeting that would most likely end with the resignation of two men.

  The intercom buzzed. "Yes, Rachel."

  "Mr. President, Director Bancroft and Deputy Director Platt have arrived."

  "Have them come in, Rachel." Carr straightened his blue and white tie, then sat in his leather swivel chair, trying to control the anger building inside him.

  The door opened. "Mr. President," both men said. Bancroft's eyes immediately went to three people, who briefly stood. Bancroft silently questioned their presence. "Mr. Vice President, Marjorie, Stan," he nodded.

  "Hank, George, have a seat," Carr motioned toward the two wooden chairs.

  Platt put his briefcase next to a chair. He sat down, then smoothed back his wavy black hair. No one in that room had to tell him there was a serious situation brewing.

  "Hank, any indication when your agents will be flown back to the States?"

  "Landstuhl doctors reported they have a long way to go with their recovery, but they're hopeful they can be transferred to Walter Reed before month's end."

  "That's good to hear." Carr was ready to begin the meeting. "Have you intercepted any transmissions pointing to Reznikov's whereabouts?"

  "No. Nothing from the Russians, nothing from the East Germans. I don't think they even know where he is. He must be hunkered down pretty good."

  "Let me enlighten you. Alpha Tango found Reznikov and his men -- or, what was left of them. It seems their hideout was destroyed from explosives they had hidden for future use."

  Bancroft's mind began working overtime, as he wondered how the hell the Team managed to find the terrorists. "Guess he can be scratched from the Most Wanted list."

  Carr leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "Now, let's get to the Dotsenko issue. I'm going to start when your two agents escorted Mr. Dotsenko to Schonefeld for his trip home." Carr watched both men carefully, looking for the slightest change in expression. "George, could you tell me what the plan was?"

  Platt cleared this throat. "The agents assisted Mr. Dotsenko in securing his ticket, then they were to stay with him until he boarded, going so far as to escort him onto the plane. Once he was aboard, they were to wait until the plane was in the air. But that never happened, because our agents were attacked by men of Alpha Tango, and they took Mr. Dotsenko."

  "And you're sure who they were?"

  "Two of the men weren't identified, but I believe Agent Abbott recognized your Captain Stevens."

  Carr thought,You mean he recognized his fist! "I see. Would you happen to know what those men allegedly did with Mr. Dotsenko?"

  "No, sir. We do know he wasn't at the safe house."

  Bancroft spoke, "Mr. President, you remember I reported the incident to you, and . . ."

  "Yes, Hank. I remember." Carr paused. "You two must have panicked when Captain Stevens said he wouldn't take Dotsenko to Poland." Silence. Carr was noticeably agitated. "Why didn't you tell me the truth, Hank, right from the git-go?! How do you know I wouldn't have gone along with your plan?!"

  There wasn't any way for Bancroft to salvage the current situation. His voice rose. "Would you, Mr. President?! Would you have agreed?!"

  "I guess we'll never know, Hank."

  Bancroft pounded a fist on his leg. "Dotsenko would have been a hundred times more valuable to us working from inside Russia!"

  Carr could only shake his head in disbelief. The admission was there. He no longer had to proceed, but he decided to present evidence. He held up the envelopes. "In case you gentlemen are thinking of legally pursuing this matter, I have additional proof. Captain Stevens brought back a camera, with film still inside. Photos were taken at Schonefeld of your agents and Mr. Dotsenko. I also have a Russian passport and Aeroflot ticket brought to me today, along with Mr. Dotsenko himself. He arrived at Andrews this morning." He pointed at the recorder. "That's Mr. Dotsenko's side of the story."

  Carr abruptly stood. "Hank, George, you've deceived me, Captain Stevens and his men, you coerced Mr. Dotsenko into returning to Russia, and you put peoples' lives at risk.

  "I'm extremely grateful that during Mr. Dotsenko's transfer to Schonefeld, you didn't take extreme measures to 'prevent' him from returning to the U.S. It would have been a tragedy to lose a man with his courage.

  "Unless you can prove me or this evidence wrong, I want your resignations on my desk by eight tonight. That's all, gentlemen."

  The two men left the Oval Office, obviously embarrassed, disgraced, and unsure whether or not they'd be prosecuted.

  Even though everyone in the room was prepared for the outcome, it nevertheless left them completely astonished.

  Forbes finally broke the silence. "Have you talked with Ray Simmons yet, Mr. President?" Simmons was the White House counsel for the previous administration.

  "No. I'll call him as soon a
s we're finished here and put him on notice. Plus I have to call Jim Martinez (Associate Deputy Director) to temporarily assume control."

  "They're both good men, Mr. President," auburn-haired Clemmons commented.

  "Will there be anything else, Mr. President," Forbes asked.

  "I'd like you and Stan to remain, Evan. Marjorie, thank you for your insight and support. Have a good evening." Clemmons shook Carr's hand, then left.

  Carr felt a need to emotionally cool off. "Evan, Stan, I'm going for a walk. I won't be long." He opened the door to the outer office. "Rachel, please ask Tom (Press Secretary) to join us."

  "All right, sir."

  Carr went out to the covered Colonnade, breathing in the sweet smell of roses in the Rose Garden, giving him a moment of respite. But the recent meeting took over his thoughts again, until he forced himself to divert those thoughts to more positive events. Dotsenko and Pankova were safe, Reznikov, et al, were dead, Team Alpha Tango returned safely after completing a successful mission. He had to admit, the day wasn't so bad after all.

  As he walked back his office, he wondered if Premier Gorshevsky was having anywhere near a good day as he.

  "Are you all right, Mr. President?" Forbes asked, as Carr walked toward him.

  "Yes, Evan." He looked at his press secretary. "Tom, let me fill you in on what transpired a short while ago with Director Bancroft and Deputy Director Platt.

  Chapter 16

  Interhotel Stadt Berlin

  1730 Hours - Local Time

  Interhotel Stadt Berlin was located in the north section of popular Alexanderplatz, facing Alexanderstrasse. Designated as a four-star hotel, its restaurant on the 37th floor offered sweeping views of the city, the Urania World Clock, and the 1180' television tower, "Tower of Signals." The representatives of Comecon, an economic organization under the leadership of the Soviet Union, were always accommodated at the hotel.

  Most of the Interhotel chain was under the control of the Stasi, constantly monitoring the activities of international tourists. An exception to that was the Stadt Berlin, monitored by the KGB.

  East German police patrolled both ends of the entry driveway, prohibiting cars from parking on either side, as they awaited the Russian Premier's arrival.

  Kalinin and Zykov stood under a wide canopy, extending out from the hotel's entrance. For the two KGB agents, this might be the most important day of their lives -- whether it meant success or failure was yet to be seen.

  Kalinin glanced at his watch, then walked toward the edge of the sidewalk, patting his hand against his jacket pocket, feeling Zykov's tape. The other tape was in his pants pocket.

  Zykov walked up behind him. "There they are."

  Three black Mercedes, with their headlights on, were slowly approaching. A small, red Russian flag flew from each front fender.

  Kalinin and Zykov straightened their jackets, then backed away from the curb, as the vehicles lined up in front of the hotel. As if on cue, uniformed security men, with two KGB agents, got out of the third vehicle immediately taking up defensive positions around the second vehicle.

  Minister Vasily Sokoloff, carrying a brown leather briefcase, and Director Mikhail Antolov emerged from the first vehicle. Antolov took a long drag on a cigarette, then flicked the butt on the sidewalk.

  As he and Sokoloff walked toward the second Mercedes, Premier Gorshevsky got out, and buttoned his dark gray suit jacket. Then, without a word or acknowledgement to anyone, he motioned to his security. They led the way into the hotel lobby. Sokoloff followed Gorshevsky, but Antolov stopped near his two agents, with his security guard standing a few feet away.

  "Comrade Kalinin, Comrade Zykov."

  "Sir," both men answered.

  Antolov kept his voice low. "Your phone call from intel said you had vital information that could impact State security."

  Kalinin replied quietly, "Comrade Antolov, it is imperative that we speak with you -- only you, sir."

  Antolov moved closer to Kalinin, looking up at the taller, younger agent. When Antolov approved Kalinin's entrance into the KGB program, he did so with the recommendation of Defense Minister Troski and Anton Vazov, Ambassador to the United States in Washington, D.C. Antolov recognized something in Kalinin that convinced him to give final approval.

  He removed another cigarette from a pack, lit it, then took a couple of puffs. "This pertains to what?"

  "Sir, Reznikov and his men are dead."

  Antolov showed obvious surprise. "But isn't this something the Premier should hear?"

  Kalinin blew out a quick breath. "Comrade Antolov, there is much more to this, sir."

  That reply alone put Antolov on alert. He looked at Kalinin through narrowed eyes. "I am not sure where you are going with this, Comrade Kalinin."

  "We have a recording, sir. A confession. It should bring the entire investigation to a conclusion."

  One of Gorshevsky's security men approached Antolov. "Comrade Director, sir, the Premier is growing impatient. He wishes for you to join him immediately, sir."

  Antolov motioned the man away, and in a low voice said to his agents, "Go to the rear of the lobby, take the service elevator to the basement. Wait for me there."

  Zykov started following Antolov, but Kalinin grabbed his partner's arm. "We will wait until everyone has gone. We do not want to raise questions." Glancing through a plate glass window, Kalinin saw Gorshevsky and his entourage get in an elevator.

  "Come on, Oleg."

  The lobby had been temporarily cleared of all guests, except and employees, except for the manager, who stood at the far end of a long check-in counter. The two agents' footsteps echoed in the empty space, as they walked across black and mottled gray marble tiles. A bank of elevators was to the right of the counter. A service elevator was the first one on the left.

  Kalinin pushed the button of the service elevator, trying not to get the manager's attention. A quick glance at the lighted numbers above the elevator doors told him the Premier was staying on the twentieth floor.

  The service elevator doors parted. The two men immediately rushed in, then Kalinin pressed the button, sending the elevator down. Whether they met employees in the basement hardly mattered. KGB agents were known to roam different areas of the hotel, always vigilant.

  "Now what?" Zykov asked.

  "We wait for the director. Come on. If we run into anyone, just act like we are making an inspection." The two walked the corridor, not knowing how long they'd have to wait.

  After five minutes of walking and waiting, Kalinin brushed a hand over the top of his head, as he thought,Holy shit! What the hell have we gotten into? Antolov had to believe the taped confession, or maybe he'd want to interrogate Baskov himself. The KGB director would most likely confirm everything with his boss, Minister Sokoloff.

  Even with his nerves wreaking havoc, Kalinin had a strange kind of excitement building in him, thinking of what was ahead.

  *

  Suite of Premier Gorshevsky

  Security men were posted outside Rooms 2008, 2010, 2012, near the elevators and exit doors. For the next two days, no other visitors were allowed on this floor.

  Gorshevsky took off his suit jacket and dropped it on the couch, before walking toward the large picture window. From this room he was unable to see the remains of the embassy, less than two miles away to the west.

  As he focused on buildings and open spaces below, he wondered if he would become a target of Ivan Reznikov. Even with all the security, anything could happen, considering how successful Reznikov had been during his latest rampage. No one knew the reasons for the violence -- no one except him, the Premier of the Soviet Union, and one other person who was still in hospital. Sergeant Baskov.

  "Sir, when do you wish to go inspect the embassy?" Sokoloff asked, opening his briefcase.

  Gorshevsky turned around, keeping his arms behind his back. "Has anything been released to the press about my arrival and itinerary?"

  "Nothing specific. We only allowed
the newspaper to print the day you would arrive, and that you would be taking home the bodies."

  "Good. Good. We can go to the embassy first thing in the morning." He spotted a bottle of Stoli on a credenza behind the couch. He was thirsty after the flight, even though he'd had a couple of drinks aboard the aircraft.

  As he started pouring the liquid, Antolov came in. "Sorry, sir. I instructed our drivers they were not to leave the vehicles until I confirmed your itinerary. Have you decided . . . ?"

  "We will go to the embassy in the morning, Mikhail." He gulped down the vodka.

  "All right, sir. I must also confirm with the morgue the time to have the coffins prepared for departure."

  Gorshevsky held onto the shot glass as he contemplated making a trip to the Rifle Brigade. "I think I would also like to go to the Rifle Brigade to give my condolences to those men. How far is that?"

  Sokoloff answered, "I believe it is about 16 kilometers from here, sir."

  "Mikhail, take care of your tasks now. When you return, we will discuss plans for tomorrow."

  Antolov decided to instruct the drivers first because that would take the least amount of time. Next, he went to meet his two agents.

  Kalinin and Zykov were at the far end of the hallway, when they saw Antolov exit the elevator. They picked up their pace.

  Antolov swiveled his head. "Has anyone been down here?"

  "No, sir," Kalinin replied. "But there is another passageway behind us," he pointed over his shoulder. "We might talk there."

  The three men remained quiet as they headed for the other passageway. Kalinin tapped Zykov's arm. "Oleg, wait at this corner in case someone shows up." Zykov posted himself on the opposite wall, with a clear view toward the elevator, yet still able to hear the conversation.

  Antolov started to light a cigarette, then decided against it. "I assume what you are about to discuss has nothing to do with Comrade Dotsenko."