Shanghai Mission

by Jamie Fredric

  “That’s right, Captain. Scott Mullins. Tony’s older brother.”

  “Jesus Christ! Tony mentioned him, but. . .but this just doesn’t seem possible!”

  Young sat next to Grant, who had his head down, staring at the paper, remembering his friend, Tony Mullins. Young spoke softly, emotionally. “It’s because of Scott that we knew about East Germany. He’d been briefed. He read the reports. He also informed us that you had additional surgery on your shoulder a few months ago.

  “So you see, Captain, we’re just about up to date on you, your career. But in case you’re wondering, there isn’t anything we’ve been told--by anyone--that’s classified information.” Young patted Grant’s arm. “Look. You’ll have the opportunity to talk with him. I know he’s looking forward to your meeting.”

  Grant stood then folded the paper and put it in his back pocket. “I. . .I think it’s time for me to leave, sir. You’ve given me a helluva lot to digest.”

  “We understand. Sam will drive you back to your apartment.”

  *

  Washington, D.C.

  Apartment of Joe Adler

  0230 Hours

  Adler kicked the covers off, rolled over, then sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. “Goddamn that doorbell!”

  He pulled up his skivvies, then switched on a table lamp on his way to the door. “Hold your shorts! I’m comin’!” He looked through the peephole. “Skipper?”

  “Joe! Open up!”

  Before the door was completely open, Grant bolted past him. Yanking off his cap and gloves, Grant said with excitement, “We’ve gotta talk!”

  Adler closed the door, then hurried to where Grant was standing in the middle of the living room, shoving his cap and gloves into his pockets.

  “What the hell’s goin’ on?” Adler asked with his brow furrowed.

  Grant took off his jacket and hung it on a chair. “You ready to go back to work?” Before Adler could respond, Grant turned and went to the kitchen. He started opening and closing cabinet doors. “Where the hell’s your coffee?”

  Adler shook his head, totally confused. He walked to the opposite side of the kitchen and pulled down a can of Maxwell House and slid it across the white Formica counter.

  Grant held the coffee pot under the faucet when Adler finally asked, “You sure you want coffee? You’re acting like you’ve already had too much caffeine!”

  “We’re gonna need it. We’re leaving at first light.” Not even measuring the coffee grounds, he just dumped them into the filter, put the filter in the pot, then plugged it in.

  “I’m asking again! What the hell are you talking about?!” Grant started to respond, when Adler put up both hands. “Wait a minute! I have a feeling you might be yakkin’ your jaws for a while.” He walked to the fridge. “Let’s eat! How about some bacon and eggs?”

  “Yeah. Sure,” Grant answered with a grin through perfect white teeth. “I’ll make the toast. Where’s the peanut butter?”

  As the smell of bacon drifted throughout the apartment, Grant started talking, and he kept talking right through breakfast. He was like a kid who’d just gotten a peek at his Christmas presents.

  He tore off a corner of toast smeared with peanut butter, then wiped up remaining egg yolk from the dish. “So. Whadda ya think?” he asked before popping the bread into his mouth.

  Adler picked up his coffee cup. “What do I think?! Didn’t I tell you this shit was in our DNA?!”

  “I guess that means it’s a ‘go’ then?”

  “Damn straight it’s a go!” Adler eyed the last half of toast in a saucer. “Are you gonna eat that?”

  “It’s all yours,” Grant laughed as he pushed his chair back. He picked up his dish and fork, then put them in the sink. Tossing the balled up napkin in the trash can, he turned and leaned back against the counter. “There’s something else, Joe, I mean, there’s somebody else.”

  Adler put his dish in the sink, then turned on the hot water and squeezed in some dish soap. “Who?”

  “Our contact at State. It’s. . .it’s Scott Mullins.”

  Adler turned slowly. “You don’t mean. . .”

  “Yeah. Tony’s brother.”

  “Christ! Did you know he had a brother?”

  Grant walked back into the living room and went near the window. Sunlight was starting to cast a glow across the horizon. He continued looking toward the skyline, as he answered, “Yeah, but he only mentioned Scott in passing. He never told me what he did, or where he worked, just that he did a lot of work out of the country.”

  Grant glanced at his watch, then turned around. “C’mon, Joe. Get dressed. We’ve gotta hit the road. I’ll tell you more on the way.”

  Adler walked past him, asking over his shoulder, “Where the hell are we going?”

  “We need to give that property a thorough inspection in daylight. I’m positive there’s more out there than what I saw last night.”

  *

  Property in Virginia

  Soon To Be - "Eagle 8"

  “So, have you become a magician, too?” Adler asked, as he watched the gate automatically swing back.

  “There’s an electric eye under the bumper. From what I’ve been told, there’s one for all the vehicles.”

  Grant turned the Vette off the driveway, following a recently plowed path around the right side of the house, leading to another garage with three doors. He stopped in front of the left one, then pushed a button on a small garage door opener on his key ring. All three doors simultaneously lifted. He and Adler got out of the car, noticing two large generators to the left side of the building.

  Parked inside were two brand new Chevy Suburbans. Both were black with four-doors. Each vehicle had wide, steel-belted radial tires. They were fully equipped, with a few extra options installed: 454 engines; bullet-proof glass; reinforced roofs, door panels, and undercarriages; and security systems. In the end parking space were two Zodiacs, lined up one behind the other.

  “I’m really beginning to like your friends!” Adler laughed, as they started walking around the Suburbans.

  Grant let his eyes roam the interior of the garage, commenting, “There’s gotta be another space somewhere.”

  “For what?”

  “They had to think about our special gear, Joe--the explosive kind. Matt probably gave some feedback when this was being built.” He started walking the inside perimeter. “C’mon. Let’s see if we can find where it is.”

  Starting from opposite ends, they worked their way toward the middle, but found nothing. Then Adler got down on a knee, and looked under the vehicles. “You got keys to the Chevys?”

  “What’d you find?”

  “Looks like there’s some sort of cover under this one; can’t tell what it is.”

  Grant backed the vehicle out of the garage.

  “I’d say this is what you were looking for,” Adler said, pointing. Embedded in the concrete was a door that was similar to one on an armored truck. “Have any idea what the combination is?”

  Grant pulled off his gloves, as he stared down at the lock. He hadn’t been given any combination. Rubbing the back of his neck, he tried to think of everything discussed during his meeting with the three men. Dates, times, anything with numbers.

  Then Adler saw the grin, and he said, “Okay. This I’ve gotta see.”

  Grant knelt down and started dialing. When he stopped, he motioned with his hand. “Care to give it a try?”

  “Get the hell outta here!” Adler reached for the handle and pulled. “Shit!” Looking up at Grant, he asked, “Gonna tell me?”

  Grant stood. “The date I graduated BUD/S.”

  Adler pulled the door back on its hinges. “You can actually remember that far back?” he smirked.

  Grant ignored the comment. “Looks like another door down there. I don’t see a light switch. See if there’s a flashlight in the glovebox.”

  He stood at the top of the metal stairs, when suddenly, a light on the sidewall
turned on. “Must be a timer when the door opens.”

  Adler stood behind him. “You’ve gotta have two keys for each of those,” he pointed. Two mortise-type locks were set into the door.

  Grant sorted through the keys, separating four that were similar in size. He unlocked the door.

  They went into an empty room. It was at least twenty-by-twenty. Adler scoped out the area, looking at the overhead and sidewalls, finally commenting, “Ya know, this looks like one of those specially made storage magazines. They must’ve dropped it into this hole,” he said, as he motioned with his arms, “then built around it.”

  “Think you’re right, Joe.”

  “More than enough space to hold det cord,” Adler said with a laugh.

  “Guess we’ve seen enough,” Grant said as he started up the stairs.

  With everything locked and the garage doors closed, they got back in the Vette, and Grant backed the car down the path, and parked in front of the house.

  Adler got out, took a couple of steps, then he slowly made a one-eighty as he commented, “It sure is quiet out here.”

  “Quiet’s good. I’m meeting with Scott tonight, so you and I have gotta put our heads together and come up with a team. We’ll start with at least five names, and maybe a few extra in case we get turned down by somebody.”

  “You actually think any of those guys would?”

  “People change, Joe. Families could make a difference.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Then I guess this’ll be our meeting place?”

  “Affirmative. Oh, one more thing. When we’re through here, we’ll take a ride to an airfield not far from this place. There’s a C-130 and a Gulfstream waiting for us.” The aircraft had Grumman’s U.S. military designation C-11. The basic airfoils for the main area of the wing were similar to those of the A-6 Intruder. It can accommodate up to 14 passengers, and is powered by two Rolls-Royce Spey turbofan engines. Its max speed is 581 mph; cruising speed 483 mph; range 3,680 miles.

  “Jesus! How the hell much money do your friends have?!”

  “Don’t think we could count that high!”

  Looking at Grant as Grant unlocked the front door, Adler had to laugh. “You’re enjoying this shit, aren’t you?”

  “Old habits, my friend!”

  *

  Grant’s apartment

  2100 Hours

  Fresh, hot coffee finished perking in the kitchen, sending aromas of the brew throughout the apartment. Grant sat on the edge of the couch, taking a gulp of Coke from the bottle. He was waiting for a knock on the door or ring of the bell. He was waiting for Scott Mullins.

  Another chapter of his life was about to begin, albeit, still as a covert operator, but now as a civilian. All financing for missions would come from four men who came out of nowhere, looking specifically for him. And any minute he’d be meeting his contact. The man who’d handle all future missions for him and his men.

  Suddenly, there were two sharp raps on the door. He swallowed the last mouthful of Coke, then carried the bottle to the kitchen. He dropped it in the trash as he walked to the door then opened it.

  The appearance of the man standing in front of him caught him off guard. The resemblance was uncanny: Same color brown hair, brown eyes, same build, same 5’10” height. No doubt about it. This was Tony Mullins’ brother.

  For an instant Grant felt a sudden twinge of sadness, then he smiled and extended a hand. “Scott!”

  Mullins returned Grant’s firm handshake. “Great to meet you, Grant!”

  “Come on in!” Grant closed the door. “Still colder than hell out there, huh?”

  “Yeah. I’m trying to remember what Tony used to say, something he got from you.”

  “You mean ‘colder than a witch’s tit’?”

  “That’s it!”

  Grant laughed, then said, “Take your coat off. You can hang it on that hook.” He pointed next to the door.

  Mullins put a leather briefcase on the floor, then put his gloves in his pocket, unwrapped a scarf then hung up his coat.

  “Well, how about some coffee to warm you up? Or I can get you something with more of a ‘kick.’ Or, I can put the ‘kick’ in the coffee!”

  “Let’s start with plain old coffee.”

  “How do you take it?”

  “Straight.”

  Grant poured the steaming coffee into two white mugs, handed one to Mullins, then led the way into the living room.

  “Have a seat,” Grant said, motioning to the couch. He sat in a chair opposite the couch then sipped the coffee. Staring at the hot brew, he kept his head lowered before saying, “Listen, Scott. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Tony, for what happened. He was a good friend. I’ll never forget him, or forget what he tried. . .”

  Mullins leaned forward, and put the mug on the table. He rubbed his hands together, as he looked at Grant. “You mean when he tried to save you?”

  All Grant could do was nod slowly. “Yeah.”

  “Look, Grant, I’ve read the reports. I’ve talked to certain people. I know what happened as if I’d been there.” He stood up and walked to the window. Grant followed him with his eyes.

  Mullins turned around, came back to the couch and sat down. “Tony wanted to be there, Grant. His head was as hard as this,” he smiled, as he wrapped his knuckles on the table.

  Grant finally relaxed, then grinned. “Harder! Our disagreements were a common occurrence! We came toe-to-toe a couple of times.” There was a brief pause between the two before Grant said, “What say we talk about why you’re here. Maybe we can start with who you’re working for. I’m curious who’ll be signing off on our missions.”

  Mullins wrapped his hands around the coffee mug. “I’m part of the State Department’s ‘family tree.’ My boss is Operations Officer, Stan Zigler. He reports directly to the Deputy Director, Galen Porter, who in turn reports to the Director, Colonel James Maclin. Only the four of us within State will be aware of you and your team.” He blew into the mug before taking a sip.

  Grant nodded. “And since the missions and equipment aren’t being financed with government funds. . .”

  “Exactly. No prior approvals will be required.”

  “I have a feeling there’re more involved, Scott--and outside of State. I was told everything will be completely legal. So that tells me somebody higher up has to make the decision when my team will be needed, and that somebody has to approve the missions,” Grant said with a raised eyebrow.

  “That’ll be up to the man in the White House. He’ll disseminate any information he obtains from briefings with the CIA and FBI. He’ll make his decisions from those briefings then contact the Director.”

  “The NSA’s gotta be ‘hiding’ in there somewhere. There’s no way in hell those folks would be left outta the loop.”

  Mullins nodded in agreement. “You’re right. Nobody would dare omit them.”

  Grant stood then pointed to Mullins’ coffee mug. “Warm-up?” Mullins handed him the mug. As Grant walked into the kitchen, he said over his shoulder, “What about funds? What if we need ‘haul ass’ money?”

  “Your benefactors have set up an offshore account. You can make withdrawals from any bank, foreign or domestic.”

  Grant came back into the living room and handed Mullins the coffee before commenting, “I guess most of the conversations will be between you and me.”

  “That’s right. I’ll give you a mobile number and a special number to a secure phone at my home. I’d like to set up code names, mostly for when you’re in the field.”

  Grant sat on the edge of the couch. “Think it’d be a good idea for Joe to have one, too--just as a backup.”

  “I assume you mean Joe Adler?”

  The right side of Grant’s mouth curved up. “Yeah. I do. Do you have code names in mind?”

  “How about you take ‘Panther 1’?”

  Grant’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Mullins. “You’re scaring me, Scott. Wait a minute. Tony?”

/>   “Who else?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re ‘Mountain Man’?”

  “Actually, ‘MM 2.’ Suits me, don’t you think?” Mullins laughed, rubbing a hand over his clean shaven face.

  Grant pictured the first time he met Tony Mullins aboard the Bronson. He was sporting straggly hair and beard.

  Grant responded, “Not yet. But you’ve got time! Oh, how about we give Joe the code name ‘Mustang’?”

  Mullins started writing. “Care to explain?”

  “In Navy speak, a ‘mustang’ is an enlisted man who came up through the ranks to officer level. And, well, Joe’s got this hot ’67 red Mustang.”

  “Sweet!” Mullins smiled before picking up his coffee mug. “Have you had a chance to look at the vehicles and equipment waiting for you?”

  “Didn’t have much time the night I met those gentlemen.” Grant reached into his pants pocket. “They gave me these before I left the property.” He held up a ring of keys. “Joe and I drove out there early this morning.” He sat back, resting his right foot on his left knee. “Christ, Scott! Who are those guys? Where the hell did they get the kind of money to support this? They’ve gotta have endless resources.”

  “Don’t know. What I can tell you is you’re one step ahead of me.”

  “How so?

  “You’ve met them. I haven’t.”

  “You’re shittin’ me, right?”

  Mullins shook his head. “Phone calls only, and always the same person.”

  Grant raised an eyebrow. “And that person didn’t give you a name?”

  “When he does call--which isn’t often--the call comes in on a specific line, and only rings on my phone. The identity of those men is need to know. That includes the White House, the Director, Deputy Director, and now. . .you. In my opinion, the main connection is the White House, and most likely the President. And that remains between you and me.”

  “Understood. Do you think they had to sign any type of non-disclosure agreement?”

  Mullins pondered the question. “You know, that’s interesting you should ask. Right now, I can’t answer, but let me see if I can find out.”