In the Mouth of the Wolf

by Jamie Fredric

  As Moore started clipping the fence wire, he kept glancing up, looking for any sign of trouble, trying to be as quiet as possible.

  Remaining stretched out on his stomach, Grant pushed himself backwards, trying to get behind some tall brush for cover. He stripped off his cammie shirt and pants, then rolled them into a tight bundle. Before he put on the tattered brown civilian jacket, he stuck the .45 into his waistband. Finally, he put on the worker’s cap, pulling it down as close to his eyes as he could.

  Moore had cut through enough of the wire to allow a section to be pushed forward, with less chance of catching their clothes on the sharp edges, and giving them enough room to slip through.

  Grant had just crawled next to him, when suddenly, they both went stone-still, spotting two men patrolling around the building, coming from opposite sides, with Uzis slung over their shoulders.

  Moore shifted his eyes to Grant, seeing the frustration, and the clenching of his jaw. Moore could only wonder where the hell the two guards came from.

  After a couple of seconds Grant looked at him, with a slight grin on his face. Moore waited until the guards disappeared before he said, “You’re not thinking what I hope you’re not thinking,” he whispered.

  “I see Uzis. They’re just what I need to complete my ensemble. And, it gives me the perfect cover to get into that building.”

  “You taking Vince?”

  “He’s part of the equation, since he’s the one who speaks the language.” He glanced at his watch, then looked for the Team, finally spotting them coming toward him. With his palm facing them, he signaled for them to stay where they were. He tugged on Moore’s sleeve. Silently they backed up, ensuring they put at least another fifteen feet between them and the fence.

  Looking to make sure the guards hadn’t come back, Grant whispered, “Vince, get rid of those cammies.” Russo nodded, then Grant added, “We saw Grigori, men. He’s on the roof of the barracks.”

  Moore smiled, bobbing his head up and down. “Captain signaled him and he knows we’re here.”

  Before anyone could comment, Grant asked, “Okay, now what’d you find out?”

  Cranston reported first. “Three guards at the dig site; no pattern; carrying Uzis.”

  “What about total numbers?” Grant asked.

  “Counted about twenty-five but don’t know how many may be inside the hangar and barracks.”

  “Bodies?”

  “Two near hangar; looked like civilians.”

  “Hostages?”

  Simpson replied, “Sorry, sir, couldn’t see inside, but lights were on.”

  “There were lights down in the tunnel, too, sir,” Womack reported. “Don’t know how many men were in there.”

  Simpson said, “We did see they’ve brought some canisters out of the tunnel; had them lined up ten to fifteen feet from the tunnel entrance, sitting next to old Fiat flatbed trucks.”

  Moore glanced back at the building, seeing the guards making another pass, checking his watch.

  “Looks like it’s the nerve gas they were after,” Grant finally commented, with affirmation. “Guess EOD didn’t complete their work.” He had to move on; had to get the mission going. “Okay, Ray, are the guards on any set pattern?”

  “It’s been ten minutes since their last pass, so looks like they’re just patrolling that building.” He looked back and saw them coming around again. “That’s it. Ten minutes.”

  “Okay. Vince, you and I’ll go first and take care of those two guards.” He thought for a moment. “Think we’d better interrogate at least one of them; try and find where the hostages are; shouldn’t take long,” he smirked. “Vince, I’ll leave it up to you to do the G2.”

  Russo nodded, giving a thumb's up.

  Grant continued. “It’s black as pitch on the north side so we’ll dump the bodies in the brush when we’re through. Ray, when we’re done, we’ll signal you, then we’ll work our way into the building.”

  Grant looked over his shoulder briefly. “Grigori must’ve climbed up to the roof through a vent or something, so we’ll go through there. Once we’re on the roof, we’ll lower the rope. Paul, go get it.” He waited until Cranston returned then said, “Once we’re together, we should be able to get a better view of what we’re up against. Questions?” A shaking of heads answered that. “One last check of weapons and equipment. Ray, bring our rucksacks with you. Let’s get going.”

  Chapter 10

  AFN - On Roof of Barracks

  As much as he had hoped for rescue during the past long hours, Grigori Moshenko could not have been more surprised nor more grateful. He slowly lowered his exhausted body onto the cold concrete. His friend had finally come.

  He hadn’t realized how tired he was until he looked at Tarasov and Rusnak, huddled together, somehow finding a way to get some sleep. He had to prepare them for whatever was to happen.

  Pushing himself to a kneeling position, he took a deep breath before standing, feeling the stiffness in his right knee.

  Deciding to hold off for awhile before talking to the comrades, he slowly walked over to the edge of the roof, rubbing his knee. Straining his eyes in the darkness, he focused on the area beyond the fence, looking for any other signal Grant might be trying to send, or any sign of Grant. It was no use. They’re only seen when they want to be seen, he thought.

  He was sure Grant had seen the guards and had probably timed their movement just as he had done. Every ten minutes. He peered over the edge, watching the two Italian guards stop briefly to talk. Within seconds they walked away from each other, eventually disappearing around the side of the building.

  Keeping his eyes on the spot where he’d seen the signal, three minutes later he saw another brief flicker of light, presumably meant for him. Then two men, in crouching positions, came rushing through the opening in the fence, heading toward the building. He stared in amazement, seeing that both men were dressed in what appeared to be Italian workers’ clothing.

  Scrambling across the open field, Grant and Russo reached the building then immediately flattened their bodies against it. Russo lifted the rope off his shoulder and laid it behind him.

  Moshenko leaned farther, trying to see more clearly. Just then, Grant looked up at him, and gave a thumb’s up. Moshenko calmed himself, and responded with a quick salute. Totally fascinated now, he couldn’t take his eyes away, anxious for whatever was to happen next.

  Grant and Russo separated, sliding their backs along the building, moving to opposite corners. Checking their watches, and if the guards were on time, there were only two minutes left for them to reappear. With K-bars drawn, they waited.

  Moshenko edged closer to the corner, with Grant directly below. The Russian wished he could be involved in whatever was about to happen, but for now, he was just an innocent observer.

  Suddenly, he spotted one of the guards walking along the path, acting totally bored, kicking at stones and dirt.

  Grant tensed, hearing the scuffle of shoes and the sound of something being kicked across dirt. Pressing his body against the building, he raised the knife, its razor-sharp blade pointing straight up.

  The guard took one step around the corner, and without a chance to cry out or fire his weapon, Grant sprang at him like a jungle cat, clamping his strong hand across the mouth, plunging the knife up, just below the sternum. The guard’s eyes opened wide, almost in disbelief before he collapsed on the ground. Grant fell with him, keeping the mouth covered until the body stopped twitching. Still kneeling, he pulled the knife from the chest, wiped off the blood on the dried grass, then immediately turned to see Russo kneeling over the other guard. In less than a minute, Russo completed the G2, then he finished the job.

  They dragged the bodies into the brush. Grant pulled a penlight from his pocket and signaled the team. Then he looked up at Moshenko, pointed to himself and then up, indicating they were coming in.

  Moshenko went quickly to the two huddling Russians. “Comrades, the Americans are on their way
.”

  Tarasov sat up straight, and with a questioning stare, he asked, “How do you know? When will they be here?”

  “Sooner than you think, Comrade Tarasov,” Moshenko responded with certainty. He immediately turned and went near the vent, knowing Grant would figure it out. Now, all he could do was wait.

  With the confiscated Uzis slung over their shoulders, Grant and Russo had separated and taken the same path as the two Italian guards, walking just as slowly, and finally meeting up at the front door.

  Lingering there briefly, they tried to take in as much as they could from their surroundings. Grant felt uneasy. There still wasn’t any sign of EOD.

  A lot of activity was taking place around the trucks and tunnel entrance. Loud voices shouted instructions, as men jumped on and off the trucks. From what Grant could see, two trucks near the end of the caravan had their hoods raised, and men were leaning over the fenders. One man raised what appeared to be a wrench, then he shouted to the driver. The engine started, then died. The driver leaned out the window and shouted, “Merda!” (Shit!)

  With everything going on in the compound, Grant and Russo were ignored. Confirming they weren’t being watched, they turned and entered the building, immediately backing up against a wall by the door, with the Uzis now at the ready.

  All lights were still out. They hesitated briefly, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness. Grant motioned for Russo to stay put, while he cautiously crept to the doorway entrance to a small room. Poking his head around the corner, he saw the room was empty, then he silently made his way to the base of the stairs. He signaled Russo, who took one last look out the entrance, the hustled to meet up with Grant.

  Continuing to stay on high alert, they listened briefly, confirming the first floor was clear. Grant looked up to the top of the stairs, again hearing nothing but silence. Taking one last look behind them, they started advancing up the staircase, sliding their bodies along the wall, taking one cautious sideways step at a time.

  Grant motioned for Russo to keep watch from the top of the stairs. Then, he walked slowly, ducking his head in a room to the right, able to see cots lined along the far wall. He started farther down the darkened hallway, taking a quick check overhead, looking for any sort of access to the roof.

  He approached another doorway on his left. He made a quick check of the darkened room, only seeing more cots. Pressing his back against the wall, he let his eyes follow the ceiling until he spotted something protruding from the overhead, farther down the hall. Stepping slowly until he was directly beneath the cover, he turned to Russo, got his attention, then he cupped a hand near his mouth and looking up, called softly, “Grigori.” Then, he stepped back against the wall, being cautious, keeping the Uzi ready, just in case.

  The vent cover opened. Moshenko leaned over, swiveling his head until he spotted Grant. With a big smile, he motioned with his hand, “My friend! Come, come.”

  Russo hustled to Grant. They handed Moshenko the Uzis, then Russo clasped his hands together, palms up, where Grant was able to put his foot. Moshenko reached down and locked onto Grant’s raised arms, and with a boost from Russo, pulled him up through the opening. Not wasting any time, Grant hauled up Russo.

  Once the cover was sealed again, Moshenko spun Grant around and threw his arms around him, slapping him on the back. “Spaseeba (thanks), my friend! Spaseeba!”

  “How ya doing, Grigori?” Grant questioned with concern. He stepped back, grabbing Moshenko’s shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yes, yes. I am good. I am relieved just seeing you!”

  “Wait one, Grigori; got to get the rest of my men up here. Come on, Vince.” They walked quickly to the back of the building. Using the penlight, Grant signaled and within seconds saw the team rushing across the field.

  Russo tied off one end of the rope around a rebar sticking through the concrete, wrapped it around another, then tossed the rope over the side. “I’ll wait here, sir, if you need to get back.”

  Grant half jogged to where Moshenko was waiting with Tarasov and Rusnak. “Comrades, this is Captain Grant Stevens, my friend.”

  The two Russians stepped closer, offering to shake hands, especially after recognizing Grant’s name. The realization that the Americans may be their only hope to survive the ordeal finally struck home.

  Grant looked past them, watching his men, as he reached down into his rucksack. Speaking in impeccable Russian, Grant handed the paper bag to Moshenko, with his eyes moving to each of the three men, as he said, “We brought some food. It’s not much, but. . .”

  “We are grateful,” Moshenko smiled, handing the bag to Tarasov. “Now, comrades, if you will excuse us, we have things to discuss.”

  Moshenko led Grant to the west side of the roof, being careful not to get too close to the edge where they could be seen.

  Grant hooked his thumbs in his pockets as he spoke quietly. “Listen, Grigori, I’m sorry as hell we couldn’t get to you sooner. I don’t have any bullshit excuses either. It. . .it just took time.”

  “Grant, my friend, you are here, and I am grateful. No bullshit excuse is necessary! That is right, is it not?”

  “You learn too quick!” Grant smiled. But now it was time to ask, time to find out about Adler, about the EOD team. “Grigori, do you know if anything happened to Joe? When did you see him last?”

  “We were together that morning, sharing some food the Italian man brought. Joe and his men left for the hangar not long after. We said we would meet later.” Moshenko looked down, shaking his head.

  “Hey! Grigori!” Grant quietly said, grabbing hold of Moshenko’s arm. “Look at me.” Moshenko looked up, staring into intense brown eyes. “You did what you had to do to keep yourself and your comrades safe. That was your priority. And if I know Joe, he’s probably waiting to kick ass and looking forward to the opportunity.”

  “Am I getting, as you would say, ‘soft,’ Grant? I should not be. I am KGB.”

  “You? Soft? Hell, you’re just being human, my friend.” Out of the corner of his eye, Grant saw his men and he motioned them over. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Officer Grigori Moshenko, my good friend.” The SEALs shook Moshenko’s hand and made quick introductions, before Grant ordered, “Take positions around the roof perimeter. Get some intel. We’ll be heading down soon.” As Moore started past him, he grabbed his arm. “Ray, get me a 16.”

  Moshenko stepped closer, saying, “I will be going with you.”

  “Can’t let that happen, Grigori. You’ve got your responsibilities,” he said, tilting his head toward the two Russians, who were sitting on the concrete, their cheeks bulging with food.

  “Loaded, sir,” Moore said handing Grant the rifle.

  “Here, Grigori, take this.”

  “I have my Makarov. But you. . .”

  “I’ve got enough fire power; don’t worry. Look, when we go, you and the comrades better get off this roof and take shelter in one of the second floor rooms. Did they search the building at any time?”

  Moshenko nodded. “Yes. We heard them. I do not understand why they did not search more for us, especially with the helicopter in the compound.”

  Grant considered that for a moment. “Can’t be sure, Grigori, but even though those men are Mafia, from what I know about them, most are ‘street’ people. The only markings on the helo is the red star and apparently, they never got a chance to see you or your uniform. Nothing to think about right now, except you can consider yourself lucky, huh?” he winked.

  “I would still like to work with you, Grant.”

  “I know, I know, and you still may.”

  “Tell me,” Moshenko replied with enthusiasm, as he stood taller.

  “Your chopper. . .it may come in handy. How’s your fuel supply?”

  “We flew off the Leningrad, so the distance was not long. The fuel is good.”

  Ending that part of the conversation, Grant pressed the PTT. “Ray.”

  Moore backed away from the edge then sto
od next to Grant. “Sir?”

  “Anything to report?”

  “Not much happening now. It appears they finished loading canisters on one of the flatbeds.”

  “Right out of the dig site?” Grant asked incredulously.

  “Yes, sir. Right from the tunnel.”

  “Christ! Did you see anything else?”

  “Negative. Everything on the trucks is covered with tarps.”

  Moore caught Simpson and Cranston frantically waving at him. He grabbed Grant’s sleeve and pointed. “Sir!”

  Grant spun around. He and Moore immediately took off. Laying on their bellies, they crabbed their way forward, trying to get as close as possible to the edge.

  Simpson was pointing rapidly toward a small truck, parked next to the hangar. He whispered, “See, sir? See? It’s the EOD guys! All of ‘em!”

  Grant shook his head slowly, while a smile of relief spread across his face, the tension deep in his belly suddenly gone. But now, whatever plans they had for any kind of rescue had just changed. They all continued watching, half relieved, half worried, as the men were being forced into the bed of the truck, while several guards stood close by. There was no way to tell what the plan was, or where they were being taken. He tapped Moore on the back, signaling a retreat.

  Moshenko had waited until they gathered near him, not knowing what to expect. “What is it, Grant?”

  “It’s Joe and his men, Grigori. They’re okay.”

  Moshenko grabbed both of Grant’s arms, shaking them and him. “Good news! Good news!”

  “Yeah, but we’ve gotta move. Grigori, get the comrades.” Moshenko rushed to the two civilians.

  Grant turned to his men. “Paul, go back and keep your eye on what’s going on as long as you can. See if there are any other vehicles, if those bastards are staying together or splitting up. Go!”

  Moshenko walked close to Grant. “You have something in mind, don’t you?”

  Grant stared into Moshenko’s dark eyes, then waved Moore over to him. “Ray, hand me a couple of those pencil flares.”