Without hesitating, Grant and Adler rolled under the plane, staying in its shadow, and the shadow of the fuel truck, looking aft, waiting, not moving.
Garrett backed away from the fuel truck, keeping an eye on the two UFs. Then he inconspicuously adjusted his earpiece.
Spotting the two men as they ran around the tail of the plane, Grant and Adler slowly crabbed their way aft, taking shelter next to the starboard wheels. They were able to see both UFs, wearing long, black leather coats. Then they heard someone stomping through the cabin.
The two men stopped near the steps, then dropped two suitcases. One of them shouted in Russian, “Open it!” He pointed to the cargo hold.
Vikulin stood at the top of the steps. “Who are you!”
“We were ordered here from East Berlin by Comrade Director Antolov! Now, open the compartment!” Orders also dictated they verified weapons were onboard.
Vikulin wasn’t satisfied. No mention of these two men had been made by the ambassador, unless he had not been informed either. With everything that had happened recently, Vikulin wasn’t about to trust two strangers.
“I must see your credentials!” he ordered. His shoes pounded on each step as he came down.
Kalinin stood in the doorway, with his hand gripping his Makarov behind his back.
The two men opened their coats, showing their KGB badges pinned to their suit jackets.
The sound of the fuel truck’s engine caught everyone off guard. Then hearing the sound of voices, all three Russians reached for weapons in shoulder holsters. The crew came around from the nose of the plane, and stopped dead in their tracks.
Vikulin stepped aside, motioning for them to board. They hurried into the cabin, stepping in front of Kalinin, then went to the cockpit, trying to avoid the situation by beginning their takeoff checklist.
One of the strangers took a step closer to Vikulin, as he removed a folded red ID card with the KGB symbol on front, and “KGB CCCP” printed across the bottom. He held it near Vikulin’s face. “Comrade Vikulin, you are one of the reasons we are here.”
Vikulin had no choice. He said to Kalinin, “Have them open the cargo door.” Kalinin remained where he was, giving the order to the crew.
Grant and Adler held their breaths. Whatever was going to happen, they were going to be involved.
Refueling of the Gulfstream was completed. As the truck drove away, Garrett ran down the starboard side toward the tail, then stopped. He knew where Slade and the other two men were, but, as expected, he couldn’t see them. He pressed the PTT, and whispered, “Eight-Four heading into plane.” The Team now knew where he was. No response was necessary.
As he slowly made his way around to the port side, he had to act nonchalant. He was just another pilot, making a cursory inspection of his aircraft, checking under the wings, looking at tires, looking in the cargo area. He stopped briefly near the steps. The Russians were partially hidden by the Antonov’s wing, but seemed to be checking inside the cargo hold. No one was paying attention to him.
He climbed the steps slowly, whispering into his throat mike, “Coming in, Doc.” Once aboard, he rushed to the cockpit, and climbed into the pilot’s seat. “Do you see Grant and Joe?”
“They’re near the starboard side tires.”
Garrett brought the binoculars close, finally spotting Grant and Adler. Holding the glasses with his left hand, he drew his .45 from the shoulder holster. “Doc, watch for Grant’s signal to fire up the engines.”
“Roger.” All they could do was wait, watch and prepare for anything.
Vikulin stood motionless, with his eyes going from one KGB man to the next. He finally said, “I have done nothing wrong. You need to question him!” he said pointing to Kalinin.
Kalinin stood in the doorway, not moving, not replying, the grip on his weapon remaining firm.
Across the airfield, a small vehicle was towing a BOAC 737 toward a hangar, while engines roared as a 707 landed on Runway 06. Grant had enough. He motioned to Adler. They crawled out from under the plane on the starboard side just behind the wing. Getting up into a crouch, they silently went to the tail end. The Russians were still in confrontation mode.
Grant spotted Garrett in the cockpit with glasses on him and Adler. He held an arm up and twirled two fingers in the air, then held one finger. Garrett laid the glasses down, ready to start the engines in one minute. All lights would remain off until the Team was onboard. Only then would he notify the control tower they were ready for an airport marshaller.
Grant pressed the PTT, whispering, “Seven-Three, Zero-Niner. Confirm sights on targets.”
“Sights on targets,” Novak responded as he and James eased forward, staying hidden near the machinery. Slade waited for Grant’s signal. Novak got down on the tarmac and stretched out on his belly with his weapon ready.
“Zero-Niner and Two-Seven going in.” The entire Team heard Grant in their earpieces.
Grant gave Adler a nod. Adler took off, hustling along the starboard side of the plane, then positioned himself near the nose. Once he was in place, he pressed the PTT. “On three. One. Two. Three.”
The timing was perfect. As Garrett started the Gulfstream’s engines, the Russians were distracted just long enough. Grant and Adler came from opposite directions, with weapons pointed straight ahead.
The three men spotted Adler, started to react, when Grant came from behind, shouting in Russian, “Hands up! Hands up!” The Russians spun around, with their hands still on their holstered weapons. Again Grant shouted, “Hands up! I will shoot!” Hands slowly raised. He pointed to Kalinin, “You too! Hands up!” Kalinin brought his hand from behind his back, then he raised both hands, still holding his Makarov.
“Drop it! Now!” Grant ordered.
Kalinin leaned forward and dropped the weapon on the ground. “Down here!” Grant motioned with a hand. Kalinin slowly came down the steps. Seeing the Russian up close and personal gave Grant a brief, unsettling moment.
Suddenly, Slade came out of nowhere, rushing toward the plane, aiming his weapon. Surprised again, the Russians snapped their heads around, watching Slade run behind them. Without stopping, he ran up the steps, taking charge of the crew.
Grant ordered again, “Drop your weapons. Now!” The three KGB men remained defiant, angered, focusing their stare on Grant, until seeing Adler move into position just beyond them. Still, no one budged.
Enough of this shit! Grant thought. He backed up a step, held up his left fist, raised one finger, then he immediately made another tight fist.
An instantaneous sound of a loud clap in the distance. One of the KGB men shouted in pain, grabbing his right arm where the bone had shattered. He collapsed on the tarmac, with blood running down his arm.
Again, Grant shouted, “Now! Drop them!” Vikulin and his KGB counterpart finally removed weapons from shoulder holsters, letting them fall to the ground.
Mike Novak readied himself again, waiting for Grant to signal.
Kalinin was standing near Vikulin, not taking his eyes from Grant. He knew without a doubt that these were the same men who were on the cargo ship. Suddenly, the connection was made. The man in the photograph he’d been informed of. The American who looked like him. Although all he could see were brown eyes because of the mask, he thought, It’s got to be him!
Grant continued in Russian. “Now, the three of you, transfer those pouches to that aircraft,” he indicated with a quick movement of his weapon. “As a warning, I have more men ready. Move!”