Grant pushed his way past him. “I told you. We’re here to help.”
Small cuts from broken glass, bruises and scrapes were on his face and hands. Blood from a cut above his eyebrow had dripped on his shirt. Spots of blood had already dried on his clothes. He rubbed a shoulder as he went into the living room, walking past both men. He continued holding the gun. “How’d you know about this place? I mean, its location?”
“Uh, information was turned over to me by a certain party member.” Grant unzipped his jacket, making sure Kalinin knew he was armed, too.
Kalinin’s eyes narrowed. “Comrade Vikulin, right?”
“He’s the one.”
Now Kalinin understood the KGB officer’s line of questioning and suspicions toward him. “But how’d you know I was here?”
“Part guess,” Grant answered. “C’mon. Sit down. Let Joe take a look at those cuts.”
Adler knelt next to the couch and opened the bag. “Guess there aren’t any broken bones, right?” he asked as he dabbed antiseptic on the cuts.
Kalinin shook his head. “Doesn’t feel like it, mostly muscle soreness.”
Grant sat at the opposite end of the couch. “How’d you get here?”
“Hitched a ride on trucks.”
“Nobody questioned your injuries?!”
Kalinin managed a brief smile. “I wasn’t always riding in the cab.” He turned his head to look at Grant. “I can’t believe you’re taking the risk in coming here. Why?”
“Don’t know. Just felt we had to.” It was the only answer he could think of. “Weren’t you in cuffs?”
“Found the key in one of their pockets.”
Adler put the last of the Band-Aids on Kalinin. “Okay. That’ll have to do.” He closed the bag then stood.
Kalinin touched above his eye. “Thanks.” He got up and went to the front window, with Grant watching him. He finally turned around. “You don’t expect me to ‘come over,’ do you?”
“That’d be your decision.”
“So, you’re going to turn me in.”
“No.”
Kalinin was shocked, confused, but asking for a reason hardly mattered for now. “Then, what happens next?” He put the gun in his front waistband.
Grant finally stood. “There’s probably a shitload of folks looking for you. The best we can do is take you to the embassy.”
“Which one?” Kalinin asked with somewhat of a smile.
“Don’t think you wanna come to ours.” Grant started walking the room with his head down, hands thrust into his pockets. “We can’t hold off until dark. We’ve gotta get you to the embassy, without your being seen.”
“Or us,” Adler quipped.
“Right, Joe.” He swiveled his head, searching the room with his eyes. “Is there a scrambler installed?”
“There was, but that was the first thing I looked for. The phone’s been disconnected. Everything was removed.”
“Everything?” Grant said with a slight smile.
“Everything, but I can’t figure out why.”
Grant turned away, rubbing his chin. “The parking garage on L Street.”
“You know about that, too?!”
Grant continued his train of thought. “We’ll take you there, then you can call the embassy to have someone pick you up.”
“Uh, Skipper. What about the plane? You know?”
Grant looked directly at Kalinin. “Hate to tell you, but there was some kind of accident. The Antonov went down in the North Sea.”
Kalinin sucked in a lungful of air, shocked. “Any survivors?”
“Last we heard, no.”
The Russian ran his hands over his disheveled hair. “They think I’m dead, don’t they?”
“Afraid so.”
He looked around the room. “That’s why the equipment was removed.” He was quiet for a brief moment. “Guess when I make that call it’ll have to be brief.” He planned on using his code name: Antares.
“And you’ll probably want to use your code name,” Grant said.
“I’d like to know you better, Grant Stevens!”
“Wish we had the time. Are you ready?”
“Let’s go.”
“Joe, get the car, bring it behind the garage.” Adler left.
Twenty-five minutes later they were in the parking garage, on the top level. Cars were coming and going, doors were slamming, people were rushing to and from elevators. Exhaust fumes permeated the air.
Adler drove slowly down the outer aisle. “There,” Grant pointed. “A phone booth.”
Adler pulled behind a parked vehicle. Grant got out then Kalinin. Grant reached into his pocket and pulled out some change. Sorting through the coins, he gave Kalinin a quarter. “I know it’s not secured, but you’ve got no choice. We’ll wait.”
Grant leaned against the car, with a hand resting on the handle of his .45. Keeping an eye on Kalinin, he questioned what he and Adler had just done. Aiding and abetting a foreign spy. A Russian. “Christ!” he whispered between clenched teeth. His motives were unclear. Maybe this was finally the time when his instincts would be his demise.
“Someone will be here shortly,” Kalinin said.
Everyone turned as a white Pontiac LeMans drove past them, heading for the down ramp.
“We’ll pull over there until you’re safe.” Grant pointed toward a darkened area at the end of the aisle.
Kalinin leaned toward the open window, giving a slight wave to Adler. “Thanks.”
Then he extended a hand to Grant, who latched onto it firmly. The two just looked at one another.
Kalinin said, “This sure is … ”
“Strange?” Grant asked.
“Yeah. Strange. Listen, saying thanks just doesn’t seem to be enough,” Kalinin finally said.
“It’s enough. Do svidaniya, Nick.”
“Do svidaniya, Grant.”
Grant got in the car, and Adler drove to the far end of the aisle, then pulled into a hatch-marked, no-parking space. They both turned sideways, watching out the rearview window.
Headlights appeared, and a black Mercedes pulled in front of Kalinin. He got in the front seat, closed the door, and the Mercedes immediately headed for the exit.
“Well, Skipper, another fine ending, except, I wonder what Leavenworth’s like this time of year?” He backed the Mustang up, then shifted into first.
As Adler turned left onto L Street, he asked, “What about Nick? Do you think he’ll let the ‘cat outta the bag’ that it was us who helped him?”
“My gut?”
“What else?”
“Don’t think so. C’mon. Let’s head back to Eagle 8. We’ve gotta report to the guys, and I’ll have to call Scott.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t ask, but what about the President? Think he should know?”
“That’s the tough one, Joe. Really tough.”
Chapter 18
Ambassador Vazov stood by the desk in the lobby, still unbelieving Kalinin was alive. He was more than curious, though, to hear the entire story.
Zelesky drove the Mercedes close to the entrance, trying to give Kalinin some cover, allowing him to stay in the shadow of trees. A black van was parked across the street, undoubtedly FBI.
Kalinin walked into the lobby, looking tired and obviously injured. Vazov reached for Kalinin’s extended hand, but immediately put a finger to his own lips, then pointed to the elevator.
Once the elevator motor started, Vazov said, “Nicolai, we thought you were dead!”
“I am sorry that I was unable to contact you.”
“You are hurt.”
“Nothing serious, sir.”
“We will go to my residence. I will give you food and drink.”
As they rode the elevator, Kalinin felt it strange to be inside the Russian Embassy. The closest he’d been was the morning he left the newspaper, the start of his mission, a mission that ended in failure. It was not easy for him to face the ambassador now, a man who had expressed such confidence in him, depended on him to get the weapons to their intended destinations. But Grant Stevens and his team of specialists derailed the entire plan.