“Can’t be,” Joe Tucker said.
Burnham made a downward motion with his hand. “Man must have just come back from liberty.” He looked at MacDonald. “Still living in his glory of tracking the thing for two days.”
“I listened to the noise he was listening to,” Burkeet protested.
Joe Tucker shrugged. “Most likely a noise from one of the other ships in port.”
“Has Chief Stalzer listened to it?” MacDonald asked.
Burkeet shook his head, recalling stumbling into the chief when Stalzer was returning from downtown. “I’m not sure he’s on board.”
Burnham laughed. “Oh, he’s on board all right; just not sure we’ll be able to wake him.” Everyone looked at Burnham. “He came back aboard before midnight. I’d say he had a few before returning.”
“If he was able to walk aboard, then he’s able to get up and go double-check whatever it is that Oliver has,” MacDonald snapped. Several seconds of silence passed. “Look, Don, you go wake your chief and get back to Sonar. The rest of you get out of here so I can dress.”
Dolinski stood up. He wiped his hands on the fake U.S. Navy dungarees. “That should do it.”
“We can go?” Gromeko asked from the doorway.
“Not yet,” Dolinski said as he walked briskly toward Gromeko. “I’ve got to string the antenna.” He squatted by the knapsack, shined his red-lens flashlight into it, and pulled a coil of wire from it.
“Antenna?”
“It’s easy. I am going to connect it here to the monitoring system. Then I will run it to one of the poles outside: a line antenna. It will also turn the lines into antennas to help transmit the conversations our system picks up.”
“All that fresh wire will be noticed.”
Dolinski shook his head. “I won’t be using all of this. Just enough to — Why am I explaining this to you, comrade? You know nothing about electromagnetic waves and propagation.”
I know about arrogance, Gromeko thought, turning his attention toward the outside once again. He watched as Dolinski wound the wire through and under the overhead wires and then with a long blade made a hole to slip the coil of wire through.
Nearly a minute passed before Dolinski stood. “It is done. Now we go outside.” Dolinski walked quickly toward Gromeko, bent and without stopping grabbed his knapsack and walked briskly by him.
Gromeko followed, holding the pistol in his hand. He had pulled it a few minutes ago as his anxiety grew over what he considered inordinate time being taken by the whistling Dolinski. “Have you tested it?”
“We are too close to test it. We will test it once we are in the drainpipe.”
Dolinski picked up the coil of wire from the ground outside. He tossed it up so it went over the top of the lines running from the building to the nearby telephone pole. He did is several times. “There! That should do it.”
Unwinding the wire, the Spetsnaz officer walked backward to the pole, then holding the coil with one hand, he started to climb the steel rungs protruding from the pole. Stopping at the top, he pulled the wire tight, then wound it around the lines there several times before cutting it.
“Here!” Dolinski said to Gromeko, dropping the coil down to him.
Gromeko caught the wire and put it into Dolinski’s knapsack. A moment later the two officers stood side by side. Dolinski’s eyes traveled along the lines running from the building to the top of the pole.
“Too dark to tell if it sticks out.”
“It doesn’t stick out, Motka,” Dolinski said. “I just wanted to make sure it was not sagging.”
From a distance the sound of a siren caused both officers to pause. “Think they are coming here?” Gromeko asked.
“If they had any type of security here on the base, they would have been here minutes ago.” Dolinski grunted. “Maybe we will be lucky and it will be their marines.”
A second siren joined the first.
“We should hurry.” Or we may be unlucky and it will be their marines.
“On second thought, maybe tangling with their marines would ruin our covert mission.” Dolinski laughed. “Though I would enjoy a chance to see if they are as tough as they say.” With that, he broke into a run. Gromeko followed.
When they reached the alley where they had entered, the other three Spetsnaz waited.
“Let’s get out of here,” Gromeko whispered, twirling his finger in the air.
The five men took off at a run, Fedulova slowed to bring up the rear. Zosimoff sprinted forward taking the point. Malenkov was slightly behind him, knowing his English would be the only thing that might buy them time to reach the waters.
They passed the first set of warehouses and were between the last rows when car lights lit up the end of the warehouse on the left. Zosimoff stopped, squatted, and whistled. Malenkov caught up and squatted beside him. Both had their pistols out. A siren accompanied the car light.
Gromeko dashed to the right and Dolinski to the left, both men flattening themselves against the warehouses. Behind them, Chief Fedulova went to one knee on the gravel-filled terrain.
Across from Gromeko, Dolinski had the strap from the knapsack across his left shoulder. His pistol was in his right hand.
Gromeko licked his lips. Fighting their way off this base would endanger their mission, and it would not take long for the Americans to discover the K-122.
The lights disappeared even as the sound of the engine and siren grew. The car was going down the alley on the other side of the warehouse where Dolinski had taken cover. Gromeko stepped into the center of the alley. “Go! Go! Go!” he shouted, figuring the siren would cover his shouts.
The five men were up, back in the center of the alley, sprinting toward the road. If they could get in the water, nothing would stop them.
As Zosimoff reached the road, a fresh set of lights blazed around the corner. He was caught in their light. Malenkov dove to the right side for the shadows.
“Halt! Stay right where you are!” an American voice commanded.
Gromeko motioned Dolinski to the right. Both men sprinted along the edge of the shadow. Behind them the siren was fading as the car drove between the next row of warehouses. Gromeko glanced back, but Fedulova was nowhere to be seen. But he was back there, Gromeko knew that. No Spetsnaz left another. What was the French saying, “One for all and all for one”? It could have been the motto for the Special Forces of many nations.
Zosimoff opened his left hand and let the pistol fall onto the ground.
“Sarge, he’s got a gun!”
Familiar clicks like a quick cacophony of crickets told Gromeko and the others that there were more than two or three hidden behind the bright lights. Though Gromeko could not see them, he knew weapons were aimed at Zosimoff. He touched Dolinski and the two officers hurried forward.
“Raise your hands!”
Zosimoff stood, his head turned toward the unseen men hidden by the end of the right warehouse.
Malenkov reached the end of the warehouse, his back pressed against it. “Raise your hands!” he said in Russian.
Zosimoff raised his hands.
“Put them on top of your head!”
The sound of running boots on the graveled road drew their attention. Gromeko and Dolinski reached the area near Malenkov.
“Get him, men! Knock his ass on the ground! Hemmings, you get that piece!” Three marines in full utility uniforms, carrying M-14 carbines, came into sight. Running full-tilt at Zosimoff. The first one drew his weapon back as if intending to smack Zosimoff in the face. The other two kept the barrels aimed at what they thought was a wayward sailor available for some Marine Corps attention.
Zosimoff moved fast as the first marine reached him, shoving his right palm into the man’s nose and grabbing the carbine as the man yelled in pain on his way down to his knees. Before Gromeko could shout “No,” Zosimoff had fired an automatic burst, taking out the other two men. Gunfire erupted as bullets ripped into Zosimoff.