“Where, sir?” Moore asked quietly.
“He’s gone. Christ! He’s been hiding up there all this time.” He felt a knot in his stomach. Somehow they had to let him know they were here. He had to chance it. He looked back at the building, then reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a penlight.
Moore reached over and put a hand on Grant’s arm, trying to stop him. “You sure you wanna use that, sir?”
“Can you think of anything else?”
Moore looked at the building then back at Grant and just shook his head.
“Watch for guards,” Grant whispered as he kept his eyes on the roof, waiting for Moshenko to reappear, hoping it wouldn’t be long.
Five minutes later, he spotted him. “Ray, use the scope; keep an eye on him.” Grant started signaling, using the International Morse Code, over and over, sending the same message: GRANT.
“Sonofabitch,” Moore smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. “He’s seen it, sir. Shit! He’s even givin’ a thumb’s up!” Grant shut off the penlight as Moore asked, “Now what?”
Grant breathed a sigh of relief, then responded, “Got your wire clippers?”
“Whoa, sir! We don’t know enough of what’s going on in there.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll wait until the men get back and hope they’ve got some kind of good intel. We’ve gotta start somewhere. Now, cut that wire.”
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
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.