At the end of the corridor, stainless steel double doors led into the Intensive Care unit. Kalinin and Zykov spotted two men standing just to the side of the doors, talking quietly to one another.
"CIA," Kalinin whispered. He unbuttoned his jacket, ensuring badge and weapon were in plain sight. "Come on."
As the two Russians slowly approached, the CIA agents watched them closely, and took up positions directly in front of the double doors.
"KGB," Special Agent Abbott quietly said.
"Just like we expected," Special Agent Zwick replied.
Abbott held up a hand, with his palm facing the two approaching men. Kalinin and Zykov stopped within five feet of the two. For a brief moment, the men eyed each other.
Finally, Abbott broke the silence. Staring at Kalinin, he asked with pauses between each word, "Do. you. speak. English?"
Kalinin arched an eyebrow. "If you cannot understand me, let me know, then I will speak slower."
Abbott smiled. "Thenyou'll understand when I tell you that you can't go in there," he indicated with a thumb over his shoulder.
Kalinin stepped closer. "And you will understand me when I remind you that you are in East Berlin, in the Soviet Sector."
"Look, those are Americans in there," Abbott added, attempting to calm the situation. "We'd prefer no one saw them right now. Okay?"
Kalinin held up both hands, and stepped back. "Not a problem. But can you give me any information on what happened? Why they were taken here?"
"This was the closest hospital, I guess. As far as information, no. We don't know much more than you probably — except, of course, who they are. But I'm sure the East German police would be more than happy to fill you in."
Kalinin had already decided to go to the morgue, where the M.E. would be more forthcoming with answers. "You are probably right." He started to walk away, when he turned around. "Hope your men make a full recovery." Then he and Zykov left.
As they stood by the elevator, Zykov, who hardly spoke any English, asked, "What was said back there?" Kalinin filled him in, but Zykov was surprised by the answer. He asked, "Why did you not press the issue? We had every right to … "
"What was the point, Oleg? Just by those agents being here meant the injured were most likely CIA as well. Let the Americans think they have all the information."
The elevator doors hissed as they parted. Once inside, Kalinin pressed the button for the basement. He folded his arms tightly across his chest as he thought of another important matter: Ivan Reznikov. Where the hell was he? Who helped him escape?
The elevator stopped with a jolt, then the doors parted. The two men walked off, looking both ways down a dimly lit corridor. "There," Zykov said, pointing to double doors to the left.
Walking along natural concrete floors, their footsteps echoed in the expansive space, as they passed under three archways. The archways, ceiling, and support columns were covered entirely in eight inch white tiles. The interior looked more like a Russian subway than a morgue.
Stopping momentarily in front of the doors, they looked overhead at an oval light. If an autopsy was in progress, the light would glow red. It wasn't the case. The two men pushed open both swinging doors.
Just as the corridor was covered in white tiles, so was the autopsy room, sinks, and tables. Three portable, stainless steel storage cabinets with glass doors were positioned against a wall, opposite each autopsy table.
Kalinin stepped closer to a table. A white sheet covered a body. He started to lift a corner, when he heard a door open toward the back of the room.
"What are you doing here?!" M.E. Hans Bauer came from his office, walking slowly toward the two strangers.
Kalinin responded, "We are investigating the accident that happened near Glienicke Bridge. We understand two bodies were brought in, but I only see this one."
Bauer came closer, as he slipped a pen in his white lab coat pocket. "You will not find those two bodies here. The Americans took them before I even performed an autopsy."
The 6'2" Kalinin leaned toward the shorter Bauer. "Who the hell gave you permission to release them?!" Zykov went around the table, and stood next to the M.E.
"Wait! Wait! I have an authorization for the release." He rushed back to his office, then came back, waving a piece of paper.
Kalinin snatched it from his hand, with his eyes immediately going to the bottom of the page, looking at the signature. "Shit!" He flung the paper at Bauer, then he spun around, heading back to the elevator.
Zykov caught up to him. "What happened?! Who authorized …?!"
Kalinin punched the elevator button with a knuckle. "The East German Health Minister!"
Stepping into the elevator, Zykov questioned, "What? You think he was paid to release the bodies?!"
"Right now, I could give a shit! We have work to do."
Before leaving the hospital, Kalinin made an inquiry into Sergeant Baskov's condition. He was told the patient was stable.
As they walked to the Volga, Kalinin tossed the keys to Zykov. "You drive. I have to put my thoughts in order. We are running around in a damn circle."
He had tried to inspect the van, but again, the Americans beat him to it, and had it hauled away. He didn't have much confidence in finding anything from the shootout, but they still had to thoroughly search the area, knowing Borskaya wouldn't expect anything less.
Twenty minutes later, Zykov pulled the car onto the shoulder. "Not here," Kalinin said. "Park on the opposite side of the road."
As they got out, they focused their eyes on black skid marks that crossed the center line at an angle, as if the vehicle started to skid sideways. Indications of a fire extended from the right side, then across the middle line.
"Where do we begin?" Zykov asked, standing with his hands on his hips.
"The CIA probably went over this area inch by inch, but it is always possible they missed something. You look along the road, I will start by those trees," he pointed, "and work my way back here. Whoever helped Reznikov, had to have had a vehicle."
Chapter 8
Within two minutes of one another, Grant and Adler walked into the ground level of Terminal A. Wearing jeans, T-shirts and windbreakers, they blended in with the hundreds of other visitors and passengers.
Taking the escalator to the first floor, Grant spotted a bank of phones straight ahead. He passed them and continued toward large windows running the length of the terminal. Perusing the airfield briefly, he slowly turned around, and observed a continuous flow of passengers, hustling down corridors, running toward escalators.
Adler waited a moment at the top of the escalator, then went to the right. Staying within thirty feet of Grant, covering his six, he leaned against a pillar. Keeping his eyes in Grant's direction, he sniffed the air. I smell food!
Grant glanced at his watch, showing 0958. He went back to a phone and started dialing three series of numbers. Once completed, he turned toward the window, seeing Adler out of the corner of his eye. Grant waited. Even though he'd dialed a secure line, they'd still use caution during their conversation.
Mullins answered. "Merry Christmas!"
"You got the 'presents'! You're a good man 'Charlie Brown.'" Grant rested a shoulder against the wall, exhaling a long breath.
"Can't take all the credit. One of your friends sorta had a hand in it."
"Send him our thanks."
"Will do. Now, the main present will arrive at 1800 your time. Oh, and you're cleared for landing."
"Roger. Listen, I'll contact you from our next stop." Grant looked around the terminal. "As soon as we get clearance, our asses are outta here."
"Talk to ya soon."
"Thanks again." He hung up and gave an imperceptible nod to Adler, then he walked into the cafe, bought food for the Team, then left. Adler did the same.