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Zykov threw out a question. "Nicolai, both those incidents happened about the same time, right?"

"From what we know, yes. Why?"

"What if Reznikov's men carried out both? They freed Reznikov, then took Dotsenko captive."

Kalinin was taken aback by the question. "Think about that, Oleg. The incidents occurred within a short time of one another, and from a distance. Comrade Komarov said seven men attacked him. Unless our intel people are completely screwed up, Reznikov only has two associates. See my point?"

"Yes."

Kalinin rubbed a hand across his forehead. "What worries me is there has not been any ransom request yet, nor a body."

"And what reason would there be for them to kill him?"

"Only one I can think of, Oleg — revenge. And the only way to prove any of it is to find Dotsenko as ordered."

Kalinin shook his head, trying to clear the jumbled shit screwing around with his brain. "First things first," he mumbled. "We must go."

Chapter 9

Military Terminal
Tegel Airport
1600 Hours

Four engines of a C-130 Hercules fired up. The pilot engaged generators, set flaps down 40 %. Receiving direction from an airport marshaller, the Herc rumbled past another Herc and a Gulfstream, as it taxied toward Runway 08.

Team A.T. remained in the Gulfstream ensuring gear and weapons were ready, hashing out final plans for the op, waiting for the arrival of a Sea Knight.

This mission would become one of its most difficult, most dangerous: penetrating a secret Soviet base. A.T. didn't have diagrams, maps, positions of men or artillery. All that sat images revealed were vehicles scattered around the interior of the property. But there still wasn't proof either way if civilians lived within.

All A.T. had was an address, but whether that address led them to the "asset" was yet to be seen.

MILOPS

"Listen, Scott, the Team's been discussing what happens if this op turns to shit."

"Don't like the sound of that."

"Gotta be realistic, but not pessimistic. Take a look at your map."

"Hold on a sec." Mullins walked close to a large map hanging on a wall. "Okay. Now what?"

"Do you see a small island in between Sweden and Poland? It's about 30 miles off Sweden's coast."

Mullins leaned closer, putting his index finger on the spot. "Yeah. I see it."

"What'll it take to get the chopper permission to land there?"

Mullins let out a long whistle. "That's a bitch of a request, Grant!"

"I know, but Sweden's been on good turns with the U.S., and like I said, it's a 'just in case.' I realize this request will most likely end up at the 'big house,' but there's a helluva lot at stake."

"I'll see what I can do. How long will you be at Tegel?"

"We've gotta wait for dark, so that means around 2130 or so."

"Okay. If you don't hear from me … "

"Yeah."

Mullins glanced at a clock on the corner of his desk. "The chopper should be there on schedule. Oh! Forgot to tell you that the crew's been on SpecOps missions before, mostly with the SEALs. Guess that means they can handle any bullshit you might throw at them, right?"

"I'd be surprised if they couldn't! Hey, how the hell did you manage that, I mean find a special crew?!"

"I have my ways. It has to do with special folks in higher places."

"Well, when you talk to those special folks, extend our thanks and gratitude."

"Will do."

"Joe and I've gotta get back to the guys. Do me a favor. Call Grigori. Just tell him you talked with us, okay? He won't ask any questions."

"Be happy to. Stay safe, my friends."

1755 Hours

A.T. milled around the Gulfstream, anxious for the chopper to arrive. They'd already grabbed something to eat, and bought a supply of candy bars.

Grant leaned against the steps' handrail with his arms folded across his chest. His eyes went from man to man, as details of the op went through his brain again. He and the men had reviewed every aspect, every possible scenario, both good and bad. But every once in a while, a completely different scenario, one that hadn't been calculated in the equation, could turn an op upside down. Each man had experienced it, each man had lost a team member, a friend, even an "asset."

"We've taken this op apart piece by piece," Adler commented, as he walked closer. "Have you found any 'holes'?" Grant just shook his head. "Then don't you think you need to give that brain a rest?"

"Wish I could, Joe. You know this is just me."

Adler's blue eyes softened. "Yeah. I know."

"Chopper comin' in!" James reported, pointing.

The chopper was flying from the west, within the 20 mile wide boundary of the center corridor at 8,000 feet.

"'Boys' are on time," Adler commented, looking at his beat-up Benrus diving watch.

Grant started walking away from the Gulfstream, prepared to meet the chopper crew. "We'll need the extra time to review the op with the crew, plus check out the boat."

Adler caught up to him. "I know you're concerned, but you'd be lying if you told me you didn't have one ounce of excitement inside you right about now. I'm right, aren't I?!"

Grant didn't answer, just punched his good friend's shoulder, knocking him sideways.

"That's what I thought."

Air whipped around the Team as the Sea Knight hovered briefly before its wheels touched concrete. On board were two pilots, one crew chief, and one aerial gunner with a door-mounted Browning AN/M2, 50 cal machine gun.

Inside the cockpit, a pilot glanced out his side window, giving the approaching men a quick two-finger salute. As the engines wound down, the ramp lowered, which was an open invitation for Team A.T. to board and inspect.

Grant and Adler held back a few steps, taking a moment to scan the immediate area, looking for any prying eyes, especially civilian eyes.

"This is what we needed, boss," James said, as he and the other men hauled out the Zodiac, then carried it to the other side of the chopper. Paddles and a coiled length of rope were in the bottom. The 55 hp engine was secured.

"Everything good with the boat?" a smiling Lieutenant Anderson asked, with the other three crewmen catching up to him.

Grant offered his hand to Anderson. "We couldn't have asked for more, Lieutenant, and we appreciate you, uh, volunteering for the upcoming 'trip.'"

"An opportunity we couldn't pass up, sir! Would you happen to be Captain Stevens?"

"Yeah, that's me," Grant smiled.

Introductions were made, then Grant said, "Listen, why don't you all come aboard the Gulfstream. We'll discuss what we've got in mind."

2145 Hours

The chopper crew was on board the Sea Knight, preparing for flight. The weather prediction from Tegel to the coast was for light cloud cover, northeast winds at four knots. Once over the Baltic Sea, they could expect normal westerly winds, possibly increasing to eight knots.

Team A.T. started filing out of the Gulfstream. A decision was made to forgo wetsuits. They were dressed entirely in black, wearing close-fitting pants and long-sleeve sweaters, covering their bullet resistant vests. Rucksacks were in one hand, rifle straps for AK-47s were slung over opposite shoulders, Makarovs secured in holsters. Doc Stalley had his corpsman's medical bag, and the extra vest. Novak had his sniper rifle.

Inside their waterproof vests they had compact binoculars, signal flares, extra rounds for AKs and Makarovs, an MK6 CS vial of tear gas, survival kit, a set of lock picks, duct tape, wraps of paracord (parachute cord), phony passports and “haul ass” money sealed in plastic. Diaz and Adler had wraps of det cord, small blocks of C4, and chemical pencils. They all had "flash-bang" grenades, that exploded into intense white lights, leaving attackers temporarily blinded. The extremely loud noise would disrupt hearing and sense of balance.