"Wait one." Novak slowly searched.
Diaz and James took defensive positions, watching for guards, while listening to Grant. "Joe, Doc, come with me. The rest of you, be ready to haul ass in the truck."
"Zero-Niner, have eyes on UFs, south and west quadrants only."
"Roger," Grant whispered. "'Asset' in building across from garage. A.T. using vehicle for egress. Be ready. Copy?"
"Copy that." Novak scooted backwards, then crouched low, headed closer to the road, then set up behind a tree, continuing watch.
With their Makarovs grasped firmly, pointing straight ahead, Grant, Adler and Stalley crept out of the garage, scanned the area, then Grant confirmed, "Seven-Three, A.T. on the move."
"Roger."
They sprinted across the road. Flattening their bodies against the brick wall near the door, the three listened for any sounds from inside. Grant reached for the door knob. Turning it slowly, he found it was unlocked, then he continued opening the wooden door.
The room was dark, quiet. They entered slowly, cautiously, seeing light coming from under a door at the end of a short hallway. Stalley hung back, covering Grant and Adler's sixes as they edged closer to the room. Suddenly, they all stopped. A voice emanated from behind the door. A man shouted in Russian. Then, silence again. What they heard next made their blood boil. A loud slap. Then, a slight whimper.
Grant noticed the door opened into the hallway. He motioned to Adler, who took a position directly in front of it. Grant and Stalley stood behind him, ready. Without waiting further, Adler yanked the door open. Grant then Stalley rushed past him.
A Russian officer, with his uniform jacket unbuttoned, was standing in front of a woman, with his arm raised, and hand balled up into a fist. His head jerked up, his eyes unbelieving, as three men appeared out of nowhere.
Without hesitation, Grant fired. The round penetrated the officer's throat. He slapped his hand against the bloody wound, as he stumbled backwards, gasping for air. His brain barely had time to register, when Grant fired again. The second round slammed into the forehead, sending brain matter splattering against the wall.
Grant backed away, then turned to see Stalley kneeling in front of Sophia Pankova. She was conscious, but her face was swollen, cut, bruised. A trickle of blood ran down her temple and lip. Her white blouse was torn, spotted with red. Bruises were on her neck. Her hair was in disarray.
Stalley cut the rope tying her arms to the chair, as Grant knelt down. He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, then, in English, he said softly, "We're Americans, 'Silent Willow.' 'Gray Fox' helped us find you. We're here to take you home."
Her head dropped forward, as tears fell from her reddened eyes.
Grant pointed to the extra protective vest Stalley had. "You need to put that on." Stalley helped her secure the straps.
She started to stand, unsteadily at first, with Stalley giving her some assistance.
Grant took the lead. Stalley had an arm around Pankova's shoulders. Adler brought up the rear. When they got to the door, Grant first contacted Novak. "Seven-Three, are we clear?"
"UFs to your south; unable to see your west. Copy?"
"Copy. A.T. on the move in five."
"Roger that."
Grant stood in the doorway, motioning for the Team. Slade started the engine, allowing the truck to roll down the driveway, bringing it to a stop in front of the building. Headlights remained off.
Adler climbed into the front passenger seat, as Grant and Stalley helped Pankova into the second row of seats, sitting her in between them. In the rear, Diaz and James knelt behind the canvas opening, with rifles ready.
With a loud whisper, Grant said, "Go! Go!"
Slade immediately stepped on the gas. He waited until they were close to Novak's position before turning on the low beams.
Novak came running through the trees, heading for the back of the truck. Slowing just enough, Slade waited for Novak to dive in, before he jerked the wheel left, made a U-turn, and headed back to the main road.
The truck was still in second gear, as it approached the main road. Suddenly, shots rang out. Bullets struck asphalt. Guards came out of nowhere, running toward them, firing their AKs, coming from the direction Novak had just vacated.
Grant pulled Pankova down on the floorboards, keeping her out of the line of fire. Diaz and James opened fire with the AKs. Stalley and Grant fired their pistols out the side windows. Novak steadied himself, and fired off two rapid rounds, taking out two.
They were already on the main road, when headlights from at least two vehicles shot out from the darkness.
"Shit!" Adler shouted, glancing in the side mirror. "We've got bad company!"
Slade kept the truck in second gear, pressing the accelerator, trying to get all he could out of the engine. Finally, he shifted into third, then instantly floored the pedal, putting more distance between them and the Russians.
Grant turned, trying to look out the back, but didn't see headlights. That didn't mean the Russians had given up.
Pankova started to sit up. "Stay down!" Grant shouted.
Diaz shouted from the back, "Headlights! They aren't close, but they're comin'!"
Slade focused on the road ahead. "We're almost where we crossed!"
"Find us cover, Ken!"
They rounded a curve. Slade yelled, "Hang on!" He swung the wheel left. The truck started sliding sideways, when he gunned the engine, sending the vehicle across grass and dirt, running over shrubs, narrowly missing trees.
They'd run out of open ground. Slade hit the clutch and brake. Tires skidded on leaves and dirt, as the truck finally slowed, then rocked as it suddenly stopped. Killing the engine, Slade pulled his foot off the brake, dousing the brake lights.
Hearing the sound of engines, Grant ordered, "Ken, Frank, cover our sixes! Give us five! Everybody else to the boat! Doc, DJ, take her!" Five men and Pankova disappeared into the dark forest, trying desperately to keep up the fast pace.
Two Russian troop carriers slowed, as men with flashlights shined the beams up and down the shoulder, looking for a place where the escaping vehicle could've turned off.
"There!" someone yelled, pointing to tire tracks and disturbed dirt along the shoulder.
Both drivers swung U-turns, then parked. Ten men jumped out, and readjusted their rifles. Flashlight beams lit the way, penetrating the darkness.
An officer lingered by the road, calling the base, advising them the "intruders" were heading for the Baltic.
The bow of the boat road lightly on the water, as the stern rubbed against sand. Pankova was sitting in the middle of the boat, looking exhausted and in pain. Adler knelt next to the stern, holding his rifle close. Grant, Stalley, James were positioned just off the beach, at the edge of the tree line, with their NVGs in place. Novak looked through his Starlighter. They anxiously waited and listened for a sound of hurried footsteps. Nothing but silence.
"C'mon," Grant mumbled, as he swiveled his head, looking up and down the shoreline.
Finally they heard Diaz in their earpieces. "Have you in sight!"
Novak scanned the forest through the Starlighter. "I see 'em!" he reported in a loud whisper.
The rest of the Team waited in defensive positions, keeping their eyes on the forest, watching for the two men.
"There they are!" Grant pointed, seeing the men running like hell toward them. "Back to the boat!" Grant waited until the two caught up to him. "Were you followed?!"
"We'll soon find out!" Diaz answered. "C'mon! Let's get the hell outta here!"
Taking positions around the Zodiac, three men grabbed hold of the rope circling the gunnel, and started pulling, dragging it further into the water. Adler was already on board, lowering the props.
Diaz, Slade and Grant splashed through the water, catching up to the boat. Everyone scrambled over the gunnel, knelt down, and aimed their weapons toward the beach. Novak was near Adler, his rifle poised and ready. Stealth mode was about to go "out the window."