Doc Blackman escorted her to the Prowler. Ten minutes later, the aircraft was taxiing to Runway 08. Five minutes later, it was in the air.
The Gulfstream headed back to Schonefeld.
The sound of the car's engine and rushing wind was all that was heard inside the rented black BMW. The green countryside became almost a blur as the car sped along the motorway.
Draper and Garrett were slouched down in the rear seat. All hands were needed to help guarantee the safety of Dotsenko, and the embassy. Leaving the Gulfstream at Schonefeld was a risk, but one that had to be taken.
With an elbow resting on the open window, Adler controlled the steering wheel with a light touch of his hand. He took his eyes from the road, then briefly diverted them to the rearview mirror. Slade was driving the second BMW, carrying the rest of the Team. He kept the car within three car lengths of the lead BMW.
Adler glanced at Grant, seeing the familiar locking of the square jaw. "Is this about the message?"
"No, but that's still got me wondering."
"Well, then, what is it? Can I help?" Adler finally asked, seeing Draper and Garrett in the back, paying attention.
"Hope so," Grant answered, as he brushed back strands of wind-blown brown hair. "I've been 'busting my balls' trying to come up with an explanation why CIA turned over Dotsenko. What Bancroft told me at the meeting stunk."
"Is that gut of yours telling you some bad shit?"
"What if the 'Cowboys' wanted all along to send him back, to become one of their operators again? And when Pankova went missing, they saw their chance."
"That's one helluva supposition!"
"Yeah, I know."
"And just how do you plan on resolving the issue?"
Grant draped his arm over the seat, turning to look at his good friend. "Either option might send me up shit creek."
"You've made that trip before."
"Look, I can confront Dotsenko, pick his brain, and see if that's his plan."
"Wait a minute! That's fuckin' stupid."
Grant had to laugh. "Nothin' like being honest, Joe!"
"C'mon! What good would it do? I mean, if he's going back, you couldn't stop him!"
"Maybe not. Maybe I just need confirmation the Agency instigated a bullshit 'snatch' and pulled the wool over everyone's eyes, including the President's."
"Christ! You aren't thinking what I think you're thinking, are you? You're already halfway up that creek!"
Grant turned halfway, looking at Draper and Garrett. "Comments?"
"Not at this time," Garrett answered, giving a wave of his hand.
"Me neither," Draper said, taking the silver wrapper off a stick of Wrigley's.
Chapter 11
Reznikov gripped the steering wheel, preventing it from being ripped from his grasp, as he drove the Trabant at a steady speed across uneven ground. Nearly bald tires rolled over rocks and solid mounds of dirt. Driving during daylight made the drive easier, but it was still nearly impossible to avoid every pot hole or trench.
Botkin and Orlov were in the rear seat. Botkin had his weapon drawn, with his eyes constantly searching, looking for possible trouble. Orlov had binoculars pressed against his eyes, trying to steady himself as the car jerked side to side. "Still clear!" he reported.
Reznikov briefly diverted his eyes to the rearview mirror. Not being followed could only be attributed to three words: planning, panic, surprise. The risk they'd taken was enormous, but they successfully completed three attacks in one day, and during daylight hours. Their surveillance at each target had paid off.
Reznikov silently mocked Yermak, and also thanked him for providing new papers and IDs when they agreed to "work" for him. During each of Orlov's visits to the embassy, his papers were never questioned.
The three men planned their attacks carefully: first the embassy, then, simultaneously, the rifle brigade compound and command center. If their vehicle were to be identified, it would happen at the embassy. But the route from the two compounds back to Lanke would keep them in the Soviet Sector the entire trip, and most of it was through open farm country. No passing through checkpoints, no worrying about border guards.
Reznikov parked behind the house, then killed the engine. After spending most of the morning causing mayhem and destruction, the sudden quiet was a welcome change, if only briefly. With each return trip to the farmhouse, a thorough inspection, both inside and out, was always necessary, never knowing if they'd walk into a trap.
The next attack was already in the works. They weren't ready to stop pushing their luck. Above all, Reznikov was determined to find who had been in control, and who now wanted them dead.
Sam Nichols waited just outside the front door, with a hand resting on his holstered .45. His eyes scanned the grounds, seeing guards patrolling. They were trained for any situation that might materialize, but the attacks left everyone on edge.
Two BMWs pulled up in front. A.T. immediately exited, then opened the trunks. Grant went to Nichols. "Mr. Nichols."
Nichols offered a hand. "Glad to see you and your men, Captain. Mr. Dotsenko has been waiting for you. He's pretty much near the end of his rope."
"I can well imagine," Grant responded, before turning and pointing toward A.T. "We've gotta clean our weapons. Is there a small space we can use?"
"There's a room beyond where Dotsenko is. You can use that."
"Also, I'd like one of your guards to show the men around the compound. They can take it from there."
"Sure. Come on inside and I'll call Sergeant Rinaldi."
"I'll meet you in your office. I need to talk with the guys, and grab my weapons."
Five minutes later, Grant was in Nichols' office. He adjusted the rifle strap on his shoulder. "How are the two injured agents? Are they still in the East German hospital?"
"After mounds of paperwork, the East Germans released them. We transferred them to Landstuhl."
"Those doctors will take real good care of them." Grant's time at Landstuhl flashed through his mind, before he changed the subject. "Can you tell me whether Reznikov's been found? Or at least is there some idea where he is?"
"No to both your questions, I'm afraid."
"Dammit! He's gotta be within striking distance, 'cause he's gonna strike again."
"How can you be sure?! He's been lucky so far in getting away. Maybe he won't risk it."
"Trust me, sir. Reznikov is out for revenge, and he hasn't finished yet."
Nichols leaned forward and rested his arms on his desk. "Any idea where he might strike next?"
"No, sir. Not a clue. But he seems hell bent on attacking Russians, since they're the ones who turned him over to us."
"So, do you think we're in the clear?"
"Don't count on it." Grant stood. "Guess it's time to talk with Dotsenko."
"Oh, here's the message I told you about."
Grant reached for the paper, immediately putting it in his pocket. "Thanks." As he turned to leave, he said, "I'll check back with you after my conversation with Dotsenko. Would it be okay if I used the scrambler room again?"
"Of course. I'll call the crypto guys."
Grant left and met Adler in the hallway. "Any news?" Adler handed him a Coke.
As they walked down the hallway, Grant filled him in on the injured agents and CIA's inability to find Reznikov. Noticing a security guard standing next to the conference room, they took out their wallets, and flipped them open.
Inside the room, a haggard-looking Alexei Dotsenko sat quietly, waiting for word on Pankova. Since he was first brought to the embassy, he hadn't slept, barely ate. A little over an hour ago he'd been informed that the Team was on its way. Only then would he learn whether she was alive, rescued — or dead. A knock at the door made his heart jump.