"Did you get your confirmation?" Abbott asked, with his hands on his hips.
"He's all yours," Grant replied disgustedly. As Abbott went toward the door, Grant put an arm in front of him. "I guess you can't tell us where you're taking him."
"You guessed right," Abbott replied, as he opened the door. Once both men were inside, Zwick closed the door.
Adler mustered alongside Grant, as Grant whispered, "The President's been informed, Joe. We've got authorization to put a 'tail' on 'em."
Just then the door swung open. Zwick walked out with the Russian in between him and Abbott.
Dotsenko stopped in front of Grant and Adler. Without any emotion showing on his face, he extended his hand to both of them. "I appreciate what you did."
Grant returned the firm handshake. "I'm glad we could help, sir. We hope everything turns out the best way possible."
"Good luck, sir," Adler nodded.
As the agents and Dotsenko walked away, Adler quietly asked, "Why the hell didn't he just tell them he wasn't going?"
"Don't know, Joe. Who knows what was said to him."
"How far does the authorization go?"
"All the way to the States."
"Outstanding!"
They listened for a sound of footsteps that gradually faded in the distance. "Let's go," Grant said. "Doc's waiting in one of the vehicles."
Walking out the door, they stood on the top step, just as Dotsenko got in the rear passenger seat of the Audi, and Zwick the front seat.
With an unmistakable pissed off look, Grant locked his jaw, spread his legs, and crossed his arms over his chest. Adler jammed his hands into his back pockets, and leaned toward Grant. "Sure as hell hope we can pull off the 'surprise.'"
Just as Abbott opened the car door, he glanced at the two men. Nothing was said, no emotion expressed. He got in and slammed the door.
No sooner had the Audi turned on the main road, when Stalley drove the BMW around the corner of the building. He already had his throat mike on. Grant took the front seat, Adler the rear. The two of them scrunched down, trying to stay low, out of view.
"Okay, Doc," Grant said, as he picked up the throat mike from the center console. "You've done this before."
Stalley edged the BMW closer to the end of the driveway, letting the car roll forward until he spotted the Audi's taillights flash for an instant. The vehicle turned right. Stalley pulled out, then stepped on the gas, trying not to let the Audi get too far ahead.
Adler hooked the small battery to his waistband, then adjusted the throat mike and earpiece. He scooted sideways, lining himself up with an unobstructed view through the front windshield.
Traffic began slowing as they approached the center of West Berlin. The BMW was six cars behind the Audi. The Americans knew this part of the city and what was ahead. Checkpoint Charlie.
Adler lowered the binoculars. "Where the fuck are they goin'?"
By the time the BMW and its passengers were finally passed through the Soviet side of the checkpoint, the Audi was nearly out of sight, until its brake lights lit up. The car slowed just enough before it made a right turn.
"C'mon, Doc!" Grant said, as he raised the binoculars. The BMW's engine roared as Stalley hit the gas. "Next turn!" Grant pointed. The Audi was picking up speed, as it pulled away. Tires screeched as Stalley made a sharp right-hand turn. Grant reached for the armrest. "They're in the right lane, about 200 yards ahead!"
Stalley eased up on the gas. "I see it!" He fell in line behind four vehicles.
The road was familiar to all of them. Adler scooted forward on the rear seat. "Shit! They're headed to Schonefeld!"
Grant zeroed in on the Audi. "Yeah, Joe, but does it mean a U.S. or Russian flight?"
"How about we make a 'snatch'?" Adler suggested.
"First we need proof." Grant began to formulate a plan. CIA wasn't about to let Dotsenko out of their sight. Keeping his eyes on the Audi, Grant said, "Doc, you'll take the camera."
"Roger, boss."
Adler asked, "You think they gave him a new passport?"
"Not a doubt in my military mind, Joe. His U.S. passport's in my rucksack."
"Let me throw this at ya," Adler began. "What if they side-step the terminal, and escort him directly onto the plane? Huh? Then what?"
"Possibility, but that would draw attention. I'm counting on them going into the terminal, then to the gate."
Adler nodded, as he said, "That's why they showed up at the embassy when they did. They had a particular flight in mind, and the wait at the terminal would be less."
The airport tower came into view. Traffic slowed. Parking was straight ahead, which meant a five minute walk to Terminal A.
"Looks like they're parking," Adler said.
Stalley parked two rows behind the Audi, and immediately killed the engine. They still had a clear view, able to see the three men exiting.
Grant laid down the binoculars. "Doc, follow them into the terminal. They shouldn't recognize you. We'll be hanging back. It's important, Doc, that you shoot pictures of them at the check-in counter. We need proof of what airline he's taking. Just keep snapping away."
"Roger, boss." Stalley slipped the strap of the camera over his head, adjusted his earpiece, then got out. Keeping his eyes on the three men, he quietly closed the door, confirmed his weapon was hidden under his sweater, then he headed toward the terminal.
Giving Stalley a two minute lead, Grant and Adler got out of the car and started walking. Adler quietly asked, "What if he's on a U.S. flight? Maybe the two agents will escort him."
Grant leaned slightly, trying to see past several suitcase-carrying passengers. "Then my theory will be shot all to hell. In a way, I'm kinda hoping that's what happens, Joe. The thought of the President having to deal with a shit issue … "
"See your point. But what if … "
"We'll have to find a way to give him the option."
They heard Stalley in their earpieces. "Ground level. Wait one." Stalley aimed the camera with its telephoto lens. "Shit! He's got a red passport. Nearing Aeroflot counter. Fifth in line." He snapped a close-up shot of Dotsenko, then a regular shot with the Aeroflot symbol above the three men's heads.
Grant pressed the PTT. "Stay with him. On our way. What's next flight to Moscow?"
Stalley aimed the telephoto lens, zeroing in on the board behind the counter. "Flight zero one five in forty-five, Gate 6."
Grant and Adler walked into the terminal. "Joe, look for a phone booth."
Adler swiveled his head. "Three o'clock."
The two hurried across the terminal, as Grant said to Adler, "Check number of stalls in that WC." As Adler headed for the restroom, Grant started taking off his windbreaker, then stuffed his ball cap into a sleeve. As soon as he was in the phone booth, he tore out a page of the phone book.
Adler mustered alongside. "Eight, six unoccupied."
"Gotta chance it," Grant mumbled. "Go occupy one, closest to back wall. Take these."
Adler took the windbreaker. "And just what should I be waiting for?"
"I'm gonna try and get Dotsenko over here. Just be ready." Adler didn't question further.
Grant pressed the PTT. "Report, Doc."
Stalley answered softly, "Third in line." He snapped more pictures.
Grant scribbled a note: "Gray Fox, go 2 WC at east side. U.S. on your horizon." If Dotsenko ignored the message, the mission was over. Grant scanned the terminal, spotting Stalley. He pressed the PTT. "Go to escalator at your seven."