Handshakes went around to every man, then Garrett and Draper left.
Grant rolled his chair closer to the table, then glanced at his watch. "It's about 20 miles to Lanke, so we should be outta here by 2300. It'll be plenty dark by then.
"Now, tell me what you've come up with. How do we attack that property?"
The temperature was still in the low sixties, with a light breeze at six knots. In the interior of the forests, foxes, badgers, wild boar roamed, searching for food, occasionally venturing across the open fields. Sounds of screeching owls, a distant high-pitched train whistle, constant cricket chirps seemed more distinct in the surrounding quiet.
Slade guided the BMW cautiously along the darkened road, using only parking lights. He waited for the word to go totally dark.
"There's a sign for the lake, to the right," Adler pointed.
"Okay, Ken," Grant said, "slow it down; turn-off should be a quarter mile ahead."
Slade automatically shut off the lights, and slowed the car to under 20 mph. The Team flipped down their NVGs.
"Anybody spot the house?" Grant asked, slowly moving his head.
"Where the fuck is it?" Novak spit out.
"Wait!" Adler said, trying to steady himself. "I think I see it, two o'clock."
"That's it," Grant confirmed.
Slade steered the BMW off the blacktop and across the grassy shoulder. Slipping the gearshift into neutral, he kept his foot off the brake, allowed the car to come to a natural stop, then threw it into "Park."
"Ken," Grant said, "keep an eye out while we get our gear." Before he went to the rear of the car, Grant took a few paces forward, directing the NVGs toward the ground, spotting tire tracks leading across the property.
Once the gear was out of the trunk, Slade made a U-turn and drove another 20 yards, before pulling into a brush-covered area. It was the best he could do for keeping the BMW out of sight. He hustled to rejoin the Team.
With bullet-resistant vests already under sweaters, A.T. secured chest vests, and K-bars in leg straps. Slinging rifle straps over their heads, they kept the weapons close to their chests. Silenced Makarovs were holstered. Novak carried his sniper rifle with its Starlighter scope.
Ahead of them was nearly 200 yards of nothing but open ground. Oak and beech trees lined the north and east sides of the property, too far to use for cover. Part of A.T.'s challenge of crossing old farmland would be avoiding broken pieces of sharp, rusted tools and machinery. But tonight, if they were found out, the men's greatest concern was for RPGs, knowing they were Reznikov's weapon of choice. All they had going for them was their stealth, the element of surprise, and the pitch black night.
"Let's go," Grant said. The six men began moving forward, keeping distance between one another. They'd follow their preset plan, separating the closer they got to the house.
After traveling close to 100 yards, Grant held up a fist, bringing everyone to a halt. They knelt on a knee, while they continued scanning with the NVGs. No movement near the house had been detected, the vehicle hadn't been spotted.
Grant looked to his right, then signaled with his hand. Slade and James responded immediately, heading toward the right side of the house. Their assignment: confirm the Trabant was there. Everyone else waited.
Novak got on his belly and aimed the rifle as he scanned the front of the house through the scope. He tapped Grant's shoulder. "Armed RPG near door." The rocket launcher leaned against the doorframe.
Slade and James sprinted across the field as fast as they dared, not stopping until they were at the east side of the house, immediately pressing their backs against rough concrete blocks.
Suddenly, everyone heard Novak in their earpieces. "Eyes on UF, north corner!" Team A.T. hit the dirt, stretching out on their bellies.
Slade and James stayed close to the wall, cautiously moving toward the rear of the structure. James leaned around the corner, saw it was clear, then both men disappeared around the back.
Slade pressed the PTT, and whispered, "Eyes on vehicle." They waited for further instructions, not knowing the current location of the UF.
Sergei Botkin walked toward the front door, with his rifle strap slung over his shoulder. He stopped briefly, and puffed on a cigarette. Tilting his head back, he blew out a lungful of smoke, and flicked the butt to the side. He rapped his fist twice against the heavy wood, then waited. Within seconds, Orlov opened the door. Botkin ducked inside.
Orlov carried his rifle as he came out. Botkin closed the door, securing it with both slide bolts.
"Shift change," Novak whispered into his throat mike. "Guard heading east." He whispered to Grant, "Two raps on door for entry."
With the vehicle still there, the odds increased for Reznikov being inside the house. But they had to confirm.
Grant pressed the PTT. "Ken, G2 guard; confirm main 'target' inside. Copy?"
"Copy." Slade shifted his rifle behind his back, drew out his K-bar, then took the lead, heading to the back east corner. He had to wait, not knowing if the UF would head in his direction. James drew his Makarov from the holster.
Novak kept the scope's crosshairs trained on the UF, who was walking at a "snail's pace," occasionally glancing toward the front of the property. Ten yards past the house, he turned around, and headed back.
Slade was down on his belly, crabbing his way in a wide arch, planning to come up behind the UF. Slowly, he brought himself up into a low crouch, edging closer, with his K-bar firmly in his grasp. Not wasting any more time, he was behind the UF in a heartbeat.
James was already on the move when Slade's hand was across the UF's mouth, with a knife against his throat. James grabbed the UF's rifle, as Slade dragged the man backward. The UF stared wide-eyed into alien-looking NVGs, feeling a pistol pressing against his chest. Within seconds the three men were behind the house.
Grant waited, finally hearing Slade, "Confirming target inside."
"Roger that," Grant replied, relieved. He pressed the PTT, ready to begin the next phase. "Frank, set timers in stockpile to eight." Diaz checked the surroundings, then took off, heading for the left side of the house. A.T. would most likely get the job done in five minutes, but the extra three couldn't hurt.
They had to move now. Grant whispered to Novak, "Cover our sixes." Novak settled into the dirt, getting more comfortable.
Grant pressed the PTT. "Bring UF to front. A.T. moving forward." He and Adler got up into a crouch, then hauled ass, heading for the door. Slowing down the closer they got to the house, they quietly took up positions next to the door.
Adler quickly glanced at the RPG. That's gonna come in handy!he thought.
He and Grant quietly shifted the rifles behind their backs, then drew the Makarovs.
Slade and James were dragging the struggling UF. The strip of duct tape across his mouth didn't prevent guttural sounds escaping from his throat. James balled up a fist and struck him in the solar plexus, making him double over, quickly shutting him up. They stopped next to the door, opposite Grant and Adler.
The four men rested the NVGs on top of their heads. Weapons were ready, when they heard Diaz in their earpieces. "Mark time — now. Coming to you."
Grant quickly set his submariner's timer for eight minutes. They waited for Diaz, who showed up within seconds.
Slade stood behind the UF, holding onto his arms tied behind his back, watching for Adler's signal. They were prepared for what came next. Adler nodded, then beat his fist against the door with two sharp raps.
Inside, Reznikov and Botkin sat at the table, studying a map, discussing their intended route to Sperenberg. Always cautious, their weapons were within reach. They glanced at each other, as Botkin said with annoyance, "He just took over the watch!"