Finishing off the last bite of a chicken salad sandwich, he brushed crumbs off his desk. He slid a blue-lined notepad toward him, where he’d already started making a list of equipment and weapons he was anticipating Grant would need. Glancing at the clock above his door, he was expecting the two officers any minute.
Hearing sounds from the typewriter in the outer office, he rolled his chair away from the desk and got up. Taking slow strides, he walked to the open door, and stuck his head out.
Yeoman Phillips spun his chair around. “Admiral! Can I help you, sir?”
Torrinson put a hand up. “No, no, Zach. Just needed to stretch my legs.” Sniffing the air, he asked, “Is that fresh coffee?”
“Yes, sir. Just finished perking.”
Phillips started to get up, when Torrinson motioned him back down. “As you were, Zach. I’ll get it. Need something to wash down that sandwich.” He poured a cup, added a teaspoon of sugar, then took a sip. As he started to go back to his office, he heard hurried footsteps in the hallway. The door swung open. Grant and Adler came in.
“Afternoon, gentlemen.”
“Afternoon, sir,” both replied.
Torrinson held his cup out. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Not for me, sir,” Grant answered, as he removed his cap, then his sunglasses.
“I believe I’ll have a cup, sir,” Adler responded, putting his cap on the credenza.
“Help yourself, Joe, then join us,” Torrinson said over his shoulder.
While he poured the coffee, Adler looked around for something to eat, like possibly donuts. Nothing. Total disappointment.
Zach continued typing, and without looking up, he said, “There’re some chocolate chip cookies in that top drawer, sir.”
“You’re my hero, Zach,” Adler laughed.
“Glad I could be of service, sir.”
Adler took two, ate them quickly, then washed them down with his coffee.
Once the three men were seated in Torrinson’s office, Torrinson got right to the point. “So, what did the colonel have to say, Grant?”
Grant relayed the entire conversation he had with Moshenko. Torrinson sat in silence, astonished by every piece of news Grant was now telling him. When Grant finished, Torrinson pressed the intercom switch. “Zach!”
“Yes, sir?”
“Call the White House. See if the President has time to talk with me. Tell him it’s about the phone call from Colonel Moshenko.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Torrinson took a couple of deep breaths, finally asking, “Anything else, Grant?”
“Sir, I directed Grigori to contact you with anything further, either before or after we leave for the mission.”
“No contacting the Agency?” Torrinson asked with a half smile.
“Already enough information is in their hands, sir.” Grant quickly backed up his request. “Besides, sir, the President said he wants to keep this under wraps as long as possible, and to me that means the fewer who know, the better off we’ll be. And we can trust Agent Mullins, sir.”
“Before we go any further,” Torrinson said as he pointed toward Grant, “has that shoulder of yours been giving you any problems?”
“Negative, sir. No problems whatsoever. Doc officially released me.”
“Will you be able to handle everything this mission might entail?”
“Affirmative, sir!”
Torrinson nodded, then said, “Okay. Then let’s proceed." He tore the top paper from the notepad and handed it across the desk to Grant. “Here’s a list of everything I could come up with that I think you’ll need.” He reached for his jar of Tootsie Pops, picking three at random. “Anybody?” he asked, holding them toward the two men.
“I’ll take one, sir,” Adler answered, choosing an orange-colored wrapper.
“Grant?”
“Unless you’ve got a stash of Snickers somewhere, sir, I’ll pass.”
“Sorry. I’ll ask my wife to pick some up at the commissary; have them waiting for you when you get back.”
Grant quickly scanned the list, then handed the paper to Adler. “Sir, I don’t think we’ll be able to take most of this.”
Torrinson was surprised, as he asked, “You already have a supply somewhere, Grant?”
“No, sir, at least not yet. Grigori will supply the hand weapons and ammo. We can’t take the chance bringing that across the border. Hate to get stopped before we even get started, sir.” This wasn’t the time for him to mention Mullins’ offer.
“Understand,” Torrinson replied.
Grant looked at Adler. “Joe, see anything on there you can use?”
Adler nodded. “We can take the det cord and pencils; should be easy to stash.”
“Something we’re definitely going to need, sir, is money. Rubles, dollars, Deutsche Marks, and East German Marks should see us through. Probably need to be a little ‘heavier’ on the rubles and East German Marks, sir.”
“Hmm. Somebody has travel plans,” Torrinson smiled as he put his hand out for the list Adler was handing over to him.
“Will we be running this as a black op, sir?”
“Well, since you want the Agency left in the dust, I’ll get with SECDEF, and have the money pulled from a different pot.” As he made a note, he said, “I’ve got your flight out of Andrews on standby. The President’s approved an Air Force C-9A. The aircraft’s equipped to handle whatever care those men may be in need of. I’m afraid this won’t be a non-stop flight, though, so you’ll probably have a refueling stop in Shannon before going on to Tempelhof.”
“Thank you, sir. I hope we can bring them home.”
“So do I, captain. So do I.”
The kitchen space was barely five feet wide, but it was better than most. Since Moshenko was a colonel, and KGB, he had been given better choices.
Alexandra loved this apartment, especially in the morning, mainly because of the large window in the kitchen. The early morning sun warmed and brightened the whole room. It was something as simple as that. Shelves were low, putting everything within easy reach. That was important to her, since she was barely five foot three.
An aroma of pirozhki, one of Moshenko’s favorite foods, lingered in the apartment. Alexandra made this evening’s pies with a yeast dough, filling them with onion, mushroom, rice, and pork. It was another late meal. She understood.
Standing in front of a massive stone fireplace in his study, Moshenko opened a box of matches and lit his cigar. Placing the box on a mantel constructed from Russian oak, he tossed the match into the fire, then went to his chair. He turned the high-back leather chair toward the fire, then made himself comfortable.
Resting his head against the chair, he heard Alexandra humming one of her favorite folk songs, The Violet. He closed his eyes. The sound of her soft voice helped to temporarily alleviate some of the turmoil in his mind. The time was drawing nearer when he would have to tell her.
With his decision to help the Americans, it would be perceived by everyone that he had turned against Russia, his homeland. In his heart he would never turn against or condemn Russia. What he was condemning was the inhumanity being carried out against these Americans. He told Grant he knew it was the right thing to do, but then again, he was betraying his country. A KGB officer betraying his country.
The day he learned about the POWs, he didn’t hesitate in making a decision, and with that immediate response, he knew he was right. He could not stand by in good conscience and not do anything to help. Perhaps Grant’s statement was accurate after all. He was just being human.