Domodedovo Airport is twenty-nine miles south southeast of Moscow. It was officially opened in 1965, with the intent to handle long distance domestic travel in the Soviet Union. In 1975 the airport was selected for the inaugural flight of the supersonic Tupolev Tu 144.
Moshenko turned around in the phone booth, with his eyes scanning every person walking by. Then, with a lowered voice, he said, “I have told Alexandra everything, Grant. She agrees with me. We have decided.”
Grant’s heart jumped. He sucked in a deep lungful of air, then exhaled through tight lips. “I understand.”
Moshenko continued, “I have given her the codes we use. If I do not have time to call you, you contact her when you arrive. She will be waiting for you. I will try to give her as much information as possible.”
“You sure that’s what you want to do?”
“We are sure.” Before Grant could comment further, Moshenko said, “My friend, your mission to help these men, it will put you in grave danger. You will let me know if this task, to help us, will add to that danger. I do not want you… ”
Grant detected the emotion in Moshenko’s voice, as he responded, “Remember my words, Grigori. Remember.” There was quiet between both men. Grant cleared his throat, finally saying, “We have a flight to Tempelhof this morning. You call Admiral Torrinson if you need to reach me, okay?”
“Yes, my friend. We will be waiting for you. Da sveedahnya.”
“Da sveedahnya.”
Grant put the phone down slowly, with his hand lingering on the receiver. He suddenly felt a heaviness on his chest, his heart. The realization hit him hard. Had he instigated this? Had his honest offer to help his friend, come to this… a defection?
Torrinson turned away from the window, walked toward Grant, then stopped directly in front of him. “Captain, are you going to fill me in?”
Grant looked into the eyes of John Torrinson. His boss wanted an answer, expected an answer. Could he tell him everything?
Without taking his eyes from Torrinson’s, Grant answered, “Grigori’s been given instructions to go to Domodedovo Airport tomorrow at 1800 hours, Russia time, sir. At that time he’ll be told where the POWs are.”
“And?”
“That’s all he knows, sir.”
Torrinson knew there was more, just from listening to the conversation. “Grant, I think we’ve been honest with each other since I came onboard. Am I right?”
“That’s affirmative, sir.”
“Then, I want you to be honest with me right now. What the hell’s going on?”
Adler walked a few paces farther away from the door, debating whether he should slip out into the outer office. Shit, skipper; how the hell are you gonna handle this? He didn’t have any doubt that nothing, barring prison, would prevent Grant from helping Moshenko.
Grant took a deep breath, then took a step away from Torrinson. Adler’s eyes darted from Grant to Torrinson, concerned on what the next move would be, and who’d be making it.
Finally, Grant turned around, standing with his arms behind his back, at parade rest. “Sir, what Grigori is doing is… well, sir, it takes balls, sir. He’s my friend and I’m really concerned. But in order for us to get final info on the POWs, he knows it’ll be almost impossible for him to contact us. He feels the only way he can do it is through Alexandra, his wife, sir.”
Now Torrinson understood, or so he thought. He went behind his desk and sat in his swivel chair, contemplating. “What do you plan on doing, Grant?”
“Have to wait till we’re in Germany, sir, but I don’t see any other way. Unless Grigori finds a way to contact you or me, I’ll have to contact Alexandra.”
“Are you telling me that’s all, captain? That’s it?” Torrinson inquired, skeptically.
“Yes, sir. That’s all.”
The silence that suddenly hung over the office was interrupted by the buzz of the intercom. Torrinson slapped at the switch. “What is it, Zach?”
“Sir, confirmation from Andrews. Does Captain Stevens need to confirm with them?”
Torrinson looked at Grant, who said, “I can take it on Zach’s phone, sir.” He needed to get the hell out of the admiral’s office post haste. Adler closed the office door behind them.
Once Grant and Adler left, Torrinson slumped down in his chair. He had always trusted Grant, hardly ever questioned his decisions because he knew the job would get done. But something was going on this time, something too private for even Grant to discuss. What the hell is going on? Torrinson questioned, frustrated.
He swung his chair around, and got up quickly. Pacing back and forth behind his desk, he kept trying to understand what Grant was being so secretive about.
Reviewing the words he heard from Grant’s conversation, he suddenly stopped in his tracks. Can’t be! Under his breath, he said, “Defection? Moshenko wants to defect?” As incredulous as it sounded, it made sense. Moshenko wanted Grant’s help to defect!
So, he now had a decision to make. Should he confront Grant and try to get the truth out of him one more time? Or should he let Grant proceed with part two of the mission as if he, Torrinson, didn’t have a clue?
Torrinson crossed his arms over his chest. He walked slowly to the mirror near the couch. Staring up at the eagle attached to the top, a thought hit him. Maybe Grant is keeping this close to the vest because he doesn’t want to get me involved. He wants to protect me. Torrinson contemplated the notion.
“Captain,” he said under his breath, “you drive me nuts sometimes.” That brought a smile. It also brought up another issue. How could he let Grant take the fall if it should all turn to shit? No matter which way they let it happen, their asses could be in serious trouble. “Unless… ” He hurried to his office door and swung it open.
Grant was just ending his call, when Torrinson rushed out of his office. He pointed toward Grant, then Adler, as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Captain, lieutenant, into my office!”
Adler closed the door behind him, then walked near Grant. Both of them stood in front of Torrinson’s desk, braced at attention, anticipating a reaming.
“Gentlemen,” he said, before stepping next to Grant, “it is my opinion that Colonel Moshenko has informed you of his plan to defect. Am I correct, Grant?”
The words hit Grant with full impact. He didn’t think he had it in him to deny the fact any longer, especially with what was at stake. With his eyes staring straight ahead, he answered, “Yes, sir. That’s a possibility, sir.”
Torrinson lowered his head, as he slowly walked behind his desk. “At ease, gentlemen.” Both men stood at parade rest. Torrinson asked, “Joe, do you have anything to say?”
“Not at this time, sir.” Adler had no idea where Grant was going to take this G2 (interrogation).
“I see.” Torrinson eased himself down into his chair, then said, “Why don’t you step outside for a minute, Joe.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Adler braced, then turned and left. Shit!
“Okay, Grant. Let’s you and me hash this out. Why the hell don’t you want to keep me in the loop on this?” He motioned for Grant to sit.
“Sir, I wasn’t positive until Grigori’s last phone call. I’ve got a whole lot running through my brain right now. I’m worried for him and for what he’s doing. I’m worried for Alexandra. And, sir, I don’t have any damn idea on how to make it happen, how to keep them both out of harm’s way. No excuses, sir, but I haven’t had time to put that plan together.”
“I understand, Grant, but you still haven’t answered me.”
“Sir, the more left out of the picture, the more won’t have to answer later, if it all turns to….if it doesn’t work out, sir.”