Pressing his head against the seat, Grant’s mind wandered back to the failed mission in Vietnam. It’s not often in his line of work that a second chance comes along. Now, he was getting that second chance. He was going to make it right this time.
Ten minutes into the flight, the medical crew director unbuckled his seat belt, then went to the console where he checked readouts. He swiveled his seat around. “Captain.”
Grant swallowed a mouthful of candy bar. He leaned over the armrest, looking behind him. “What can I do for you?”
“There’s a small fridge over here, next to the one we keep the blood supply in. Sandwiches and drinks were brought onboard for you. Sorry I didn’t mention it sooner.”
“Not a problem. Thanks.” He looked across the aisle at Adler. “Go ahead! I know your mouth’s drooling!”
Grant unsnapped his seatbelt then got up, slipping the crumpled candy wrapper in his trouser pocket. Deciding he needed a stretch, he walked a couple of rows back.
Resting a hand against the bulkhead near a small window, he wanted desperately to begin planning the rescue, but there just wasn’t a place to start until he heard from Grigori — or Alexandra.
He glanced at his watch. There was still another eight hours until they reached Germany. That would put it close to 2400 hours in Moscow. Grigori should be home. Grant was still feeling uneasy about putting Alexandra at risk with phone calls. The decision she and Grigori made was out of his hands, at least for now.
Adler walked up next to him. “Well, skipper, do you have any kind of plan yet? All our gear is ready, but that’s about it.”
Grant patted Adler’s shoulder. “I know.”
“I can’t help think about the President’s request, you know, no bloodshed. I sort of understand why he wants it done that way.”
“My thought, too. The quieter we do this, all the better. I’ll say this… if we don’t have any choice, we don’t have any choice. Our mission is to get those men home safely.” He brushed a hand over the top of his head, then slid it down behind his neck, squeezing the muscles. “We’ve gotta protect them, by any means.”
“I agree, boss.” Adler thought a minute. “Do you really think this whole issue will be kept quiet, I mean, out of the press?”
“Don’t know, but for their sake, I sure as hell hope so. They’ve been through enough. They don’t need to be put on display. But if the higher ups deem it so, there’s not any way in hell we can stop it.”
“Christ!” Adler spat out. “You think they would?”
“Why not?” Grant thought for a moment. “But, remember when Hanoi released the other POWs?”
“How could I forget?”
“It was as if a weight was lifted off the whole country. I guess there’s two ways to look at it.” With his head down, thinking of both possibilities, Grant returned to his seat.
These two men always knew when it was time to ease the tension, the anxiety. Adler took his seat across the aisle, biting into his second sandwich.
“Did you leave me any?” Grant asked, as he picked one up from the seat next to him.
Adler looked at the one Grant was holding in his hand, and pointed at it. “You mean you’re gonna need more than that one?”
Grant ignored the question, and reached into his jacket pocket. He held his hand out, with two sandwiches in his palm, and with a raised eyebrow, said, “I know you. Remember?”
“Were the hell did you get those?”
“Geedunk, my friend.”
“Well, aren’t you the Boy Scout? Always prepared!”
“Damn straight!”
Chapter 6
A light steady rain splashed against the plane’s windshield as it broke through heavy cloud cover, with the runway lights of Tempelhof coming into view. In the distance the city lights of Berlin were barely visible on the horizon.
A complex of four-story apartment buildings stood on both sides of the plane’s landing approach, three hundred yards from the end of Runway 27R. A long row of double landing lights were centered down several acres of brush, separating the apartments.
The plane touched down on concrete, with its six tires kicking up standing water. Within five minutes the C-9A pulled up to the terminal. The whining sound of the engines slowly decreased, until there was silence. Grant and Adler snapped open their seat belts and started gathering their gear.
While they waited for someone to open the door, Grant walked to the cockpit. He poked his head into the cabin. “Thanks for the flight, gentlemen."
“Our pleasure,” smiled Jim Whitley.
“Will you be hanging out here till we’re ready to fly back?” Grant asked.
“That’s right; presidential orders and all that,” Whitley laughed. His smiling face turned serious. “In all honesty, we’d be more than willing to help out, with or without those orders. We’ll stay here as long as it takes, captain.”
“Appreciate that.”
As Grant turned, Adler stepped next to him. “You take your suit bag. I’ve got this,” Adler said, taking Grant’s rucksack. “Go on ahead and make your call. I’ll be right behind you.”
A long rectangular sign was fixed above the glass entryway. The white sign with black letters read: BASE OPERATIONS. Grant jogged up the concrete steps, then pushed open the glass door. He checked in at the desk. An airman inspected his ID and official papers. “Oh, Captain Stevens, sir. I’ve got an urgent message for you.” He left the counter.
Grant thought, Must be from the admiral.
“Here you are, sir,” Airman Duffy said, handing Grant a sealed manila envelope.
“Thanks, airman.” He walked to the opposite side of the counter and laid his suit bag on top. Out of habit, he quickly scanned the room, military base or not. He slid his finger under the seal, finally drawing out a single sheet of paper.
The message was from Admiral Torrinson. It read: “Received call from your contact at 1700 hours my time. Call me.”
Grant folded the paper and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Hooking his fingers around the suit bag hanger, he hurried back to the main desk. “Excuse me, airman. Is there a secure phone I can use?”
“Wait one, sir.” Airman Duffy left the counter and walked into a room at the end of the counter.
Within a matter of seconds, he returned with Lieutenant Briscoe. “Captain? You need a secure phone?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. Got one I can use?”
“Come around the counter and follow me, sir.”
Grant was led through one door, and ten feet beyond it was another, this one with a security keypad. The lieutenant punched in the code, then held open the door. “Here you go. I guess you know it’s the red one.”
“Thanks. Do me a favor, will you? When Lieutenant Adler checks in, could you pass the word where I am?”
“Yes, sir.”
Grant closed the door. He sat at the desk, picked up the receiver and dialed NIS. All the while his mind raced. He hoped Torrinson had some good news, news that would enable him to put a plan into action.
A minute later, Torrinson was on the line. “I’ll keep this short, Grant. Colonel Moshenko is to report to the airport by 1800 hours Moscow time. He has not, I repeat, he has not been given a pickup location. The final destination is still East Germany, but no precise location.”
“Nothing?” Grant asked with obvious surprise and concern.
“That’s correct.”
“Guess the premier can be just as paranoid as us, sir.”
“Most likely. And the President still hasn’t received any word from Gorshevsky. Look, Grant, he wants those men brought home. It doesn’t sound like he wants to make any kind of exchange.”