Giving his watch a quick glance, he took a deep breath. “Ready?”
Mullins and Adler nodded. Whatever plan there was, it had just begun.
Leaving at least a block separating them, the three men walked at a brisk pace, trying not to draw any attention to themselves. They had a little over a mile to cover before reaching Stoleshnikov Lane and the apartment of Grigori Moshenko.
This apartment complex was one of many built from the Khrushchovka design, named for Nikita Khrushchev. It was an early attempt at industrialized and prefabricated buildings. The elements (or panels) were made at concrete plants and trucked to the site as needed. From 1961 to 1968, sixty-four thousand units of this type were built in Moscow.
Since elevators were considered too costly and time-consuming to build, all Khrushchovka apartments were only five-stories, the last being completed during 1971.
In Moshenko’s complex, the three, five-story buildings formed a U. His building, one of the newest in Moscow, was in the back, off the main road. Two corner apartments were two levels, one belonging to Moshenko.
Grant, followed by Adler, then Mullins walked past the complex, each of them ducking into a stand of trees, finally joining up.
The grounds around them were empty, quiet. Confident they were safe, they made their way behind the first building. When they reached the corner, they stopped briefly, ensuring the area was still clear, then hustled to the back building. Without any hesitation, they entered from a side door.
Grant motioned for Adler to secure this door and for Mullins to follow him. They turned and started walking down the hallway. Grant kept his right hand on the pistol tucked into the back of his trousers, hidden under his jacket.
The hallway was dark. An overhead lightbulb was broken. Slivers of glass had been kicked toward the baseboards. They stayed close to the wall, listening for voices. But only silence surrounded them.
Grant stopped in front of a door with the letter “A” painted above it. He handed Mullins his satchel, then signaled for him to wait at the exit door farther down the hall.
Once Mullins was positioned, Grant tapped three times on the apartment door.
As he waited, he looked back towards Adler. Then, there was a slight sound on the other side of the door, with a soft voice asking in Russian, “Who is it?”
“Alexandra, it’s Grant.” He heard a lock being turned, then the door opened. He took one more look toward Adler and Mullins, then slipped into the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him.
Putting a finger to his lips, he took her hand, went to the kitchen and turned on the water. The pipes behind the wall rattled and the water sputtered several seconds before flowing evenly.
Grant gave her a quick hug, trying to put her at ease. She wasn’t able to hide her nervousness. Her life was changing in a dramatic and possibly dangerous way. She nervously rubbed her hand on her black skirt, causing one edge of her white blouse to come out at the waistband.
Standing close to her, and keeping his voice low, he asked with obvious concern, “Are you okay?” She looked up at him and nodded, trying to smile. He reached for her shaking hand, holding it in both of his, hoping it would calm her, but he needed information. “Is Grigori going to call you?”
“Yes, before six from Domodedovo,” she responded, as tears started filling her brown eyes.
Grant knew that would be too late. He and Adler had to leave now, before Moshenko departed. Leaning toward her, he asked, “You still know the codes, right?” Again she nodded. “When Grigori calls, you tell him what time I left here and there will be two of us going to Domodedovo.” She held up two fingers in confirmation, and he nodded.
He motioned toward the front door. Standing quietly, he looked down at her, thinking, She’s your responsibility now, Stevens, yours and Mullins.
Her eyes widened as she remembered something, then she held up her hand, meaning for him to wait.
She rushed into the study. Pulling open a drawer in the desk, she rummaged through papers, searching for a key. Taking it out, she wrote a quick note, then rushed back to Grant, lifted his hand, and dropped the key and note into his palm. He looked at the tag hanging from a piece of twine, with the word “groozaveek” (truck) and then the note. It had the address of where Moshenko parked the vehicle. He smiled as he slipped both items into his jacket pocket.
He whispered, “A friend of mine is going to stay with you. His name is Tony. You can trust him. He doesn’t speak Russian, but I think you’ll both do fine. He’ll protect you, Alexandra.” She squeezed Grant’s hand in understanding. “Don’t make any phone calls. Leave your papers in a purse. Tony has new ones for you, and remember, when the time comes, take very little. No suitcase, okay?” She merely nodded. Needing final confirmation, he asked, “Are you sure about this, Alexandra? Do you both want to do this?”
He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, as she replied, “Da.”
Giving her a hug, he tried to reassure her as he whispered, “It will be all right, Alexandra. We’ll take care of everything. You’ll both be safe. I promise.” Then he carefully opened the door part way, poked his head out, and signaled for Mullins.
Quietly, brief introductions were made. Then Grant motioned for Mullins to follow him into the hallway. “Tony, if Grigori calls, you contact me on the radio. We’re flying by the seat of our pants from now on.” He took his satchel from Mullins.
“What happens if I need to get her out?”
“You’ve got the passport and papers, right?”
“Yeah, right here,” Mullins answered, patting his upper pocket.
“I told her to put her old ones in a purse to be kept here. It might throw off KGB if they search. Besides, I don’t want her accidentally showing it if it comes to that. Christ! I know she’s scared to death, for herself and Grigori.”
Mullins shook Grant’s shoulder. “You need to get outta here now, buddy. I’ll handle things.”
As he was about to leave, Alexandra stepped in the doorway, and tugged on Grant’s arm. He leaned toward her as she stood on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, and she whispered, “Spaseeba, Grant.” (Thank you.) She went back into the apartment.
Mullins grabbed Grant’s hand, holding it firmly. “Keep your head down, ya hear?”
“Yeah, Tony. You, too.” Giving Mullins’ hand one last squeeze, he said, “See you in Berlin!” He signaled for Adler to leave, then he went to the opposite exit door, gave Adler a few seconds head start, then left the building.
Mullins waited until both of them left, then he closed the apartment door.
Grant met Adler at the clump of trees. “We’re heading to the Metro, about a six minute walk south. Grigori’s left the key to the truck. It’s parked near there.” He gave directions, then said, “Stay within a block of me. Once you see me at the truck, stay where you are. I’ll pick you up. Let’s go.”
The two were on their way to the Metro known as Ploshchad Sverdlova. Opened in 1938, it was part of the second state of construction of the Moscow Metro system, and for residents, it was ideally located near numerous theaters, including the Bolshoi Theatre.
Grant shielded his eyes as he looked overhead. The wind was picking up. Dark clouds were on the horizon, blowing in from the West.
He kept up a steady pace, brushing past Russians caught up in their own lives, just trying to survive. As he walked he couldn’t help think about all the missions he’d been on, but this one had special meaning.
The Team’s inability to rescue the POWs in ‘75 hung over him like the black clouds heading toward him now. The failure troubled his mind. As strong of a person that he was, both physically and mentally, it was his heart that felt the pain. And now he had the additional responsibility of Grigori and Alexandra. Her face, anxious and distressed, remained in his mind’s eye.