“Captain Stevens is holding on the red one, sir. Berlin Embassy is patching him through.”
“Thanks, Zach,” Torrinson said, a little out of breath. He dropped his cap upside down on the desk, then picked up the receiver. “Grant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where are you? Can you hear me?”
“Yes, sir. I can hear you. I’m at a Metro station in Moscow. It’s a little difficult finding secure phones here, sir,” he replied facetiously.
“Listen, Grant. CIA got word a chopper went down after leaving Domodedovo airport.”
“Suspected it was going to happen, sir. Joe found a device under the fuel tank, and spotted another by the rotors. Didn’t have time to search thoroughly, but just what Joe found was enough. So we got the men and our friend off fast.”
Torrinson couldn’t believe what he heard. The helo was destroyed, and the POWs were safely in Grant’s hands. “How are those men?”
“Haven’t been able to spend much time with them myself, sir, but they appear to be in halfway decent shape, considering.”
“I’m assuming the ‘friend’ is the colonel?” Torrinson asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s next, Grant?”
“Have to rethink another plan, sir. When they find the… ”
“The Russians have located it already.”
“Already, huh? Well, expect once it’s dark, they won’t be able to do much more searching and examining, sir. That should give us a head start.
“Look, admiral, I think it’s time for us to get outta here. Don’t know when I’ll make contact with you again, sir.”
“One more thing, Grant. You wouldn’t happen to know where Agent Mullins is, would you?”
“Agent Mullins, sir?”
“Yes. Agent Mullins. Director Hannigan questioned me this morning at the White House. Seems CIA hasn’t seen or heard from him in a couple of days.”
“I… I’m not exactly sure where he is at this time, sir.” Grant squeezed his eyes shut, smacking his fist against the wall. Shit!
“Ah-ha. I see.” Torrinson said. “Well, Godspeed, captain.” Torrinson’s next task was to relay the information to the President, everything except the Mullins’ issue.
Grant hustled out of the Metro, pissed as all hell. Mullins! Dammit, Tony, he angrily thought. The damage had been done. Mullins would most likely be reprimanded. The Agency might even give him his walking papers. Shit!
He got his mind back on track. He had to find a place where he could safely contact Adler. His eyes searched up ahead. There was a narrow alley two blocks away at a bus stop.
Stopping at the corner, he looked at his watch, then glanced down the street, seeing a number 18 bus approaching. Several people lined up along the curb, waiting. As soon as the bus stopped, passengers started exiting, pushing past those trying to get on.
That was his chance. He slid around the corner, then ducked into a doorway, taking the radio from inside his jacket. “Joe,” he called, as he leaned his head out just enough to check the alley.
“Here, skipper.”
“Get everybody out! Find anything in the room we can use… anything! Meet me in front of the Metro at Stratsnoy. Grigori should know it. Look for me on either side of the street, in case I’ve spotted ‘eyes.’ And, Joe, tell Grigori Alexandra’s safe at the Embassy.”
“Copy that! Out!”
Grant slipped the radio back under his jacket, then took a check of the time before walking back to the main street. Again, trying to be inconspicuous, he gave a quick glance at cars and pedestrians, then he turned left, heading back toward the subway.
Keeping up a steady pace, he wove in and out of pedestrians, never making eye contact with anyone.
He pushed open the door and stepped just inside the Metro lobby. Looking around the perimeter, he caught sight of a small kiosk selling the newspaper Pravda,and headed for it. He thought it might help him blend in with the average Moskovite by reading a piece of Communist bullshit. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out coins, then dropped one kopek on the counter, before picking up a paper and tucking it under his arm.
Once outside, he walked north about twenty feet and backed up against the building. Snapping open the paper, he folded one side behind the other, then in half. He lowered it just enough so he could look over the top.
Pedestrians and traffic kept moving. Vehicle headlights started coming on. Twilight was just beginning to approach. Sunset was close to 2200 hours during the summer months.
His eyes scanned doorways and alleys across the street. All were clear. A red and white bus stopped in front of the subway entrance. Passengers exited from front and rear doors. No one lingered. No one glanced in his direction. Either they didn’t give a shit about him, or someone was very, very good at his job.
He turned the paper over and refolded it. As he continued “reading,” a black Mercedes pulled next to the curb. No flags, but definitely an official vehicle, he thought. The average Russian couldn’t afford a Mercedes. Grant stiffened. Doors and windows remained closed. Could there be cameras behind those windows? he wondered. Slipping the paper under his arm, he headed south, ignoring the vehicle.
He kept walking past the Metro entrance, threading his way through passing pedestrians at a normal clip. Once he was at the next intersection, he turned left and immediately stopped. Taking a breath, he positioned himself just close enough to the edge of the building, poking his head around the corner. The Mercedes was gone. Did that mean it was a false alarm? Or was someone driving around the block, heading for this street?
He wasn’t about to wait. Hurrying to the curb, he checked left and right, then he sprinted across the intersection, dodging cars and an electric tram. Making haste along the sidewalk, he posted himself directly across from the Metro, backing up into a darkened corner of a clothing store entrance. He pulled the edge of his sleeve back. Fifteen minutes had passed. Anytime now, he thought.
Still no sign of the Mercedes on the side street. But there was a white truck approaching the intersection. Grant moved cautiously toward the sidewalk, still not exposing himself completely.
The truck turned right, then pulled next to the curb. Adler looked out the passenger side window. “Don’t see him.”
Moshenko scanned the opposite side, looking in between passing cars. Just then, he spotted Grant making eye contact with him. “There he is.” Grant jerked his head left, then started walking in that direction.
Moshenko pulled away from the curb then eased his way into the left hand lane of traffic, slowly following Grant. At the next street, Grant hung a left. Moshenko turned onto the street and slowed. That’s when Grant ran across to the other side, being partially shielded by the truck.
Adler opened the door part way. Grant grabbed the door handle and jumped into the cab. “Keep going. And keep an eye out for a black four-door Mercedes. One might be shadowing us.”
Moshenko readjusted the side view mirror. “No one is there. Where are we going, Grant?”
“West. Head out of Moscow, Grigori.”
More than twenty minutes had passed. They were just reaching the western outskirts of Moscow. No one spoke. Grant kept his eyes glued to the side mirror. Moshenko did his best to do the same, but heavy traffic commanded his total concentration.
Finally, Grant asked, “How are the fellas, Joe? Can’t imagine what’s going on in their minds right now.”
Adler gave a brief nod in agreement, then replied, “All things considered, not bad. They managed to eat a little more. Nobody had any stomach problems. Think we’ll need to get more supplies, though, skipper.”