No sooner had Carr ended his call, when a light on his red phone started blinking. He waited until his secretary notified him.
“Mr. President, Premier Gorshevsky and his interpreter are on line one.”
Carr gave Hannigan and Kruger a glance. Before picking up the receiver, he hit the speaker button. “Premier Gorshevsky?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“What can I do for you?” Carr asked, as he winked at the two men.
“Mr. President, I would like to discuss with you the possibility of a prisoner exchange.”
“Interesting,” Carr responded. “You did say ‘exchange’ didn’t you?”
“I did. You have been holding Comrade Boris Chernov, or, I should say, your CIA has been holding him for quite some time.” Carr eyed Hannigan, who shrugged his shoulders. Gorshevsky continued, “I have also been informed that our Colonel Moshenko is now in your hands.” Whether or not the report was correct about Moshenko firing at Russian troops, Gorshevsky wanted him back in Russia.
Carr responded, “Now, if I’m not mistaken, you no longer have our five Americans, who were, at one time, POWs in the hands of the North Vietnamese. Would you care to tell me how those men ended up in your country, Mr. Gorshevsky? I’m curious, and I’m certain the American people and our Allies would like some kind of explanation.”
Gorshevsky let the question go. The President was smart enough to have figured out the POWs were to have been his bargaining tool. Instead, he replied, “I realize we no longer have your Americans, Mr. President.”
“So, if not those men, who could you possibly have that you want to exchange?”
“I have been informed that our soldiers have taken a Captain Stevens into custody. This captain has killed several of our men, Mr. President. He… ”
“Just a minute. You say he ‘killed’ your men? Under what circumstances did that happen? Was it during the altercation when your soldiers were trying to prevent the five Americans from escaping to freedom? If that’s the case, I’d say Captain Stevens was protecting his fellow Americans, Mr. Premier. Surely, you agree.”
Again, Gorshevsky had to sidestep the issue. “According to the dossier we have on him, I believe he works for your Admiral Torrinson. I wonder what information we can obtain from him regarding your Naval Investigative Service. But, putting that aside, I am willing to exchange him for Comrade Chernov.”
Carr thought Gorshevsky sounded as if he were trying to exchange a damn pair of Russian shoes. “And how can I be sure you are holding Captain Stevens? What proof do you have?”
“I can give you proof, if that is what you want, or, we can just set a place and time to make the exchange and resolve the matter completely. Perhaps we can meet in Potsdam, where other friendly exchanges have taken place between our two countries.”
Carr leaned back in his chair, swiveling back and forth, as he sipped at a glass of water. “This is all very sudden, Mr. Premier. But I hope you won’t be too disappointed when I tell you this exchange is never going to happen.”
Gorshevsky let the words sink in, totally astonished. “Never going to happen? You do not wish to get your American back? Do you have any idea what we can do…?”
“There is no need to threaten me or Captain Stevens, Mr. Premier,” Carr interrupted, looking forward to ending this game. He swung his chair back to center, then leaned on his desk. “Let me ask you something, Mr. Premier, and this has to do with your conscience.”
“My conscience?”
“Yes. You said you have a dossier on Captain Stevens. Surely in that file there is information on what the captain did for you and the Politburo, the risk he took. Am I correct?” Carr only heard a grunt from the other end. “Mr. Gorshevsky?”
“Yes. You are correct. But that still did not give him the right to… ”
“All right. That’s enough. Now, let me tell you why I will not make an exchange, Mr. Gorshevsky. Let me rephrase that. I cannot make an exchange. I don’t know who gave you the information about your country having Captain Stevens in custody, but it is completely inaccurate. You see, Mr. Premier, as of approximately two hours ago, you no longer have custody of Captain Stevens. We do.” Trump card. Game over.
Gorshevsky was breathing so heavy now, he was wheezing, completely dumbfounded by the news. Someone was making a fool out of him. Pictures of people who had been involved in this whole incident and investigation since the aircraft was destroyed, flashed in his mind.
Thinking he was losing the upper hand, Gorshevsky tried to regain his composure somewhat. He turned his attention to the Colonel Moshenko matter. Nothing has been proven that Moshenko turned against his troops and the Motherland. He wanted to believe the Americans took him as a hostage. He finally asked Carr, “And what of our Colonel Moshenko? I know he was taken with the Americans. I am requesting you return him to my country.”
“Are you telling me you have someone else in custody that can be exchanged for this colonel?”
“No. Not at this time.”
“Then I’m afraid this Colonel Moshenko must remain in our custody, Mr. Gorshevsky. And if I’m not mistaken, isn’t he an officer in your KGB?”
“You know he is,” the agitated premier answered, reaching for another glass of Stoli. “But I have one other concern,” Gorshevsky said, swallowing a mouthful of vodka. “We have been unable to locate the colonel’s wife. There is no trace of her. Do you know anything about this, Mr. President?”
“These past couple of days have certainly not treated you well, Mr. Gorshevsky. But I’m sorry to hear about Mrs. Moshenko. I hope she’s safe and no harm has come to her. I tell you what, if you’d like, we’d be more than willing to assist in… ”
“Thank you, but that will not be necessary, Mr. President.”
“Then I guess there’s nothing further to discuss. I believe our business is concluded. Good day, Mr. Gorshevsky.”
A black four-door Mercedes, with darkened windows, slowly pulled alongside a curb on Ulitsa Kratsina, followed closely by an older black four-door Volga.
Both vehicles rolled to a stop. Engines were shut off. Two men got out of the Volga, then walked to the Mercedes, standing on the curb, with Uzis slung over their shoulders.
Inside the Mercedes, Mikhail Antolov sat in the backseat, holding a folder on his lap. He took a final drag from his cigarette, then crushed it in an ashtray in the console. Several papers slid out of the folder when he tossed it on the seat. He knocked on the window. His driver opened the door, and Antolov got out. He adjusted his Makarov in his side holster, then buttoned his jacket, as he looked at the five-story apartment building in front of him.
Antolov focused his eyes on a third floor apartment. Lights were shining from a single and a large five-paned window. Waiting no longer, he started toward the building, with his two men staying close behind.
As they approached the building, Antolov stepped aside and waited as his men opened the single prefabricated wooden door. Once inside, he motioned both men ahead of him. The lead man stood near the bottom step of the stairwell. Resting a hand on the rusted metal railing, he tilted his head back, looking up three flights of concrete steps, swiveling his head to see all angles.
A sound of voices, then a door slamming, made them back up. A middle-aged man and woman came around the first floor landing. Antolov’s guards stepped out of the shadows, stopping the couple before they reached the bottom step, holding them at bay. The woman gasped, seeing the weapons. Antolov remained in the shadows, shaking his head, saying, “N’yet.” Tugging on the man’s jacket sleeve, a guard swung his Uzi to the right. The couple knew it was time for them to leave, and they ran from the building.