“Should be cozy aboard the Gulfstream,” Mullins laughed.
“We’ll be fine just knowing this op is over. Can’t say the same for our guests. Look, I’ll call you from the plane before we start our approach in Virginia. Let’s plan on the ‘Cowboys’ meeting us outside the gate of the property. That should be more secure, away from any curious eyes. If that’s not gonna happen, and they want another location for the transfer, let me know.”
“Safe trip, Grant.”
Chapter 23
Two Chevy Suburbans, with their high beams glaring, traveled along the single-lane road, following closely behind one another. They started slowing as they approached the electronic gate.
Parked just off the shoulder, facing the oncoming Chevys, was an unmarked black van, with its low beams on, its engine running. Two men got out of the cab, as two more walked from the back.
Grant got out of the front passenger side, then walked around the front of the lead Chevy. “Gentlemen,” he said, as his eyes went to each of the four men.
A tall, blond-haired man took a step toward him. “Grant Stevens?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m Special Agent Brad Donlevy.” He pulled the right side of his jacket back, exposing a badge and weapon.
Grant extended a hand. “Agent Donlevy. Ready to assume control of your passengers?”
“We are.” The four agents stood together, three with their hands poised near their firearms. Donlevy held a small notebook and pen.
Grant motioned toward the first Chevy, signaling to Diaz and Novak. They slid out of the rear, then came around to open the back passenger door. The Team in the second Chevy rolled down the windows, then leaned on the door frames.
Novak reached in and helped Gao slide out of the vehicle. He identified Gao as he handed him over to one of the agent’s. The same process went on for the other three prisoners. Inside the van, each prisoner was handcuffed to a bar running the length of a stainless steel bench seat. When all were secure, the agents got in the back of the vehicle and closed the doors.
Donlevy flipped his notebook closed, then put it and his pen in a pocket inside his jacket. He extended a hand toward Grant. “We might be contacting you soon.”
Grant gave a nod. “Look forward to it.” Once the van’s taillights were out of sight, Grant finally relaxed. He got in the Chevy.
“Did I hear you correctly?” Adler asked with some surprise. “You’re looking forward to a meeting with the CIA?!”
“I was just being polite. Okay. Take us home.”
Grant and Adler sat in front of Mullins’ desk, flipping through papers, comparing their final AAR to the CIA’s document. While the AAR wasn’t a requirement for the Team, it was one of those CYA (cover your ass) reports. Mullins would retain any and all documents submitted by Alpha Tango.
“Have these been seen by the President?” Grant asked, as he continued scanning the pages.
“I believe so,”Mullins responded. “Why? Do you see any discrepancies?”
“No. Everything matches.” He handed his papers to Adler. “Guess it’s SOP not to put everything in writing, at least for the Agency.”
“Probably. But it looks like your assumptions were correct about the Taiwan ‘team.’”
Grant leaned back, locking his fingers behind his head. “Scary stuff. This seems to happen way too often. Tell me… do you know if Lin was American?”
“He was born here, but his parents moved back to Taiwan when he was a little kid.”
“Joe and I figured there’s no way in hell the President will turn Zhu back over to China. But do you have any idea what’s going to happen to Gao?”
Mullins tapped a pencil on his desk, shaking his head slowly. “I tried to find out but couldn’t get anything. My personal guess is the President’s having another long conversation with Chairman Xiaoping. That government’s gotta be concerned about who Gao was working for and the havoc he and his partners were about to cause.”
Adler dropped the papers on the desk and commented, “All the diplomacy would’ve gone right down the shit strainer if anything happened to the V.P.”
“You got that right,” Grant said. “Getting back to Gao… my suspicion is once the Agency’s finished with him, they may consider sending him back to China.”
“That’s my vote!” Adler laughed, giving a thumb’s up.
“Oh, one last question, Scott. Have you heard any scuttlebutt if Dao will get a star on the Wall of Honor at the Agency?”
Mullins shook his head. “Nothing’s filtered down, but I can’t see him not getting one.”
Grant slapped his thighs, just before he stood. “Well, guess it’s time we head out. Unless you’ve got another job for us!”
“You’re a glutton for punishment,” Mullins responded, as he walked around to the front of the desk. “And, no, nothing’s come across my desk yet.”
“Good,” Adler said, “‘cause I’m starving!”
Grant picked up his baseball cap from the desk. “How about joining us for lunch?”
Mullins checked his watch. “Have to take a raincheck. I’ve got another meeting with the director in a half hour.”
Grant screwed on his ball cap. “Maybe dinner?”
“That I can do! Call me with time and place.”
“C’mon, Joe. Let’s swing by and see Grigori. Damn! I mean ‘Uri.’ Just can’t get that name to stick in my brain.”
“I’d like to meet that friend of yours,” Mullins said.
“I’ll see that it happens, Scott. He and his wife are really good people.” Handshakes went around and Grant said, “Okay. We’re outta here. See you tonight.”
Even though they were still in the parking garage, the two put on their aviator sunglasses, then settled into the Vette. Grant picked up the mobile phone and punched in a number. “Hey! It’s Grant! Joe and I are on our way over, but just wanted to ask you ahead of time. How about dinner out tonight? Our treat!”
PART II
Team Alpha Tango
How It All Began
Chapter 24
Blackened snow, leftover from the previous week’s storm, was still piled along sidewalks and in alleyways. The nor’easter dumped nearly twelve inches of wet, heavy snow up and down the Eastern seaboard. The temperature had dropped into the low twenties every evening over the past several days.
Puffs of breath constantly wafted into the freezing air as Grant Stevens walked down G Street at a good clip. His gloved hands were shoved into the pockets of his brown leather flight jacket. Its fur collar gave some warmth to his neck. The jacket was given to him by the AE-6B pilot who flew him and Adler from an aircraft carrier back to D.C. after one of their missions.
He talked himself into taking this walk thinking the cold night air and a cup of hot, black coffee might be the answer. His intention was to only clear his brain… not freeze it.
Turning down a narrow side street, he was immediately hit by a blast of cold wind. He pulled his watch cap down over his ears, as he stepped over a small mound of frozen snow. Even with heavy socks, his boondockers (black, lace-up boots) barely kept his feet warm. “Colder than a witch’s tit,” he said quietly through clenched teeth. How many times had he heard that aboard a ship floating somewhere in the North Atlantic? Now he questioned why the hell he just didn’t put on a pot of coffee at his apartment.