He continued waiting. It was 2230 hours. A faint noise off in the distance made him quickly raise the scope as he leaned forward and rested on the downed tree. It was so very quiet, almost too quiet, making it difficult to pinpoint the right direction as the noise echoed. He focused the scope on the entrance and then beyond.
There were three roads. Two ran parallel to the park, and one head-on. Each had two lanes and intersected just outside the entrance. They joined at a roundabout, a circle. Grant slowly moved his head, training the scope up and down on the far right road, then continued moving left. Nothing was happening on the middle road. He had just scanned the grassy area to the left, when something caught his eye. Wait one! He steadied his elbows on the trunk.
Two subjects came briefly into view then disappeared behind a ten foot section of a brick wall that had been all but destroyed during World War II. The noise must have been car doors. They parked far enough away. That's why it took five minutes before he spotted them. Odds weren't exactly in his favor. With final confirmation that an Embassy employee was a traitor, he could haul ass now then contact Wharton. But Grant Stevens was going to play the game until its conclusion. The two pursuers were about to become the pursued.
They ran across the street, quickly stepping over the chain at the entrance. Both men were wearing dark slacks, heavy sweaters and loose fitting jackets. Only one, the taller of the two, wore a cap, similar to a golfer's cap.
Grant zeroed in with the scope, noticing a weapon in each man's hand, complete with silencers. He laid the Starlighter in front of him, then reached down and touched the handle of his knife. Instead, he opted for the .45 and drew it from his waistband. "Oh, shit," he said under his breath, seeing the taller man giving directions to his partner as he pointed in Grant’s direction. The shorter man started running up the hill straight for him. Grant took a quick glance at the taller man running up the opposite side, then, he immediately flattened his body under a needle-covered branch, with his arms slightly bent. The gun handle was gripped in his hand in front of his face. He listened to twigs snapping under running feet.
There was a rustling sound as the man crawled around behind the stump. He was less than fifteen feet from Grant when a sound suddenly made Grant flinch. The man was trying to imitate a birdcall as a signal. Grant waited. Then a second later there was a response somewhere off to his left. He heard a 'click.’ A gun hammer? The man was on his knees now, allowing Grant a clearer view through the branches. He was about 5'7", maybe in his late twenties and stocky. By the way he was breathing, it was obvious he wasn't in good, physical shape.
After twelve minutes in a kneeling position, the man started rubbing his legs, finally falling back on his rearend, extending his legs out in front of him.
Grant's options were very limited when it came to putting this guy out of commission. Positioning the .45 so it was aimed straight ahead, he felt around with his other hand and found a small rock, then tossed it beyond the tree branches. The East German snapped his head around, shifting the Luger to his right hand before getting back into a kneeling position. He gradually stood but remained crouched, while he moved slowly away from the fallen tree, taking one cautious step at a time.
Grant turned his head to the right, ignoring the scraping of his cheek over prickly pine needles. The man was in clear view now, still trying to find the source of the noise. He was no more than twelve feet from Grant when he heard, "Psstt." He jerked around. A second after his eyes met Grant's, the bullet struck his forehead, dropping him like a rock.
Grant crawled out from beneath the branch. Staying on his hands and knees, he moved next to the dead East German, whose eyes and mouth were still open as if in shock. Grant thought: No time to find out who you are… were, friend.
Keeping low, he scrambled back to the tree and grabbed the scope. Where the hell was the other guy? He looked through the scope trying to find the second gunman. A slight movement caught his attention.
He shoved the scope into the rucksack then took a bearing with his compass that was attached to his watch band. He looked up the hill, verifying his escape route. He was about to stash the rucksack behind another pine thirty feet away, when he heard an engine. Christ! More company. He peered over the tree trunk. A jeep-load of East Germans was driving down the road that led directly toward the entrance. It drove into the circle, then started heading away from the park. Time for you to join the party, Grant thought as he took aim and fired, intentionally aiming at the windshield. The bullet shattered the glass. The driver swerved and slammed on the brakes. Four soldiers scrambled out, taking cover behind the vehicle now sitting at a forty-five degree angle, blocking both lanes. The East German hiding in the trees snapped his head around, clearly surprised and near panic.
Knowing he'd probably be giving away his position, Grant fired again anyway, this time shooting at the ground close to the lone gunman. Dirt kicked up around the man and he jumped. Then, confused and scared, he fired recklessly into the trees.
Just as Grant had hoped, the soldiers didn't take the time to analyze which direction the bullets were heading or coming from, never thinking there could possibly be two gunmen. Instinctively, they opened fire with their AK47's.
Time to haul ass, Stevens! He slung the rucksack over his shoulder, and crouching as low as possible, he beat feet up the hill, ducking behind trees as he ran, not bothering to look back. He ran full tilt, hearing the firefight taking place behind him. Suddenly, everything went dead quiet just as he reached the top of the hill. He glanced back, seeing the soldiers running into the park, all four heading toward the last known position of the lone gunman. Whatever the outcome, Grant wasn't hanging around. Not even out of breath, he started running again, putting as much distance between himself and the East Germans as he possibly could.
When he had covered nearly two miles, he dropped to the ground then took the walkie-talkie from the sack. "Panther calling Timberwolf. Come in Timberwolf. Over."
The walkie-talkie crackled. "Timberwolf. Over."
"Target acquired. Call Silverfox then Chief. On my way to rendezvous. Over and out."
Adler switched off the walkie-talkie and let out a muffled shout, "Hot damn!" He immediately called Manfred, then Wharton.
Wharton had locked himself in his office. He was sitting behind his desk with his sleeves rolled up. Several cigarette butts had already been thoroughly crushed in the ashtray. Nervously, his eyes kept shifting from the wall clock to the walkie-talkie in front of him. He thought to himself: Gotta remember to call that NIS guy when this is over. What the hell was his name? Oh, yeah, Webster, Glen Webster.
He grabbed a pen from the holder and made the note on his desk calendar, deciding not to trust his memory. Grant asked that when the double-crossing son of a bitch in the Embassy had been identified, Wharton was to contact Webster to have him see that Marie got back home safely. He flipped the ballpoint pen on the desk, ignoring it as it rolled over the edge. All the significant players were in place — Bradley, Canetti and Kelley. Christ! It was almost 2330 hours. Was this plan going to work? He nearly came out of his chair when he heard a crackle from the walkie-talkie.
"Timberwolf calling Chief. Come in. Over."
"Chief here. Over."
"Panther made contact. Repeat, Panther made contact. Three on way to rendezvous. Over."
"Understood. Good luck. Out." The transmission ended. "Son of a bitch! The bastard!" he swore as he shook his head and dropped the walkie-talkie on the desk. He'd been hoping Stevens was wrong, that his instincts would play him wrong this time. The chair rolled back and hit the wall with a thud as he angrily stood up. He punched in one of the buttons at the base of the phone then picked up the receiver. The button lit up then he dialed extension 55. "Sergeant Major, I want you and one of your men to come to my office on the double!" He slammed down the receiver. Within two minutes there was a rapping at the door. "Come!"