"Grigori," Alexandra said quietly, as she shook his shoulder. "Your phone, Grigori."
"Yes, yes. You go back to sleep," he said as he threw the covers from his body. He shivered as he got up then reached for his wool robe hanging on the bedpost. Fully awake now, he hurried down the staircase. The double ring of the phone was annoyingly persistent. He rushed into the study directly across from the stairs, fumbled with the lamp on the corner of the desk and finally lifted the receiver. "Moshenko!"
A familiar voice responded in Russian, "Grigori, it's me. Sorry to call at this hour." The entire conversation would be in Russian and in a form of code. Phones were known to be bugged even within the homes of Russian military officers and the KGB themselves.
Moshenko walked around the desk, stretching the phone cord as he sat down. "Do not worry about the time. It is good to hear from you. Is everything going well?"
"We've been working very hard on the apartment. Most of the demolition work has been completed."
"And what about the children? How are they?"
"They're fine. We're going to bring them to their Uncle Leo's for a short visit while we finish our work."
"Ahh, Leo will be delighted to see all of you."
"Once the children are settled, we’ve decided to make a short side trip to attend a family gathering."
"That sounds like a fine idea. But I hope your weather is better than it is here," Moshenko responded as he stood then walked closer to the window. "We're having a snowstorm, but as we are speaking, it appears to be lessening somewhat. What time did you plan on leaving?"
"The earliest flight we could get is nine o'clock this morning," Grant answered, purposely using civilian time. "I understand one of the guests has already left ahead of us. He's bringing the gift he's been working on so diligently these past months."
Moshenko lowered his head, shaking it slowly from side to side. "I must ask you one question. Is it time for me to discuss plans for the party with the others?"
"Your discretion," Grant answered, "but you should still try and limit the number of people who know about it if it's going to be a surprise."
"I agree."
"We need to get some rest before the trip. We'll talk again soon. Give our best to Alexandra. Do svidaniya."
"Do svidaniya," Moshenko replied before hanging up. He stepped around to the front of the desk, turned off the light, then went over to the fireplace. There was still some warmth coming from the embers, even the stone facing was warm.
There's no sense in going back to bed now, he reasoned. He left the study and went to the kitchen to make some tea. He reached for the kettle on the back gas burner, then went to the sink and filled it, planning to have enough hot water ready for Alexandra when she got up. He turned the burner up high, the flames leaping up the sides of the copper kettle. While he spooned the loose tea into the teapot, he reviewed his phone conversation with Grant. So, my friend, you have found Lampson's children and destroyed the laboratory. Well done! Well done!
Adler and Grant were taking the children to Gdansk, then flying to Moscow, making contact with him once they did. The meeting at the Kremlin was scheduled for the following day. Klaus Steiner was on his way to Moscow or perhaps he was already in the city. Moshenko knew it was time to discuss Steiner's plan with Alexei Stoyakova. This was something he had to do. He questioned out loud, “What is it you say, my friend? To cover my ass? Yes! To cover my ass!"
Darkness still engulfed the city. The early winter storm began to subside, but not before covering Moscow’s streets, sidewalks and rooftops with a thick layer of wet, heavy snow. Even though the roads were slippery, few Muscovites were observing the sixty kph speed limit. The storm did little to deter them from driving in the normal, haphazard manner through the city as was evidenced by patterns of long figure-eights created by tires losing traction.
A black Russian-made Volga, its windshield wipers brushing away snow and road grime, traveled along the circular Dzerzhinsky Square, named in honor of the founder of the Cheka, the Soviet Union's original secret police. Moshenko glanced out the side window. A vast seven story yellow building faced the Square. Metal bars covered the ground floor windows of the infamous Lubyanka Prison, while the floors above conveniently housed KGB Headquarters. Ahead of him, encircled by a 7,300 foot long red brick wall and perched atop the sixty-five acres of Borovitsky Hill sat the very heart of Russia — the Kremlin.
Traffic slowed as he approached the entrance. He rolled down the window and leaned his head out, trying to determine the cause of the delay. Two spotlights, placed high on either side of the curved archway, shown down on the passing cars. The guards seem to be checking identifications this morning. He assumed they must be getting ready for the meeting. He rested his wrist on top of the steering wheel, moving it back and forth as the car inched forward slowly. He glanced off to his right at the snow-covered Mavzolei Lenina (Lenin Mausoleum) and Krasnaya Ploshchad (Red Square).
Following tracks in the snow gouged out by dozens of previous cars, Moshenko pulled close to the entrance. A guard waved him forward then motioned for him to stop. Moshenko rolled down his window, held up his identification card. He was waved through Spasskaya Tower. Spasskaya Tower (Tower of the Savior) is the main entrance of the Kremlin located on the eastern side. Its steeple holds intricate clockwork and chimes, while below the structure there is a network of secret passages.
Even though he maneuvered the vehicle cautiously along the snow-covered road, the rear of the car fishtailed as he made a right. He drove past the Presidium, finally pulling into a parking area between it and another building that housed the Oval Hall, Sverdlov Hall, and Council of Ministers. A reflection of the Presidium appeared in his rearview mirror as he parked. He turned off the engine but lingered briefly, drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel. With his thoughts finally in order, he got out and locked the door.
The wind was blowing steadily at fifteen knots. He glanced overhead as he adjusted his fur hat. Breaks in the fast moving clouds allowed brief glimpses of a black sky and sparkling stars. He brushed snow from his eyelashes then started heading toward the building's entrance.
Walking through a long corridor on the first floor, he passed several offices before going through a set of large double doors, where the words "Offices of the Politburo" were spelled out in solid block gold letters. He entered a large, open office space then made his way to the third door to his right. He rapped his knuckles against the door housing the office of Alexei Stoyakova, Minister of Internal Security. As minister, Stoyakova reports to the Russian president, the same manner in which the National Security Advisor reports to the U.S. president.
After waiting several seconds for a response, Moshenko was about to knock again, when he heard Stoyakova’s bellowing voice. "Come in!"
Moshenko entered and said cheerfully, "Good morning, Alexei.” As he closed the door, he spotted someone standing in the corner of the room who was lowering a projection screen.
Stoyakova waved Moshenko over to a chair in front of the desk. "Ahh, Grigori. Come. Sit down."
Moshenko stepped closer to the desk. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"You're not. We were finished." Stoyakova walked from behind his desk, then went over to a small table holding a projector. A spool of 8mm film had just finished rewinding, the end of it flapping continuously against the lower reel. Stoyakova lightly rested his hand on the spinning reel, bringing it to a stop. "Grigori, do you know Major Boris Zuyeva?" Moshenko shook his head. "The major is one of my… interpreters."