There was a tap at the door before Adler walked in, balancing an oval tray on the palm of his hand that held two cups and a silver teapot. "Tea's served," he grinned while putting the tray on the dresser.
"Tea?" Grant asked, his nose wrinkling.
"Just kidding. I gotta tell you, though, this stuff's gonna kick start your heart."
Grant poured coffee into both cups, as Adler reached for one and asked, "Grigori have any good news?" He sipped slowly from the cup, while he walked over to the bed and sat on the edge.
"He's got the name Steiner is using to get into the meeting, but he couldn't find out any more on our mysterious Greta. Shit! That woman's like an apparition who appears out of the blue, with no traceable past.”
"Think we need to forget about her? I mean, she's dead, boss."
Grant shook his head while he swirled the coffee around in his mouth, the bitter flavor rolling over his taste buds. He wasn't satisfied. Ops weren't over till all the puzzle pieces were in place.
"Hey, Skipper, can we change the subject for a minute? It’s been bugging me and I’ve gotta ask you….you still plan on reaming Lampson’s butt because of that message he sent to Von Wenzel, you know, the one that could’ve screwed up a perfectly good mission?"
"I was ready to, right up until we walked into his room. I don’t know, Joe, especially after telling him about Greta and then seeing him with those kids… "
"Yeah," Adler said quietly. "You don’t think we’re turning soft or something, do you?"
"Who? Us? Hey, you hungry?"
"Does a bear shit in the woods?" Adler laughed.
"It sounds like Lampson and the kids are still sacked out. Why don't we grab an early dinner? Our flight doesn't leave for three and a half hours."
"Follow me!"
Vehicle traffic had thinned. Most of the residents were already home from work. Narrow sidewalks lined both sides of the side street. Jewelry stores displayed objects made with Gdansk's native treasure, amber, the stones ranging from deep yellow brown to yellow.
The cafe was located on a corner. Grant and Adler walked in and Adler requested a table near a wall where they could keep an eye on anyone coming and going.
Old habits are hard to kick, Grant sighed to himself. Better to purposely sit with your back against a wall, than having your back up against one.
The two Americans ordered from the menu, then sat back and let their eyes roam across the front door and from table to table. Five couples, all different age groups, were seated throughout the dining area. Sitting at a table about fifteen feet away was a young couple in their early thirties, who were getting ready to leave. The man reviewed the bill then removed his wallet from his brown tweed jacket. The woman dabbed a white napkin at the corners of her mouth then she removed something from a small handbag.
Grant couldn't see what it was until she began using it to apply her pink lipstick. Adler caught Grant's expression out of the corner of his eye but remained silent, seeing him chomping down on his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
He silently thought: Uh oh. Boss has his wheels spinning again.
Grant finally turned his head then stared straight at Adler. "She's not dead, Joe," he said with what was slightly more than a whisper.
"Who? Whoa! You don't mean Greta?"
"Yeah… Greta."
"But we saw… "
"Did you check for a pulse?"
Adler shook his head. "We'd already spent enough time in that place. Besides, the blood… "
"And we saw what she wanted us to see." He tapped his index finger on the table as he continued. "I found something outside the lab and just shoved it into my vest. Didn't think too much about it; thought it was some type of gun casing."
"And… it wasn't?"
"No. It's one of those single shot, 4.5mm's that looks like a tube of lipstick. She's the one who fired that shot at me while I was in the lab."
"Jesus! But why didn't she grab the Luger from the guy she killed and use it instead?"
Grant rubbed his chin. "I didn't say she used the 4.5. I said she fired one shot."
"Then why didn't she try and finish you off with the Luger?"
"It's likely she snatched her belongings from the bedroom in a rush, knowing somebody else would be coming back. That East German… what was his name? Victor?" Adler nodded. "She had to have heard him coming down the stairs, that's why she hauled ass. Besides, she didn't know it was me in the lab. They only light was from my penlight. She could've thought I was one of Steiner’s men."
They cut their conversation short as a waiter arrived with their meals. Once he'd left, Adler said, "Ya know, you just can't buy those 4.5's in a candy store."
Grant picked up his knife and fork and started slicing through the thin piece of beef. It wasn't a one inch T-bone but at least it was beef. He jabbed a piece with his fork then held it in front of his face, smelling the aroma. He kept his attention on the meat as he said, "I know. I'm working on that. And before you ask… I don't know why she didn't let on she was alive, especially when she knew we were Americans, and we were taking her kids."
"Maybe she wanted us to take them," Adler commented, while he sprinkled salt on a side dish of roasted potatoes.
Grant rolled the idea around in his mind. "Good thought."
"Is that gonna take us back to the question whether the kids are Lampson's?" Adler asked, while he pulled a hard roll apart with his fingers then slathered butter on both halves.
Grant shoved a piece of meat into his mouth, savoring the distinctive flavor as he chewed and chewed. He shook the fork in Adler's direction. "Look, all this thinking is giving me one helluva headache. You mind if we just eat?"
"Is that an order?" Adler asked facetiously without bothering to look up from his plate of Polish sausages.
Grant blissfully chewed another piece of meat and shrugged his shoulders. "What the hell difference does it make?"
Crystal icicles hung like sharpened daggers from window ledges and roof overhangs. The temperature had started dropping steadily since early evening, leveling off at minus six degrees Celsius. At the horizon, a black sky blended with the earth.
Moshenko sat quietly, with his index finger tracing a pattern along the edge of the white, porcelain top table. He raised his eyes, glancing at the ceiling, hearing Alexandra's footsteps in their bedroom. A radiator under the window hissed as steam escaped from the side valve. He pushed his chair back then walked to the room's only source of heat. He'd just started turning the round handle to adjust the flow of steam, when he jerked his head to the side as he heard the sound of his phone. Taking quick strides to the study, he practically lunged for the phone. "Da!"
Grant was at a phone booth, speaking the brief, coded message in Russian. "Is this two N three two?"
"No," Moshenko answered.
"I'm sorry to have disturbed you." Grant broke the connection.
Moshenko placed the receiver back in its cradle. With hardly any conscious effort, he deciphered the sequence of numbers. 'Two N' meant Grant and Adler would be at the second entrance of the airport terminal on the north side of Domodedovo Airport and 'three two' indicated the last two numbers on a license plate belonging to a white panel truck. They'd wait till they spotted the truck then backtrack to the men's room.
At 2215 hours a white panel truck pulled up and parked outside the second entrance of the air terminal. A man got out and walked around to the back, opening one of the doors. He was dressed in painting coveralls with a white cap pulled down nearly covering his eyes. He lifted out two large paint buckets, locked the door and headed for the building. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a uniformed guard standing at the corner of the terminal smoking a cigarette.