"What?!" Grant responded in amazement. "Not the East German scientist?"
"So, you have heard the name," Moshenko answered.
"Not just the name. According to Lampson, the man's deaf, uses sign language, right?" Grant sat down on the edge of the chair, shaking his head slowly. "Lampson had been so certain Heisen could be trusted."
"Well, it seems Major Zuyeva reads sign language, my friend, and… "
"They were 'reading' a movie Heisen sent them," Grant interrupted, smacking his fist into his palm.
"Bingo!" Adler uttered sharply.
Moshenko shot a glance at Adler, then back at Grant. "Alexei knows about Steiner," he sighed heavily, "and by now he has figured out why I met with him." Moshenko stood and walked behind the chair, resting his hands on its splintered, wooden back.
Grant stared at his friend, who suddenly looked drawn and worried. "Look, the question now is, how the hell is Stoyakova involved?" Grant rubbed his palms together slowly. "Come on, Grigori, think about it. Why wasn't he setting up an agenda to stop Steiner himself? This shit's been going on for nearly two years. That tape couldn't have been the first one he's seen. With what he knew, and in his position, you'd think he would have brought it to the table before now. Right?"
Moshenko barely nodded his head then he turned and walked into the shadows, his footsteps heavy on the wooden planks. The two Americans watched him closely, concerned.
Adler intertwined his fingers, then rested his hands on top of his head, saying under his breath, "This is getting pretty heavy, boss."
Grant slid around to the side of the chair and called, "Grigori." Moshenko didn't respond. "Look, I know you've been trying to work this out in your own mind, probably since you met with Stoyakova. Let's hash it out, okay?"
Moshenko's head was bowed, but he slowly raised it, as he turned and walked back. "You are right," he finally responded, once again becoming an intelligence officer, searching and probing for answers. "Some people wish for power. I think Alexei is wishing. He does have his own agenda."
"Keep talking," Grant said, motioning with his hand.
"We can't be certain if Alexei has been in contact with Steiner."
Grant shook his head slowly. "Probably not. If he was, there wouldn't be any reason for Heisen and his movies."
"Right, boss," Adler said. "And from our intel on Steiner, he's not one to share the glory that he's hoping for."
"Alright," Moshenko agreed, his voice controlled again. "So now we have two individuals to be concerned about."
Grant stood. Puffs of breath escaped into the cold air as he thought out the problem. "Okay," he finally said, raising a finger, counting each statement. "First, we've got Steiner who's got the drug; second, we've got Stoyakova who wants to take over. So, does Stoyakova wait till Steiner's drugged the liquids, or, does he make an implied threat?"
"Either way," Adler said, "that means somebody else is involved."
Moshenko stood nearby, recording all the data in his brain, and at the same time trying to determine who the other party was. "Whoever it is has to know what Steiner looks like, no?"
Grant and Adler shot looks at one another. Grant replied. "Only one person we can think of, Grigori, and that would be our mysterious woman, Greta."
"Christ! The more we think we know about her," Adler said, exasperated, "the more we don't!"
Moshenko's words came out slow. "More are involved."
"Well," Grant answered, walking in and out of shadows, "Stoyakova may have backers, but two to one they'll shrink away if anything goes wrong."
Adler snickered. "Sure as shootin' when Stoyakova takes the fall, he'll be dragging down those so-called backers."
"So then," Moshenko sighed, "we remove three, and the rest will be taken care of in the scheme of things."
"Roger that, Grigori," Grant answered with a slight curve to his mouth.
"Only problem is, how the hell do we remove the three?" Adler questioned, rocking back and forth on the back chair legs. "I mean, we don't even know where Greta is."
"Our main objective's gotta be stopping Steiner, Joe. Without him or the drug, Stoyakova's got squat."
Moshenko finally sat down. He pressed his broad back against the chair, folding his hands in his lap. "Let's discuss what has to be done."
Grant nodded. "Do you know if traffic will be limited to certain entrances?"
"Yes. Spasskaya Tower. All others will be secured and guards posted."
"Wait one, sir," Adler piped up. "Aren't there some tunnels under one or two of the towers?"
Moshenko nodded, adding, "There are several so-called 'secret' passages beneath Spasskaya Tower, but only one of those travels under street level beyond the Kremlin walls. I believe it exits at… hmm, let me think." He closed his eyes, picturing the tunnel, but his mind followed the path above at street level. "Yes, yes, it exits at a storm grate just beneath the highest part of the wall at St. Basil's Cathedral." The cathedral, with its multi-colored, onion-shaped towers, was positioned at a twenty-five degree angle from Spasskaya Tower and Red Square. A gray-colored wall formed a half-circle around the grounds. It started level with the cobblestone street then gradually rose to a height of approximately thirteen feet at its halfway mark.
“We've gotta cover all bases in case Steiner somehow knows about the tunnels and manages to slip by you," Grant said. "Look, you can't be in more than one place at the same time, so guess Joe and I will have to situate ourselves somewhere. I don't think the guards would welcome these two Americans with open arms," Grant answered, moving his thumb side to side. "We'll have to try that tunnel. So, we'll leave the hotel well before daybreak then hope we can climb down into that thing without being spotted. Did you bring us any firepower?"
Moshenko pushed the briefcase with his foot toward Grant, who picked it up and put it on the chair seat. He pressed the latches outward and the locks popped open. Inside were two Makarov 9mm PMs (Pistolet Makarov), chambered for Soviet 9x18mm cartridges. Four extra fully loaded clips, two throat mikes with earpieces, and two hand-held radio transceivers — one for him, one for Moshenko. They were resting on thick, black protective foam.
Grant handed a Makarov to Adler along with two extra clips and a throat mike. Adler glanced down at the gun in his palm. A five-pointed star was centered in the grip.
After checking the clip that was already loaded in the weapon, Adler asked, "Time to get out of these?" He tugged on the front of the oversized coveralls.
"Do it," Grant answered, as he unzipped the overalls then stepped out of them. They slipped the firearms into the waistbands at the small of their backs, readjusted their heavy sweaters and leather jackets, and finally put on the parkas. Grant took a transceiver from the case and confirmed the number they'd be using to transmit. "Okay, time for us to go to the hotel. You've got the address, right?" he asked Grigori, who nodded. The hotel was located a half mile from the garage. "Let's do the synchronize thing with our watches. It's 0015 hours. Grigori, what time will you be leaving for the Kremlin?"
"I should be on my way at 0700."
"Can you swing by the cathedral, say around 0715? That should give us clear reception. Contact me over the radio."
"I'll be there at 0715," Moshenko said as he led them back down to the garage. He got into his car while Adler cracked open one of the garage doors, then eased through sideways, checking to see all was clear. As he pulled the door open, Moshenko started the engine.