Two guards, dressed in full length, olive drab coats with AK47s slung over their shoulders, were stationed on either side of the portal. Their assignments were to keep back curious onlookers. Two others stood farther inside, sheltered somewhat from the cold morning air, but they wouldn't consider themselves luckier than their counterparts. It was almost impossible not to feel the cold, penetrating eyes of Colonel Grigori Moshenko watching them as they diligently checked papers.
Moshenko stood in the background, keeping himself in the shadows on the south side of the entry. His arms hung relaxed by his sides, but his gloved hands convulsively flared open and then clenched, the anxious gesture unnoticeable to others. An overhead spotlight was directed to shine into the windshield of vehicles entering. As each vehicle was stopped, Moshenko would lean slightly, trying to get a glimpse of each driver and passenger.
A 1971 black, two-door Volvo paused momentarily a few feet from the guards, as a group of four Russian officers crossed in front of it. Gray white smoke rose from the car's exhaust pipe as it idled. Finally, a guard waved the car forward then held his arm out, waiting for the vehicle to stop. He leaned toward the closed window, motioning for the driver to roll it down. Noticing the East German uniform, the guard said one word in German, "Papers."
Klaus Steiner reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a single sheet of paper, handing it to the guard through the half-opened window. Steiner sat very upright in the bucket seat, trying to keep his face out of being in direct line of the spotlight. His military cap was pulled down, hoping the brim would help shield his eyes. Beyond the guard he spotted someone standing in the shadows but could only see the lower portion of a long, black leather coat.
Without giving any indication of recognition, the guard handed him his paper, then waved him through. Steiner folded the paper, put it back in his pocket, then slowly released the clutch and proceeded forward.
First Officer Chernov immediately stepped back, being careful not to make any motion that could be noticed by the driver in his rearview mirror. He turned his head and said over his shoulder, "Colonel Moshenko. That was Major Zeigler."
Without a word, Moshenko walked through Spasskaya Tower, glancing around the corner before stepping into the open. The Volvo was bearing left, following the road in a southerly direction. Moshenko dashed to his car, certain he wouldn't be seen by Steiner because of the car's angle. He already had his keys in hand as he reached the Volga. Quickly sliding onto the seat he started the engine. He shifted into reverse then waited for a dark green Mercedes to drive past before backing up. He threw the gearshift into first. The rear tires spun on a patch of ice before grabbing hold of pavement. Moshenko stayed well behind the two vehicles.
As Moshenko drove, he made a last minute decision. He'd wait until he and Steiner had entered the hall. In the midst of the assemblage, chances were in his favor that he wouldn't be noticed when he confronted the East German troublemaker. He wondered what his plan was for using the drug. Will he dump it in the main water supply, or a more controlled method? His thoughts abruptly changed as he noticed the Volvo turning into a parking area in the shadow of the great hall. Moshenko followed the green Mercedes then drove past the Volvo before parking.
Two Russian officers immediately exited from the Mercedes, and slammed the front doors. As they passed the Volvo, one of them glanced at Steiner through the rear window. He made a comment to his fellow officer, both men erupting into loud laughter. Steiner glared at them in the rearview mirror.
Moshenko looked through the passenger side window of his car, trying to catch sight of Steiner. After a few moments, Steiner finally exited the car and readjusted his cap. He slipped his hand inside his coat, feeling the case concealing the two vials of SD-7, at the same time looking up at the three story, gray concrete building. He turned on his heel and followed the walkway leading to the doors facing the river.
Getting out of the car, Moshenko felt for the Makarov in the side holster, all the while, his eyes never leaving Steiner. As he made his way to the corner of the building, a sudden, icy wind blew from the northwest. He glanced up at the gray, overcast sky. Storm clouds, driven by the wind, rushed toward the horizon and quickly concealed the sun. A sign of the day ahead? he wondered. He grabbed the brass door handle just as the first flakes of snow began falling.
The grand main entryway, with thirty foot ceilings, echoed with the sound of voices, both Russian and German. The walls and ceiling glittered with gold leaf. Three large archways paralleled one side of the wide marble staircase. Above the arches was a hallway, forming a balcony leading to two separate meeting halls.
Steiner stood on the lower steps of the staircase, resting his forearm on the smooth white marble banister, slowly swiveling his head from side to side. Cold, ruthless, calculating eyes swept over a sea of faces in front of him. He unbuttoned his coat, then turned away and started up the staircase, falling in among the strangers.
No one but Grigori Moshenko noticed the look of malevolence on the East German's face. Staying close behind, his eyes focused on the back of his "mark.” Following Steiner's lead, he left his coat on, his firearm tucked under the right side of his civilian suit jacket. He did take off his thick brown sable hat, stuffing it into his pocket.
At the second floor landing everyone was directed toward the left, following the red carpeted balcony to the opposite wall. Two Russian guards stood on either side of opened, double doors that were eight feet in height, made of heavy, carved oak. Moshenko pushed through several people in front of him. He was now directly behind Steiner, close enough to see the red rash along the East German's hairline. Probably a dull razor, mused the Russian.
Inside the meeting room long tables with white tablecloths formed a U around the perimeter. The meeting participants mingled just inside the entryway, except for Steiner and Moshenko. Steiner wove his way in and out of the small groups, making his way toward a large, rectangular table placed at the very back of the room. Moshenko looked beyond Steiner, seeing silver coffee and tea pots, clear pitchers of water, and bottles of vodka. White coffee cups and saucers were stacked at one end, with tall, crystal goblets and shot glasses at the other. It was only in such gatherings of the powerful that brought out fresh fruit. Grigori noticed a large orange, and as he past, started to reach for it but then decided against the temptation.
Steiner walked back and forth in front of the table as if trying to decide what he wanted to drink. As he reached for a shot glass, he felt someone brush against his arm.
"Herr Steiner," Moshenko said, leaning closer to the German.
Steiner froze in disbelief then he backed away from the stranger, a stranger who somehow knew his true identity. For what seemed like an eternity, the two stared at each another until Moshenko said in a low voice, and in German, "I believe you have something that belongs to us, Herr Steiner."
Steiner instinctively started to reach for the pistol behind his back. Moshenko opened his coat then tucked the edge of his jacket behind the holster, exposing the Makarov. "Not an intelligent choice, Comrade."
Steiner merely glanced at the weapon, his face remaining unchanged. For him the word fear didn’t exist, he only showed total arrogance and contempt. Suddenly, his eyes darted toward Moshenko's right shoulder.
Moshenko looked at him quizzically, then turned his head ever so slightly, as his hand felt for his pistol. His peripheral vision picked up someone stepping closer to them.