Code Name Antares

Chapter 14

Dust and dirt flew out from beneath the wide tires of both SUVs, as they sped along the one lane dirt road. None of the passengers bothered looking at watches. They were already committed to their mission.

Grant phoned Mullins. “Scott! We’re heading to the airfield. Any updates?!”

“Report is the plane left just about on time.”

“Looks like we’ve got a chase on our hands.”

“Listen, I also got word your ‘boy’ wasn’t the only person making the trip.”

“Who?!” Grant asked with surprise. He pressed his back against the seat, steadying himself because Adler wasn’t about to let up on the gas.

“Does the last name ‘Vikulin’ sound familiar?”

“You’re shittin’ me!”

“So you do know him.”

“He gave me the address of the safe house.”

“Oh, shit! I’m gonna need that story, too!”

Adler started slowing the SUV. The Gulfstream was straight ahead, navigation lights blinking, cabin and cockpit lights glowing.

“We’re at the Gulfstream. Hey! Do you have any markings for that plane?”

“Just so happens I do. It’s an Antonov I, number RA-42624.”

“RA-42624. Got it. Try to call me if you have urgent shit to report. Gotta go. We’re here.”

“Godspeed, buddy.”

“Thanks, Scott.”

Adler and Novak drove the SUVs close to the plane’s steps. Doors slammed as the men jumped from the vehicles, then immediately unloaded all the gear, putting everything near the plane. Adler and Novak drove the SUVs closer to the tree line, locked them, then ran back to the Gulfstream.

Garrett was in the cockpit, checking gauges, flipping switches. He heard the Team coming aboard. “Evenly distribute the weight of that gear!” he shouted over his shoulder.

Grant and Adler boarded last, with Adler stowing both rucksacks.

Grant put on his aviator sunglasses, then went to the cockpit and climbed into the co-pilot’s seat, slipping his arms through the shoulder harness. The Team had been on the “hunt” for a new co-pilot ever since Paul Butner, the co-pilot for their mission to China, declined the offer due to family responsibilities. They had to find someone who knew the C-130, too.

Grant was the only one with any flying experience, even though it had been in props. He and Garrett had already been through the basics aboard the Gulfstream, taking it up more than once.

“We’re clear back here,” Adler reported. Grant hit the switch to pull in the steps and secure the door.

“Shit!” Novak said, leaning over the back of Stalley’s seat. “Doesn’t look like we’ll have a flight attendant on this trip either!”

“Buckle up!” Grant said over his shoulder, as he put on a set of headphones and adjusted the mouthpiece. He picked up the clipboard. “Okay. Ready for pre-flight check.” He called out the takeoff procedures, as Garrett verified each was complete. Finally, the last three: landing, taxi, strobe lights on, transponder on, engine instruments checked.

Garrett taxied out to the grass and dirt runway. The engines started winding up. He advanced the throttles close to fifty percent. As the Gulfstream started down the runway, Grant kept his eyes on the speed indicator, calling out the speed. If there were any major problems, such as engine failure or fire, they’d have to abort takeoff before reaching V1. But once past that speed, takeoff was the only option, no matter what happened afterward.

When the engines stabilized at forty-five percent, Garrett accelerated them to takeoff thrust. Reaching Vr (rotation speed), he raised the nose gear off the runway, then finally, the landing gear.

Both men were quiet, concentrating, watching gauges, watching for air traffic, adjusting controls.

Light from a brilliant morning sun spread throughout the interior of the Gulfstream, as the plane continued its climb. Garrett brought the aircraft to a northeast heading. They’d travel close to the eastern seaboard until Nova Scotia, then begin the Great Circle Route over Newfoundland, on a course for Shannon, Ireland, on the trail of a Russian mole.

Grant pulled back a side of the headphones. “Listen, Matt, you haven’t had any sleep for over two days. Once we’re over the Atlantic, maybe I can takeover for a while, with autopilot on!”

“Thanks, Grant. I should be okay. You guys haven’t had any either.”

“Yeah, but we’re used to it.” Turning for a better view of the cabin, he tilted his head toward it. “Maybe I spoke too soon. Two of them are already cutting Zs! But you’ve been out of the habit for a while. Well, I’ll leave it up to you.”

Grant took off the headphones, then released the seatbelt harness. “Want something to drink?”

“Anything with caffeine.”

Grant walked slowly down the aisle. Novak and James were asleep, Slade was reading the latest issue of SI, Stalley and Diaz were playing cards. Adler was making coffee, and munching on a peanut butter sandwich.

“Got anything for me?” Grant asked, as he got a Pepsi from the fridge.

Adler opened a drawer. “Well, what have we here?”

Grant laughed, immediately grabbing a handful of Snickers candy bars. “Think these’ll last?”

“What you see, is all you get!”

Grant bumped a fist against his friend’s shoulder. “Thanks, Joe.” He put one on seat trays and table as he went back to the cockpit.

He handed Garrett a Pepsi, then held an open hand toward him, with two Snickers. “Not for me,” Garrett said.

Grant climbed into the seat, and unwrapped the candy. “Shannon Airport can be a real bitch for landings and takeoffs.”

“Yeah. The winds coming across the runway are wicked sometimes.”

“Tell me about it. Made a couple of landings hard enough to blow out tires.”

“Promise I’ll be careful.”

“Confirm something about refueling.”

“Shoot,” Garrett said, before taking a drink.

“Private jets are refueled away from the terminal, right?”

Garrett wiped a hand across his mouth. “Yeah. They’re kept out of the way of bigger commercials. The airport usually provides small buses to take passengers to and from the terminal.”

Even with his sunglasses on, Grant shielded his eyes as he glanced out the windshield. “Looks like good weather. Think we’ll pick up a tail wind?”

“Maybe. We’ve got clearance for thirty-three thousand feet. You’ve flown this route enough to know if we pick up the jet stream, we’ve gotta be prepared for CAT winds.” (Clear air turbulence is caused by vertical and horizontal wind shear associated with jet streams.)

“We’ll stay on alert,” Grant replied, seeing nothing but blue sky and a couple of jet trails. He pointed toward one. “Think that might be our ‘boy’ up ahead?”

“Possible,” Garret answered, as he leaned forward trying to get a better view.

“Kick this ‘baby’ into high, Matt,” Grant said, giving the jet trail one more glance. “I’m gonna go sit with the guys. Give a shout if you need anything.” As he left the cockpit, he detected a change in engine noise, feeling the aircraft surge forward.

Grant sat in an aft facing seat across from Adler, who was chowing down on a freshly prepared MRE of beef stew. Grant wrinkled his nose. “You really enjoying that?”

“I know. I know. They’ve already been labeled ‘Meals Rejected by the Enemy’ but it’s hard to get good food at thirty thousand feet. I brought you that.”

“Thanks.” Grant picked up a wrapped peanut butter sandwich. “But don’t eat all those Oreos,” he said, pointing to the open package.

Stalley called out, “Anybody want a drink?”

“Bring me a Coke, Doc!” Grant said.

As Stalley handed him the drink, Grant asked, “Did you eat?”

Stalley swallowed orange soda. “Besides the Snickers, tried a package of those franks and beans earlier.”

“Ohhh, Doc! Why’d you do that?”

“Sir?”

“Doc! We’re in an aircraft. You know — no windows to open!”

It finally dawned on the young corpsman. “Oh shit!”

“We’d prefer you didn’t, Doc!” James said standing two rows away.

When the laughter died down, Grant called everyone. “Gather ’round, guys. Let’s talk about what we’ve got ahead of us. Speak up if you’ve got any feedback. Matt, you listening?”

“Affirmative!”

Any plans the Team made all hinged on the Russians still being at Shannon Airport. If they already departed for Moscow, that would mean a whole different ballgame. Time wasn’t in their favor.

But there was one other possibility — the last option. It would mean NSA having on its best “ears.” If they could find out the specific location those weapons were going, then A.T. might have the time to get into Russia undetected. But retrieving the weapons would be out of the question. They’d have to be destroyed. President Carr had given “his blessings” to make it happen.

Preparing for their mission, they reviewed call signs, hand signals. Weapons were ready. They discussed the airport, location of buildings, color of fuel trucks, distance from the terminal to private aircraft area, anything and everything that would give them a heads-up.

Grant sat back, and stretched his arms overhead. “You guys try and get some rest.” No one protested. He leaned over the armrest. “Matt! You awake?!” No answer. “Matt?!” Grant bolted from his seat and went to the cockpit, seeing Garrett greeting him with a wide smile.

“Shit! I won’t make that mistake again.” He went back to the cabin.

Adler changed seats. “Well, what are you gonna do when you finally see him?”

“Kalinin?” Adler nodded. “He’s just another ‘asset,’ Joe. Part of another op.”

“You still haven’t remembered where you saw him?”

Grant rested his elbows on his knees, squeezing one fist then the other. “No.”

Since the first time they all saw Kalinin’s picture, Adler wondered if he should even broach the subject. But knowing Grant the way he did, Grant had already thought about it.

He leaned closer. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s go aft.”

They walked to the rear of the plane, where engine noise was a little louder, helping to drown out some of their conversation.

Sitting opposite one another, Adler leaned forward. “Look, I’ll find it hard to believe if you tell me you haven’t thought that your… ”

Grant tried keeping his voice low. “What, Joe? That maybe my dad had a fling? That he cheated on my mom? That that guy could be my half-brother?!”

“That’s what’s been bugging you, not that you couldn’t remember where you saw him.” Grant lowered his head, staring at his balled up fists. Adler waited briefly, then said, “You knew your dad, the kind of man he was, the relationship the two of you had. And you know how much he loved your mom and you. and being a corpsman. Come on! Do you really believe that could’ve happened?!”

Grant raised his head, locking his eyes onto Adler’s. “You said it yourself, Joe. We look like brothers.”

“And just where the hell do you think that, uh, liaison could’ve happened? Was he in Europe during the war?”

“Right after.”

“Oh. Well, I still say bullshit. Look, for as long as we’ve known each other, you’ve been the one who could process information until you reached a reasonable explanation. You’re just hung up on the guy looking like you.” He poked an index finger against Grant’s forehead. “Get that brain working.”

Grant flopped back against the seat, knowing Adler was right. Before he could give any response, his friend added, “Hey, you know it’s said each of us has a twin somewhere in the world. You just happened to find yours. Too damn bad he’s a goddamn communist!”

Grant finally laughed. “Guess you haven’t found yours. I’m positive you would’ve spread the word by now.”

“Uh-uh. Mine’s still in hiding.”

“C’mon,” Grant said, giving Adler’s knee a light bump with his fist. “I’ll treat you to a cup of java, then we’ll go keep Matt company.”

Zelesky knocked on the door, but didn’t wait for Vazov to respond. He opened it, then slammed it behind him. His jacket flapped open as he took hurried steps toward the ambassador’s desk. He dropped two envelopes on the blotter.

“Two envelopes?” Vazov asked, puzzled.

“One is yours, with the note offering to meet him. The second was already at the drop site, so there was no need to leave yours.”

Vazov turned the envelope over, seeing it had already been opened. “Should I even look, Misha, or perhaps you would care to tell me what is inside.”

Zelesky didn’t respond.

Vazov removed a single sheet of paper. Only three brief sentences had been written:

“I’ve accomplished what I set out to do. I will expect you to leave fifteen thousand American dollars at this drop site by midnight tomorrow. Don’t expect further contact.” Signed, “Primex.”

Vazov angrily crumbled the paper, then threw it toward Zelesky. “You had a chance to follow him that day at the train station! You and Petya should have done more to find him!”

“And what would have been the point?! He gave us something of great importance! Those weapons will be in Moscow before the day is through.” Zelesky took a step closer to the desk. “It is over. It is worth the money. Do you have that much on hand?”

Vazov merely nodded. “You will make the drop.”

“Are you going to contact Moscow, or should I?”

“It is best if I make the call.” Zelesky left. Vazov lifted the phone receiver, then he hesitated. He put the receiver back in its cradle, then he went to the window. The sky was perfectly blue, making him think of Nicolai Kalinin on an aircraft headed to his homeland. He remembered the conversation the two of them had the evening they met.

Rocking back on his heels, he wondered if his own return to Russia might be sooner than expected.