In the Mouth of the Wolf

Chapter 3

The U.S. had plans to build a new facility to house the Armed Forced Network (AFN) in southern Europe. After weighing other possible sites, the Italian island of Sicily was chosen. Fifty acres located approximately ten miles southwest of Catania, forty miles from the volcano Mount Etna was purchased.

The location was ideal since the countryside around the compound was mostly vacant land. A few farmhouses, long since deserted by families looking for better lives in America, are the only evidence this once held the dreams of many. Now olive groves, citrus and grape orchards, with scrub grass growing wildly around them, stand as reminders of what could have been.

Negotiations with the Italian government to lease the property took seven months. Construction was completed in fifteen months, and finally, after another two months, the network was up and running.

Already on the property was a dilapidated airplane hangar built during World War II, and adjacent to the hangar stood a small two-story building once used by the Germans as barracks. Having the buildings available made the property all the more feasible.

Shortly before 2100 hours, a Russian Kamov KA-25PS helicopter landed inside the compound of AFN. Mostly used for SAR (Search and Rescue) and transport, the helo didn't have a weapons bay but had provisions for twelve passengers or stretchers. Usually painted red and white, the only distinguishing mark was a red star painted on each of the triple tail fins.

The side door slid open and two men emerged, ducking and holding onto their hats, as they rushed beneath the rotating blades. One man carried a tan-colored leather briefcase, while the other had a small, black box with a handle. They were dressed in civilian suits, both dark gray in color, and black leather jackets. The men appeared to be in their early sixties, about the same height, 5’8”, both with salt and pepper hair. They hurried away from the helo, waiting for their escort.

Once the engine was completely shut down, the pilot unlatched his shoulder harness, then lifted his luggage from behind his seat. He walked to the open door. Leaning slightly, he gave a quick look around, then stepped out. He adjusted his hat, centering it squarely on his head, then closed the sliding door behind him.

He was 5’10”, with a solid body and short black hair, showing some gray strands near his temples. He had a typical Russian face, round with well-defined cheekbones, and eyelids that drooped slightly at the corners. He wore an olive green wool uniform and had a long coat folded over his arm. His visor hat was emblazoned with a sickle and hammer emblem, a complete uniform of the KGB.

Lieutenant (j.g.) Joe Adler had been standing in the doorway of the barracks that housed the EOD team, watching the helo on its descent. As soon as the last man exited the helo, he hurried toward the three visitors. With his arm outstretched and a wide smile, he walked past the two civilians and went directly to the officer.

“Colonel Moshenko, sir! It’s good to see you!”

Grigori Moshenko grabbed Adler’s hand, shaking it vigorously. “Joe! It has been a long time, my friend!”

“Yes, sir, it has been. Still haven’t been able to get you on U.S. soil, but I guess this is as good a place as any for us to meet.”

Moshenko laughed a deep laugh, then he turned to the two civilians, who spoke very little English so Moshenko translated when necessary. “Comrade Tarasov, Comrade Rusnak, please meet Lieutenant Joe Adler.”

The two Russians each offered a hand to Adler without words being spoken.

“Good to meet you, sirs,” Adler nodded.

Moshenko noticed a look from Tarasov that seemed to say, How do you know this American? A short explanation would have to suffice for the time being. “Joe and I met through a mutual friend, Captain Grant Stevens, comrades.”

That brought a surprise smile, however brief, from both Russians. Only Tarasov responded with a slight tilt of his head. “Ahh. Yes. I recognize the names now.”

Stevens, Adler and Moshenko worked a mission together in Moscow a little over a year ago. Although the names were never made public, the story behind what the three had accomplished had circulated within the confines of the Politburo for a long time after.

“Can I get you gentlemen some coffee?” Adler asked, looking back and forth between the three.

Moshenko translated, and the two Russians shook their heads. “They have brought their tea, Joe, along with their special glass containers, but they prefer to wait until morning.” Adler glanced at the strange-looking black box being held by Rusnak.

Tarasov tugged on Rusnak’s jacket sleeve as he said, “Colonel, we will go to our room. Stay with your friend if you wish.”

“Thank you, sir,” responded Moshenko, bringing the heels of his black boots together with a slight click. “I will not be long.”

Adler gestured for Petty Officer Taylor. “Doug, see these gentlemen to their room.” Taylor left with the two Russians.

“Come on, Colonel, let’s go have a seat inside,” Adler said, holding an arm out, pointing the way.

Once inside, Moshenko removed his cap, pulled out a wooden chair and sat opposite Adler. He reached for a Davidoff Grand Cru cigar from his top pocket, offering it to Adler, who declined.

“It is always good to meet with friends, Joe.” He struck a match and held the flame to the cigar, puffing until the tip glowed. Blowing out the match, he dropped it on the table, as he commented, “But we are missing someone.”

Adler responded, “I know, sir.”

“He is in Washington?”

“No, sir. He… well, sir,” Adler said, as he leaned closer and lowered his voice, “I believe he’s on another assignment with the SEALs.”

Moshenko smiled as he tilted his head and blew smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Ahh. The SEALs. That will be, as he would say, ‘right up… right up… ’ I forget, Joe. What is the term?”

“‘Alley,’ sir, right up his alley,” Adler laughed.

“Yes, ‘alley.’ You know, there have been many times when using your American words has almost put me into trouble!”

“Sorry to hear that, but you seem to enjoy it, don’t you?” Adler chided.

“I do. I do.”

Adler asked, “And your wife, sir, she’s okay?”

“Yes, Joe. Alexandra is well.” Moshenko couldn’t resist and added, “She keeps me behind the line, Joe!” Adler’s brow wrinkled, initially puzzled, then he cracked up. His blue eyes started tearing and he nearly choked trying to catch his breath. Moshenko just stared. “You are all right, Joe?”

“Yes, sir!” Adler took a deep breath, then rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. “Sorry, sir, it’s just I think you meant, ‘she keeps you in line.’”

“Ah, yes, you are right,” he smiled, giving Adler a wink.

Leaning back in the chair, Adler locked his fingers behind his head. “So, how long will you be here, Colonel?”

Moshenko rested his elbows on the table, with the cigar dangling between his fingers. “We leave tomorrow evening. Comrade Tarasov has a meeting in East Berlin the following day.”

“It’s too bad you can’t stay longer. Me and my men have still got a lot of work to do, about another thirty-six hours worth, I’d say. I hope we’ll have some time together.”

“I hope so, Joe. I would like that.”

“Sir, excuse my asking, and maybe I shouldn’t even be asking, but was this trip really made to see the AFN facility, or do the comrades want to see what we were finding here?” Adler indicated with a thumb over his shoulder.

“I am not usually informed of all things, Joe, but I believe my government wishes to build a similar network for our military such as you have here. Your government graciously agreed to our request.” He lowered his voice and tapped a finger on the table, as he added, “But how can the comrades not be curious with what you have found? And how can we really know what the true reason may be?” he winked. “One can never be sure where this Cold War will lead, Joe. Maybe this is a small step to end the foolishness.”

Grigori Moshenko was always true to Russia, extremely good at his job, but was a man who looked to the future, hoping that one day his beloved country, his beloved Motherland, would change for the better. At their last meeting, Moshenko had made such a statement to his friends, Stevens and Adler, hoping the two would be able to travel to Russia again, only freely, and not in the clandestine manner they had to use in the past.

“We can only hope, sir.” Adler stood, stretching his arms overhead. “Well, guess we’d better turn in, if you don’t mind, sir. We have to start early in the morning if we hope to finish in two days. I guess you’ll be busy, too.”

“Yes, that is true.” Moshenko pushed his chair back, lifted his coat, and followed Adler to the stairs. “I will see you in the morning, Joe. Perhaps we can share some of your American coffee.”

“Sounds good, sir!”

“Spakoynay nochee, Joe.”

“Good night to you, too, sir.” Adler let Moshenko go upstairs ahead of him, waited until he reached the top step, then he turned out the light.

American civilians who worked in the AFN building were not expected to start arriving until 0800 hours, coming from Motta where they lived on the local economy. It was cheaper for the government to pay them a housing expense to live outside the compound, than it was to demolish the old building and construct a new, more modern one.

As any space that houses delicate, technical equipment, the computer area inside the AFN building required extra protection. It was located in the middle of the two-story, windowless building and had its own generator.

On this particular day, one of the senior technicians, Sam Wright, had volunteered to spend the night, working on a glitch in the network. At 2230 hours, he went downstairs to check the lock once more on the first level entry door, then he shut off the lights and went back upstairs to work the problem. He was pretty confident he’d have it resolved in a few more hours, in time for the network to go live, broadcasting again on frequency Z-FM.