Operation Gold Eagle

Chapter 11

Reznikov gripped the steering wheel, preventing it from being ripped from his grasp, as he drove the Trabant at a steady speed across uneven ground. Nearly bald tires rolled over rocks and solid mounds of dirt. Driving during daylight made the drive easier, but it was still nearly impossible to avoid every pot hole or trench.

Botkin and Orlov were in the rear seat. Botkin had his weapon drawn, with his eyes constantly searching, looking for possible trouble. Orlov had binoculars pressed against his eyes, trying to steady himself as the car jerked side to side. "Still clear!" he reported.

Reznikov briefly diverted his eyes to the rearview mirror. Not being followed could only be attributed to three words: planning, panic, surprise. The risk they'd taken was enormous, but they successfully completed three attacks in one day, and during daylight hours. Their surveillance at each target had paid off.

Reznikov silently mocked Yermak, and also thanked him for providing new papers and IDs when they agreed to "work" for him. During each of Orlov's visits to the embassy, his papers were never questioned.

The three men planned their attacks carefully: first the embassy, then, simultaneously, the rifle brigade compound and command center. If their vehicle were to be identified, it would happen at the embassy. But the route from the two compounds back to Lanke would keep them in the Soviet Sector the entire trip, and most of it was through open farm country. No passing through checkpoints, no worrying about border guards.

Reznikov parked behind the house, then killed the engine. After spending most of the morning causing mayhem and destruction, the sudden quiet was a welcome change, if only briefly. With each return trip to the farmhouse, a thorough inspection, both inside and out, was always necessary, never knowing if they'd walk into a trap.

The next attack was already in the works. They weren't ready to stop pushing their luck. Above all, Reznikov was determined to find who had been in control, and who now wanted them dead.

Sam Nichols waited just outside the front door, with a hand resting on his holstered .45. His eyes scanned the grounds, seeing guards patrolling. They were trained for any situation that might materialize, but the attacks left everyone on edge.

Two BMWs pulled up in front. A.T. immediately exited, then opened the trunks. Grant went to Nichols. "Mr. Nichols."

Nichols offered a hand. "Glad to see you and your men, Captain. Mr. Dotsenko has been waiting for you. He's pretty much near the end of his rope."

"I can well imagine," Grant responded, before turning and pointing toward A.T. "We've gotta clean our weapons. Is there a small space we can use?"

"There's a room beyond where Dotsenko is. You can use that."

"Also, I'd like one of your guards to show the men around the compound. They can take it from there."

"Sure. Come on inside and I'll call Sergeant Rinaldi."

"I'll meet you in your office. I need to talk with the guys, and grab my weapons."

Five minutes later, Grant was in Nichols' office. He adjusted the rifle strap on his shoulder. "How are the two injured agents? Are they still in the East German hospital?"

"After mounds of paperwork, the East Germans released them. We transferred them to Landstuhl."

"Those doctors will take real good care of them." Grant's time at Landstuhl flashed through his mind, before he changed the subject. "Can you tell me whether Reznikov's been found? Or at least is there some idea where he is?"

"No to both your questions, I'm afraid."

"Dammit! He's gotta be within striking distance, 'cause he's gonna strike again."

"How can you be sure?! He's been lucky so far in getting away. Maybe he won't risk it."

"Trust me, sir. Reznikov is out for revenge, and he hasn't finished yet."

Nichols leaned forward and rested his arms on his desk. "Any idea where he might strike next?"

"No, sir. Not a clue. But he seems hell bent on attacking Russians, since they're the ones who turned him over to us."

"So, do you think we're in the clear?"

"Don't count on it." Grant stood. "Guess it's time to talk with Dotsenko."

"Oh, here's the message I told you about."

Grant reached for the paper, immediately putting it in his pocket. "Thanks." As he turned to leave, he said, "I'll check back with you after my conversation with Dotsenko. Would it be okay if I used the scrambler room again?"

"Of course. I'll call the crypto guys."

Grant left and met Adler in the hallway. "Any news?" Adler handed him a Coke.

As they walked down the hallway, Grant filled him in on the injured agents and CIA's inability to find Reznikov. Noticing a security guard standing next to the conference room, they took out their wallets, and flipped them open.

Inside the room, a haggard-looking Alexei Dotsenko sat quietly, waiting for word on Pankova. Since he was first brought to the embassy, he hadn't slept, barely ate. A little over an hour ago he'd been informed that the Team was on its way. Only then would he learn whether she was alive, rescued — or dead. A knock at the door made his heart jump.

When it opened, Grant and Adler entered. "Mr. Dotsenko," Grant said, walking toward the Russian with a hand extended.

"Please … tell me."

"She's on her way to the States, sir. We personally saw her get on the plane."

"Was she all right? Did they find out she …?"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but we didn't have time for questions once we found her. Our concern was getting her out safely."

"I understand."

"Can I get you something to drink, sir?" Adler asked, stepping closer.

"No."

Grant slid a chair next to Dotsenko. "I guess you've heard about the attacks on the Russian Embassy and the two other commands." Dotsenko looked at him, but merely nodded before Grant continued. "I don't have any word on how or when we're to get you outta here. I guess for now you'll just have to hang tight." The whole situation was making both Grant and Adler feel uneasy. Grant glanced at his watch. "Listen, her plane's been in the air for a little over two hours. Would it help if I requested someone contact us when it lands?"

"It might," the Russian replied, lowering his eyes.

Grant noticed Adler giving an almost imperceptible shake of his head. The two were on the same wave length. This was turning into Grant's "bullshit scenario." Grant leaned closer to Dotsenko, speaking with his voice low. "Is there anything you want to talk about? Or tell us? We're pretty good listeners."

Dotsenko fixed his eyes on Adler then Grant. How is it possible? These men, somehow, they seem to know! he worried. A sound of silence permeated the room, until Dotsenko finally said, "You have already done enough. There is no need for you to become involved."

Grant leaned back. Clamping his jaw tightly, he let the whole idea roll around in his brain. Somebody talked this man into going back to Russia. He abruptly stood, walked behind his chair, and grasped the top of it until his knuckles turned white. "Sir, we're already involved. I wish we could talk you out of it, but it sounds like your decision's been made."

Grant caught Adler's attention, and motioned toward the door. As the two men started to walk away, Grant stopped, then turned again to face Dotsenko. "I want you to think about this. When we found Miss Pankova, her one thought was whether you were safe. And I realize you were more than concerned about her, too. So, I ask you … how do you think she's gonna react if you don't return? She sacrificed a helluva lot for the U.S…. and for you, sir." Grant made a final comment. "You've most likely heard of the Witness Protection Program. That could be a safe option for you both."

Adler changed the subject. "Sir, you look as if you could use some food. We'll send someone to escort you." He and Grant left the room.

As they walked down the hallway, Adler grabbed Grant's arm, then spoke softly. "So, we aren't gonna do anything to stop him?!"

"What the fuck can we do, Joe?! Kidnap him again?! He's made up his mind."

"You're not planning on going all the way up shit creek, are you?"

Grant flashed his friend a shit-eatin' grin. "Only if you make the trip with me!"

"Be more than happy to! This is one time somebody needs to have his balls ripped out through his throat."

"I don't even wanna picture that!" Grant shuddered.

Two hours later, after inspecting the embassy grounds, then thoroughly cleaning all weapons, A.T. had a bite to eat. When finished, Grant stood, then strapped on his holster, and check his weapon. "Okay, guys, take up positions outside. Joe and I are gonna stop in and see Dotsenko, then we'll join you."

Just as they walked around the corner, they spotted two men talking with a security guard near the conference room.

Adler whispered, "'Cowboys.'"

"How about we do some hassling?" Grant headed toward the men. "Hey! What the hell are you guys doing here?! That room's secured."

The two men swung around, just as Grant and Adler reached them. Without responding, the men removed black leather badge wallets from inside their jackets, then flipped them open, revealing CIA Special Agent gold badges.

The taller agent spoke. "I'm Special Agent Abbott, and this is Special Agent Zwick.

Grant motioned his thumb to his left. "The individual in that room is our responsibility. So for now, he's off limits."

"Not any more," Abbott said, putting his wallet away.

"On whose authority?"

"Langley."

"We haven't received orders to turn the gentleman over to anyone. You don't mind if I make a call, do you?"

"Knock yourself out," Abbott smirked. He and Zwick had already made a visit with Dotsenko.

Grant turned. Looking at Adler, he gave a slight tilt of the head. Adler would stay near the conference room.

Inside the scrambler room, Grant waited for Mullins to answer. "Mullins."

"Hey, Scott. No time to chat, and I know I'm breaking protocol, but I've gotta speak with the President on the scrambler."

"Let me see what I can do!"

Grant's insides were churning. Was he doing the right thing? Whatever the outcome, the question on Dotsenko had to be answered.

"Grant?"

"Mr. President, I don't have much time, but we may have a problem." Grant proceeded to quickly brief Carr on his theory, and the private discussion with Dotsenko, before ending with, "The two agents are assuming control of him. I'd like your permission to put a 'tail' on them, sir."

Carr was finding it difficult to believe someone went over his head and made the decision to allow Dotsenko to return to Russia. Then he recalled the meeting when Grant questioned the reason Dotsenko was going back back to Germany. Carr's head began to throb. "Shit!" he mumbled softly.

"Beg pardon, sir?"

"Just talking to myself, Grant. Now, you do realize where your theory could lead, don't you?"

"Yes, sir. I sure do."

"Do you think Moscow is involved, and will be expecting Dotsenko?"

"Honestly, I don't know, but it's not likely they'd be staying quiet about it if they did. I take it from your question, sir, that no one has updated you with possible transmission intercepts."

"You assume correct. Grant, why bother with the 'tail'? If he ends up being a 'no show' here, we'll have our answer."

"That's very true, sir, but explanations could be contrived." Grant waited for Carr's decision.

"I realize you're 'going out on a limb' with this, so I'll give you some leeway for now. You follow the vehicle to obtain positive proof either way."

Grant couldn't disguise his relief, as he answered, "Very well, sir. What if Dotsenko indicates he'd prefer to return to the States?"

Carr expected the question. "How do you plan on approaching him?"

"Don't have a plan yet, sir. And right now, I don't think the agents will let us close to him."

"Well, if he's willing, you see that he gets here."

"Yes, sir. And as soon as the question is answered, I'll use our s.o.p. and call Agent Mullins."

"One last question, Grant."

"Sir?"

"Anything on Reznikov?"

Grant couldn't reveal his upcoming meeting with Kalinin, at least not yet. "No, sir. I guess the two CIA agents taking Dotsenko have been pulled off that investigation. We'll try to be back on it later today."

"Anything in the newspapers about the bombings?"

"All we've seen is a West Berlin paper, and that was sketchy. If we have a chance, we'll see if we can do a drive by."

Carr sighed. "All right, Grant. Get going." The conversation ended.

Grant took the elevator to the main floor, and ran to the front door, looking for any of the men. "Doc!" he pointed at Stalley.

Stalley jogged across the driveway. "Yeah, boss?"

"Doc, get one of the 'Beemers' ready to roll, the one we used for snatching Dotsenko. I don't have an exact exit time, just keep it out of sight, with the engine running. We'll be putting a 'tail' on a vehicle, probably that one," he said pointing to a black, four-door Audi. "Joe and I'll be riding with you. We'll need binoculars, camera, and our mikes. Pass the word, Doc, so the guys know what's happening." Not needing further instructions or explanations, Stalley took off, as Grant ran back into the embassy, then up the stairs. Adler was pacing in front of the two agents.

"Did you get your confirmation?" Abbott asked, with his hands on his hips.

"He's all yours," Grant replied disgustedly. As Abbott went toward the door, Grant put an arm in front of him. "I guess you can't tell us where you're taking him."

"You guessed right," Abbott replied, as he opened the door. Once both men were inside, Zwick closed the door.

Adler mustered alongside Grant, as Grant whispered, "The President's been informed, Joe. We've got authorization to put a 'tail' on 'em."

Just then the door swung open. Zwick walked out with the Russian in between him and Abbott.

Dotsenko stopped in front of Grant and Adler. Without any emotion showing on his face, he extended his hand to both of them. "I appreciate what you did."

Grant returned the firm handshake. "I'm glad we could help, sir. We hope everything turns out the best way possible."

"Good luck, sir," Adler nodded.

As the agents and Dotsenko walked away, Adler quietly asked, "Why the hell didn't he just tell them he wasn't going?"

"Don't know, Joe. Who knows what was said to him."

"How far does the authorization go?"

"All the way to the States."

"Outstanding!"

They listened for a sound of footsteps that gradually faded in the distance. "Let's go," Grant said. "Doc's waiting in one of the vehicles."

Walking out the door, they stood on the top step, just as Dotsenko got in the rear passenger seat of the Audi, and Zwick the front seat.

With an unmistakable pissed off look, Grant locked his jaw, spread his legs, and crossed his arms over his chest. Adler jammed his hands into his back pockets, and leaned toward Grant. "Sure as hell hope we can pull off the 'surprise.'"

Just as Abbott opened the car door, he glanced at the two men. Nothing was said, no emotion expressed. He got in and slammed the door.

No sooner had the Audi turned on the main road, when Stalley drove the BMW around the corner of the building. He already had his throat mike on. Grant took the front seat, Adler the rear. The two of them scrunched down, trying to stay low, out of view.

"Okay, Doc," Grant said, as he picked up the throat mike from the center console. "You've done this before."

Stalley edged the BMW closer to the end of the driveway, letting the car roll forward until he spotted the Audi's taillights flash for an instant. The vehicle turned right. Stalley pulled out, then stepped on the gas, trying not to let the Audi get too far ahead.

Adler hooked the small battery to his waistband, then adjusted the throat mike and earpiece. He scooted sideways, lining himself up with an unobstructed view through the front windshield.

Traffic began slowing as they approached the center of West Berlin. The BMW was six cars behind the Audi. The Americans knew this part of the city and what was ahead. Checkpoint Charlie.

Adler lowered the binoculars. "Where the fuck are they goin'?"

By the time the BMW and its passengers were finally passed through the Soviet side of the checkpoint, the Audi was nearly out of sight, until its brake lights lit up. The car slowed just enough before it made a right turn.

"C'mon, Doc!" Grant said, as he raised the binoculars. The BMW's engine roared as Stalley hit the gas. "Next turn!" Grant pointed. The Audi was picking up speed, as it pulled away. Tires screeched as Stalley made a sharp right-hand turn. Grant reached for the armrest. "They're in the right lane, about 200 yards ahead!"

Stalley eased up on the gas. "I see it!" He fell in line behind four vehicles.

The road was familiar to all of them. Adler scooted forward on the rear seat. "Shit! They're headed to Schonefeld!"

Grant zeroed in on the Audi. "Yeah, Joe, but does it mean a U.S. or Russian flight?"

"How about we make a 'snatch'?" Adler suggested.

"First we need proof." Grant began to formulate a plan. CIA wasn't about to let Dotsenko out of their sight. Keeping his eyes on the Audi, Grant said, "Doc, you'll take the camera."

"Roger, boss."

Adler asked, "You think they gave him a new passport?"

"Not a doubt in my military mind, Joe. His U.S. passport's in my rucksack."

"Let me throw this at ya," Adler began. "What if they side-step the terminal, and escort him directly onto the plane? Huh? Then what?"

"Possibility, but that would draw attention. I'm counting on them going into the terminal, then to the gate."

Adler nodded, as he said, "That's why they showed up at the embassy when they did. They had a particular flight in mind, and the wait at the terminal would be less."

The airport tower came into view. Traffic slowed. Parking was straight ahead, which meant a five minute walk to Terminal A.

"Looks like they're parking," Adler said.

Stalley parked two rows behind the Audi, and immediately killed the engine. They still had a clear view, able to see the three men exiting.

Grant laid down the binoculars. "Doc, follow them into the terminal. They shouldn't recognize you. We'll be hanging back. It's important, Doc, that you shoot pictures of them at the check-in counter. We need proof of what airline he's taking. Just keep snapping away."

"Roger, boss." Stalley slipped the strap of the camera over his head, adjusted his earpiece, then got out. Keeping his eyes on the three men, he quietly closed the door, confirmed his weapon was hidden under his sweater, then he headed toward the terminal.

Giving Stalley a two minute lead, Grant and Adler got out of the car and started walking. Adler quietly asked, "What if he's on a U.S. flight? Maybe the two agents will escort him."

Grant leaned slightly, trying to see past several suitcase-carrying passengers. "Then my theory will be shot all to hell. In a way, I'm kinda hoping that's what happens, Joe. The thought of the President having to deal with a shit issue … "

"See your point. But what if … "

"We'll have to find a way to give him the option."

They heard Stalley in their earpieces. "Ground level. Wait one." Stalley aimed the camera with its telephoto lens. "Shit! He's got a red passport. Nearing Aeroflot counter. Fifth in line." He snapped a close-up shot of Dotsenko, then a regular shot with the Aeroflot symbol above the three men's heads.

Grant pressed the PTT. "Stay with him. On our way. What's next flight to Moscow?"

Stalley aimed the telephoto lens, zeroing in on the board behind the counter. "Flight zero one five in forty-five, Gate 6."

Grant and Adler walked into the terminal. "Joe, look for a phone booth."

Adler swiveled his head. "Three o'clock."

The two hurried across the terminal, as Grant said to Adler, "Check number of stalls in that WC." As Adler headed for the restroom, Grant started taking off his windbreaker, then stuffed his ball cap into a sleeve. As soon as he was in the phone booth, he tore out a page of the phone book.

Adler mustered alongside. "Eight, six unoccupied."

"Gotta chance it," Grant mumbled. "Go occupy one, closest to back wall. Take these."

Adler took the windbreaker. "And just what should I be waiting for?"

"I'm gonna try and get Dotsenko over here. Just be ready." Adler didn't question further.

Grant pressed the PTT. "Report, Doc."

Stalley answered softly, "Third in line." He snapped more pictures.

Grant scribbled a note: "Gray Fox, go 2 WC at east side. U.S. on your horizon." If Dotsenko ignored the message, the mission was over. Grant scanned the terminal, spotting Stalley. He pressed the PTT. "Go to escalator at your seven."

Ducking in and out of passengers, visitors, airline staff, trying to stay out of the agents' view, Grant made it to the left side of the escalator. He cautiously looked past it, seeing Dotsenko standing perfectly still, in between Abbott and Zwick. They were second in line for the ticket counter.

"Behind you, boss," Stalley said quietly.

Grant turned, and handed the folded note to Stalley. "You've gotta get this to Dotsenko."

"Whoa, boss!"

"I know, Doc, but you've gotta do it." Grant leaned his head, seeing Dotsenko still second in line. "Your best shot will probably be right after they leave the counter, when they're walking through the crowd. Approach from the front. Usual routine. Accidentally bump into him, and put it in his hand." Stalley nodded, as Grant continued. "If you say anything, use your French, not English. Then high-tail it to that bathroom," Grant pointed. "Joe's in one of the stall's. I'm sure at least one of the agents will escort Dotsenko, so be prepared. I'll handle the second agent. Once it's clear, you and Dotsenko 'beat feet' and go to the car. We'll be right behind you. You can do it, Doc! Go."

Grant rushed toward the phone booth, as two men exited the restroom. Too fucking much can go wrong on this one,he worried as he ducked into the phone booth.

Somehow Stalley managed to press the PTT. Grant and Adler heard, "Pardonnez-moi!" Five seconds later, Stalley ran into the restroom.

Now, all they could do was wait. The second part was up to Alexei Dotsenko.

Grant looked over his shoulder, then immediately turned and picked up the receiver. Sonofabitch! Dotsenko and the two agents were walking toward the restroom. If any passengers were in there, it was too late to do anything about it.

As Grant suspected, Abbott posted himself in front of the entrance, Zwick accompanied Dotsenko. Abbott checked his watch, then folded his hands low in front of him.

No sooner had he done that, when two passengers, carrying suitcases, walked toward the restroom. Abbott put a hand out, shook his head, then pointed toward the opposite side of the terminal. Without question, the men left.

A sound of a moan, then a shuffling noise in the restroom made Abbott rush to investigate. Grant was close behind him.

Stalley was dragging Zwick into one of the stalls. Abbott had his hand on his sidearm as he shouted, "Hold it!"

Grant's fist was already balled up, when he yelled, "Hey!" Abbott spun around. Grant struck him with a quick, sharp, powerful punch. Blood spurted from the bridge of the agent's nose. He collapsed, unconscious.

Adler was helping Dotsenko put on the jacket and cap, as Grant started dragging Abbott into a stall. "Doc, get outta here … now!"

Stalley grabbed Dotsenko's arm. "Let's go, sir!"

Grant propped Abbott on a toilet. "It suits you, you piece of … "

"Skipper! Move it!" Adler picked up a trash can. As they hustled out of the restroom, he plopped it down at the entrance, hoping to delay anyone from going in.

They hauled ass through the terminal, hearing a commotion behind them, figuring it was the agents. They picked up the pace and ran towards the parking lot. Stalley had the engine running. Dotsenko was in the rear seat, overwhelmed for the second time.

Stalley pointed toward Grant and Adler. "There they are, sir!" He backed out of the parking space.

Grant yanked open the front passenger door. "Doc, let Joe drive!"

Stalley was barely settled in the back, when Adler peeled out of the parking lot. "Where to?!"

"The safe house. No! Hotel Berliner!" Grant looked out the back window, not seeing any sign of the Audi — or police.

"Worried about them recognizing us?" Adler asked giving a sideways look at Grant.

"Abbott barely had time to see my fist! But you know what? I say fuck it! They're gonna have to answer for what they tried to do, along with whoever made the decision."

"Hooyah! Stalley called out, raising a fist.

"Damn straight, Doc," Grant responded before asking Adler, "How's it looking, Joe?"

Adler glanced in the mirror. "Got some traffic behind us, but no 'little agents' or flashing lights following."

Grant turned, setting his eyes on Dotsenko. "Sir, are you all right?"

"I am. Yes, I am."

Grant offered his hand. "Courage again, sir. You did it!"

"And I'm grateful again, to all of you."

"We're taking you to the Hotel Berliner. We've used it before, on 'special occasions.' There's good security, but Doc will stay with you." Grant dug out his wallet from his back pocket, then counted out German Marks. "Here, Doc. That should cover the room for a couple of days. I want you to stay with Mr. Dotsenko the whole time, but I'll put the guys on four-hour shifts to come and give you updates. They'll see that you get three squares a day." As Grant put his wallet back, he reminded Dotsenko to not make any phone calls. "Doc, use the radio in an emergency. It should be back there with you."

Adler had one last question. "Tell me again why we're not going to the Gulfstream instead of the hotel?"

"Can't chance it, Joe. Besides, the more places they have to look, the longer it'll take them. And we need final confirmation on what we're to do next."

With Stalley and Dotsenko safely checked into the hotel, Grant and Adler drove back to the embassy. As Grant closed the car door, he looked across at Adler. "Joe, round up the Team. Have them go to the conference room, then you meet me in the scrambler room." He took out his wallet then handed Adler some dollar bills. "Get them drinks and whatever."

Grant was leaning against the counter in the scrambler room, waiting for the call to go through. Adler came in, and handed him a Snicker's candy bar.

"Everything okay?" Grant asked reaching for the candy.

"I thought they'd go apeshit when they didn't see Doc. I squared them away."

Grant nodded as he heard: "Mullins."

"Scott. Got news."

Without interrupting Grant, listening to his every word, Mullins rocked back and forth in his swivel chair. After ten minutes, Grant went quiet, waiting for Mullins to comment. "Scott?!"

"You need to talk directly with the President! Hold on … "

"Wait! Scott! Before you do that, I need your help with something."

"Go ahead."

"I should've asked for your help on this before, but time got away from me. I've got a list, seven men, all Russians. You may need to 'call in' some markers, though."

"My pen awaits."

Grant gave Mullins the names of the four Russians who were transporting Dotsenko, then Reznikov and his two men's names. "I'm trying to connect the dots, Scott. I need anything that can link all or some of them together."

"When do you need it? Wait! I know — yesterday, right?"

"You got it, buddy."

"Hang on while I dial the White House."

Adler tossed the candy wrapper into the trash can. "Do you think he'll be able to help with those names?"

Grant stood then stretched his back. "Sure as hell hope so. We might be running outta time."

Andrew Carr sat quietly, swirling the black coffee in a white ceramic cup. Scooting farther back in his swivel chair, he sipped the warm brew. His earlier conversation with Grant had to be kept under wraps for the time being. He was worried. What if Grant's theory proved to be correct? What if …?

National Security Advisor Hillman interrupted his thoughts. "Would you like me to call Langley, sir?" Hillman adjusted the leather band of his Bulova watch, glancing at the time, while he waited for Carr's response.

"Yes, and you'd better call NSA." Hillman rolled his chair back, but as he started to leave, a frustrated Carr said, "Stan, tell the director and general to join us. I want to know why no one can give me updates. It's too damn quiet, and that worries me." Hillman left for the Watch Room.

V. P. Forbes shuffled through papers on the table. "What are you thinking?"

Carr stood, and carried his cup to a credenza. He poured fresh coffee from a carafe, then took a sip before responding. "I don't know, Evan. A lot's happened over a span of a few hours, and the day isn't over yet."

"Well, at least Operation Gold Eagle was a success."

"The bright spot of the day," Carr managed to smile. "But Alpha Tango still hasn't completed the mission. They've gotta find that sonofabitch Reznikov."

Hillman returned and walked near Carr. "Mr. President, the Prowler's scheduled to arrive at Andrews around noon. Miss Pankova will be escorted by agents and taken directly to Langley."

"Good. And NSA?"

"General Prescott is bringing new satellite images taken of Berlin, mostly of the bombed sites."

Carr returned to the head of the table and spun his chair around. "Any additional reports on casualties?"

Hillman shook his head. "Nothing since the announcement about the ambassador. The city's been locked up pretty tight. I think Director Bancroft's bringing transcripts."

V.P. Forbes made a suggestion. "Maybe you should call Gorshevsky. Pick his brain."

"What would be the point, Evan? If anyone were to call, I would think it would be him, digging for information. No. I think I'll wait. Besides, he's got a lot on his mind about these days, especially with Russia becoming more heavily embroiled in Afghanistan."

"Mr. President!" Clark Barry, one of the duty officers of the Sit Room staff, stood near the Watch Room. "I have a secure phone call for you, sir. Do you want me to transfer it?"

Carr rolled his chair back, then stood. "No, Clark, I'll take it in there." Forbes and Hillman shot quick glances at each other, as the President left them.

He walked toward the Watch Room. It must be Grant,he thought. Work continued in the room as the President answered the phone. "Andrew Carr."

"Grant here, Mr. President."

Carr sat on the edge of a desk, keeping the receiver pressed against his ear, and his eyes downcast as he listened to Grant's report.

Finally, Grant finished. "I'm sorry this ended the way it did."

"So am I, Grant, but you learned the truth. That's what mattered."

"Yes, sir. Oh, I don't think I mentioned this, but as a 'just in case' we snapped some photos at the airport. They could be your additional proof, Mr. President."

Both men went quiet. Carr thought about what his next move would be, and the meeting when Dotsenko returned to the States.

Grant finally asked, "Sir, what are your plans for Mr. Dotsenko? I mean, when and how do you want him transported?"

"Confirm for me again that he's safe."

"He is, sir. Doc will remain with him. One of the men will check on them every four hours, sorta like being on 'watch' again." Carr detected a smile in Grant's voice, until Grant said, "I know you're concerned about a possible attack, but if Reznikov holds true to form, he won't do anything in West Berlin. Even if he and his men have new identity papers, their photos have been plastered in every checkpoint building on the Allies' side. That's been confirmed."

"What about on the Russian and East German sides?"

"That had to be one of the first security measures they took, sir."

"Give me a day to work it out. A lot depends on your mission to find Reznikov, too."

"Very well, sir. Oh, one last comment."

"Yes, Grant?"

"The agent, the one I cold-cocked?"

The remark caught Carr off-guard. He stifled a laugh before responding, "I'm listening."

"No regrets, Mr. President!"

In the conference room A.T. waited impatiently for Grant and Adler. Coke cans, candy wrappers littered the table.

The door opened and Grant and Adler walked in. As Adler took a seat, Grant's eyes fell on each man. "I know Joe told you Doc's all right. He's at the Hotel Berliner guarding Dotsenko."

"You got him!" Slade responded, raising a fist.

"Damn straight we did," Grant answered. "By the way, has anyone seen those two 'Cowboys' lately?"

"We saw the Audi parked out back, but haven't seen either one of them. Problem?" Novak asked.

"Not for us," Adler smirked.

Grant pulled out a chair then sat. "Before I fill you in, has it been quiet? Any disturbances or sign of possible Reznikov activity?"

Garrett responded, "Nothing, Grant. We've worked out a schedule with the regular guards, so every point in the compound is covered."

"Thanks, Matt. Now, here's how it went down at Schonefeld."

When he finished, Slade asked, "How come you didn't stash him at the safe house, boss?"

Grant shook his head. "Agency 'peeps' are aware of that place, Ken. Joe and I know the hotel and its security. I want Doc to stay with Dotsenko until we have orders. Set up your own duty roster, because I want someone checking on them every four hours. They're in a double room, accessible through #308. Oh, and arrange it where they get at least three squares a day. There are a few cafes close by."

Garrett asked, "Do you think the Agency has sent their passport photos to hotels, you know, like a 'bolo'?" (Be on the lookout.)

Grant rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't know, Matt. They may not have the authority unless they convince the West German police to cooperate. But we've got proof of the agents' little escapade, and the President's been made aware of it. As an FYI, Doc's using his French passport, Dotsenko, U.S.

"A word of caution: keep an eye out for those two agents. I don't want them getting suspicious if they notice you leaving on a set schedule. You can handle it. Questions?" Silence.

"Now, what I'm about to tell you stays in this room." He glanced at Draper. "Rob, one of us will give you the details later." Draper nodded, then Grant continued. "You all remember our last mission and Nicolai Kalinin."

"Sure, boss," James answered. "The Russian who's your double!" He quickly added, "Sorry, boss. Maybe I shouldn't have said that."

"Not a problem, DJ."

Novak interjected, "And if it wasn't for him, you might not be here."

"That's affirmative, Mike. Well, anyway, I've got a meeting with him tonight."

"No shit?!" echoed from most of the men, as they rolled their chairs closer to the table, anxious to hear more.

Grant proceeded to explain the phone call and place of the meeting. "That's all I can tell you. In the meantime, set up the duty roster. Start time will begin at 2200. We can't take any chances." Grant finally smiled. "Yeah, you already knew all that, but, hey! It's just overly-cautious me."

Gorshevsky sat behind his ornate wooden desk, sliding the empty glass back and forth between his palms. He was expecting the arrival of KGB Director Mikhail Antolov, Minister of Internal Security Vasily Sokoloff, General Vladimir Borskaya, and Lieutenant General Nikita Komarov.

Growing impatient, he swiveled his chair around, and eyed the bottle of Stolichnaya Vodka on the corner of the credenza. After a quick glance at his watch, he unscrewed the cap, and poured another shot. Holding the glass under his nose, he sniffed the sweet aroma, then took a sip, tasting its distinct smoothness. He gulped down the remaining liquid, then rubbed an index finger across his mouth, before eyeing the bottle again. "Enough," he said quietly, before putting the glass on a silver tray on the side of the credenza.

Going to the large plate glass window, he pulled aside the heavy blue drapes, and thought about the unbelievable events in Berlin: the disappearance of Alexei Dotsenko; Ivan Reznikov's escape; and three major bombings, all in the same day, for which no one had claimed responsibility. He was becoming more suspicious, thinking about attacks nearly two years ago, but those were against Americans.

A knock at his door made him turn. "Come!"

The four men he was expecting entered, one behind the the other, with Minister of Internal Security Vasily Sokoloff in the lead. Standing in front of plain wooden chairs lined up opposite the desk, each man gave a quick nod to the Premier.

Gorshevsky unbuttoned his dark brown suit jacket, then sat in his leather chair, rolling it closer to the desk. He motioned toward the men. "Sit." They complied.

He swiveled his chair, setting his dark, brooding eyes on Komarov. "I want to hear what you have to say, Comrade General. Can you explain how you let Comrade Dotsenko slip through your fingers?!"

Determined not to be held totally responsible, Komarov answered, "Sir, seven heavily armed individuals ambushed us along a dark stretch of Konigstrasse. They wore … "

"I did not ask you what they were wearing! I want to know how they managed to take Dotsenko?!"

Komarov shifted in his chair. "As I said, sir, they ambushed us, took our weapons, and they shot Sergeant Baskov."

"Who?"

"Our driver. Sergeant Baskov."

"Why just Baskov?"

"Comrade Baskov was trying to get away, when he was shot. He was dumped in the Mercedes." Before Gorshevsky could ask, Komarov added, "He is still in hospital in East Berlin, sir."

"With that much firepower, General, why do you suppose they did not kill all of you?"

Komarov hesitated. "I have no answer, sir."

Gorshevsky's eyes narrowed as he continued glaring at Komarov. "Do you have any idea who the assailants were?"

"I can only tell you they spoke Russian, carried Makarovs and AK-47s, sir."

Gorshevsky rocked back and forth in his chair before turning his attention to General Borskaya. "And what of our agents in Berlin, General? They have not been successful in finding either Dotsenko or Reznikov, have they?"

Borskaya opened a folder on his lap, and removed a paper. He glanced at it before handing it across the desk. "The agents identified Reznikov driving past the embassy just before the explosions."

Gorshevsky quickly perused the paper. "This does not answer my question! They have not found him, have they?!"

"No, Comrade. There was no trace of him or his men, no trail to follow. I made a decision and gave the agents orders to first look for Comrade Dotsenko. But after the embassy was destroyed, I had them looking for Reznikov."

"Did you give any thought to contacting Director Antolov?"

"I did, sir. But I wanted to have more definitive information."

Gorshevsky's grey eyebrows knitted together, as his hand crumbled the white paper. "If memory serves me correctly, Comrade, the embassy was destroyed well after Reznikov escaped. So, while you had your agents searching for Dotsenko, Reznikov was planning his attacks!" Borskaya's shoulders went slack. "You and General Komarov wait in the outer office!" Borskaya and Komarov stood, saluted, then immediately left.

"See to it, Vasily, that those two are transferred someplace not too comfortable."

"I will take care of it, sir."

The Premier turned his attention to KGB Director Antolov. "Has there been a final count of those killed at the embassy?"

The silver-haired Antolov handed Gorshevsky a piece of paper, listing names and titles in two separate columns. "Fifteen have been positively identified. Four were taken to hospital. As you can see, most of those killed were regular staff, including Ambassador Sidorov. All the bodies have yet to be identified."

"Did you lose any men, Mikhail?"

Antolov took a breath. "Two identified so far."

"And the agents who saw Reznikov, have they reported anything further?"

"Not yet. My staff is trying to locate them. I will advise you as soon as I have word."

Gorshevsky set his eyes on Minister Vasily Sokoloff. "And you! What can you tell me about Drazowe? How the hell did that happen?!"

Sokoloff cleared his throat, and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. "There is only one reasonable explanation, sir. The woman who was taken had to be spying for the Americans. They used their satellites to pinpoint the base, then they sent in a team of men to rescue her."

"And our radar did not detect a helicopter entering or leaving our airspace?"

"Apparently it flew across the French Sector."

"The Americans," Gorshevsky remarked, disgustedly. He diverted his eyes to Antolov. "Anything to add, Mikhail? Is anything being done in Drazowe?"

"I have sent a couple of agents to investigate. But I do not know how much more they will learn. The incident happened so quickly. And with Comrade Oleniv dead, we may never know about the woman, how long she was spying, or how much she may have revealed." Antolov sat up straighter. "You were aware that she and Oleniv were involved. She had been with him since his station in Tbilisi." He immediately added, "We re-examined her dossier. It will also take time, but it appears she was a deep cover operative for the CIA."

Gorshevsky grumbled, "Perhaps those who attacked that base did us a favor in killing him."

Antolov and Sokoloff exchanged quick glances, then Antolov continued. "The investigation will continue, sir." He decided to present his theory. "Sir, I think we must consider the possibility that the men who took the woman also were responsible for kidnapping Comrade Dotsenko."

The Premier swung his chair around, poured himself another shot of vodka, and guzzled it down. Knowing Gorshevsky's love of the liquid, Antolov and Sokoloff were troubled. Lately he'd been sipping a lot more — and more often. The Afghan situation was weighing heavily, and now Berlin.

Gorshevsky slowly stood, shoved his gnarled hands into his pants pockets, then finally turned around. "And even if that is the case, do you honestly believe we will find those two?! They are probably out of the country by now!"

"I realize that. But we must continue searching for them. Do you have any intention of phoning the American President?"

"For what purpose, Mikhail? Do you think I will get honest answers? Remember the last time? He made fools of us!"

"I remember. But if you have a conversation with him, perhaps … "

Gorshevsky cut him off. "And what about you, Vasily? Should I call the President?"

"Sir, while we have our suspicions, we do not have final proof. You still want Comrade Dotsenko, and I am sure the President wants Reznikov. Perhaps if you speak with him, the two of you can work together in finding the attackers, or at least work out some kind of deal."

A rapping at the door made the three men turn. "What is it?!" Gorshevsky shouted in annoyance.

"Comrade Gorshevsky! There is a call for Comrade Antolov!" a voice on the other side of the door responded.

Antolov stood. "Is it all right if I answer that? It may be Berlin." Gorshevsky flicked his hand, motioning Antolov to leave.

Several minutes later, the barrel-chested Antolov came into the office. Gorshevsky immediately asked, "Who was it?"

Antolov sat down, then looked at his handwritten note. "Agent Kalinin was phoning from our intel center. He and Agent Zykov managed to rescue some records from the embassy. They were reviewing files on Reznikov and his two men."

Gorshevsky pounded his fist on the desk. "What have they found on Comrade Dotsenko?! Does anyone have any idea on how important that man is?!"

Antolov had no choice but to make a suggestion. "Sir, the two men in Berlin cannot work two missions. I can send more agents to assist."

"Yes. Go ahead." But as Antolov stood to leave, Gorshevsky ordered, "Listen to me, Mikhail. When Reznikov is found, he and his men will be returned to Moscow. I want them dealt with immediately upon their return! Is that clear?!" Antolov nodded. "And when it is done, I never want to hear that name again!" He took a couple of deep breaths, before turning toward the credenza. "You two plan on going with me to Berlin."

"Sir," Antolov said surprised, "go to Berlin now? Is that wise? The danger still may not be over."

Gorshevsky began pouring another shot of vodka. "I must show my respect for Ambassador Sidorov, and I want to see the destruction for myself." He thought briefly about his decision, and decided it was politically correct. "Notify the East Germans that we will take our dead comrades back to Moscow. See that the coffins are covered with our flag. Upon our return, I want newspaper and television coverage at Domodedovo."

Minister Sokoloff asked, "When do you wish to leave for Berlin?"

"As soon as those preparations are completed. Now, both of you — go."