Operation Gold Eagle

Chapter 3

Dressed in a charcoal gray business suit, long-sleeve white shirt, with a gray/blue/white diagonally striped tie, Grant followed an assistant down to the Situation Room, located in the basement of the West Wing. Throughout the room were secure communications systems. In the walls, behind sound-absorbing wood panels, were a variety of audio, video, and other systems. In the center was a long mahogany table, capable of seating six along each side, with the President's chair at the head, facing a large TV screen on the opposite wall.

"Have a seat, Captain Stevens," gray-haired Edna Hartley said, as she opened the door.

"Guess I'm early," Grant commented, noticing no one else in the room.

"The President and the others will join you shortly. Water, soft drinks and coffee are on the credenza."

"Thank you, ma'am." As he walked into the room, he glanced toward the opposite end of the Sit Room, making him aware he wasn't entirely alone. On the other side of a wall was the National Security Council room, known as the "Watch Room." Computer terminals could be fed both classified and unclassified data from around the country and the world. The Sit Room staff was composed of approximately 30 personnel, organized around five "watch teams" that monitored international events 24/7/365, and regularly briefed the President. The staff helped the President connect with intelligence agencies and important people all over the world.

Grant wondered where this meeting would lead, and what A.T. would be asked to do. Then another thought hit him, or maybe it was his gut "talking" again. Mullins said the exchange was top secret. Why top secret?he thought. Spy exchanges were normally handled by the Agency, and usually turned into a media circus.

He walked slowly toward the back of the room, continuing to wonder. Pausing briefly, he turned around, just as the door swung open.

"Grant! Good to see you!" Carr said with an outstretched arm.

Grant took hold of the President's hand, returning the firm grip. "And you, Mr. President."

"Still thinking about that job I offered you?" Carr asked, smiling. He unbuttoned his dark blue suit jacket, then adjusted his red tie.

"Uh, well, to tell the truth, sir, it hasn't been a top priority."

"I'm not surprised, but I'd like you to keep it in mind." He walked to the head of the table, and dropped a folder on it. Centered on the outside of the manila folder, in red letters and all caps, were the words "TOP SECRET." He glanced at his watch. "The other guests should be here any minute. Have you met the Vice President?"

"Haven't had the pleasure."

Carr motioned toward the credenza. "Something to drink?"

"No thanks."

Just then, Vice President Forbes opened the door, followed by four men. They were all dressed in dark blue suits, except for NSA General Prescott, who wore his green Army uniform.

"Mr. President," the five said, almost simultaneously.

Carr made the introductions. "Vice President Forbes, CIA Director Bancroft, NSA General Prescott, and National Security Advisor Stan Hillman, this is Captain Grant Stevens. Grant, I think you know Secretary Daniels (SecDef)."

"Yes, sir. We've met before," Grant responded, reaching for Daniels' hand.

"Captain," Daniels said. "How's your buddy, Joe Adler?"

"He's doing fine, sir. I'll be sure to tell him you asked."

Carr took a seat, with everyone following his lead. The Vice President and National Security Advisor sat opposite one another, closest to Carr, then Bancroft and Prescott opposite each other, with Grant next to Daniels. They all settled in, placing briefcases near chairs. Bancroft and Prescott each placed folders on the table.

Rolling his chair closer to the table, Carr opened the manila folder. As he straightened the papers inside, he questioned National SecurityAdvisor Hillman. "Stan, I know you were in the Watch Room earlier. Did any new information come in that we can use now?"

"No. I've directed them to let us know if anything raises a red flag."

Carr focused his eyes on Grant, who was watching him. "Feel free to speak up any time, Grant."

"Is now a good time?"

"Go for it."

"I guess my first question has got to be, why has the Team been asked to get involved in a spy exchange?"

A slight smile appeared on Carr's face. "You'll understand in a moment, Grant."

"All right, sir."

Director Bancroft started to pass the folders to Carr when Carr said, "Let Grant take a look at those, Hank."

As Grant opened the top folder, Bancroft pointed to it. "That top folder is the dossier on Alexei Dotsenko. He was one of our deepest cover operatives for years, feeding us information from inside Russia's Ministry of Internal Affairs."

"Excuse me, sir, but did you say he was one ofour operatives?!"

"I did. If you'll let me continue, you'll understand." Bancroft glanced at the other men, saying, "It isn't necessary at this moment to go into his background, or how we found him. So, I'll start when he informed us that he was being assigned to D.C., as part of the Russian Embassy staff, a.k.a., the KGB. The Soviets wanted him to head up a spy ring, expecting his operatives to infiltrate the DoD, State, Treasury. Dotsenko would be their handler, with their identities known only to him. He never gave Moscow their names, only code names that could never be traced."

"Then how …?" Grant started to ask.

"Our own agents filled in positions at those departments."

Grant scrunched up his face, trying to understand Bancroft's reply. "Sooo, he was feeding the Soviets disinformation, provided by our own agents?!"

"That's right. Plus, while he was here, we were able to either meet with him secretly, or use 'dead drops,' constantly getting more intel from him," Bancroft answered.

"I have a feeling, Mr. Director, that sending him back won't be entirely because of Reznikov."

"It's the opportunity we needed."

Silence in the room. Grant was trying to process the last response by CIA Bancroft, wondering if he should pursue the statement now or wait. He'd wait.

Bancroft shifted in his seat, always leery about giving up sensitive information. "Another one of our deep cover operatives hasn't been heard from in over a week. She just 'dropped off the radar.'"

Grant had to ask, "Do you know if she's still alive, or maybe captured? I mean, is it possible her cover was blown? Could her last contact with CIA been intercepted?"

Bancroft drew in a deep breath. "Any of those reasons are possible, but we haven't picked up any transmissions indicating either way, so we're confident she's still alive.

"Now," Bancroft continued, "that second folder is her dossier." As Grant opened the folder, Bancroft began: "Sophia Pankova, mistress of Army Major General Dmitri Oleniv. He was assigned to the PVO (Territorial Defense Forces) in Tbilisi, close to the Turkish border. Six months ago he was transferred, and took her with him to a base in Drazowe, Poland."

"Never heard of it," Grant commented quietly, as he picked up a black and white photo of Sophia Pankova.

"Neither had we," Bancroft commented. "How the Germans, then the Soviets kept it secret, we still don't know, but they sure as hell did. It was because of Pankova that we found out. She has full details on the base setup, and what or if anything's being disguised or hidden that we should know about."

Bancroft nodded toward Prescott. "General, could you put up a sat image of the area?"

Prescott opened a second folder, removed an image, then walked to a table, placing the film-positive on a lighted overhead projector. The black and white image appeared on the screen. A northwest section of Poland had a specific area circled.

"Tell us about it, Hank," Carr said.

"We had to 'dig' deep to get this information, but just before WWII, German authorities bought all of the area you see. They started construction of a large military base, a training ground and various testing grounds. Most of the local inhabitants were resettled and their homes razed to the ground. After the war, two German military bases and the town itself were taken over by the Red Army. Then, Soviet military established one of the biggest military camps of the Northern Group of Forces. The town was excluded from Polish jurisdiction and erased from all maps, even though it was officially part of the People's Republic of Poland. Official documents of the surrounding communes, and the surrounding 100 miles were designated forest areas. After World War II it remained in Soviet hands, as a secret military base. We believe there are at least 5,000 Soviet troops stationed there, all of them an elite unit."

Bancroft nodded toward Prescott. "General, can you point out the other 'items' of interest?"

Prescott readjusted the image, then went to the screen. With the rubber tip of a wooden pointer, he tapped the screen at different locations. "These 'mounds' that appear to be covered in vegetation, we're positive they're old German bunkers. Whether that's all they are, or whether the Soviets are using them for other purposes, we still don't know."

"Jesus," Grant exclaimed under his breath, as he rolled his chair closer to the table. "Is it possible those might be entrances to underground facilities?"

"Anything's possible at this point, Captain," Prescott answered. "We know the Germans built tunnels in other parts of Poland for various reasons. The Russians could be using any of them."

Grant nodded, then asked, "General, can I assume our satellite was redirected to fly over that site only after receiving contact from the operative?"

"You assume correctly," Prescott replied.

Carr rested an elbow on his swivel chair, tapping his fist lightly against his mouth. "Grant, you think she's been captured?"

"Either it's pure coincidence, sir, or those soldiers have been underground the whole time."

Prescott changed the image to one taken at night. "As you can see, there aren't any lights, at least not visible from the satellite. Now that might be because of overgrown trees and shrubs, position of windows, etc." Prescott pointed to various places. "And then there's this." He switched to another image. "You can see several military vehicles inside the town. Utility vehicles, armored vehicles, transports. They're not always in the same position, which would indicate they're being driven, or at least moved. As far as personnel, large groups have never been spotted."

"With those vehicles exposed and moving around, they probably still don't know we've been watching them," Grant quietly stated. "When was the exact date you last heard from her?" Grant asked looking at Bancroft.

Bancroft readjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, then flipped through pages of a small, spiral-bound notebook. "She managed to call our secure line a week ago, 7 June. The message she left was in code."

"Is it possible she's no longer at that base?"

"We're confident she's still there. The situation in Poland, especially in that area, would make it nearly impossible for her to stray.

"Let's get back to how this exchange came about. This may be hard to believe, but she and Dotsenko were 'involved' before she accepted the Oleniv assignment. I don't think you need further details.

"Dotsenko was willing to do just about anything to get her out safely. As soon as we intercepted the transmission indicating the Russians located Reznikov, we started planning an exchange. So, we 'arrested' Dotsenko on charges of spying, then put him in a safe house under heavy guard. That's when we contacted Moscow and offered him for Reznikov. They didn't hesitate. They wanted Dotsenko."

"I'm really trying to understand," Grant said, with his brow furrowing, "why he's willing to risk his life to go back to help her, but more than that, why are you allowing him to go if he's been so valuable here?" Out of the corner of his eye Grant saw Carr keeping an eye on him.

"At this point he's the only one she trusts," Bancroft finally answered.

"Sir, can I ask … "

"Just a minute, Grant," Carr said. "Hank, how can you be sure Grant and his men won't run into the 'trust' issue themselves?"

Bancroft sat up straighter. "Captain Stevens doesn't have to concern himself about that issue, Mr. President. We'll see to it that … "

"With all due respect, sir, I beg to differ," Grant interrupted, keeping his intense brown eyes locked on Bancroft. "A trust issue isalways a concern."

Silence, until Carr spoke. "Hank, you know I can't send in Alpha Tango until you have some idea where she is on base, and I assume you still don't."

Bancroft shook his head. "He's refused to tell us, until he's back in East Germany, expecting us to 'rescue' him. Can I continue, Mr. President?" Carr nodded.

"We've picked up more than usual chatter, and not just from Drazowe. As you know, ever since the early 70s the Polish government's tried to help the economy by a massive increase in basic food prices. There were violent protests. Many people died. Now a new wave of strikes has undermined that government. The country's in serious trouble.

"Our intercepts revealed the government's planning to establish martial law, and probably within a few months. In the meantime, they've either tightened up or closed all exit points. Transportation services are heavily guarded." Bancroft took a deep breath. "We need to get her out before it gets worse."

Grant rolled his chair forward, propping his elbows on the table, squeezing one fist then the other. None of this was making any sense. Why trade a valuable asset, then hope you can get him out of East Germany, or maybe even Russia? Because he's the only one his "girlfriend" trusts?! Bullshit! In the world of espionage, a valuable asset like Dotsenko wasn't just given up that easily — even for a bastard like Reznikov. Let's roll the dice, Stevens.

"Grant," Carr called.

"Oh, sorry, sir." He cleared his throat, then locked his eyes on Carr. "Mr. President, you've put your trust in me and my men several times now. I'm hoping you'll at least consider what I'm going to propose."

Carr raised an eyebrow, hesitating briefly before responding, "It sounds like you're about to deviate from what we were all expecting, Grant."

"You might say that, sir. But as I said, it's only a proposal."

Carr glanced at each of the men sitting at the table, each face expressing surprise, and concern. He nodded toward Grant. "Go ahead. We're listening."

"What if someone could convince Dotsenko to give up his information, to tell us where she is without having to exchange him for Reznikov? Convince him he'd be safer here. Then, my team can go in and make the extraction."

"Just a minute," Bancroft said, holding up his hand. "If we back out of that exchange, the Russians are going to be mighty pissed!"

"And your point, sir?"

"My goddamn point is this isn't a good time to have them pissed, and we want Reznikov, Captain!"

Grant maintained his calm. "Do you have anyone else that could be exchanged instead?"

"They wanted Dotsenko, and that's who we're going to give them." Bancroft shifted his eyes to Carr. It was up to the President to give the final say-so.

But Grant wanted to make his point. He sat up straighter. "Excuse me, Director, but do you understand how much can go wrong with an op like this? And I'm not just talking about possibly losing my men. SpecOps have lost 'assets' in the past. Now you're talking about two 'assets' that'll be in harm's way, in communist territory, with a real possibility of collateral damage if civilians are at that location."

Bancroft pressed his back against the leather chair. "Don't you have enough confidence in your team, Captain?"

Grant's jaw tightened. "Sir, I could tell … "

"Hold it, gentlemen!" Carr interrupted. "You both need to cool off." Then he set his eyes on Bancroft. "Hank, you know what Grant and his men have done for us in the past. All he's asking is for us to consider his suggestion."

After several minutes of discussion, the President announced, "We'll go forward with the exchange as planned. Grant, I assume you and A.T. will take on the mission under those circumstances."

Grant drew in a deep breath. "Yes, sir. We will." But then, staying focused on Carr, he asked, "Sir, do I have your permission to talk with Grigori about the base? There's a good possibility he has knowledge about it, or at least that area. His input could prove to be invaluable."

Carr shifted his eyes to Bancroft. "Hank?" Bancroft remained quiet, tapping his index finger on the table, glancing back at Grant. "Hank! You know damn well we've used Colonel Moshenko's expertise in the past, and on top secret ops."

"Fine," Bancroft finally answered, gathering up his paperwork, and shoving it into the folder.

Grant rolled his chair away from the table, then walked closer to the screen, studying the sat image. Continuing to look at the image, he asked, "General, do you know the distance from Berlin to this base?"

"About 160 miles as the 'crow flies,' but no more than two from the Baltic Sea." The Baltic Sea, one of the largest brackish water areas in the world, was designated as international waters.

Resting his hands on the back of the leather chair, Grant locked eyes with Bancroft. "Where's Reznikov being held?"

"What does that have to do with the exchange?"

"More curiosity than anything."

"At an East German prison near Schonefeld."

Grant wondered if Reznikov was subjected to the standard G2. "Has it been decided where your men will be taking him after the exchange?"

"We'll have a military plane waiting at Tempelhof."

"Not Schonefeld?"

Bancroft shook his head. "No. We want to fly him out by military, away from as many civilians as possible. We'll have a U.S. passport for him, so the plan is for them to cross at Checkpoint Bravo, near Kleinmachow. It's a straight shot up to Tempelhof from there."

Grant looked again at the screen, deep in thought. Finally realizing how quiet it had gotten, he turned toward Carr. "Sorry, Mr. President. My mind just fast-forwarded a few days."

"And you're thinking about, what?" Carr asked, as he poured a glass of water, then dropped in a lemon wedge.

"Do we know what plans the Russians have for Dotsenko after the exchange, I mean, where are they going to take him?"

Bancroft shook his head. "They've been damn secretive about those plans. What we do know is Reznikov will be transported directly from prison to Glienicke."

Grant thought for a moment. "The only two places that make sense would be the Soviet Embassy or Schonefeld. I only see one way to make this happen. We need to snatch him right after the exchange, before they get too far. If we let them leave Germany, or reach the embassy, we'll be up shit creek." Grant cleared his throat, then continued. "We've gotta get him outta harm's way and as quickly as possible. We can take him to our embassy. He'll be safe there while we go to Poland."

Bancroft exchanged glances with Carr, then breathed deeply, mulling over the idea. "And just how do you plan on finding her without him?"

"You said he knew where she was, right?" Bancroft gave a slight nod. "I think we'll be able to convince him to tell us." Grant glanced over at Carr, who was looking at him through narrowed eyes. "Mr. President, with the second part of our op taking us to Poland, there's no way in hell it'll be safe taking him along — for him or us. We've gotta leave him at the embassy."

Bancroft pointed a finger at Grant. "You know, Captain, there are folks who are willing to give up a helluva lot for something they believe in — or for someone. What if you can't convince him?"

"If he feels so deeply for her, he won't want to put her in any additional danger. I'm positive he'll agree." Grant kept his eyes on Bancroft, and thought to himself, It's what you should've done, you ass! Bancroft rocked back and forth, keeping his eyes on Grant.

"Grant, do you have any questions, or anything further to add?" Carr asked, before taking another drink of water.

"With Dotsenko at the embassy, am I to assume that's where you want us to take her? And whatever your answer, how and who will be transporting them …?"

"Once you return with her, you make contact with State, then we'll decide the safest way to get them out," Bancroft answered.

"Very well. I'll be talking with Scott as soon as I leave here, lining up details for our flight."

Secretary Daniels removed a ballpoint pen from his suit jacket pocket, and clicked the top. "Captain, will you be requiring any additional 'heavy' equipment?"

Grant understood Daniels' question meant chopper, boat. "Hard to say right now, Mr. Secretary. I probably won't know until we get more definitive information from Dotsenko."

"And what about Colonel Moshenko?" Carr asked.

"If Grigori knows anything that might jeopardize the op, I'll advise you immediately. Then you all can decide where to go from there."

Carr handed Grant a piece of paper. Several names had been scratched out, except for one, and that was circled. "What do you think about that code name for the mission?"

"'Operation Gold Eagle,'" Grant said aloud. "Think you picked a good one, sir."

"Then that's what we'll go with." Carr rolled his chair back, then stood. Grant took the hint, and walking nearer, took hold of the President's offered hand. "Good luck, Grant."

"Thank you, sir." He gave a quick nod to the men in the room, then he left.

Turning the Vette onto Virginia Avenue, heading back to his apartment, Grant ran the meeting through his mind, putting everything in order. He picked up the phone and dialed Moshenko's home number.

"Hello?" a soft voice answered.

"Hey, Alexandra! It's Grant."

"Oh, Grant. It is good to hear you."

Grant answered with an obvious smile in his voice, "And you. Your English is getting better all the time!"

"Yes. I am learning much."

"Well, you're doing great. Hey, is Grigori home?"

"He is in yard." She corrected herself. "He is out in the yard. Do you want speak with him, Grant?"

"No, that's okay. Just tell him Joe and I are on our way over."

"I will. Lunch is ready, but I will have extra food for Joe!"

"Hey! What about me?!"

"Yes, and you, Grant!"

"Looking forward to it! I've gotta go, Alexandra. We'll see you in a little while."

Making a right turn, he pulled into the apartment building's garage, parked in his designated space, then immediately tried calling Adler at Eagle 8. Stalley reported Alder was out making a food run. Next to the importance of a mission, food was next on the list for Grant's best friend. He dialed the car phone.

"Yo!" the familiar voice answered.

"Joe! Where you at?"

"In my car!"

"No shit!"

"I was on my way back … "

"Need you to meet me at my apartment. We're going to make a short trip to Maryland. I'm hoping to get some feedback."

"I take it you've got our 'traveling' papers?"

"Affirmative."

"Hey! Do I need to pick up any goodies to take?"

Grant just shook his head, as he responded with a smile in his voice, "I've been advised lunch will be awaiting our arrival. Your reputation precedes you, Joe."

"Outstanding! See ya in a few."

Twenty minutes later the two friends were in the black Vette heading to the Moshenkos. Adler reached into a bag containing a dozen Dunkin' Donuts, then offered a raised sugar one to Grant.

"No, thanks. I'll just suck on coffee."

"So, fill me in."

Grant detailed his meeting at the White House. "CIA wasn't too happy about givin' up so much of its secret shit."

"They never plan ahead," Adler laughed, as he licked his fingers. "How the hell did they think we'd begin the op without full disclosure?"

Grant gave a short laugh. "The President used his powers of persuasion to prod Bancroft into disclosing."

"A cattle prod would've been much more fun!"

Traffic increased as they drove through D.C. heading for Maryland. A normal twenty minute drive had taken thirty minutes when Grant finally pulled the Vette into the Moshenkos' driveway, parking behind a dark blue Ford sedan.

Moshenko was sitting on the top step near the front door, smoking his favorite, a Davidoff Grand Cru cigar. He snapped a quick salute as he was standing. His 5'10" frame was still solid, the same as when he and Grant first met. The short black hair had a few more grays, however.

Car doors slammed. "Hey, Grigori!" Grant waved.

"Colonel," Adler said, holding up the bag of donuts.

"My friends!" He greeted Grant then Adler, giving both a bear hug, slapping his good friends on the back. "It is good to see you! Come! Come! Let us go inside."

Alexandra walked in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a flowered apron. Her dark hair was cut shorter than usual, curling just below her ears. "Grant and Joe!" She walked to Grant and gave him a hug, then tilted her head back, looking up into his brown eyes. "We are happy you are here," she smiled.

"I'm next," Adler announced, with his arms spread wide.

"Joe," Alexandra said, "I have cooked special for you. Come into dining room."

Adler licked his lips, as his eyes roamed an array of steaming, hot food. "You outdid yourself, Alexandra! What is all this?"

She pointed to each large dish: "Sweet cabbage soup; pirog (a yeast-raised dough formed into a circle and filled with meat, mushrooms, rice); beef stroganoff and noodles; Russian black bread, and apple cake for dessert."

Adler couldn't stand to wait any longer. "Let's eat!" He slid a chair from under the table for Alexandra.

"And I have something special for you both," Moshenko announced, coming from the kitchen holding two bottles of Budweiser.

"You're both after our hearts!" Grant smiled, taking one of the ice cold bottles.

Two hours later the three men were sitting on the back patio. Moshenko lit another cigar, then blew out a steady stream of smoke. "Now, what is it you wish to discuss, my friends?"

Grant leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. "Grigori, have you ever heard of Drazowe, Poland?"

"You know of that place?!" He actually seemed surprised.

"Uh, yeah, but just recently. I mean, we don't know a helluva lot yet. I was hoping you could give us more."

"I will be honest with you, Grant. There were few people outside a certain circle of the government who were given details. I know I was KGB, but … "

"Listen, Grigori, that's okay. Don't worry about it."

Moshenko looked between Grant and Adler with a worried expression. "You have a new mission."

"Think so."

"If there is anything I can do … "

Grant flashed him a grin. "How 'bout a couple more Buds?!"

The security gate automatically swung open, responding to a signal from a sensor under the bumper of Adler's red Mustang. He drove through, with Grant right behind him.

As the gate started closing Grant saw in his mirror a green Ford F-150. Frank Diaz flashed his lights, waiting for the gate to reopen. Once he drove through, he stomped on the gas, getting within a few feet of the Vette.

The closer they drove to the 4,000 square foot ranch-style log house, faint lights inside became more visible. With the sun still shining, security lights had not yet come on. Five other cars were already parked near the garages — the remaining members of Team Alpha Tango.

Responding to Grant's call, they arrived within twenty minutes. None of the men were currently married, and that was one of the reasons Grant and Adler selected them. Except for Doc Stalley, the youngest of the Team, everyone had been married at least once. They knew the hardships placed on families, the guilt they themselves felt for contributing to that hardship. They still had the occasional "relationships," and for them, those were enough.

Even though the entire Team was on call 24/7/365, their life didn't match those of active duty SEALs. With A.T., when a mission was over, it was over. Chances of being sent to a world "hot spot" so soon after would be rare, and so far that hadn't happened.

"Hey!" Diaz shouted, slamming the truck door. As he jogged toward Grant and Adler, he no longer showed any sign of his previous injury, a gunshot wound in the leg during the last mission.

"What's up, Frank?" Adler responded, following Grant up the porch steps.

"I was about to ask you two the same thing! I guess we've got the mission?"

"Fill you in inside," Grant answered, as he opened the door.

Recaps of baseball games were showing on TV, the sound all but drowned out by the men's voices. Sitting at the long, rectangular walnut dining room table, they were popping open cans of soda, beer, digging into bags of chips. A typical healthy meal.

"I smell pizza!" Novak said, sniffing the air.

Adler dropped five boxes on the counter. "Sorry the main course is late, guys!"

Grant tossed his keys on the coffee table, shut off the TV, then went to a wall cabinet in the living room, and sorted through a box of maps, taking one out.

"Hey, boss, you gonna have some food?" Stalley asked while he walked to the table, carrying two slices of pepperoni pizza.

"Not right now, Doc." He sat on the couch and unfolded a map.

Adler was opening a can of Coke in the kitchen, when Garrett leaned across the counter. "Is he okay, Joe?"

Adler looked over his shoulder at Grant. "Yeah, he's fine. You know him when he's got that brain going 'full tilt' on an upcoming mission."

Garrett picked up a slice of cheese pizza, then joined the men at the table.

Adler grabbed another Coke and took it to Grant. "Here. Caffeine is a requirement."

"Thanks, Joe." He popped the top as he continued studying the map.

Adler sat on the arm of the couch. "The way you're looking at that tells me you see problems."

"Maybe not problems, but more like large obstacles."

Adler lowered his voice. "One of those obstacles wouldn't be this, would it?" He tapped a spot on the map. Grunewald, Germany.

"How many times have you asked me that, Joe?!"

"Hey! Don't get your ass in a twit. I worry about you."

"Yeah, I know. But a helluva lot of other guys went through more shit than me. I'm over it, Joe. End of story. Okay?"

"Roger that."

One side of Grant's mouth curved up. "If you weren't my best friend, I'd beat the crap out of you right about now!"

Adler held up his hands and leaned back. "Consider me afraid!"

"What's goin' on over there?!" Novak shouted.

Grant picked up the map, then stood. "C'mon. We've gotta put our heads together." He snatched a folder from the counter, then went to the dining room table, spreading out the map.

"Make some room, guys," Adler said, pulling out a chair. James and Diaz moved their chairs away from each other.

After Grant explained the reason for the Team being asked to participate in an exchange, he proceeded to discuss the mission. "Okay, code name for the mission is 'Operation Gold Eagle.' Destination: Germany and Poland. There'll be two parts to the mission, but let's discuss the extraction of the operative in Poland. In that folder is information on both 'assets.' Take a good look, 'cause we've gotta shred everything before we depart."

Adler held a photo in each hand, then turned them over and read the print: "Pankova, thirty-seven; 5'4"; medium length light brown hair; brown eyes; fair skin. Dotsenko; forty-one; 5'9"; short salt and pepper straight hair; small scar on chin." He passed them to Diaz.

For the next twenty minutes Grant detailed everything he gleaned from his White House meeting.

"Do you think she's still alive, boss?" Stalley asked with concern.

"Hard to say, Doc. There isn't proof either way."

"Christ!" Draper spat out. "How the hell didn't we know about that place?!"

"Look, our mission isn't to recon the area specifically, but I'm sure somebody will want to question us when we return. Our immediate mission is extract the operative. She's the one with all the intel. So, take a look at this map." Grant slid his finger along a route. "Here's Berlin, and here's Drazowe. That's about 160 miles. From the Baltic coast inland to that town is less than two. The kicker is, we won't know exactly where she is until we have Dotsenko. I couldn't convince them to get the info from him while he was here, so … " He pulled out a chair, sat down, and rocked back, balancing on the two back legs. "Let's talk."

Novak's hand shot up like a kid in a classroom. "I have a question. How do we get to that area," he indicated by moving his hand in a circle above the map, "if this whole fucking space is in the Soviet Sector?"

"You catch on quick, Mike," Grant answered with a half smile. "That's one of the obstacles."