Sacrifice of One

Chapter 4

An American flag hangs limply from a wooden pole in a corner of the twelve by fourteen, windowless, soundproof room. Three rectangular florescent lights, encased in wooden frames and covered with frosted sheets of plastic, are spaced evenly down the center of the ceiling. A white Formica top console extends the length of the shorter wall, with several electrical outlets spaced evenly across the back panel.

Three men sit quietly at the console. Adler and Mullins are each holding a set of headphones, already plugged into a central outlet. In front of Grant is a phone receiver, with the earpiece hanging from a black plastic “cup.”

Their eyes dart back and forth from a clock above the door to a round, clear glass bulb, one inch in diameter, protruding from the panel in front of them. Their growing nervousness is obvious, as they constantly swivel back and forth in their chairs.

Grant checked his watch, comparing his time with the wall clock.

“Don’t worry, skipper. He’ll call,” Adler said, trying to sound reassuring.

With anticipation, Adler and Mullins slipped on their headphones. At exactly 1200 hours, the bulb on the panel suddenly started flashing yellow. Mullins flipped the switch next to it, and nodded in Grant’s direction.

Grant picked up the receiver and answered, “00628973257.”

“Is it you, Grant?” the familiar voice asked.

“Grigori! Yeah, it’s me! Are you okay? Are you safe?”

“I am.”

“Listen, if you feel more comfortable talking in Russian, do it.” Mullins jerked his head around, giving Grant a what the shit? kind of look.

“No. English is good, but I do not have much time, Grant.”

“Talk to me.”

“The men, they are to be transported by helicopter to East Germany, the Soviet sector, in five days.” As Moshenko spoke, he continuously looked around at cars and pedestrians passing the phone booth, keeping a watchful eye out for anything, or anybody suspicious.

Grant’s surprise was obvious. “East Germany?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure, Grigori? Are you positive?”

“Yes. I will be taking them.”

A cold shiver ran up Grant’s spine. He leaned closer to the counter. “You? Why you?”

“I will be going as security for KGB as ordered by Director Antolov. There will be three others, a pilot and two guards.” Mikhail Antolov is the Director of the KGB.

Grant had a shitload of questions but right now he just needed facts. “Grigori, where are they now? Where are they being held? Do you know?”

“I have not been given that information, but I will find out soon.” The tone of Moshenko’s voice changed, sounding distressed as he said, “I do not know where these men have been, or why they were brought to Russia, Grant, but they have been here for two years. I am sorry my government is doing this, my friend.”

“Hey, Grigori! Screw your government, okay? What you’re doing is the right thing. You believe that, don’t you?”

“It is the right thing.”

“Remember at AFN, Grigori? Remember you said you thought you were going soft? What’d I tell you?”

“You said I was just being human.”

“Damn straight, my friend.” With an index finger tapping on the counter as if trying to drive a point home, Grant said, “Promise me something, Grigori. Promise me that you’ll back out of this if you start to get a bad feeling, like someone suspects you, or suspects what you’re doing.” With his voice low, his words were emphatic, as he said, “Promise me.”

There was a slight hesitation before Moshenko replied, “I… will.”

Grant continued talking in a low voice, his words coming slowly. “Grigori, I know you, and my gut’s telling me you’ve got something in mind. I’m asking you as a good friend… don’t do it. We’ll take care of everything. That’s all I’m gonna say, my friend. Tell me you understand.”

“I will only do as instructed, Grant.”

Grant breathed a deep sigh. “Okay. Now, where will you be between now and when you’re given the information?”

“I will be here, in Moscow, either at KGB or at home.”

“Okay, Grigori. When it’s time, I’ll contact you our usual way.”

“If I find out more, Grant, what do you want me to do?”

Grant decided enough calls had been made to the Agency. “First of all, you be careful. Then, you call Admiral Torrinson on his secure line. He’ll know how to reach me, whether I’m still here or on my way with Joe.” Grant gave Moshenko the information, finally saying, “Look. I think you’ve spent enough time on the this call. You’d better get going. You’ll hear from me soon.

“Don’t vary your routine, Grigori. Go on with your regular life, you know, do your KGB thing,” he said, with a slight laugh in his voice, hoping to ease Moshenko’s mind.

“I will.” Moshenko turned toward the phone, leaning close. With no hesitancy whatsoever, he asked, “How is Washington this time of year, my friend?” He hoped Grant understood.

Grant’s heart suddenly pounded against his chest, nearly taking his breath away. “It’s perfect.” Grigori wanted it to happen. Grant and Adler now had two missions ahead of them, with seven lives in their hands.

“Da sveedahnya, my friend!”

“Da sveedahnya.” Grant put the receiver back in the holder.

Mullins and Adler pulled off the headphones, dropping them on the counter. Mullins spun Grant’s chair around, facing him, and with his eyes narrowing, he asked, “What’d he mean by ‘how’s Washington this time of year’?”

Grant and Mullins had to let this play out. Mullins already knew about the possibility of a defection. This call confirmed it. The conversation taking place now was just in case “eyes and ears” were hidden in the room.

Grant answered, “Whenever there’s a sticky situation, he’ll ask me that or I’ll ask him about Moscow. It’s just one of those tension-breakers, I guess.”

Mullins rubbed his chin, and responded somewhat skeptically, “I see.” As Grant started to get up, Mullins pulled him back into the chair. “And the shit about your gut? What the hell…?”

“No need to go there, Tony; issue’s resolved.”

Adler thought it was time for him to turn the conversation in another direction. “Well, what do we do now, skipper?”

Grant stood, as he was vigorously kneading the back of his neck. “We need to get our asses in gear.” They put their caps on as they left the room.

Mullins led them out to the parking lot and walked with them to the Mustang.

As they stood by the car, Grant put on his aviator sunglasses then turned to Mullins. “Tony, can you be our contact here?” Mullins had already talked to Grant after their conversation at the Iwo Jima Memorial, admitting his idea to go on the mission had not been well thought out.

“Of course, buddy. You let me know what you need before you go and if you need anything once you’re there.”

Grant slapped Mullins’ shoulder. “Knew I could count on you! Come on, Joe. Guess we’d better head to the office.” He had one foot in the passenger side of the car when he stopped and said, “Would appreciate it if you could give the admiral a call and advise him we’re on our way.”

Mullins grabbed his friend’s hand, holding it firmly in his grasp. “As soon as I get back to the office. Listen,” he said with seriousness, “be careful, Grant. You’re going into dangerous territory, in more ways than one.”

“I hear ya.”

Mullins leaned forward, looking through the car at Adler and gave him a slight wave. “Joe, take it easy.” Adler gave a thumb’s up.

As the Mustang started backing up, Mullins held a fist high overhead, and shouted, “Hooyah!”

For the first ten minutes of the drive, the two men discussed the upcoming meeting with Torrinson, when suddenly, Grant went quiet. He rolled down the window, then rested his arm on the door, as he stared out the windshield.

Adler gave a quick look over at him, seeing the familiar clamping of the square jaw, the grinding of the teeth. “What’s wrong, boss?”

“Just got a bad feeling, Joe. Remember the two comrades with Grigori at AFN?”

“Sure. Tarasov and Rusnak. What about ‘em?”

“Grigori didn’t seem concerned about them spilling the beans when he helped us in Sicily, but… ”

“But you were. Right?”

“Yeah, Joe. Christ! With what’s he’s trying to do now, what if those two bastards ‘threw him under the bus’? I mean, what are the odds of him being the one to fly those POWs outta Russia?”

Adler thought for a moment. His eyebrows shot up, and he asked with surprise, “You can’t think that he’s being set up, do you?”

Grant gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Don’t know, Joe, but I’m really worried.”

It was Adler’s turn to try and be reassuring, to try to ease Grant’s mind. “Skipper, don’t go there. You’re just assuming, and you know we don’t assume.”

Grant tried to think more rationally. “Yeah. I know. It may be that Antolov’s just putting his trust in Grigori. I suppose I’m not giving Grigori enough credit for who he is, for what he knows, Joe, and that’s being fuckin’ stupid.” He reached across the console and punched Adler in the shoulder. “Stupid! That’s me. Right, Joe?”

Adler laughed. “If you say so, skipper. Wouldn’t think of arguing!” Adler realized Grant was just covering up what was really going on in his mind.

Two stacks of papers and several file folders were piled on the right side of Torrinson’s desk. Since he arrived at 0600 hours, he’d been shuffling papers and folders, scribbling notes, eager to hear from Grant. Whatever new information Colonel Moshenko had was going impact the mission dramatically, in time and perhaps lives.

Finishing off the last bite of a chicken salad sandwich, he brushed crumbs off his desk. He slid a blue-lined notepad toward him, where he’d already started making a list of equipment and weapons he was anticipating Grant would need. Glancing at the clock above his door, he was expecting the two officers any minute.

Hearing sounds from the typewriter in the outer office, he rolled his chair away from the desk and got up. Taking slow strides, he walked to the open door, and stuck his head out.

Yeoman Phillips spun his chair around. “Admiral! Can I help you, sir?”

Torrinson put a hand up. “No, no, Zach. Just needed to stretch my legs.” Sniffing the air, he asked, “Is that fresh coffee?”

“Yes, sir. Just finished perking.”

Phillips started to get up, when Torrinson motioned him back down. “As you were, Zach. I’ll get it. Need something to wash down that sandwich.” He poured a cup, added a teaspoon of sugar, then took a sip. As he started to go back to his office, he heard hurried footsteps in the hallway. The door swung open. Grant and Adler came in.

“Afternoon, gentlemen.”

“Afternoon, sir,” both replied.

Torrinson held his cup out. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Not for me, sir,” Grant answered, as he removed his cap, then his sunglasses.

“I believe I’ll have a cup, sir,” Adler responded, putting his cap on the credenza.

“Help yourself, Joe, then join us,” Torrinson said over his shoulder.

While he poured the coffee, Adler looked around for something to eat, like possibly donuts. Nothing. Total disappointment.

Zach continued typing, and without looking up, he said, “There’re some chocolate chip cookies in that top drawer, sir.”

“You’re my hero, Zach,” Adler laughed.

“Glad I could be of service, sir.”

Adler took two, ate them quickly, then washed them down with his coffee.

Once the three men were seated in Torrinson’s office, Torrinson got right to the point. “So, what did the colonel have to say, Grant?”

Grant relayed the entire conversation he had with Moshenko. Torrinson sat in silence, astonished by every piece of news Grant was now telling him. When Grant finished, Torrinson pressed the intercom switch. “Zach!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Call the White House. See if the President has time to talk with me. Tell him it’s about the phone call from Colonel Moshenko.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Torrinson took a couple of deep breaths, finally asking, “Anything else, Grant?”

“Sir, I directed Grigori to contact you with anything further, either before or after we leave for the mission.”

“No contacting the Agency?” Torrinson asked with a half smile.

“Already enough information is in their hands, sir.” Grant quickly backed up his request. “Besides, sir, the President said he wants to keep this under wraps as long as possible, and to me that means the fewer who know, the better off we’ll be. And we can trust Agent Mullins, sir.”

“Before we go any further,” Torrinson said as he pointed toward Grant, “has that shoulder of yours been giving you any problems?”

“Negative, sir. No problems whatsoever. Doc officially released me.”

“Will you be able to handle everything this mission might entail?”

“Affirmative, sir!”

Torrinson nodded, then said, “Okay. Then let’s proceed." He tore the top paper from the notepad and handed it across the desk to Grant. “Here’s a list of everything I could come up with that I think you’ll need.” He reached for his jar of Tootsie Pops, picking three at random. “Anybody?” he asked, holding them toward the two men.

“I’ll take one, sir,” Adler answered, choosing an orange-colored wrapper.

“Grant?”

“Unless you’ve got a stash of Snickers somewhere, sir, I’ll pass.”

“Sorry. I’ll ask my wife to pick some up at the commissary; have them waiting for you when you get back.”

Grant quickly scanned the list, then handed the paper to Adler. “Sir, I don’t think we’ll be able to take most of this.”

Torrinson was surprised, as he asked, “You already have a supply somewhere, Grant?”

“No, sir, at least not yet. Grigori will supply the hand weapons and ammo. We can’t take the chance bringing that across the border. Hate to get stopped before we even get started, sir.” This wasn’t the time for him to mention Mullins’ offer.

“Understand,” Torrinson replied.

Grant looked at Adler. “Joe, see anything on there you can use?”

Adler nodded. “We can take the det cord and pencils; should be easy to stash.”

“Something we’re definitely going to need, sir, is money. Rubles, dollars, Deutsche Marks, and East German Marks should see us through. Probably need to be a little ‘heavier’ on the rubles and East German Marks, sir.”

“Hmm. Somebody has travel plans,” Torrinson smiled as he put his hand out for the list Adler was handing over to him.

“Will we be running this as a black op, sir?”

“Well, since you want the Agency left in the dust, I’ll get with SECDEF, and have the money pulled from a different pot.” As he made a note, he said, “I’ve got your flight out of Andrews on standby. The President’s approved an Air Force C-9A. The aircraft’s equipped to handle whatever care those men may be in need of. I’m afraid this won’t be a non-stop flight, though, so you’ll probably have a refueling stop in Shannon before going on to Tempelhof.”

“Thank you, sir. I hope we can bring them home.”

“So do I, captain. So do I.”

The kitchen space was barely five feet wide, but it was better than most. Since Moshenko was a colonel, and KGB, he had been given better choices.

Alexandra loved this apartment, especially in the morning, mainly because of the large window in the kitchen. The early morning sun warmed and brightened the whole room. It was something as simple as that. Shelves were low, putting everything within easy reach. That was important to her, since she was barely five foot three.

An aroma of pirozhki, one of Moshenko’s favorite foods, lingered in the apartment. Alexandra made this evening’s pies with a yeast dough, filling them with onion, mushroom, rice, and pork. It was another late meal. She understood.

Standing in front of a massive stone fireplace in his study, Moshenko opened a box of matches and lit his cigar. Placing the box on a mantel constructed from Russian oak, he tossed the match into the fire, then went to his chair. He turned the high-back leather chair toward the fire, then made himself comfortable.

Resting his head against the chair, he heard Alexandra humming one of her favorite folk songs, The Violet. He closed his eyes. The sound of her soft voice helped to temporarily alleviate some of the turmoil in his mind. The time was drawing nearer when he would have to tell her.

With his decision to help the Americans, it would be perceived by everyone that he had turned against Russia, his homeland. In his heart he would never turn against or condemn Russia. What he was condemning was the inhumanity being carried out against these Americans. He told Grant he knew it was the right thing to do, but then again, he was betraying his country. A KGB officer betraying his country.

The day he learned about the POWs, he didn’t hesitate in making a decision, and with that immediate response, he knew he was right. He could not stand by in good conscience and not do anything to help. Perhaps Grant’s statement was accurate after all. He was just being human.

He got up and went near the fireplace, flicking in a cigar ash. Resting an arm on the mantel, he stared into the dying flames, only imagining what Alexandra’s reaction was going to be. Not just in what he’d done, but what it meant for their lives, for their future… if they had any.

Even though Grant promised to help them, the risk would be just as great. Still, there was no other alternative now. Grant told him to back out if he felt he was in danger. Only one reason would prevent him from going through with this, and that would be if Alexandra’s life was threatened.

“Grigori,”Alexandra called, coming into the study. She carried two glasses containing steaming hot tea. The glasses were set inside traditional tulip-shaped silver holders.

“Ahh, Alexandra. Thank you.” He reached for the silver handle.

She put her glass on the small table between their chairs, then went to the window next to the fireplace and drew the dark blue curtains together.

“Come and sit by the fire with me,” Moshenko said.

They sat quietly, sipping the tea. He turned slightly to look at her. Her dark brown hair was short, the same way she had worn it from the day they married. They were so young those many years ago.

She glanced over at him with her warm brown eyes and smiled, before asking in her soft voice, “Are you all right, Grigori? You have been quiet these past few days.”

He reached over and patted her arm. “I am fine, my dear. Nothing for you to worry about.” He took a sip of tea, tasting the Ryabinovka-flavored vodka she always remembered to add.

“Grigori, after twenty-seven years, I like to think I know you, and… ”

He put a finger to his lips, and gave a slight shake of his head, pointing overhead, indicating their bedroom. “And you have imagined things in the past, have you not?” he laughed.

She looked at him quizzically for a moment, before understanding. There was something he wanted to tell her, but he would wait until they were in their bedroom. The word “fear” had not yet entered her mind, though.

Alexandra lay quietly in bed, her eyes never leaving Grigori as he hung his uniform on the chair. She folded the cotton blanket back on his side of the bed. As he laid next to her, she turned on her side, facing her husband, pulling the blanket under her chin.

She placed a hand on his chest, whispering, “What is it, Grigori? What do you want to tell me?”

Moshenko breathed deeply before beginning his story. As he quietly spoke, Alexandra began to shiver. She moved closer to her husband.

Finally, he finished his story, and he put an arm around her. Drawing her closer to him, the feel of her trembling body made his heartache.

“What will we do, Grigori?” she whispered, as tears started welling up in her eyes.

“I do not know, but I do know what I have done was the right thing. I hope you can understand that, Alexandra.”

“I… I am not sure. I understand you wanting to help those men, but at what cost, Grigori?”

“The cost? If I do not help, Alexandra, the cost will be guilt… my guilt, to stay with me for the rest of my life.” She remained quiet, taking in his words. Then he said, “Alexandra, listen to me. We must consider leaving Russia.”

She pushed herself away, staring at him in the darkness, unable to comprehend his words. “Leave?”

“We have no family here, and I think it would be best. But, whatever happens, whatever we decide, Alexandra, we must place our trust in Grant. I know, as do you, that he will do all he can to help us.”

She moved closer to him, needing his warmth, his strength. “How much time do we have to decide, Grigori?”

“I have already spoken with Grant. He will continue with plans to help us, unless you do not want to do this.” He regretted the situation he had put her in, but it would be her decision now. “I know you are afraid, Alexandra, and I understand your fear, but… ”

“No, Grigori,” she said in barely a whisper. She put a finger to his lips. “Do not say more. We will go.”

Husband and wife remained quiet the remaining night hours.