Warning Order

Chapter Seventeen

A thin layer of ice began forming along the banks of the Moskva River during late October. For the past week, the gray thickness stretched itself outward like an icy hand, reaching toward the opposite shoreline. Along the riverbanks the ice was already three inches thick, thinning down to only one inch at the midpoint of the river. The yellow-white light of the morning sun hung like a shield, covering the eastern horizon. Shadows created by the spires of St. Basil's Cathedral began to stretch toward the Kremlin wall.

Two guards, dressed in full length, olive drab coats with AK47s slung over their shoulders, were stationed on either side of the portal. Their assignments were to keep back curious onlookers. Two others stood farther inside, sheltered somewhat from the cold morning air, but they wouldn't consider themselves luckier than their counterparts. It was almost impossible not to feel the cold, penetrating eyes of Colonel Grigori Moshenko watching them as they diligently checked papers.

Moshenko stood in the background, keeping himself in the shadows on the south side of the entry. His arms hung relaxed by his sides, but his gloved hands convulsively flared open and then clenched, the anxious gesture unnoticeable to others. An overhead spotlight was directed to shine into the windshield of vehicles entering. As each vehicle was stopped, Moshenko would lean slightly, trying to get a glimpse of each driver and passenger.

A 1971 black, two-door Volvo paused momentarily a few feet from the guards, as a group of four Russian officers crossed in front of it. Gray white smoke rose from the car's exhaust pipe as it idled. Finally, a guard waved the car forward then held his arm out, waiting for the vehicle to stop. He leaned toward the closed window, motioning for the driver to roll it down. Noticing the East German uniform, the guard said one word in German, "Papers."

Klaus Steiner reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a single sheet of paper, handing it to the guard through the half-opened window. Steiner sat very upright in the bucket seat, trying to keep his face out of being in direct line of the spotlight. His military cap was pulled down, hoping the brim would help shield his eyes. Beyond the guard he spotted someone standing in the shadows but could only see the lower portion of a long, black leather coat.

Without giving any indication of recognition, the guard handed him his paper, then waved him through. Steiner folded the paper, put it back in his pocket, then slowly released the clutch and proceeded forward.

First Officer Chernov immediately stepped back, being careful not to make any motion that could be noticed by the driver in his rearview mirror. He turned his head and said over his shoulder, "Colonel Moshenko. That was Major Zeigler."

Without a word, Moshenko walked through Spasskaya Tower, glancing around the corner before stepping into the open. The Volvo was bearing left, following the road in a southerly direction. Moshenko dashed to his car, certain he wouldn't be seen by Steiner because of the car's angle. He already had his keys in hand as he reached the Volga. Quickly sliding onto the seat he started the engine. He shifted into reverse then waited for a dark green Mercedes to drive past before backing up. He threw the gearshift into first. The rear tires spun on a patch of ice before grabbing hold of pavement. Moshenko stayed well behind the two vehicles.

As Moshenko drove, he made a last minute decision. He'd wait until he and Steiner had entered the hall. In the midst of the assemblage, chances were in his favor that he wouldn't be noticed when he confronted the East German troublemaker. He wondered what his plan was for using the drug. Will he dump it in the main water supply, or a more controlled method? His thoughts abruptly changed as he noticed the Volvo turning into a parking area in the shadow of the great hall. Moshenko followed the green Mercedes then drove past the Volvo before parking.

Two Russian officers immediately exited from the Mercedes, and slammed the front doors. As they passed the Volvo, one of them glanced at Steiner through the rear window. He made a comment to his fellow officer, both men erupting into loud laughter. Steiner glared at them in the rearview mirror.

Moshenko looked through the passenger side window of his car, trying to catch sight of Steiner. After a few moments, Steiner finally exited the car and readjusted his cap. He slipped his hand inside his coat, feeling the case concealing the two vials of SD-7, at the same time looking up at the three story, gray concrete building. He turned on his heel and followed the walkway leading to the doors facing the river.

Getting out of the car, Moshenko felt for the Makarov in the side holster, all the while, his eyes never leaving Steiner. As he made his way to the corner of the building, a sudden, icy wind blew from the northwest. He glanced up at the gray, overcast sky. Storm clouds, driven by the wind, rushed toward the horizon and quickly concealed the sun. A sign of the day ahead? he wondered. He grabbed the brass door handle just as the first flakes of snow began falling.

The grand main entryway, with thirty foot ceilings, echoed with the sound of voices, both Russian and German. The walls and ceiling glittered with gold leaf. Three large archways paralleled one side of the wide marble staircase. Above the arches was a hallway, forming a balcony leading to two separate meeting halls.

Steiner stood on the lower steps of the staircase, resting his forearm on the smooth white marble banister, slowly swiveling his head from side to side. Cold, ruthless, calculating eyes swept over a sea of faces in front of him. He unbuttoned his coat, then turned away and started up the staircase, falling in among the strangers.

No one but Grigori Moshenko noticed the look of malevolence on the East German's face. Staying close behind, his eyes focused on the back of his "mark.” Following Steiner's lead, he left his coat on, his firearm tucked under the right side of his civilian suit jacket. He did take off his thick brown sable hat, stuffing it into his pocket.

At the second floor landing everyone was directed toward the left, following the red carpeted balcony to the opposite wall. Two Russian guards stood on either side of opened, double doors that were eight feet in height, made of heavy, carved oak. Moshenko pushed through several people in front of him. He was now directly behind Steiner, close enough to see the red rash along the East German's hairline. Probably a dull razor, mused the Russian.

Inside the meeting room long tables with white tablecloths formed a U around the perimeter. The meeting participants mingled just inside the entryway, except for Steiner and Moshenko. Steiner wove his way in and out of the small groups, making his way toward a large, rectangular table placed at the very back of the room. Moshenko looked beyond Steiner, seeing silver coffee and tea pots, clear pitchers of water, and bottles of vodka. White coffee cups and saucers were stacked at one end, with tall, crystal goblets and shot glasses at the other. It was only in such gatherings of the powerful that brought out fresh fruit. Grigori noticed a large orange, and as he past, started to reach for it but then decided against the temptation.

Steiner walked back and forth in front of the table as if trying to decide what he wanted to drink. As he reached for a shot glass, he felt someone brush against his arm.

"Herr Steiner," Moshenko said, leaning closer to the German.

Steiner froze in disbelief then he backed away from the stranger, a stranger who somehow knew his true identity. For what seemed like an eternity, the two stared at each another until Moshenko said in a low voice, and in German, "I believe you have something that belongs to us, Herr Steiner."

Steiner instinctively started to reach for the pistol behind his back. Moshenko opened his coat then tucked the edge of his jacket behind the holster, exposing the Makarov. "Not an intelligent choice, Comrade."

Steiner merely glanced at the weapon, his face remaining unchanged. For him the word fear didn’t exist, he only showed total arrogance and contempt. Suddenly, his eyes darted toward Moshenko's right shoulder.

Moshenko looked at him quizzically, then turned his head ever so slightly, as his hand felt for his pistol. His peripheral vision picked up someone stepping closer to them.

"Colonel Moshenko," a soft voice said.

Moshenko looked at a tall, young woman, wearing the Russian winter uniform of a jacket and slacks, both dull green in color with red epaulettes. Her light brown hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her cap was tucked under her arm.

Moshenko wasn't taking any chances with Steiner. He moved toward the German, grabbing hold of his arm with bone-crushing strength. Steiner winced, but quickly regained control of himself.

"And you are?" Moshenko asked of the woman.

"Lieutenant Natasha Ostrova," she replied, coming to attention momentarily, showing her respect to the KGB officer.

Moshenko rolled the name around in his mind. Is it possible? he thought in surprise. Then he remembered Grant's request. He said one word to her: "Black?"

She hesitated briefly then nodded her confirmation. Here, standing before them, was Natasha Ostrova, aka Greta Verner. She shifted her eyes to the East German. "Herr Steiner knows me personally, don't you, Klaus?"

Several Russian officers started making their way toward them. "I think we should find a place to talk. Come with me," Moshenko said, then as he squeezed Steiner’s arm, he added, "I don't have to remind you that you are not among friends. No one can, or will help you, for that matter. Now, let's go."

As they were leaving the room, Natasha gave one last glance around, her eyes making contact briefly with a silver-haired man of medium height, standing behind the head table. He and the two men he was with were dressed in plain, dark suits. He continued his conversation and occasionally sipped his vodka. Until Natasha disappeared behind the door, his dark, solemn eyes never left her, except for a quick glance at the two men leaving with her — one he knew to be Colonel Grigori Moshenko, KGB.

Passing several small groups still lingering along the balcony, Moshenko stayed just off Steiner's left side, Natasha to his right. They descended the staircase, and once on the first floor, Moshenko pushed Steiner through one of the archways then followed the passageway toward the rear wall. Natasha took the lead. She stepped close to the wall under the stairs where the light had diminished somewhat. After checking that no one was watching, she pressed a narrow, half inch wide button concealed beneath the molding. As the panel swung inward, a musty dampness escaped into the air.

Moshenko gave Steiner a rough shove, then immediately drew his Makarov. The East German nearly lost his balance, falling against the passage wall. Immediately, Natasha closed the panel then followed the two men further into the secret passageway, checking her watch as she did so.

Outside the building, Alexei Stoyakova waited for Major Boris Zuyeva to open the door for him then they proceeded into the lobby. He paused by the stairs, looking up toward the balcony. The last few stragglers were entering the meeting hall. Keeping his eyes focused overhead, he removed his leather gloves, put them in his coat pocket then removed his coat, handing it to Zuyeva. He put one foot on the bottom step, taking another look outside. "It appears all the participants are inside, Major." Zuyeva nodded, and followed Stoyakova to the conference.

Overhead, single fluorescent lights, spaced thirty feet apart on the concave ceiling, illuminated the narrow passageway. Natasha stepped closer to Moshenko as he stopped near a small alcove that housed electrical boxes. She removed a Makarov from her side holster.

Moshenko grabbed Steiner's shoulder and spun him around, slamming him face first against the wall. After a quick pat-down, he pulled the Walther from Steiner's back waistband, then slipped it into his own pocket before jerking Steiner back around. He shoved the East German against the wall, pressing a forearm across the man's throat. Reaching inside Steiner's jacket, he felt the case, withdrew it then stepped back before opening it. His eyes settled on two glass vials surrounded by cotton, each filled with a clear liquid. The hard case snapped shut inside Moshenko's broad hand. "You'll no longer have any use for these," he said, holding the case in front of Steiner's face a moment before sliding it into his own jacket pocket.

Steiner fixed an angry stare on Natasha. "You bitch! I should have taken care of you myself."

"We have to go," Moshenko said, while motioning with his free hand, indicating straight ahead.

The sound of their footsteps reverberated in the tunnel as they started down a steep incline. It was one more level that had been built below the earth as an extra measurement of safety.

Steiner seemed more interested in Natasha than the drug or his own fate, and he asked over his shoulder, "And what about your bastard kids?"

"My children are probably safe by now."

Moshenko wondered if he should tell her that her children were safe and with Lampson? She was an intelligent Russian officer and would more than likely make the connection between him and the Americans. He decided to keep the information from her.

Another passageway, feeding in from the Palace of Congresses, joined up with theirs from the left. They kept walking. Moshenko pictured the grounds above, tracking their route. They should be under St. Vladimir Hall. The building was one quarter of the way to Spasskaya Tower.

"And what about Brennar?" Steiner said, as he turned his head slightly, trying to see the woman he knew as Greta. "Don't you know he's a goddamn American?"

"Yes, I know," she answered quietly.

"And you have two bastard children fathered by an American spy!" He laughed a low guttural laugh that was short lived. He'd barely spit the words out, when Natasha swung her arm, delivering a blow to the side of his head with her pistol. He stumbled then fell to his knees.

She stood over him while he wiped blood from a cut near his temple. Her words and behavior reflected a person who’d been consumed by hate. "You're the bastard, Klaus! They're not Eric's children! They're yours! Unless you've forgotten, and I doubt you have, you raped me!" Steiner slowly regained his footing, staggered then steadied himself against the wall.

For a split second, Moshenko's eyes went from Natasha to Steiner, as he remembered Grant suggesting such a possibility, that the children weren't Lampson's. Suddenly, he heard a faint sound but he wasn’t able to distinguish where it was coming from.

She noticed him watching and she took a step back, reached into her pocket and pulled out a small radio. Moshenko's eyebrows lifted in surprise, immediately recognizing the voice of Mikhail Antolov, Director of the KGB.

Antolov repeated, "Come in, N1."

Natasha brought the transmitter toward her mouth, keeping her eyes on Moshenko. "N1."

"Report."

"Goods and courier in hand without incident." She switched off the radio then handed it to Moshenko.

He slipped the radio into his pocket as he asked, "What is happening, Lieutenant Ostrova?"

She turned her head slowly, settling her cold, blue eyes on Steiner. "Comrade Antolov will soon have Minister Stoyakova under arrest, and I have him," she said while gesturing with her pistol toward the East German. She held the Makarov steady, aimed at Steiner's heaving chest.

Moshenko worried. Antolov knew that he part of this game. He motioned forward with his firearm. "We must go." He shoved Steiner ahead of them. "How did all this happen?" he asked Natasha.

For the time being, Natasha didn’t concern herself where Moshenko was leading them and she continued her story. "I had been selected personally by Comrade Antolov to go to East Berlin and monitor the scientists and their progress on the virus and drug. I gave Comrades Antolov and Stoyakova monthly reports on the progress of the experiments. It was when Comrade Stoyakova requested an additional one million roubles to expand the project that Comrade Antolov became suspicious of him.

"Not long afterward, Herr Steiner and his organization came into the picture. Klaus still didn't have any of the scientists helping him yet, and he knew I had access to their documentation. Several times he approached me, always with a threat, trying to obtain information. Then, one night, he followed me and tried again. When I refused, he… " Moshenko lightly touched her arm, while Steiner listened and waited for the right opportunity to try and escape. Natasha’s voice faltered momentarily. "I let Eric believe he was the children's father. He loved them and he was able to provide for them."

Moshenko started walking faster, shoving Steiner ahead of him. "And what of Stoyakova?"

"I intercepted one of the films Professor Heisen was sending to him just a few weeks ago and forwarded a copy to Comrade Antolov."

"Was Heisen threatened by Stoyakova?"

"His twenty-year old son was taken. He's being held at Lubyanka under an assumed name."

Moshenko shook his head. "This game we play," he said softly. She looked at her watch again, and he asked curiously, "What is supposed to be happening, Lieutenant Ostrova?"

"Comrade Stoyakova has assumed that Klaus has contaminated the water supply system and the refreshments in the meeting hall. He was to make a speech to the meeting participants that unless they take an immediate vote putting him in power, he will withhold the antidote for the drug."

"Antidote?" Steiner laughed over his shoulder. "There isn't any antidote."

"Of course, there isn't, Klaus," she replied condescendingly. "But they don't know that, do they?"

Moshenko again poked Steiner in the back with the Makarov. This time Steiner swung around, but Moshenko jumped aside, catching the East German with a fist on the side of his neck. Steiner went down. Moshenko grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, jerking him to his feet. "That's not wise." He shoved him ahead.

Natasha continued as if nothing had happened. "Comrade Antolov made the decision to entrap the minister and would do it by allowing him to proceed with his plan. I was instructed to follow Klaus and see to it that he was stopped." Somehow she anticipated Moshenko's question and responded, "I persuaded Comrade Antolov to allow me to do this. He knows what Klaus did to me. He knows about the children." She gave a hesitant smile to Moshenko, trying to understand how he became involved. "But you, Colonel, why are you here? How did you…?" Her hand holding the gun dropped by her side, her pace slowed as she stared at Moshenko's back as he proceeded ahead. "You… you're working with the two Americans!"

"Someday we may discuss the matter," he answered, while he kept walking. Then, suddenly he reversed his previous decision. "But what I will tell you, Lieutenant Ostrova, is that you do not have to worry about your children."

She caught her breath and rushed up to him again, but immediately she realized he would tell her nothing further. The heaviness that had weighed upon her heart vanished. She felt the kind of relief only a mother could know. She refocused on the East German with renewed vengeance. She had the upper hand now and persisted in her attempt to destroy the arrogance and viciousness she loathed. "Klaus, you have been nothing more than a pawn. Shall I tell you what the Americans did to your lab, to all your hopes and dreams? In fact, there is very little left of the entire building." She didn't wait for a response and goaded him further. "Or would you prefer instead to know what I did to Karl or what happened to Victor and your precious brother?"

A low growl rose deep from within Steiner. Moshenko's reaction was a split second too late, as the East German dove at Natasha, shoving her gun hand up. A single bullet fired, ricocheting off the concrete walls, the sound traveling through the tunnel. Moshenko took aim but couldn't get a clear shot off, as Steiner and Natasha fell to the floor then rolled as one down the incline.

Natasha's back hit the wall, knocking the wind out of her. Steiner wrestled the gun from her hand then raised up and fired at Moshenko who dove into an alcove, ducking underneath water shutoff valves. Moshenko could only watch as his transceiver flew out of his pocket and skidded somewhere into the darkened alcove.

Steiner grabbed Natasha by the arm and yanked her to her feet, then immediately grabbed a handful of her long hair that had fallen loose from the bun.

Moshenko leaned toward the edge of the wall. Another bullet whizzed by his head. Steiner pushed Natasha, making her run in front of him while he kept a death grip on her hair.

Moshenko rolled into the passageway. Laying on his stomach, he took aim and fired but the bullet careened off the concrete floor next to Steiner's heels. The Russian jumped to his feet and started running. His mind raced. The only way for him to go is the door where Grant is, the Presidium tunnel, or the passage used by maintenance. That passageway ran parallel to the Kremlin wall, just inside the grounds. The distance to Grant was at least fifty yards. Moshenko didn't know how soundproof the tunnel walls and door were. Did Grant hear the shots?

Steiner and Natasha were still in sight. Up ahead was a slight curve to the left, just before the Presidium passageway. He lost sight of them as they made that curve. He pulled up slightly, no longer hearing their running feet. Hugging the wall, he cautiously walked around the curve, the gun grasped in his right hand.

Steiner was plastered against the opposite wall just past the Presidium passage. He was using Natasha to shield his body. He pulled her hair, roughly jerking her head back. Thoughts whirled through his mind. How many rounds were left in his weapon? There could be three… or none. He had no idea where he was but had to assume the tunnel was an escape route and probably exited beyond the Kremlin walls. He shot a glance up the Presidium passage, quickly determining from its angle that it led where he didn't want to go. Why was the Russian taking me this way? Could someone else be waiting? He had to keep Natasha alive, at least until he found a way out.

Beyond the wall, Grant and Adler were growing anxious. Adler stood under the street grate. Large snowflakes fell between the bars, settling on his upturned face. He wiped the melting snow from his cheeks then pulled his watch cap down over his ears. A howling wind rushed across the grate. A strong gust swirled a layer of snow from the street, thrusting it down into the tunnel. Adler jumped back, then he quickly went back to where Grant was pacing.

Adler clapped his gloved hands together. "Jesus! It's a helluva good thing the colonel got us these jackets, otherwise we'd be frozen like popsicles! But if this show doesn't get on the road pretty soon, nobody's gonna find us till the spring thaw anyway!"

Grant walked past him. "Something's wrong, Joe. It shouldn't be taking… "

The sound of gunfire interrupted his words. They grabbed their weapons from their waistbands. Grant took up a position to the right of the door, Adler to the left. They had no choice but to wait because gaining entry to the tunnel from their side was impossible. The door was locked from the other side.

Steiner pressed the Makarov against Natasha's temple. She tried jerking away, but he pulled her hair, nearly snapping her neck. A weak cry caught in her throat. Steiner shouted to Moshenko, "You know what will happen if you make a move closer to us! Tell me how to get out of here, and I'll release her once I'm outside!"

Moshenko said under his breath, “I am sure you will.” He continued aiming his gun directly at the two. He had to count on Grant and Adler. His voiced thundered in the enclosed space. "There's a door straight ahead. On the other side is a tunnel that will lead you to the street above, next to St. Basil's Cathedral." If Steiner ignored him and decided to take the maintenance tunnel, they'd have to go like hell to catch him on the other side.

Slowly, Steiner started sliding his back along the wall, ensuring Natasha shielded him. Moshenko stayed back, but kept the same distance, putting himself in a very vulnerable position. Why hasn't he fired? Moshenko thought back and started counting the number of shots Steiner fired. Three. But how many does he have left?

In the blink of an eye, Steiner fired at the Russian. An explosive pain went through Moshenko's left shoulder. His knees started to buckle.

Natasha screamed, "Colonel!"

That was all the time Steiner needed. He spun Natasha around and started running at breakneck speed through the tunnel. Within seconds he saw the steel door. He started running faster.

Moshenko felt warm blood running down his arm. He quickly assessed the damage and determined the bone wasn't broken. He looked down the passageway, no longer able to see Steiner and Natasha. Slipping his left hand gingerly into his jacket pocket to help support his arm, he started forward again.

Grant and Adler heard the shot, giving each other a grim look. All they had going for them was the element of surprise.

Steiner pulled Natasha's hair, making her come to an abrupt stop about ten feet from a door. Her arms flailed out, trying to grab his arm to prevent herself from falling. He snapped his head to the right, seeing the maintenance tunnel. There was a small shaft of light casting down onto the pavement. "Your colonel," he whispered to Natasha as he pointed the gun towards the steel door, "was perhaps sending me into a trap." He took off running into the maintenance tunnel, dragging her alongside.

Moshenko knew he had to be getting close to the end of the tunnel, and within seconds the steel door came into view. He stepped over to the wall, cautiously edging his way closer to the end. Hearing footsteps coming from the maintenance tunnel, he could make his move safely.

Grant and Adler froze, as the steel bar slid back and the door started opening. Then they heard Moshenko's voice, "It is me!"

Adler pulled the door open. Moshenko nearly went sprawling until Grant caught him. "Hurry!" Moshenko said loudly. "He's going down the maintenance tunnel."

Grant noticed the blood dripping from Moshenko's hand. "Are you okay?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"Joe, take the tunnel! I'll go this way and try and head him off!"

"Wait!" Moshenko yelled, grabbing Grant's arm. "The woman is alive. He is holding her hostage. She is one of us!"

"What?!" Grant shouted.

Moshenko pushed him away. "Go after them! Save her!"

Grant motioned to Adler, "Go!" Adler disappeared around the corner, as Grant raced toward the ladder.

Moshenko yelled after him, "I have the vials!"

Something's gone right! Grant thought, as he lunged for an upper rung on the ladder. With a grunt, he pushed the grate up, moving it from the lip, and then shoved it across the snow. Scrambling through the opening, he stayed low, scooting close to the wall before standing up fully. There was little activity around the cathedral. Vehicles still had on their headlights.

Moshenko was dragging himself through the opening. "To the right! To the right! Go around the cathedral! There's an exit from the tunnel there!"

Grant started running, trying to keep his balance on the slippery surface. The wind drove snow into his face, stinging his cheeks and eyes. As he started for open ground, getting closer to the Kremlin wall, he saw a man and woman running toward the river. Adler scrambled up through the opening and caught up to him just as they were halfway to the end of the south wall where it turned right onto Kremlyovskaya. That’s when Steiner and Natasha disappeared.

The Americans couldn't run any faster. When they finally got to the corner, their feet skidded across the compacted snow. They reached for the wall, trying to slow their forward progress. Making the turn, they strained their eyes, with Adler finally grabbing Grant's arm. He pointed to a parked taxi. A checkered pattern on its sides made it easily identifiable.

Steiner flung open the taxi door and yanked the surprised driver from the vehicle before pushing Natasha onto the front seat. He jumped in, landing on her ankles. She screamed, and pulled them from under him. He gunned the engine, but the wheels just spun wildly. He threw the gearshift into reverse, then immediately back into first. Somehow, the tires found a patch of pavement and dug in. The car leapt forward.

Grant and Adler ran down the sidewalk next to the four-lane road. Their weapons, grasped tightly in their hands, hung close to their parkas but were nearly out of sight, tucked up inside the sleeves. A horn suddenly blared behind them. They snapped around and saw Moshenko behind the wheel of a commandeered taxi, its windshield wipers swishing back and forth, trying to brush aside snow. First Adler, then Grant jumped into the front seat without even allowing Moshenko to completely stop.

It was all Steiner could do to keep the car from heading into oncoming traffic. A set of headlights, blurry in the falling snow, appeared in his rearview mirror. He knew he was being followed.

Natasha pressed herself against the passenger door, trying to steady herself, while her eyes stayed fixed on Steiner. She eased her hand into her left pants pocket, feeling the metal case. Gingerly, she worked off the cap with her fingers.

"He's straight ahead!" Adler shouted, pointing toward the windshield. Moshenko's fingers curled around the steering wheel as he pressed down on the accelerator, noticeably gaining on the taxi. The rear tires spun, whirring across sporadic patches of ice.

To the left and twenty-five yards ahead of Steiner’s vehicle, a bridge crossed the Moskva River. He jerked the wheel, trying to make the turn, but the car started to fishtail. Seeing her opportunity and realizing it may be her last chance for survival, Natasha whipped the small purse weapon from her pocket, aimed it at Steiner's temple, and fired. The 4.5mm bullet struck him just above the ear. The involuntary blink of his eyes coincided with the slamming of his head against the side window. The muscles in his face started relaxing as his head slid along the glass, finally slumping toward his chest. Blood smeared the window.

Natasha flung herself toward the steering wheel, grabbed it, but was unable to regain control. The side of the car rammed into the concrete bridge abutment, crushing in the passenger door, the force of the impact hurling her back against it. The battered vehicle careened back across the opposite side of the bridge and directly into the path of an oncoming city bus. The taxi spun around like a toy top, its front end jumping the low guard rail just as the braking bus slammed into its trunk. The taxi was launched airborne, high above the river. It began a slow arc toward the water, as the weight of the engine could no longer resist the pull of gravity.

Tumbling downward, hood first, it ultimately smashed against the ice. Steiner's lifeless body catapulted over the steering wheel and jammed into the area between the windshield and dashboard. With only seconds to react, Natasha had tried to take refuge under the dash as the impending crash loomed before her. The car collided with the ice before she could get all the way down. Her head smashed against the bottom edge of the dash, instantly breaking her neck. Cold water hit the hot engine, causing billows of steam to erupt under the fender wells, escaping around the jagged edges of ice.

Grant, Adler, and Moshenko jumped from their vehicle and ran to the corner where the bridge joined the road. Quickly spotting the black and white checkered cab, it was evident that the river’s current and car's weight were taking their toll. Right before their eyes, the frozen river was consuming the battered vehicle.

Water rushed through the cracked windshield, dash, and floorboard. The hole in the ice widened as a large piece of the fractured edge broke free, enlarging the opening. The vehicle began to disappear as the cab started into a slow roll. As the trunk submerged, large bubbles, caused by rushing air, erupted from its sealed edge. The vehicle became dead weight, slipping below the surface of the frigid, murky water.

Out of the corner of his eye, Moshenko saw Grant's movement forward. He reached out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. "It's too late. She's dead, I'm sure."

Sounds around the three men faded into the background, as they stared at the empty, bubbling space for what seemed like several long minutes. It was Moshenko who spoke first after finally hearing the hi-low pitch of the two-toned police sirens. "We'd better go, my friends." He placed a hand on Grant's snow-covered shoulder. "There's nothing left for us to do here."

Grant glanced over his shoulder one more time before following Moshenko and Adler back across the road. More and more curious onlookers were rushing toward the bridge. Sirens became louder.

Grant spoke softly. “Who was she, Grigori?”

"You and Joe were right all along. She wasn't who she pretended to be." For several minutes Moshenko repeated the story Natasha Ostrova had told to him.

"And Lampson never knew," Adler said, surprised.

"She was very good at her job, Joe,” Moshenko responded. "Although she didn't tell me, I am sure she loved him."

Grant thought out loud. "The uncle's farm."

"What about it, Skipper?"

"Russian setup, Joe. That's why we didn't find anything. Antolov was taking care of her."

They walked along the south Kremlin wall with the Moskva River in full view to their right. The ribbon of frozen water, stretching through the city, seemed oblivious to the fact that it had just become an icy grave. Grant stopped suddenly and looked squarely at his Russian friend through compassionate eyes. "There must be something you can do for her, Grigori."

"I will see to it that her body is recovered. She will receive the recognition she fully deserves."

Grant shoved his gloved hands into his coat pockets, as he walked with his head down, finally saying to Moshenko, "You're going back to the meeting, aren't you?"

"It would be best if I did. I'll have to confront Antolov and explain my position." He reached into his pocket, withdrew the eyeglass case then handed it to Grant.

Adler leaned closer, remarking, "So that's the stuff that dreams are made of."

Moshenko answered quietly in English, quickly assessing that no others would hear. "Yes, Joe."

Grant snapped the case closed and handed it back to Moshenko. "You're gonna need this in case there are questions. We've got Lampson and his brain."

Moshenko glanced at the case in his palm, slipping it back into his pocket before continuing his original thought. "Of course, after seeing me leave with Natasha and Steiner, Antolov probably has put everything together. And, if he had Stoyakova’s office bugged… "

"If he did? Hell! You know he did, Grigori,” Grant responded emphatically. “When you went through the proper channels, everybody knew. You guys aren't any different than us in that regard. And in the end, you were the one who prevented Steiner from carrying out murder."

Moshenko gave a wry smile, as he brushed a snowflake from his dark eyelashes. "And shall I tell him about the minor role you and Joe played?"

"Your discretion," Grant laughed. As they rounded the south corner, heading back toward Red Square, he asked with concern, "You think the powers that be will pull the plug on the project?"

Moshenko spread his hands out in front of him. "Only time will tell, Grant. We were very lucky this time. I will do my best to drive that point home. But even if they decide to pull it out from under the East Germans, that is not to say the project won't continue here."

"And pretty soon," Grant said, shaking his head with disgust, "the CIA will have Lampson. Jesus! We're back to the old standoff routine, aren't we?"

"With any luck, my friend, maybe it will go away and we won't have any more secrets."

Grant answered, "That’d work for me." He glanced up ahead, seeing Spasskaya Tower and the guards at Lenin's Tomb. "Let's go over there," he pointed to an area to the side of the cathedral. "We'll take a taxi back to the hotel when we're finished. Then we'll try and get a flight out of here." He looked up as his eyes tried to penetrate the blur of snow, hoping to spot a patch of blue sky.

"Russian planes fly in all weather!" Moshenko boasted with a grin.

"Yeah, but do they stay up?" Adler mumbled.

Once out of the path of traffic and away from curious guards, Grant reached into his pocket, withdrawing the firearm. Adler followed with his, and they inconspicuously handed them to Moshenko.

"If it weren't for you, my friend,” Grant said, “many of your comrades wouldn't be around to enjoy the remainder of your white winter. It could have been a red one."

Moshenko acknowledged with his head slowly bobbing up and down. "You are the ones who deserve the credit."

The three men looked at each other, knowing that true professionals have no ideological stamps on their hearts. This was their true reward — success, and nothing less than victory. It's their "warm and fuzzy,” their reason for being who they are. When the warning order comes, it's men like these — the Stevens', Adlers and, Moshenkos — who can quietly and quickly close the book.

Moshenko extended his hand toward Grant who grasped it firmly. He stepped closer to Moshenko. "Spaseeba, my friend." They threw their arms around each other, slapping one another on the back.

Adler reached out for Moshenko's hand. "Take care of yourself, sir. Thanks for your help."

"Joe, maybe one day you will be able to tour my country freely."

"I'd like that, sir."

Moshenko turned away. His large bulk trodded through the snow as he headed for the Kremlin grounds.

"Let's go, Joe," Grant immediately said, as he glanced out of the corner of his eye, seeing Moshenko walk into the alcove and disappear under Spasskaya Tower.

Grant and Adler walked away from the parked rental BMW. As they reached the steps to the hotel, Adler touched Grant's arm. "Are you gonna tell Lampson about Greta?"

Grant looked down momentarily at the scuffed and cracked ground before responding, "Yeah, Joe. He has a right to know who she was and what she did for her country, maybe even the world. I'm sure he'll want to tell the kids one day." He stepped toward the door, reached for the handle, then said quietly, "The kids are Lampson's, right, Joe?"

Adler studied Grant's eyes, noticing a sadness in them, as he responded, "Yes, sir. They are."

They checked in with Leo at the front desk, who informed them that Lampson and the twins were in the park behind the hotel. After dropping their luggage in the room, they walked to the park.

"I’ve gotta say, Skipper, that it’ll sure be good to step back onto good old U.S. soil."

"Roger that, Joe."

Their flight from Gdansk would take them to Tegel in West Berlin, where Torrinson had booked all of them on a Pan Am flight to Dulles in Washington, D.C. Two special agents would be waiting to pick up Lampson and the boys.

As they rounded the corner of the hotel, there was a sound of children's laughter. Grant and Adler stepped onto dirt and coarse, brown grass at the edge of the park grounds. They spotted Lampson, sitting on a black wrought iron bench beneath a bronze statue of a horse with rider. Lampson leaned back then stretched his arms across the backrest. Playing in front of him were Josef and Franz, who laughed in delight as they kicked a red, rubber ball.

Adler glanced at Grant, detected the setting of the square jaw. "I'm with you, Skipper." They stood quietly, seeing a father reveling in the pleasures of being with his sons.

Feeling someone watching him, Lampson turned. He spotted the two men, and without saying a word, the most heart-filled "thank you" passed between the trio.

Grant looked at Adler and gave a half smile. "Time to fill in Lampson's 'dance card,’ Joe. This one's over."

Adler attempted to lighten the moment. His face erupted into a grin as wide as a Halloween pumpkin's, and, propping his hands on his hips, he laughed, "Don't you just love this happy ending shit?"