Part 9 (1/2)

”Good. That's a start.” As Grant folded the map, he asked, ”Any street address to go along with that by any chance?”

”You must give me some time, my friend. It has been awhile. You have never needed the information before. But. . . I can tell you something about those at the emba.s.sy.”

”I'm listening.”

”Before I left Russia, I a.s.signed two KGB officers to the emba.s.sy. It is more than likely they are still there.”

”Do I hug you now or later?!”

”You can hug Alexandra!”

”And you know I'll take you up on it! Now, who are they?”

”Misha Zelesky and Petya Vikulin.” For the next several minutes, Moshenko revealed descriptions, and all he could remember concerning the two KGB men. As grateful as Grant was for Moshenko's help, he couldn't help but worry. As he stood, he held a hand toward Moshenko, helped him up, then continued to grasp his friend's hand. ”Listen, Grigori, you need to be extra careful, now more than ever.”

”But nothing has changed, Grant. Our conversation will not go beyond your men. . . and the President.”

”I know. But now that you've told me you knew the KGB 'boys'. . .”

”Do not worry. I will be cautious.”

”Keep an eye on Alexandra, and without arousing her suspicion, okay? I don't want her to worry.” Moshenko nodded. ”Once this is over, maybe the President can come up with some way to have those two sent home.”

”That might be difficult, Grant, although proving them guilty of espionage or threatening your government might work.”

Grant gave him a s.h.i.+t-eatin' grin through perfect white teeth. ”You're scaring me, Grigori! Sounds like something I'd say!”

”Yes. Your way of thinking is smoothing off on me!”

Grant's brow wrinkled before he laughed. ”I think you mean 'rubbing off.'”

”I will mark that off my list of sayings to learn!”

Grant put a hand on Moshenko's back. ”C'mon. Walk with me to my car.”

Grant was ten minutes out from Eagle 8, when the car phone rang. ”Speak.”

”Skipper! Are you anywhere close?”

”Ten minutes, Joe. What's up?” He turned on the winds.h.i.+eld wipers as a car in front plowed through a puddle.

”Ken and Mike are on the move!”

”What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?!”

”They called in when they saw someone driving out of the emba.s.sy in an older Mercedes. I gave them the go-ahead to pursue.”

”It wasn't our suspect, was it?”

”No. Older guy.”

”Did they give you a description?” When Adler finished, Grant said, ”Sounds like Vikulin, KGB.”

”What should I tell Ken and Mike?”

”Stick with him. Grigori said when Vikulin worked for him at KGB Moscow, he was someone who always stuck to a schedule and had favorite 'haunts' in town.” Grant glanced quickly at his submariner. ”Have them report to you every time that guy makes a stop. And warn them they'd better not f.u.c.kin' lose him!”

”Be happy to!”

”Any word from Frank and DJ?”

”They found the Camaro locked up in a garage, but not much else in the house.”

”See you in five, Joe. I've got an idea.” Connection broken.

”Why does that not surprise me?” Adler said laughing, as he hung up.

Safe House 2120 Hours Kalinin tucked his Makarov in his back waistband, shut off the living room light, then went out the back door. Once he was inside the garage, he closed the doors, waiting briefly until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Then he went to the pa.s.senger side and removed the cardboard box and a small flashlight from under the seat.

He lowered the truck's tailgate, lifted the camper's window, then crawled inside the bed. Kneeling alongside the crate, he turned on the flashlight, and hung it from a hook directly overhead, before pulling the canvas pouches closer.

He ran a hand over the wooden crate, then touched a strip of thin, but strong aluminum, one of three. s.p.a.ced ten inches apart, they were wrapped around the crate then secured underneath. The wood cover was screwed on.

By the time he'd cut through the strips and removed screws, sweat covered his body. He swiped a hand across his forehead. Then he lifted the top and slid it toward the back. He checked the time. Depending on how long his task would take, he might have an opportunity to examine one of the weapons.

He started digging through foam packing peanuts, grabbing onto a section of heavy plastic. Pulling it out, he held the weapon with both hands, but the plastic was opaque and he couldn't get a good view. He laid the weapon down, then continued digging through foam, until the five wrapped, top secret weapons were laying next to him.

He began filling each of three pouches with the foam, then slid in one weapon at a time, ensuring they were protected from touching or hitting one another. He checked his watch again. He decided against an inspection and would have to wait until he was in Moscow.

Once the weapons were secured inside the pouches, he removed the special seal and rubber stamp from the cardboard box, preparing to cla.s.sify each pouch as ”diplomatic.” The metal seal, with a hammer and sickle on both sides, would act as the official signature for the Russian Emba.s.sy.

With the truck and garage locked, he rushed back to the house, grabbed a gla.s.s of water, then hurried upstairs.

The evening hours were the best time to broadcast. The ”E region”--the Heaviside layer-- is one of several layers in the Earth's ionosphere. Medium-frequency radio waves reflect off it and can be propagated beyond the horizon. During evening hours the solar wind drags the ionosphere further away from the Earth, increasing the range radio waves can travel.

He had to work fast, knowing the U.S. had ”ears” listening, especially now. Once he opened the panel, he set a wooden chair in front of the shelf, then sat down. He now regretted not having a shortwave in the leased house, but it was a chance he couldn't take. And he should have asked the amba.s.sador to contact the cargo s.h.i.+p the night the weapons were stolen, instead of relying on the word of mercenaries. Another b.u.mp in the road, but not significant enough to compromise the mission.

It was impossible to use his one-time pad. He'd have to rely on sending the message in Morse Code, except he'd add another code within it. The s.h.i.+p's radioman and the captain would have knowledge of the code.

With his thoughts in order, knowing exactly the wording he would use, he began sending Morse Code. He authenticated the message with his code name: Antares.

Aboard the Igor Brobov The cargo s.h.i.+p Igor Brobov was making her return trip to Russia, having picked up cargo in Cuba. She was a small s.h.i.+p with only four cargo holds. All four holds were filled to capacity with sugar, corn, coffee, rice. With a heavy load, she was riding low in the water, her deck a mere thirty feet above the waterline.