Part 10 (2/2)
”Talk to you later.” Grant started to put the phone down, when he decided to call Mullins. ”Scott, it's Grant.”
”Whatcha need?” Mullins laughed, sticking his fork in a container of Chinese pork fried rice.
”I'll explain later how I got this info, but see if you can find the name 'Kalinin' anywhere in our intel.”
”a.s.sume that's a last name?”
”Yeah. Also got a code name for our DoD guy. He's calling himself 'Primex.' That could stand for 'primary explosive,' or a s.h.i.+tload of other stuff. See what you can find.”
”Will do.”
”Have you heard from NSA or anything about a cargo s.h.i.+p?”
”Nothing yet.”
”d.a.m.n! Listen, we got an address for the safe house. It's 6289 Aless Court, Alexandria, but keep it 'under your hat.'”
”Jesus, Grant! You're really gonna have to fill me in on how the h.e.l.l you. . .”
”Hate to cut you off, but gotta go.”
Grant disconnected the call, then continued holding the phone, tapping it against the center console. Adler turned in his seat. ”You've got something running around in that brain of yours, don't ya?”
Without responding, Grant said to Stalley, ”Doc, pull into that gas station for a minute. I want to run something by you both before we're outta D.C.”
”Sure, boss.” Stalley glanced quickly at the gas gauge as he made a right-hand turn into the station. Close to the sidewalk, set atop a fifteen foot pole, was a lighted, round orange and white sign with blue letters: ”Gulf.”
Grant pointed. ”Back into the s.p.a.ce on the far side of the garage.”
Headlights from another vehicle showed in the rearview mirror as it pulled into the station right behind them. Stalley and Adler glanced in the side mirrors, watching as the driver parked a Plymouth station wagon alongside one of the pumps in the second island. A sign on the overhead awning showed: Full-Service. The driver, an older gentleman, rolled down his window and waited for the attendant.
Stalley backed the Ford up then killed the headlights and engine. He and Adler turned in their seats.
Adler finally said, ”We're all ears.”
Grant leaned back, linking his fingers behind his head. ”You've got your weapons, right?”
”Primed and ready,” Adler responded. ”Wait a minute! The safe house?! You wanna go now, without the rest of the Team?!”
”Look, Joe, I don't think we've got a h.e.l.luva lot of time before this guy moves the weapons. We've gotta take the chance, without prior surveillance, without knowing anything about that . . .”
”Well, I'm in!” Adler interrupted. ”How about you, Doc?” Stalley gave a thumb's up.
Grant picked up his weapon from the floorboard. ”Anybody got extra ammo?”
”Got my rucksack, boss,” Stalley answered, as he opened his door. Within a minute, he'd brought his rucksack back, then handed it to Grant.
The phone rang. ”What've you got for me, Scott?” Grant asked.
”You are one lucky s...o...b.., Grant!”
”So I've been told. What's up?”
”NSA picked up a Morse Code. It hasn't been decoded yet, because whoever was sending had 'inserted' another code. But what I can tell you is it originated from Alexandria. Sounds like it could be your 'boy.' It was signed with a code name 'Antares.'”
”'Antares,'” Grant said, with a mocking tone. ”Seems appropriate--bright star, red supergiant.”
”Where the h.e.l.l do you pull that s.h.i.+t from?!”
Grant ignored the question. ”Okay, now tell me they got the destination point.”
”The s.h.i.+p they tracked it to was traveling along the azimuth of one of NSA's intercepting stations. It was about a hundred miles off the coast.”
”And that s.h.i.+p was . . .”
”A cargo s.h.i.+p, Grant, out of Cuba. Just like you suspected.”
”That's gotta be it,” Grant finally said.
”Wait! There's more! One of NSA's geeks remembered intercepting a message just before the weapons were s.n.a.t.c.hed. It went to the same s.h.i.+p, only that one came outta D.C. Care to venture a guess where that point was?”
”The Russian Emba.s.sy.”
”Bingo!”
”Do you have any info on the s.h.i.+p?”
Mullins gave a brief description, then said, ”She's the Igor Brobov, and she's fully loaded.”
”What about crew? How many?” Grant tapped Adler's shoulder, motioning for a pen.
”Hold on.” Mullins searched the paper. ”Here it is. When she left Russia she had fifteen plus the captain. She could've picked up more in Cuba, so don't hold me to that number.”
”Coordinates?” Mullins rattled off the numbers, as Grant wrote them in the palm of his hand. ”Scott, fax me all you've got on that s.h.i.+p. We should be at Eagle 8 in about twenty minutes.”
”What about the President? Should I update him?”
”Told him I would, even though there aren't any definitive answers yet.”
”I'll do it.”
”I know this is all preliminary, Scott, but you might want to keep your Coast Guard contact's number handy. Depending on what happens, we'll try and reach you if we have an emergency.”
”Will do. But don't let that emergency happen, Grant.”
”a.s.sume you'll call if that message is decoded.”
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