Part 15 (1/2)

Kalinin put his suitcases on the ground, each one marked appropriately. As the agent examined them, Kalinin pulled out the canvas bags. Even though he knew the agent couldn't inspect the contents, he felt his heart pounding.

An approaching vehicle made both men turn. The Mercedes was within twenty feet of them when it stopped, and the driver shut off the engine. Zelesky got out then stood by the car, looking toward Kalinin.

Petya Vikulin let himself out from the pa.s.senger side, then removed a single suitcase from the back seat. He draped a suit bag over his shoulder, then walked toward Kalinin, with Zelesky following close.

The customs agent eyed the new pa.s.senger, then the manifest. ”The manifest doesn't show any additional pa.s.sengers.”

Kalinin turned toward Vikulin, spoke in Russian, then answered the agent. ”I am sorry, sir, that you were not informed in time, but Comrade Vikulin said he received an emergency message from Moscow, requesting he return home.”

”Pa.s.sport,” Davison said, holding his hand toward the Russian. The pa.s.sport was handed over, reviewed, and stamped. Then he pointed to Zelesky. ”Is he going, too?”

Kalinin spoke to Zelesky, then responded, ”He is not. He is here only to park the truck.” Kalinin handed Zelesky the keys. Once the tailgate was closed, Zelesky drove the pickup truck to the emba.s.sy's a.s.signed area. He returned to the Mercedes, and waited.

Davison stamped and signed official papers, then gave Kalinin a copy. ”Have a nice flight,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away, then disappeared inside the building. Taking one last look at the plane, he ducked into a side room and quietly made a call.

Kalinin reached for one of the pouches, saying to Vikulin, ”Help me put these in the cargo hold.”

Fifteen minutes later, with cargo loaded, exit door secured, and two pa.s.sengers in their seats, the pilot received authorization to taxi to Runway 01R. Kalinin looked out the window, seeing the Mercedes being driven away.

Just as the Antonov began traveling parallel to Runway 01R, the engines of a BOAC 747 roared, the jumbo jet rumbling down the runway, its wheels finally lifting off concrete.

Kalinin leaned back against the seat. With the incident aboard the cargo s.h.i.+p still fresh in his mind, he couldn't help but worry. Come on! Come on! he repeated silently, slapping a hand on the armrest, anxious for takeoff.

Petya Vikulin sat two rows behind Kalinin, still speculating about two men who looked so very much alike. But were there two? Eye color could be changed easily with contact lenses. Could that be why the American traitor sent the photograph, to set them on a path looking for one man? Kalinin's cover story seemed accurate enough. Then again, any story could be cleverly created by the CIA or FBI, a ploy used by the KGB itself over the years.

He sat up straighter, as he began formulating a plan. For the next several hours, it would just be him and Kalinin. The pilots would be too preoccupied. Perhaps he could find a way to make Kalinin talk, and if not, the stop in Shannon might be to his advantage.

Vikulin had given himself much to think about, much to consider. By the time they landed in Moscow, perhaps he would have found a way to clear himself from his dire situation.

The aircraft slowly came to a stop, as a TWA 707 began its takeoff. The Antonov taxied into position, lined up on Runway 01R, then waited for clearance. Noises increased as flap motors, hydraulics, electric valves adjusted, then the engines wound up. Brakes were released, and the plane began its takeoff roll.

Once airborne, Nicolai Kalinin breathed a heavy sigh of relief, while he watched the city of Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C. pa.s.s below. His first mission as a Russian operative was almost completed, even though it had not gone entirely as planned. Whether or not he was allowed to return to the U.S. rested in the hands of officials in Moscow.

Building of the First Directorate Kabul, Afghanistan Sounds of automatic weapons and explosions outside the compound couldn't distract the two men. Farhad Has.h.i.+mi angrily turned away from Major Viktor Zubarev. The news just delivered was not what Has.h.i.+mi expected. Keeping his back to Zubarev, he asked, ”You are certain you read the message correctly?”

”Yes. As I already told you, the weapons were stolen from the cargo s.h.i.+p. It was confirmed by the captain and the emba.s.sy in Was.h.i.+ngton.”

”I am finding this very difficult to believe.” Has.h.i.+mi spun around. Standing close to the Russian, he questioned, ”During the night, while that s.h.i.+p was underway, in the Atlantic Ocean, the weapons were taken?!”

Zubarev nodded. ”They weren't just taken! They were stolen!”

”What is being done to find those weapons, weapons promised to me?!”

”I do not know. I am not in charge of any investigation. How could I be?!”

”You must be in contact with someone!”

”Communication between the U.S. and here has been difficult. We may never. . .”

Has.h.i.+mi cut Zubarev off. ”If those weapons were as top secret as you claimed, they could have had an impact on our fight against the rebels. Now we must continue to use old weapons?! Will you be supplying us with anything?! Old?! New?! Anything?!”

Zubarev had delivered the message. Any further information or conversation was unnecessary. ”That is all I have to report. You will not be getting weapons.” He gave a quick bow of his head, then turned and walked out of the building.

Has.h.i.+mi's hands balled up into tight fists. He took short, quick strides toward the entry. Zubarev was already in his vehicle. As it turned past the building, he completely ignored the Afghan. Leaning toward his driver, he made a motion with his hand, as if pointing ahead of them.

Two of Has.h.i.+mi's guards, with RPGs slung over their shoulders, stood on either side of the entry, waiting for him to give them an order. All it took was a short nod. They ran down the steps, jumped into an overused, beat up UAZ, then sped across the compound. Ten minutes later, an explosion destroyed Zubarev's vehicle, along with him and his driver.

For a few moments, Has.h.i.+mi's eyes followed a billowing cloud of black smoke beyond the north side of the compound. Rubbing his fingers continuously over his mustache and short beard, he turned and walked to his office. Standing by the window, he wondered if there was a way to obtain more sophisticated weapons.

He never saw it coming, only heard the telltale sound as he looked overhead, but by that time it was too late to take cover. Sh.e.l.ls fired from two M-47, 152mm field guns, destroyed the entire section of building. Two more landed in the compound. Rebels? Russians? Was it immediate retribution for Zubarev?

No one was alive to question.

Chapter 14.

Eagle 8 In the Lead Chevy Dust and dirt flew out from beneath the wide tires of both SUVs, as they sped along the one lane dirt road. None of the pa.s.sengers bothered looking at watches. They were already committed to their mission.

Grant phoned Mullins. ”Scott! We're heading to the airfield. Any updates?!”

”Report is the plane left just about on time.”

”Looks like we've got a chase on our hands.”

”Listen, I also got word your 'boy' wasn't the only person making the trip.”

”Who?!” Grant asked with surprise. He pressed his back against the seat, steadying himself because Adler wasn't about to let up on the gas.

”Does the last name 'Vikulin' sound familiar?”

”You're s.h.i.+ttin' me!”

”So you do know him.”

”He gave me the address of the safe house.”

”Oh, s.h.i.+t! I'm gonna need that story, too!”

Adler started slowing the SUV. The Gulfstream was straight ahead, navigation lights blinking, cabin and c.o.c.kpit lights glowing.

”We're at the Gulfstream. Hey! Do you have any markings for that plane?”

”Just so happens I do. It's an Antonov I, number RA-42624.”

”RA-42624. Got it. Try to call me if you have urgent s.h.i.+t to report. Gotta go. We're here.”