“Hold it!” Adler said, grabbing his arm. “No secrets allowed!”
Grant put his head down, slowly shaking it. When he raised it, seven pairs of eyes were staring at him, waiting for an explanation. “If I’m correct, our mission will encompass more than just tracking down a traitor.” He shifted his eyes to Adler, who returned a look through narrowing blue eyes.
“Are you saying we’ve got another mole on our hands?!”
“There’s more going on here than just meets the eye. Somebody sold those weapons to somebody else who plans on using them, or at least use the technology.” He tilted his head toward the TV. “And Afghanistan seems the perfect place.” Setting his eyes on his men, he finally said, “Look, why don’t you all get some shut-eye. We’ve got work to do tomorrow. DJ and Frank, plan on setting up surveillance at the Russian Embassy.”
“Are we lookin’ for anything or anybody in particular?” Diaz asked.
“Good question, Frank, but you guys have plenty of ‘know how’ to pick out anything suspicious. Take glasses, scopes, and maybe one of the cameras with a long-range lens.”
“Roger,” James answered.
Grant happened to glance at a large security monitor above the fireplace. “DJ, check camera number four,” he said pointing to the screen. “Seems to have some interference.”
“On it, boss.” The screen was divided into six smaller pictures, each in black and white, focused on sections of the property. Every five seconds the pictures would automatically change.
“Hey, Mike!” Grant called.
“Yeah, boss?” Novak answered, leaning around the corner as he was pulling a skivvy shirt over his head.
“Sorry I didn’t mention it sooner, but the President’s given his okay for you to try out one of those prototypes.”
Novak’s eyes lit up, as he came into the living room. “No shit?!”
“Yeah. No shit. You’re to report to Captain Ramsay at Indian Head. I want you to leave at first light.”
“I’m guessing I’m taking my car?”
Grant nodded. “Yeah. We’ve gotta make sure the SUVs are ready.”
“Okay, boss.”
Novak turned to leave, when Grant called, “And, Mike. In case you’ve got any ideas… that weapon isnot to leave the base.” Novak kept walking. “Do you copy, mister?!”
“Aye, sir! Copy that!” Novak said over his shoulder, as he continued grumbling, “Guess I’ll have to be satisfied with our new issues.”
Grant couldn’t help but smile as he put his hand on the phone.
The new issues were the HK MP5SDs. The weapon featured a integral but detachable aluminum sound suppressor and a lightweight bolt. A bullet would leave the muzzle at subsonic velocity so it didn’t generate a sonic shock wave in flight. The MP5SD was designed to be used with standard supersonic ammo with the suppressor on at all times. With the design of the suppressor, the weapon could be fired with water inside.
Grant stood by the side table. “Matt, I’ll fill you in as soon as I call Scott.”
Garrett sat on the couch, swallowing a mouthful of warm coffee. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“First tell me. Do you feel comfortable turning over the business to your employees?”
“They’ve been basically running it for a while now. I’m confident they can handle it. Besides, I’ll be checking in every now and then. Of course, they’ll never know exactly when.”
“You’ve had a helluva responsibility since your dad died, Matt.”
“Life throws curves sometimes, but… hey! If it weren’t for dad and his friends, there may not be Team Alpha Tango, right?”
“It still amazes me they planned all this,” Grant responded. “Have you seen or talked with them?”
“We talk on the phone, but they still want to keep a low profile when it comes to our ‘little’ group.”
“Sure wish the guys could meet them.”
“It could happen,” Garrett answered.
Adler came back into the living room, wiping his face with a towel. “Hey, Skipper, are you considering bringing Grigori in on this?”
“If this is a Russian mole, Joe, maybe he can pull some info from his brain that might give us something to go on.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m gonna call Scott at home. I’m hoping he’ll be able to patch me through to the President in a couple of hours.”
“C’mon, Scott! Pick up!”
“Yeah,” Mullins answered in a gruff, sleepy voice.
“Scott, it’s Grant.”
“Grant? What’s wrong?” He rubbed a hand over the top of his brown hair, then threw off the covers. Stifling a yawn, he sat on the side of the bed, trying to get his eyes to focus on the clock.
“Your phone’s not secure, so I’ll explain fully when I see you. In the meantime, as soon as you get to the office, I’d like… Wait! Never mind. I’ll … ”
“What the hell?! You wake me up and then say ‘never mind’?!”
“Just hold your shorts! What I started to say was I’ll meet you at your office at 0700. I assume you’ll be there, right?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there. But you’d better bring strong coffee. And donuts!”
Chapter 7
Winds were blowing anywhere from ten to fifteen knots, carrying on them a smell of rain. Sunrise was still a half hour away. Street lamps illuminated sidewalks. Lights in front of building entrances cast shadows across driveways. A few pedestrians hustled down sidewalks along both sides of the street, most wearing raincoats or windbreakers. Some were more prepared and carried umbrellas.
Across the street, and a half block north of the Russian Embassy, DJ James and Frank Diaz sat in Diaz’s green Ford F-150. James had his window rolled down half way, trying to prevent windows from fogging.
Two large thermos bottles of hot coffee leaned against the backrest. Between the two men was an open paper bag with four unwrapped McDonald’s Egg McMuffins, and two crumbled wrappers.
Diaz took a sip of coffee from the thermos’ plastic cup. He pressed binoculars against his eyes. While he scanned the embassy grounds, he asked James, “Think boss knows something we don’t, DJ?”
James chewed a last mouthful of muffin, then washed it down with coffee. “You know LT always jokes about his ‘gut instinct.’ Me personally? I’d rely on it every time, Frank.” He tossed the wrapper in the bag, then pulled out another, tapping Diaz’s shoulder. “Here. I’ll keep watch.”
While James used the glasses, he asked, “Have you heard from your kid lately?”
Diaz bit into a McMuffin, then swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Got a letter from him last month. He and his mom were visiting her dad in Upstate New York.”
“How old is he? Ten? Twelve?”
“Goin’ on thirteen.”
“Jesus! He was just a baby yesterday.”
“Yeah. And I missed half his life,” Diaz responded, with a touch of regret in his voice.
Traffic started picking up. Diaz scanned the area across the street in front of the embassy. James watched pedestrians, moving his eyes from the side mirror to the windshield.
“Eleven o’clock, coming this way, black leather jacket,” Diaz announced.
James swung the binoculars just past the embassy, focusing on a tall man. “Whoa! He looks just like… ”
“Yeah! Get the camera!”
James picked up the camera from the floorboard, adjusted the telephoto lens, then snapped two quick pictures.
Already surprised by what they saw, they were even more surprised as they watched him remove a rolled up newspaper from under his arm. He slowed his pace, letting a few pedestrians pass him before stopping in front of the embassy. Easing closer to the wrought iron gate, he bent down, quickly slid the newspaper underneath, and immediately started heading back the way he came.