The door swung open. Zelesky came in carrying a folder. He dropped it in front of Vazov, pointing to a name along the side.
Vazov scanned the papers inside. Certain areas were highlighted, catching his attention: Navy SEAL; Naval Investigative Service; speaks Russian and Japanese. He turned to the next page, but it was blank. The last entry was nearly a year ago, when Ambassador Balicov died.
“Misha, find Petya. The two of you may have work to do.” Zelesky immediately left. Vazov pressed the intercom, calling for the communication corporal. When Brusinsky arrived, Vazov dictated a message to be sent to Kabul, advising weapons would not be delivered. No explanation was given.
Then, holding the dossier, he called Kalinin. “Nicolai, I have very interesting information on ‘Stevens.’ He is fluent in Russian and he is a Navy SEAL. His dossier is… ” Vazov looked up as Zelesky walked in with Vikulin. “Nicolai, I must go.”
Kalinin wondered about the ambassador’s report. “Navy SEAL,” he said out loud. It had to be. A team of Navy SEALs boarded the cargo ship. And the two men outside the embassy were part of that team.
His worry now was finishing his work at the house, then getting to the airport. Too much had gone wrong in a short expanse of time. And if he was right about the men being SEALs, they were the reason.
“Has Misha explained the situation, Petya?” the ambassador asked.
“Only briefly.”
“Here. Look at this,” Vazov said, picking up the photograph.
Vikulin walked closer to the desk and reached for the photo. He stared at the face, remembering his meeting with Kalinin. Everything suddenly became clear. Everything explained completely. He threw the photograph on the desk, then turned away. He should have known, with all the specific questions asked of him. How could he have been fooled? He brushed beads of sweat from his forehead as he debated how much, if anything, he should tell Vazov.
Vazov was obviously curious. “Do you know this man?!” Vikulin didn’t respond. “Petya!”
Vikulin saw Zelesky out of the corner of his eye, watching him closely. He made a mistake in his over-reaction to the photograph. There wasn’t any way to make a denial. “Mr. Ambassador, I had a meeting with someone who I thought was Comrade Kalinin, but… ”
“You had a meeting with this man?! A private meeting?!”
“I am afraid so.”
Vazov angrily shoved his chair away from the desk, and abruptly stood. “You?! A KGB officer?! Explain!” Vikulin proceeded to relay full details of the meeting. The longer he talked, the redder Vazov’s face became.
He asked Zelesky, “Did you have knowledge of this?”
Zelesky shook his head. “No.”
Vazov turned his attention again to Vikulin. “Confirm you did not discuss anything about the weapons.”
“I did not! They were never brought up.”
Vazov continued staring at the KGB officer. “Do you expect me to believe it is completely coincidental that you talked with this man, then the weapons were taken from the ship, and then we get this photograph?!”
“We did not discuss the weapons!”
“I will have to report this to Director Antolov (Mikhail Antolov, KGB). But I am making the decision to send you back to Moscow. You will report immediately to the director once you arrive. He will be expecting you.”
Vikulin started to leave when Vazov called. “Wait!” He picked up the phone and called Kalinin. “Nicolai, Comrade Vikulin will be joining you on the flight. He has an ‘appointment’ with Director Antolov in Moscow.”
“All right, sir. I will call you and verify a time.” Kalinin had to wonder about the so-called ‘appointment.’ He still did not completely understand the inner workings of the KGB, but he imagined this was out of the ordinary.
After Vikulin and Zelesky left the office, Vazov sat quietly for several moments, then he went to the front window. Street lights were still on. Out of the corner of his eye he saw yellow flashing lights as a street sweeping truck turned the corner on M Street.
Standing there with his arms behind his back, he decided he’d had enough of the foolish game. As soon as Zelesky returned he would have him take a message to a drop site, offering to meet “Primex.” There had to be more explanation why the American turned against his country. Unless he found out why, he would never feel comfortable, wondering if he himself would become a “victim” of this man. Maybe he was being foolish with these thoughts, but traitors were always unpredictable.
After all gear had been offloaded from the chopper then put in the SUVs, Grant returned to the cockpit. “You sure you don’t need any more help, Matt?”
“No. I’ve just got a few more items on the checklist.”
“Okay. See you at the house.”
Garrett checked off the last items on his sheet, then secured the chopper. A decision still hadn’t been made when or if the Team would be leaving anytime soon, but the plane would be ready. As he ran to the Gulfstream, in the distance he could see red taillights through a dusty haze.
Adler was driving the first vehicle, with Grant in the passenger seat. The console phone rang. “Stevens.”
“Grant, it’s Scott.”
“What’ve you got for me?”
“My contact at Dulles just called. Your ‘boy’ hasn’t showed up yet but a flight plan was filed — D.C. to Moscow; no refueling location yet.”
“Dammit!” Grant beat a fist against the armrest. “What about a flight time?”
“Nothing.”
“How many passengers?”
“That can change at any time, but for now only one’s been listed. I needn’t tell you his name.”
“‘Kalinin.’”
“To be more specific, ‘Nicolai Kalinin.’ He’s traveling on a diplomatic courier passport.”
“Still no dossier on him?” Grant asked, but not expecting anything.
“Not a damn thing. That guy’s cover must be deeper than the depths of hell.”
Grant glanced at his submariner. “We’re almost home. Call me there if anything changes.”
“Will do.” Call ended.
“Doesn’t sound good,” Adler said, giving a quick glance at Grant.
“A flight plan from D.C. to Moscow’s been filed. Only one passenger registered — Kalinin.”
“Now what?”
“Have to wait for Scott. Don’t know what else we can do.”
“What if we fly the Gulfstream to Dulles, then wait?”
Grant mulled over the suggestion. “Might work, but we’d probably be better off leaving from here, instead of getting caught up in Dulles flight control and air traffic. Besides, we’ve still got prep work to do.”
Adler slowed the SUV as it approached the security gate. Within a couple of seconds, the automatic gate swung back. Both SUVs raced through.
The vehicles parked in front of the three-car garage, and the Zodiac was offloaded. Grant hurried into the house. Adler announced, “Listen up! If you want to clean up now then come back, do it — and fast!”
Slade responded for everyone, “We’ll take care of gear first, LT.”
Working quickly under time constraints, the men hosed down all gear touched by seawater, finally storing everything in a section of the garage. The Zodiac was carried in then lined up directly behind the other rubber boat.
Adler walked into the brightly lit space, then knelt next to a door embedded in the concrete. The metal door was similar to one on an armored truck. He dialed the combination. Underneath the garage was a storage room. “Okay, guys,” he said standing. “Get extra ammo, clips, and anything we need to refresh, then come into the house. We’ll clean weapons inside. Secure this when you’re through.”