“I thought I’d shaken the idea, but apparently not. And it wasn’t just our appearance. We seemed to think alike, too.”
“But… how in the hell could it even be possible?!”
“My dad was stationed in Europe.”
Carr turned away, then walked behind his desk, analyzing an explanation he never expected. “And did you discuss this with Kalinin?”
“Negative, sir.”
Glancing down at an open folder, Carr finally asked, “It was Kalinin that called Joe, wasn’t it?”
“I believe Joe when he said the caller didn’t identify himself as ‘Nick.’”
“I believe him, too, Grant. But what name did he use?”
“‘James Broyce.’ He called himself ‘James Broyce.’”
Carr gave somewhat of a smile. “So, Joe only gave me part of the truth then.”
“Not really, sir. Neither one of us knew his American name.”
Carr picked up a paper and handed it to Grant. “Take a look at this.”
The report confirmed what Grant had suspected all along: fingerprints on file with the Department of the Navy, a ‘Secret’ security clearance, a copy of an official Navy ID card for ‘James Broyce.’
“You were right on target with your assumption,” Carr commented.
Grant didn’t feel a need to respond and handed the paper to Carr who put it back in the folder. He tapped a finger against it before looking up at Grant’s pained expression.
“Mr. President, I apologize, and again, I assume full responsibility. I’m prepared to accept any punishment you deem fitting.”
Carr came around the desk, stood less than an arm’s length away from Grant, then with a low, stern voice, he said the words slowly. “You aided and abetted a Russian operative, Grant.”
Grant was quiet, and then, “Yes, sir. I did.” Even though he’d said the same words to himself, hearing them from the President cut into him like a jagged knife.
“Can I just let that go?”
“No, sir. You can’t.”
Carr’s eyes met Grant’s. “Once again you risked your life, you recovered top secret weapons, you saved a life, and you were instrumental in uncovering two traitors, although probably not in a manner you would have preferred.”
Grant’s brow furrowed. He was having difficulty comprehending what Carr was implying. Maybe those damn drugs were still in his system!
“I… I don’t understand, Mr. President.”
“Listen, Grant, in this case, I believe the good definitely outweighed the bad.” He patted Grant’s good arm, and offered a smile. “Relax. I’ll delay my decision about Leavenworth for the time being.” Obvious surprise showed on Grant’s face, then Carr laughed, “Bet your gut didn’t see that coming!”
“Sure didn’t, Mr. President.”
“C’mon. I’ll walk you to the door.” Carr had a hand on the doorknob, but before turning it, he offered a suggestion. “You know, Grant, there’s a way for you to resolve your issue.”
Grant nodded. “DNA testing.”
“Think about it.”
Grant closed the Oval Office door, seeing Adler pacing in front of the windows. “Joe, let’s go.”
Adler spun around, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. He caught up to Grant. “No handcuffs?” he asked quietly.
“I’ll talk to you outside.” He didn’t see Claudia, and assumed she’d gone to lunch.
On their walk to the car, Grant told Adler the entire conversation he had with the President. Adler unlocked the doors to his Mustang, then peered over the roof at Grant, who was putting on his aviator sunglasses. “Listen, Skipper, I’ll admit you scared the hell outta me when you went back in the Oval Office. But, I guess you did the right thing all the way around.”
“Couldn’t keep it inside me, Joe.”
Adler understood completely. Time to lighten up the conversation. “Lunch! What about lunch?!”
“Did you forget Grigori and Alexandra invited us over?”
“Oh, yeah! I’d never pass a chance to sample Alexandra’s cooking! Hey! What say we contact the guys? Maybe we could all head up to the mountains for a couple of days of R&R, you know, the cabins you go to in the Blue Ridge.”
“Sounds good, Joe. We sure as hell could use it.”
They got in the car, and Adler asked, “Wanna invite Scott?”
“Sure. Wonder if he’d want to bring his girlfriend.”
“They’ll have to get their own cabin!”
“I’ll call Grigori and let him know we’re on our way. Then I’ll call the guys.”
Adler turned the key in the ignition, then shifted into first, noticing Grant’s hand lingering on the phone. The setting of the square jaw, grinding of teeth again. Adler shifted into neutral, and rested his arms on top of the steering wheel. “Well, what the hell are you thinking about? The DNA thing?”
“Yeah.”
“You want my opinion?”
“You’ll give it to me anyway, so, sure.”
“Get it done.”
“I’ll think about it — seriously.” He looked at his good friend over the top of his sunglasses. “Aren’t you curious what sort of reception Nick might’ve gotten?”
“Well, sure.”
“He failed his mission, Joe.”
“Yeah, but not for lack of tryin’. You even admitted it was a helluva plan.” He closed his eyes as if in thought. “I can just picture it now.”
“What?”
“The next time the two of you meet up. I’ll pay big bucks for tickets to that one!”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath! C’mon!” Grant said, as he picked up the phone. “Let’s get the hell outta here. I’m hungry!”
Epilogue
After four days of near spring-like temperatures, the weather had taken a downturn, dropping well below freezing. Rain overnight left slick patches of ice on roads and sidewalks. Traffic had remained heavy, constant, but by noon, the sun broke through the cloud layer, melting most of the hazardous ice.
He sat in the car with the engine running, continually wiping a gloved hand in a circle against the windshield, waiting for the defrosters to kick in. An open window wasn’t helping much.
Gradually, the fogged windshield cleared. He backed out of the parking space, then shifted into first, slowly driving around the circle.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, he noticed the building’s yellow facade, mimicking gold bricks. Lubyanka. Headquarters of the KGB, with its notorious prison in the basement.
Where he’d just been, who he’d spoken with, and what was offered to him, left Nicolai Kalinin astounded. Director Mikhail Antolov, at the recommendation of Defense Minister Troski and Ambassador Vazov, told him he was to report in two days for training at the USSR KGB Krasnoznamennyi Institute (KI). Upon graduation, he’d take part in countering foreign intelligence services and conduct operational and combat activities. As honored as he was, learning he wouldn’t be returning to the U.S. left him disappointed. But he understood the reason. Agencies would be on the lookout for him… again.
He turned his attention to finding his way through Moscow. It was like his first trip navigating through Washington, D.C. Except here he was surprised by the heavy traffic, and the number of private citizens who owned vehicles. Most were very used and beat up models, unlike Americans with their love of fancy cars. It was a far cry from what he pictured all those years growing up.
Crossing over the ring road, he started south on the M2 highway. As traffic thinned, he finally had a moment to think about the American. Grant Stevens, his nemesis. Grant Stevens, his… friend? Was it even possible? Perhaps that was part of his disappointment, not getting to learn more about him. Then again, one day soon he’d have access to KGB files, and probably files with more collected intelligence. A sound of a blaring car horn brought him back to the present.