Chapter 2
Patches of blue began appearing in the morning sky, as broken clouds were nudged along on six knot winds. A cool breeze kept the temperature at 60 degrees. The weather was perfect for Team A.T. to inspect and make necessary repairs to the property, restock ammo and explosive materials, and ensure the C-130 and Gulfstream were ready to fly.
Grant, Adler and James were walking the east side of the property. They'd been out since 0630, checking security cameras and fence. James had a map pinpointing the location of cameras. They paid special attention to the electric fencing by checking controllers, ground and jumper wires, joining wires, and ensured all posted warning signs were secured.
Taking a break before examining the next section, Adler held up a thermos. "Who's for some java?" Both Grant and James unhooked mugs from their belts.
The three started sipping the brew, when the radio crackled. Grant answered, "Speak."
"Boss," Stalley replied, "you've got a call from Scott on the secure phone. He's still on hold."
"On my way."
"Don't tell me. Scott called, right?" Adler asked.
"Yeah. He's still on hold, which means something's going on. Here, Joe, you keep the radio. You and DJ get as much done as you can. I'll call when I find out what the hell's happening." He dumped the coffee out of the mug as he started jogging back to the house, already concerned about his upcoming conversation with Scott Mullins.
Ten minutes later, Grant picked up the receiver. "Scott?"
"Hey, Grant. Sorry to interrupt, but does the name 'Ivan Reznikov' sound familiar?"
"Damn straight it does! The bastard's been eluding us for … Oh, shit! He hasn't caused …?"
"No, but the Russians located him."
"They actually found him?!"
"Don't know how or where, but yeah, they did. A top secret exchange is supposed to take place between Reznikov and somebody named 'Dotsenko.'"
"Never heard that name. Did you say it's classified as top secret?"
"That's what I've been told."
"Where's it gonna take place?"
"Glienicke Bridge."
"We've never been involved in a spy exchange, Scott. Why this one?"
"That's all I've been told. Listen, if you think you and the Team want to handle it, just say so, 'cause the President wants to meet with you asap."
"Can you give me a half hour?"
"I'll call you back." Conversation over.
Grant phoned Adler and James, then Garrett and Draper at the airfield. He went to the kitchen, put on two fresh pots of coffee, then he went outside. The rest of the team was busily washing SUVs, Zodiacs, checking fuel levels, tire pressure. Diving and jump gear were next.
Grant let out a short, high-pitched whistle, then motioned with his hand. "I need all of you inside."
"What's goin' on, boss?" Novak asked, as he, Stalley, Diaz and Slade followed him into the house.
"Let's wait for the others," Grant answered, as he opened a top cabinet and took out coffee cups.
Ten minutes later everyone had arrived. Sitting at the long dining room table, drinking coffee or Coke, each man focused his attention on Grant, anticipating they were about to learn of a new mission.
"Hey, Grant," Matt Garrett said, "before we get started, I want to let you know there are some new 'presents' in the garage. Actually, to try on." The men always knew when the word "presents" was mentioned, A.T.'s benefactors had supplied the latest and greatest of something, even if it was still in the testing stage.
Grant looked around the table, knowing everyone's curiosity was getting the best of them. "May as well tell us, Matt."
"Body armor."
"No shit?!" was echoed by more than one man.
"A big no shit, guys! They're bullet resistant vests, with front, back and side coverage, and fully removable ballistic inserts. I haven't taken any out of the boxes, but I understand they're the type that can be worn under clothing, concealable."
"You said 'bullet resistant'?" James questioned with raised eyebrow.
"Best we can do for now, DJ."
"Two to one it'll stop a bullet better than my shirt!" Diaz quipped. "I'll take one!"
"Okay," Grant said, "we'll check those out right after we finish here. Now, you've all heard about Ivan Reznikov and know that he's been on our Most Wanted list." Heads bobbed up and down. "According to Scott, the Russians found him, and an arrangement's been made to offer somebody we've been holding in exchange for Reznikov."
Adler asked, "Do you know who?"
"Somebody by the name of 'Dotsenko' but I never heard of him. Speak up if you have." Silence.
"So, what the hell does 'Uncle Sam' want us to do?" Novak asked, with brow furrowed.
"Don't exactly know, Mike. Look, I realize we normally don't handle these spy exchanges, so there's gotta be a helluva lot more to this. Scott's due to call back expecting our answer. So, with the very little we do know … do we accept the mission?" There wasn't any doubt in Grant's mind what the overwhelming response would be. "Hell yes" and "hooyah" gave him his answer.
"Ok. I'm supposed to meet with the President asap, and probably the NSA and CIA." He looked toward Garrett. "Can I assume the Herc and Gulfstream will be ready?"
"Just name the day, then take your pick," Garrett replied. "All we need is a flight plan."
Grant nodded, then directed his attention to Draper. "I know you haven't had any real time to settle in, Rob, but nothing's changed much from our Navy days."
Draper smiled. "Lookin' forward to picking up where I left off! The opportunity to possibly fly a Herc again doesn't come along too often." Rob Draper was the newest team member. For eight years he'd flown C-130s. His last duty station was Jacksonville, Florida.
Adler raised his coffee mug. "Welcome aboard to organized chaos!"
Grant pushed his chair back. "You all finish up outside. We can add or subtract gear once we find out about the mission." Chairs slid across wood floor as the men got up.
Grant called, "Hey, Mike!"
"Yeah, boss?"
"Plan on taking your sniper rifle."
"Which one?" Novak asked with his fingers crossed.
"You decide."
"Yes!" Novak exclaimed, pumping his fist against the air, already planning on the laser guided rifle.
"Get the hell outta here," Grant said, grinning.
Draper leaned against the table. "What the hell was that all about?"
"During our last mission we recovered stolen laser-guided rifles, completely computerized with GPS. The President authorized release of one prototype to us. Mike's been in 'love' ever since. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to give you a demo."
Chapter 3
Dressed in a charcoal gray business suit, long-sleeve white shirt, with a gray/blue/white diagonally striped tie, Grant followed an assistant down to the Situation Room, located in the basement of the West Wing. Throughout the room were secure communications systems. In the walls, behind sound-absorbing wood panels, were a variety of audio, video, and other systems. In the center was a long mahogany table, capable of seating six along each side, with the President's chair at the head, facing a large TV screen on the opposite wall.
"Have a seat, Captain Stevens," gray-haired Edna Hartley said, as she opened the door.
"Guess I'm early," Grant commented, noticing no one else in the room.
"The President and the others will join you shortly. Water, soft drinks and coffee are on the credenza."
"Thank you, ma'am." As he walked into the room, he glanced toward the opposite end of the Sit Room, making him aware he wasn't entirely alone. On the other side of a wall was the National Security Council room, known as the "Watch Room." Computer terminals could be fed both classified and unclassified data from around the country and the world. The Sit Room staff was composed of approximately 30 personnel, organized around five "watch teams" that monitored international events 24/7/365, and regularly briefed the President. The staff helped the President connect with intelligence agencies and important people all over the world.