Novak's hand shot up like a kid in a classroom. "I have a question. How do we get to that area," he indicated by moving his hand in a circle above the map, "if this whole fucking space is in the Soviet Sector?"
"You catch on quick, Mike," Grant answered with a half smile. "That's one of the obstacles."
Chapter 4
Two and a half hours after refueling in Shannon, Ireland, the Gulfstream touched down on Runway 07 of Schonefeld Airport, East Germany. Located ten miles south southeast of Berlin, the airport was situated just outside the boundary of the Berlin Wall.
An airport marshaller stood well in front of the Gulfstream, and head-on with Garrett's left shoulder. Garrett guided the plane along a white line, steering toward a concrete area. The marshaller motioned him forward until the Gulfstream lined up next to a Beechcraft with Swiss registration. The marshaller crossed his wands overhead, signaling Garrett to stop.
Just before departing Virginia, the Team received intel from NSA. Intercepted transmissions indicated the KGB had orders to transport Dotsenko directly to their aircraft at Schonefeld immediately after the exchange.
During the flight to Ireland, A.T. made preliminary plans for the 'snatch' of Alexei Dotsenko.
While Garrett and Draper sat in the cockpit going through the final checklist, the rest of the men gathered in the cabin, standing near Grant. He opened a map of the area, smoothing it down with a hand.
Munching on an Oreo cookie, Adler looked over Grant's shoulder. "Do you think that road is the best one for us to do our 'work'?"
Grant ran a finger along a black line leading from the airport. "I think so, Joe. We won't have to pass through security checkpoints."
Slade took a sip of Coke. "Are we gonna have a problem driving through East Germany without proper papers?"
Adler shook his head. "No. Any citizen of the Western Allied powers has authority to use all designated transit routes. The Soviets travel just about anywhere, anytime they want. But we've done it before, right, skipper?"
"Roger that, Joe. It's passing through checkpoints that can be hairy at times, but we'll still be taking all our passports."
"Maybe we'll be okay," James said, "but what about our 'traveling companion'?"
"I've got a new U.S. passport for him."
"And our gear and weapons?" Novak asked, worried about his sniper rifle.
"We'll leave everything on the plane, Mike, except for sidearms and rifles. Once Dotsenko is at the embassy, and he's given us her location, we're coming back to Schonefeld to plan part two of the op." Grant stood, as he was folding the map. "Any questions?" Silence. "Okay, let's go rent the vehicles. Joe, Frank, you'll be driving. We'll depart Schonefeld ten minutes apart, then join up. I'd like to check out the route before dark, then again around midnight tonight."
Only one road was a direct route from and to the airport that followed the perimeter of the Berlin Wall, taking the least amount of time. Returning to Schonefeld, vehicles had to make a right-hand turn off Konigstrasse, then 100 yards farther away, a left turn, putting them back on course for the airport. A.T. found the route to be the safest, quickest place to make the snatch.
While the Team left to grab something to eat in the terminal, Grant and Adler remained in the plane. Cabin lights were low, shades lowered.
Grant was stretched out on one of the bench seats, with his fingers locked behind his head. Hearing the sounds of jet engines hardly distracted him from his thoughts, thoughts that had nothing to do with the current mission.
Adler had gone aft to grab a couple of Cokes from the small fridge. He walked back through the cabin, sat opposite Grant, then set one can on the table, and popped the top on his. As he started to drink, he paused, seeing Grant deep in thought.
"What's wrong?"
Grant slid his legs over the side, then sat up. Brushing his hands over the top of his head, he looked across the aisle. "Joe, I've been thinking."
"No shit. It was pretty obvious."
"I'd like to run something by you."
"Fire away."
"There's no denying that both of us love the hell outta what we do, right?"
"Affirmative! We never would've gotten back into it after we retired if we didn't."
Grant leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. "My mind says I could do this for another ten, twenty years. But the … "
"But the bod says otherwise."
"Exactly. So, what would you say to a change in direction again?"
"As long as it's not sitting in a rockin' chair, what've you got in mind?"
"Maybe start something like a training facility, a camp."
"Seriously? And do what?"
"There're a lot of young men out there who can't make it, or think they can't make it into Special Forces. Maybe we could prepare them for the reality of what it takes, prepare their bodies and minds. The rough stuff would come later," he laughed.
Adler sipped his Coke. "Sounds almost like 'fun in Coronado' again."
"Almost. I doubt we could ever match that."
"It could work," Adler commented, rubbing his chin. "Are you talking weapons training, too?"
"Everything, Joe. I'm looking down the road, of course, but depending on how many signed up, we could form squads."
"Jesus! You have been thinking about it! You realize the idea opens up a whole shitload of questions. What happens to the Team? What'll our benefactors have to say? Jesus! What about the President's reaction?!"
"I realize all that, Joe. I was thinking the Team might be willing to become instructors, even the 'youngster.'" Grant referred to Doc Stalley. "As far as your other questions, well, we might be getting ahead of ourselves."
"How long has this notion been rolling around in that brain of yours?"
"A couple of weeks, I guess."
"Well, where do we go from here?"
"When this op is over and we're home, we'll have to discuss it with Matt first. If the benefactors aren't willing to support the proposition, we may have to scrap the whole idea. We'll have to wait and see."
The conversation abruptly ended, with the sound of A.T. returning. Grant leaned back, and stretched his arms across the backrest. "Joe, when are you gonna stop calling me 'skipper'?"
"What the hell should I call you?"
"We've known each other long enough for you to use my name."
"I don't know," Adler said shaking his head. "That might take some practice."
"Give it a shot."
"Not ready."
"Here you go," Garrett said, handing over two wrapped burgers."
The conversation changed direction again.
At 0030, two black Audi Quattro sedans followed the same route as earlier, but this time they parked 300 yards from Glienicke Bridge. Splitting up, A.T. did a recon of any possible 'hot' spots, unusual traffic, homes. East German guards at the bridge didn't appear to have any set routines. With rifle straps slung over their shoulders, they remained near the guard house, occasionally walked to the opposite side of the bridge, and frequently watched the guards on the American side.
After two hours of reconnaissance, A.T. returned to Schonefeld, prepared for the mission that night.
The Glienicke Bridge, made of steel, and resembling a suspension bridge, crossed the Havel River. The middle of the bridge was the dividing line between East and West Berlin. It had become known as the "Bridge of Spies." Tonight's exchange was scheduled for midnight.