It was imperative that everyone survive this mission. If any part of it turned to shit, and if he survived, he’d have to make one of the most important decisions of his life. Would this be his last mission?
Snapping out of his thoughts, he found himself in front of the Metro. He slowed his pace and looked down a line of parked vehicles, each one at a slight angle, facing toward the sidewalk.
Walking slower, he spotted a truck, confirmed the license plate number, then he went around the back and put his satchel inside. Digging the key from his pocket, he opened the door, then slid behind the steering wheel. No one paid him any mind as he started the engine. He adjusted the side mirror. With one foot on the brake and the other pressing down on the clutch, he shifted into reverse, backed up slowly, then shifted back into first.
Adler walked toward the street when he saw the truck. Grant pulled alongside the curb and stopped. He reached across the seat and unlocked the passenger door. Adler pushed his satchel toward the middle of the seat, as he was getting in.
“See anybody we should worry about?” Grant asked.
“Nobody.”
Grant took a quick check of his watch. They would be cutting it close, with twenty-six miles to go to the airport. He looked in the side view mirror, waited for a van and two Volgas to pass, then he pulled away from the curb. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”
Chapter 8
They’d been driving along Kashirskoye Highway for twenty-minutes, one of the major streets coming out of Moscow that eventually leads to the town of Kashira.
Adler glanced out the side window. “Looks like that storm might be passing us by.” Light from an early evening sun broke through passing clouds. Winds had died down to under fifteen knots.
He looked across at Grant and asked, “You have any idea where the colonel’s gonna be?”
“Taking a shot he’ll be at the north end of the airport. On the opposite side of the two runways there’s a helo pad. Grigori pointed it out last time we came through here, remember? Right now that’s our best bet.” He slowly shook his head. “Wish we could have talked to him one more time.”
Something started nagging at him, something about the chopper. The flying distance to East Germany had to be at least a thousand miles. Making that trip in a chopper would take well over six hours. There’d have to be refueling at least twice.
Who the hell came up with the idea of a chopper to begin with? And why? Grigori can fly anything, and he confirmed he’d be going to head up security. Maybe there’d be a plane waiting at the next location. That’s a plausible explanation.
Grant readjusted his body on the seat, getting more anxious. Suddenly, a terrifying thought came to his mind. Chopper or plane. Grigori. POWs. All in one place. “Fuck!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the steering wheel.
Adler nearly came out of his seat. “Shit! Now what?”
Grant gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “Christ, Joe! What if the plan is to dispose of Grigori and the POWs on the way to East Germany? What if that chopper is going to go down, intentionally?”
“You really don’t think… ”
“Jesus! I hope I’m wrong, Joe. I sure as hell hope I’m wrong. But no matter what I think, I’m going to be on that chopper. It’s too late to change plans.”
“Hey, skipper. I’ve said this before, but don’t think about leaving me behind,” Adler said, keeping his eyes on Grant. “We’re in this together, no matter what the fuck happens.”
“I know,” Grant replied. “Listen, get on the horn and call Tony. He should still be in range. He needs to get Alexandra out now. Tell him not to go to the safe house. They need to get out of Russia. And ask him if Grigori’s called.”
Without questioning, Adler pulled the radio from the satchel.
Mullins put a hand on the radio. He snapped his head around, looking at Alexandra, as he put a finger to his lips. He lifted the radio from his belt then quickly and silently went to the door. Going out into the hallway, and ensuring he was alone, he replied softly, “Cowboy here.”
Adler kept it short. “Leave immediately. Forget the safe house. Go to final destination. Wait till contacted. Copy?”
“Copy.”
“Have you received any calls?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay. Good luck.”
“You, too, my friends.” Mullins took a deep breath. Were his friends in trouble or just being cautious? Not the time to question or wonder. He went back inside the apartment.
Alexandra stood by the stairs, waiting, but she had a suspicion they were leaving. Mullins stepped close to her. He had to make her understand completely. He reached into his pocket and pulled out her new papers. Holding them in front of her, she stared, nodded, then immediately ran upstairs.
She was already prepared for this exact situation, remembering what Grant told her. One final time, she opened a purse in the closet, making sure her “old” papers were there. Grabbing a black raincoat, she picked up a large handbag, made of needlepoint, that contained a change of clothes and a few essentials. Giving the room one last look, she tried with everything in her to keep her emotions in check. Then she turned and rushed down to meet Mullins.
Mullins whispered, “Okay?” She tried to smile. He opened the door and stepped into the hall. Motioning for her to wait, he hurried to the exit door and looked around outside. Clear. Going back to the apartment, he offered her his hand and led her into the hallway, waiting briefly as she closed the door.
Something tugged at his heart, knowing she was closing the door to the only life she ever knew, willing to risk it all for a husband she loved.
He quietly said, “Metro.” She nodded then he motioned for her to walk ahead of him. Once on the main road, he caught up to her and held her arm. By staying in crowds, the chance of her being recognized was slimmer.
Within ten minutes, they arrived at the station. He held the door open for her, and they entered the lobby. She pointed to her right, indicating the ticket counter. He took several folded Russian notes from his pocket, then held them out for her. She took a one hundred ruble note, then looked up at him, waiting for a destination. He said, “Sheremetyevo.”
The station was crowded, which was in their favor. He kept his eyes on her as she stepped up to the ticket counter. Seeing her reach into her bag and take out her papers, he thought, Stay calm, Alexandra. She slid them under the glass opening and waited while the ticket seller examined them and her. He passed them back to her and she handed him the money.
Picking up the tickets, she put everything in her bag, then started toward him. Mullins briefly diverted his attention to the ticket seller. The man made no deviation from his routine and helped the next customer. Mullins breathed a silent sigh.
Alexandra saw him tilt his head to the left, indicating for her to continue to the train. He followed a few paces back, finally catching up to her on the escalator.
Once at the lower level, she looked to the left, spotting a sign for Track 3. She tugged on Mullins’ arm, then pointed.
While they waited, she reached into her purse and handed him a ticket. He leaned close, whispering, “Spaseeba.” They smiled at each other.
The crowd began moving closer to the tracks as the sound of an approaching train grew louder. Air being pushed ahead of the train began swirling around the tunnel. Brakes started squealing. Mullins held Alexandra’s arm, drawing her near him, ensuring her safety.