Mullins leaned back and put his feet up on the edge of the table. “Don’t get your ass in a twit! Will you please calm down, at least for a minute? Now, you know the number I’m talking about, Grant, the coded number?”
“Sure. Sure. Now, did the caller identify himself, give you any indication who he was?”
Mullins took a sip of coffee, focusing his eyes on Grant, anticipating his reaction. “Yeah, Grant. He identified himself all right. The call came in from a Colonel Moshenko.”
“Holy shit!” Adler spat out.
Grant’s eyes shot to Adler, then back to Mullins. “Grigori? Grigori called?” he asked incredulously.
“That’s right. I thought that would get your attention,” Mullins laughed.
Grant’s chair rolled into the credenza when he stood abruptly. He ran a hand across the top of his head, as he walked back and forth, stunned. What were those feelings he just had? Anticipation? Excitement? He’d be the first to admit that sometimes his instincts scared the shit out of him.
“Jesus! Grigori’s taking one helluva chance. If this is all true, we’ve gotta protect him, Tony. You know that, don’t you?” Mullins nodded. “I promised him. Last time I saw him, I promised I’d help him and Alexandra if they ever needed it.”
Mullins’ brown eyes narrowed. His words came out slowly. “Are you trying to tell me you and the colonel had a conversation indicating a possible…?”
Grant hesitated a second. As much as he trusted Mullins, they were in CIA Headquarters. Was their meeting being recorded? He gave a slight wave of his hand. “I wasn’t indicating anything,” he answered, emphatically. “He’s my friend. He’s our friend,” he said, looking at Adler. “He’s put his own ass on the line for both us in the past. You know that. And when we were on the mission in Sicily? I knew he was worried after helping us again. I wanted to put his mind at ease. Okay? Are you satisfied?” Mullins shrugged his shoulders. Grant continued, “Now, if he’s passing us information on those men, he sure as hell will need our help and protection.”
Mullins lowered his feet to the floor. Grant was staring at him in a strange way. No. It wasn’t just a stare. It was more like Grant’s intense brown eyes were boring into his. Could Grant be trying to send some kind of signal? Was he trying to tell him something? For the time being, they needed to proceed with the original reason for this meeting.
Before Mullins could restart the conversation himself, Grant asked, “Were you able to determine where the call came from?”
Mullins nodded. He reached behind him and pulled a small piece of paper from inside his jacket pocket. “Moscow,” he said as he shoved it across the table.
Grant slid the paper toward him. He looked at the number, then handed the paper to Adler. Mullins detected a slight curve to the right side of Grant’s mouth, assuming he recognized the number. His assumption was correct. Grant and Moshenko used the same phone booth multiple times, located off Teatral Street in downtown Moscow.
“Tony, do you know how many there are, how many POWs?” Adler asked.
“Five. The colonel said five.”
Adler knew everything about that mission. Grant had described how it went down, almost moment by moment, in every detail. He looked at Grant, with both of them thinking these might be the same five men from the unsuccessful mission. “Looks like he made it, skipper.”
“Who? Who made it?” Mullins questioned.
“You know our mission was to bring out five,” Grant said. Mullins nodded. “When we were inside the camp, we came across what looked like coffee grounds vomit.”
Mullins knew right off. “Blood.”
“Right. We didn’t think that guy had a chance.” Grant lowered his head, with part of him glad the guy was still alive, but on the other hand, what a bitch he had to be a POW for another three years.
“You don’t really think it’s the same group of men, do you?”
“Maybe I’m just hoping it is, but it doesn’t matter either way. We’ve still gotta get them home. Getting back to the phone call, did Grigori give any indication where they’re being held?”
Mullins shook his head. “We’ve set up another time for him to call.”
“Do you think that’s a good move?” Grant was obviously worried.
“He was the one who suggested it. And when he does, he’s supposed to pass that info,” Mullins said as he scooted closer to the edge of his chair. “I’m hoping you can give him something on when, where, and how you’ll be making your ‘visit.’ I’m assuming you will be making a visit.” He got up and went around the table, pouring himself a half cup of coffee.
Grant ignored the comment. “What about the Agency, Tony? How the hell did you guys lose track of those men after we went in?”
“We lost both our contacts, and you can bet your ass those men were moved multiple times. Before you ask, we don’t have any idea on why they were never turned over at the end of the war, along with the other POWs.”
“Almost like they were being held for a specific reason,” Grant commented. He shook an index finger toward Mullins, as if driving his point home. “That conflict may have ended, but the fuckin’ Cold War is still going on, and somebody’s using those poor bastards like pawns.”
“We don’t know that as fact, Grant,” Mullins responded, as he sat down again.
“No, we don’t, but I’d be willing to place a healthy bet. Maybe if Grigori has names we can fill in the blanks.”
Adler swung his chair around and poured a cup of coffee, as he asked, “How many others are aware of what’s happening?”
“Need to know, Joe. Aside from the guy who took the call, the director, and the higher ups, this one’s being held ‘close to the vest.’ No leaks. You guys have gotta pull this one out.” He took a ball point pen from his jacket pocket, reached for the paper with the phone number, and scribbled a note.
Grant walked to the window. Separating two of the blind’s slats with his fingers, he looked up and down the corridor. Worked never stopped here. Without turning around, he asked, “When’s he calling?”
“Noon this Friday.”
Grant swiveled around a chair next to Mullins and sat down. “So, are we invited?”
“Actually, the colonel asked that you be here.” He handed the folded paper to Grant.
“And when the hell were you gonna tell us that?” Grant laughed. He unfolded the note: Meet me at Iwo Jima Memorial, forty-five minutes. He put it in his shirt pocket.
Mullins looked at his beat-up diver’s watch he’d had since his frogman days. “Look, it’s nearly ten. You two better get moving.”
When they got to the lobby, Mullins asked, “You planning to call the admiral tonight?”
Grant shook his head. “You said he’s already talked to the director. So, unless he calls me, we’ll wait until the morning.”
“Okay, then I’ll see you Friday,” Mullins said.
As they were settling into the Vette, Adler asked almost pleadingly, “Think we’ve got time for some eats, skipper?”
“We’ll pick up something on the way to the memorial. This has got long night written all over it.”
Bathed in spotlights, the Iwo Jima Memorial, with its bronze figures rising thirty-two feet above its deep black granite base, is even more awe-inspiring, more magnificent at night than its imposing sight during daytime hours. A raised American flag, flying at full mast on the sixty-foot flagpole, furls and unfurls, snapping in a fifteen to twenty knot wind, with a star-filled night sky as its backdrop.
There are two inscriptions on the ten foot high base. One is a tribute by Admiral Chester Nimitz to the fighting men on Iwo Jima: “Uncommon Valor Was A Common Virtue.” The other states: “In honor and memory of the men of the United States Marine Corps who have given their lives to their country since 10 November 1775.”