"Yeah, you know, 'hike,’ 'take a walk,’" Grant replied with a grin.
They both got out of the car and Moshenko looked at Grant over the roof, shielding his eyes from the sun's glare. "I like your American expressions! But I find I have to be careful during conversations with my Russian comrades. One day I may slip, and the consequences will be on your shoulders!"
Keeping up a pretty good pace, the two men made their way toward Manfred's farm, traveling across mostly open ground. After they had walked for close to fifteen minutes, Grant patted his friend's shoulder. "How ya doing?"
"Piece of cake!"
Responding to a tap at the door, Manfred lifted the latch, and immediately stepped back, a stupefied expression covering his aged face. Never would he have expected to have a Russian military officer show up at his home. An image of his son, Hans, flashed in his mind and his heart pounded. Finally, he directed his eyes to Grant, who was standing next to the Soviet.
"It's okay," Grant said reassuringly, catching the unmistakable look of anger on the old man's pale face. Manfred nodded slowly, keeping his eyes riveted on Moshenko. Grant eliminated any introductions, keeping Moshenko's identity classified. "We'll talk later." Grant chastised himself for having subjected Manfred to a face-to-face with Moshenko, knowing his feelings toward Russians: Shit! Stupid mistake, Stevens. Never should've let him see Grigori.
Leading Moshenko to the shed, Grant signaled for him to stay quiet. Adler slid the bolt back then pushed up on the trapdoor. Grant peered down, seeing the dark form of Otto Neus sitting in a corner of the underground room, with his hands tied in front of him, his body lashed to the chair, a blindfold in place. Grant motioned for Adler to climb up the ladder, then they stepped outside and went around the back, surrounded by nothing but deserted, open fields.
"Colonel Moshenko," Adler said, still keeping his voice low, "it's good to see you, sir."
"And you, Joe," Moshenko responded with a smile, extending a hand.
"How's our friend?" Grant inquired.
"He was pretty groggy for awhile. Manfred gave him something to eat and drink. I can tell you one thing for certain. He's scared shitless."
"Steiner?"
"Steiner and his henchman, but he's not looking forward to meeting up with you again either."
Grant acknowledged the remark with a half smile. "I'll keep that in mind. Have you been able to get any more out of him?"
"You'll enjoy this one. With a little extra persuasiveness provided by yours truly and an added shot of 'truth juice,’ he said Steiner told him the kids were safe at the uncle's place."
Grant frowned, as he ground his fist into his palm. Moshenko had remained quietly in the background but then asked, "You know this not to be true?"
"Like I mentioned before, the only evidence we found of any kids having been there were the socks. I doubt he disposed of the kids this early in the game." He rubbed his hand along his chin. "I've got a bad feeling. If my hunch is right, both Steiner and the East Germans are going on a hunt for Lampson."
"I agree," Adler nodded. "According to Otto, Steiner's a vengeful son of a bitch."
Grant turned toward the window, drawing question marks with his finger on the dirt-covered glass panes. Adler took a step closer to him. "What's wrong, boss?"
"I've been thinking about this since I talked with Lampson that day in the restaurant. It's gotta be somebody in the Embassy, Joe."
"Sir?"
Grant turned and faced the two men, then walked past them, thinking out loud. "Somebody from the Embassy passed information about Lampson."
"Not another goddamn spy!" Adler blurted out, referring to an incident two years prior that he and Grant had played a major role in.
Moshenko raised an index finger, moving it side to side at both men. "Ahh, but this time we are not responsible for this spy!"
Grant smiled. "I know, Grigori. Two to one the FSG got to him with either money or by blackmail."
Moshenko pulled a cigar from inside his dark green uniform jacket pocket. A gust of wind swirled around the shed. He turned around, shielding the match flame. "You know the backgrounds of these men in your Embassy?" he asked, facing Grant again.
Grant glanced in the direction of the main house, but didn't expect to see Manfred. The man knew when to stay in the background. "I don't have complete histories on all of them, but we can eliminate Matt Wharton right off the top."
The three men stood in silence, Adler and Moshenko anticipating Grant had something else on his mind. "This is gonna sound crazy, but I think I know how to keep Lampson safe, considering we can't trust a goddamn soul. And that's where you come in, Grigori."
"What can I do?" Moshenko asked, blowing out a stream of cigar smoke that immediately vanished in the swirling air.
"Take him to Poland."
Adler's jaw dropped. "Poland? You've gotta be shittin' me!"
"Think about it, Joe. If we flew him back to the States, word would get out, sure as shootin’. Poland's gotta be the last place anyone would look for him."
"You got that right!" Adler roared. He rested his hands on his hips, shaking his head. "And I was naive enough to think you'd grown attached to those four gold bars on your shoulders." Somewhere in his mind he imagined hearing the voice of a bellowing Torrinson and he remarked, "Shit! The Admiral's really gonna be pissed!"
"Not if he doesn't find out," Grant replied with a grin. "Besides, if the FSG doesn't know where he is, they've lost their ability to threaten him with those kids' lives. It'll be like cutting the cord." Grant also knew he was taking a big risk. There was always a real possibility that whoever had the boys would dispose of them if they no longer felt Lampson could be found. The lives of the twins weighed heavily on Grant’s shoulders — but he had a mission to complete.
"Aren't you anticipating some resistance from Lampson?" Adler asked, a frown appearing on his rugged face.
"Not his call," Grant answered bluntly.
Moshenko squinted his eyes as he analyzed Grant's suggestion, and then finally nodded approvingly. "I like this plan of yours."
"Wasn't a doubt in my military mind that you wouldn't. Any ideas on how you can pull it off?"
Moshenko stroked his chin. "How big is Lampson?"
"He's probably three inches taller than me, about 6'4, and about 220 pounds."
"You Americans — so tall!" Moshenko said as if in amazement. “Finding him a uniform might be difficult but I will work something out. It will probably be an East German uniform since you said he speaks German fluently."
"Good idea. Have you thought of a place to stash him?"
"There is an airfield in Gdansk, not far from the shipyards. We make use of it all the time. In fact, there is a small contingency of East Germans based close by. Within walking distance from the base is a hotel. Lampson will be safe there. I know the owner, Leo Grobowski, quite well."
"Sounds good. He’s got extra civilian clothes he can use once he settles in. You'll need to exchange some money for him." Grant thought for a moment then added, "We’ve supplied him with an Austrian passport. I'll leave it to your discretion whether he remains a soldier or a civilian." Moshenko nodded.
The one reservation Grant had was whether Lampson would be stupid enough to try and contact someone back in Germany. "Would that friend of yours consider keeping an eye on Lampson, especially if he tries to contact anybody?"
"I will see to it."
"You have my permission to put the fear of God in him, Grigori." Moshenko nodded, as Grant asked, "Last question… how can you get him out of Germany?"
"We have several helicopters at the base that I have access to. And I have traveled before with East Germans. If anyone questions this, we can use the story that he's under transfer orders, waiting to assume command of the border guards. There should not be any questions. And I will try and get him an officer’s uniform which will draw less suspicion to him being with me." He had anticipated and was prepared for any requests by his American friends. Moshenko would fly a Kamov KA-18. The chopper was identified as a "Hog" by NATO.