Winds from the approaching storm buffeted the four-seat chopper as it made a 360 degree sweep around the inside perimeter of the predetermined LZ. The three men aboard scanned the pitch black field. Moshenko guided the chopper toward an oddly shaped object positioned nearly dead center of the field. As it approached, the VW's headlights flashed twice.
Marie kept her eyes on the hovering helo. Her instructions from Grant had been to not tell Lampson about his soon-to-be mode of transportation, only that she'd been instructed to deliver him to this field on this particular night. Once again, Grant was trying to be protective. She glanced at Lampson sitting in the seat beside her, his tall body looking cramped and uncomfortable in the little car. He rolled down the window, then immediately shielded his eyes from flying debris while he strained his neck to keep an eye on the descending helicopter.
"I suppose Captain Stevens told you not to advise me about the type of transportation he'd be providing?" Lampson asked with a touch of sarcasm. He pulled off his steel-rimmed glasses and shoved them into his jacket pocket.
"He only told me to be here at this time," Marie responded quietly. As the chopper's skids touched earth, she turned on the car's parking lights.
The two Americans jumped from the chopper. Grant had his .45 drawn; Adler carried an Uzi. Their eyes were fixed on the VW as they ducked under the rotating blades then ran toward the car. Adler stopped just shy of the car, taking up a position in front of the boot, continuously sweeping the area with his eyes. The Uzi followed the same sweep, at the same pace.
The propellers continued rotating while Moshenko stayed inside, his hand resting on the control stick, ready to lift off when all were aboard. The Russian had already removed his military cap and jacket, making it impossible to tell who or what he was.
Grant reached for the car door handle and pulled open the passenger side door. "Let's go," he shouted above the noise of the chopper. As Lampson was extracting himself from the car, Grant said, "You've gotta trust me, Rick. No questions. Just listen and do as I say." He leaned toward the open car window. "Marie, wait a second and I'll be right back." Grant again turned his attention to Lampson as he pointed to Moshenko. "Our friend over there is going to get you out of Germany and take you some place safe."
Lampson's heart started pounding. He squinted, trying to prevent flying dust from blinding him, as he tried to identify the chopper. From his angle, he wasn't able to see the red stars painted on the outside of the twin tail sections.
Grant shook Lampson's shoulder, getting his attention. "I think I know where your kids are, Rick." Lampson didn't have time to react as Grant grabbed hold of his arm and led him away from the VW and out of Marie's earshot. "It's gonna take a few more days to finish up here." Then he poked an index finger into Lampson's chest. "Now listen to me. You've got to do exactly what Colonel Moshenko tells you. Exactly! You understand?"
Lampson tried to step back but Grant's grip was firm. Completely taken by surprise, Lampson had hoped he misunderstood the name that just heard. "You're turning me over to a Russian?" he asked incredulously and with obvious panic rising in his voice.
"I told you to trust me! And if I can trust Grigori, you sure as hell can! Now, let's go!" He held onto Lampson's arm, practically dragging him toward the chopper, with Adler bringing up the rear.
Lampson looked up into the cockpit and into the face of a smiling Soviet military officer, who waved him aboard as he shouted at him in Russian. Grant translated: "Grigori wants to welcome you to Russia!'" Lampson's eyes blinked and he started to turn around to say something, when Grant all but shoved him into the chopper. "Keep an eye on him, Grigori! We'll be right back."
Back in his hiding place, Horst Schinkel couldn’t believe his luck. He'd never seen Brennar, but with the description Steiner had given him, there was no doubt that’s who he was now looking at through the scope. Steiner never let his men make their own decisions, but this was one time Schinkel would change that rule. The opportunity was too good to pass up. He gave Richter an order to start the car.
Grant and Adler snapped their heads around, as a set of headlights suddenly came out of the darkness, obvious that a vehicle was traveling at a high rate of speed. Grant yelled, "Go! Go! Get outta here!" Lampson started shouting frantically, but it was too late, as Grant slammed the chopper door.
As suddenly as lightning strikes, so can plans be altered during covert ops. Moshenko gave one quick look at Grant knowing he had to leave the two behind. His primary objective was to get Lampson out of Germany. His friends were on their own. The rotors whined, cranking up to full power. Barely off the ground, a strong gust of wind hit the chopper broadside, one of its skids striking the ground. Moshenko reacted in a split second and got the chopper airborne.
The two Americans raced back toward the VW to try and head off the oncoming vehicle. The unfamiliar car barreled across the field, aiming right at them like a raging bull. Suddenly, machine gun fire erupted from the car's passenger side window, sending bullets whizzing around the ascending chopper. Two smashed into the cockpit, narrowly missing Lampson. Moshenko put the chopper into a sharp forty-five degree turn to starboard, applying power. He had to fly low to avoid radar, but now speed would be their only salvation.
The Americans immediately responded, firing their weapons simultaneously. Grant crouched low, and then flung open the VW door, pulling Marie briskly from the seat and shoved her to the ground. The attacking car, an older black Audi, sped past them on the VW's passenger side. Adler hit the deck, the barrel of the Uzi red hot. Bullets ripped into both vehicles.
"Get down!" Grant shouted to Marie. With lightning speed, he ejected the empty clip, reloaded, then resumed rapid fire as he attempted to shield her with his body.
With the chopper all but disappearing into the darkness, the driver of the Audi turned his attention to the two men by the VW. He put the car into a 180 degree spin, aimed it directly at the VW, and then gunned the engine.
Grant and Adler jumped up, one on either side of the little car. Crouching down in a shooter's stance, with guns aimed straight ahead, they opened fire on the oncoming vehicle. A barrage of bullets struck the Audi. Its front tire exploded. White hot steam shot upward from a demolished radiator. The windshield and headlights disintegrated. The car went into an uncontrolled spin fifty feet in front of them. Its tires kicked up clouds of dirt that obscured it from view momentarily. The Audi's rear end slid around. The car rocked back and forth before finally coming to a stop head-on with the Volkswagen.
"Stay down, Marie!" Grant shouted over his shoulder. She sat on the ground, curled up into a ball, huddling behind the open door with her arms protectively covering her head. Grant rammed a fully loaded clip into the .45.
Gusts of wind continued swirling dust around them. Their eyes adjusted rapidly to the blackness. Still not able to see into the car, they walked toward it in a high state of readiness. Grant motioned with his hand for Adler to approach from the driver's side, while he trained his sites on the passenger side. Reaching the dusty, bullet-ridden car, they proceeded cautiously, leaving plenty of room between them and the Audi. They edged closer, finally able to see the driver, who was dressed in civilian clothes, completely bloodied, and slumped over the steering wheel. His chest looked like a strainer and the front of his face had nearly been blown away. Blood was sprayed throughout the interior. Adler's Uzi had found its target multiple times.
Still unable to see the passenger who'd fired the machine gun, Grant walked along the side of the car, gripping his .45 with both hands. He aimed the muzzle directly ahead of him as he stepped nearer, all his senses on alert. A man's bulky body lay crumpled on the front seat. Grant took another step, confirming the back seat was empty. He again turned his attention to the passenger, noticing a throat and head wound, the blood flowing down across a large barrel chest and beginning to soak through a brown sweater. The back of his head was resting against the center console, revealing a short, muscular neck. Grant reached inside the car and snatched the Uzi off the man's chest.