Navy SEAL Grant Stevens: Code Name Antares Part 23

Two different sounds of sirens started growing louder. Ambulance and cops. "Mike, go wait for them. I'll take over. And Mike! Call Scott!" Novak took off.

Adler kept a hand on the battle dressing. "Help's here, Skipper. Hang in there."

As he waited, Adler started worrying, and not just about Grant. Two dead men, one with multiple bullet holes in him, all fired from his and Novak's weapons. Overkill? Maybe. But not in Adler's mind, not when the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had a .357 pointed at his friend's head, who was unconscious. One saving grace was that forensics would determine the caliber bullet that killed Henley was from the Magnum. Eventually, the cops would get their answers.

"And then there's the President," he said under his breath. "It just keeps getting better and better."

Chapter 19.

Russian Emba.s.sy 0830 Hours A small double charcoal burner, called a "samovar," was on a credenza behind the desk. A teapot warmed on one, with a very concentrated infusion of tea, while the other pot held plain hot water. Vazov poured tea into a traditional tulip-shaped gla.s.s then diluted it slightly with hot water.

"Misha?" he asked, offering tea to Zelesky, who declined.

A knock at the door. "Enter," Vazov said, barely speaking loud enough. The sound of opera music was playing in the background.

Kalinin opened the door, surprised to see Zelesky sitting in front of the amba.s.sador's desk. He closed the door.

"Nicolai, you are looking better this morning," Vazov commented.

Kalinin stood by a chair, until Vazov motioned for him to sit. "I feel better, sir. And thank you for the new clothes."

Vazov eyed the black slacks and white pullover sweater, saying, "Comrade Yudin made good choices." Kalinin nodded. "Tea, Nicolai?" Kalinin declined, then Vazov said, "I thought you might be interested in what happened early this morning. Misha was just about to tell me."

"Does it have to do with the American traitor?"

"Indeed it has to do with him. Misha, begin."

Zelesky began his story, from when he followed Henley after leaving the envelope by the trestle, to the actual shootout at Henley's house.

Vazov and Kalinin remained quiet, until Kalinin finally asked, "Did you see anybody come out of the house, Comrade Zelesky--dead or alive?"

"Someone was loaded into an ambulance. I can only a.s.sume it was Stevens, because two men walked near the gurney until he was loaded inside, then they ran off, possibly to a vehicle.

"By the time the medical examiner showed up, neighbors were crowded around, more police arrived, and I believe one or two reporters. I remained in the car, and it was somewhat difficult to see, but I believe two body bags were carried out."

Kalinin s.h.i.+fted his eyes back to Vazov. "Has there been any report on television?"

"Yes. It was reported that a home invasion left two dead and one injured." Vazov picked up a sheet of paper where he'd made notes. "The two dead men were identified as Jack Henley and Fred Easton, who both worked for the Department of Defense." He dropped the paper on the desk. "The injured man was still not identified."

Zelesky commented, "The Americans are just as devious as KGB when it comes to imaginative stories."

"I have asked Comrade Yudin to bring the newspapers as soon as they are delivered," Vazov said, "but it is probably still too soon for there to be any published article."

Kalinin stood. "I will go see if any have arrived." He left the office. Riding in the elevator, he could only wonder if he made the call in time. One injured, two dead. Whatever the outcome, he had done his best, and what he thought was the right decision at the time.

The elevator lurched to a stop, and he rushed off, walking toward the front desk. "Comrade Yudin! I see the newspapers have arrived. I will take them to the amba.s.sador." He started to walk away, then turned. "Thank you for buying the clothes, Comrade." She smiled then sat down behind her desk.

He got in the elevator, let the doors close automatically, then pressed the b.u.t.ton. He quickly scanned the front page of three of the five papers, reading the top half, then flipped them over and read the bottom. But he didn't see anything about the incident. He got off the elevator, and looked at the last two papers. Still nothing. But the amba.s.sador was probably correct in saying it was too early.

"Put the papers here," Vazov said, pointing to the corner of his desk. "We will look at them later. He sipped his hot tea, before saying, "Well, Nicolai, it looks as if Stevens survived the a.s.sa.s.sination attempt."

"It appears to be the case."

Zelesky picked up a folder. "Comrade, do you believe it was Stevens who led those teams on the s.h.i.+p and at Shannon?"

Kalinin kept his eyes straight ahead, watching Vazov. "It was very possible, Comrade Zelesky. As I told the amba.s.sador, the men were very efficient, very organized, the same way Captain Ivanov described their actions."

Zelesky handed the photo to Kalinin, then walked behind his chair. "Can you identify that man, Comrade?"

Kalinin briefly looked at the photo, then handed it back to Zelesky. "The men at Shannon wore black masks the entire time."

"Even during the long flight to the U.S.?"

"Not entirely. But the interior lights on the plane were kept low. I was made to sit at the rear of the plane, and they usually kept their backs to me." Kalinin stood, and moved the chair aside. Keeping his eyes on Zelesky, he asked Vazov, "Mr. Amba.s.sador, would it be possible to speak with you. . . alone, sir?"

Vazov motioned with a hand. "Leave us, Misha."

Zelesky kept his eyes locked on Kalinin's, until he heard Vazov again. "Leave us."

Once the two men were alone, Kalinin stood in front of the desk. "Mr. Amba.s.sador, Comrade Zelesky seemed to imply that I am withholding information, that I am being deceptive. . ."

Vazov interrupted. "That is his job, Nicolai. He is KGB. You do not yet fully understand the inner workings of that organization."

"That is true, sir, but. . ."

"Do not let it concern you. Now, is there anything else?"

"I apologize for disappointing you and our comrades in Russia."

"I would be lying if I said we were not disappointed. I am waiting for Defense Minister Troski to contact me." Vazov stood and turned toward the credenza, refres.h.i.+ng his tea. "If you are directed to Moscow, Nicolai, it will not be for punishment. Moscow wants you to explain in your own words how you prepared your mission and possibly why it went wrong." He sat down, then looked over the top of his gla.s.s. "Do you know why it went wrong?"

"Because of an experienced, intelligent team of men, sir."

Vazov gave an almost indiscernible smile. "But how did they learn of your plan?"

"I think we must look again at the traitor. While he never knew directly what was planned, he could have notified the Americans--anonymously, of course. That should have put the NSA, CIA, and FBI on alert, and any other 'alphabet' agency the Americans have. They may have intercepted one or more of our transmissions." He cleared his throat. "That is my opinion."

"I will tell you, Nicolai, that I never trusted him. I still believe he was a double agent, in a loose sense of the word." A knock at the door. "Enter."

The communications corporal walked in, barely acknowledging Kalinin, then pa.s.sed a sheet of paper to Vazov. He immediately left the office.

Vazov read the message, then held it toward Kalinin. "It is from the defense minister."

Grant's Apartment Monday - Day 7 1330 Hours Grant unlocked the apartment door, and swung it open, with Alder following him. He flipped on a wall switch, then turned on an overhead light. As he tossed his key on a small side table, he caught his reflection in the mirror hanging above it. His hair was disheveled, his eyes were bloodshot, he still hadn't gotten all his color back. He leaned closer, touching the bandage near his left temple, then he turned his head. "Well, at least they match," he said under his breath, referring to another scar.

"What'd you say?"

"Nothing, Joe. But you were right."

"About what?!"

"I'm a mess."

"Would I lie?" Adler laughed. "Listen, maybe I'd better stay overnight, just in case you need anything or if you want to make a return trip to the hospital since you can't drive."

"That's not gonna happen, but, sure, stay if you want. You know where everything is, including the fridge. I'll get you sheets and a pillow." He turned down the hallway. "I'm gonna go wash off and put on some clean clothes. Then I want you to fill in all the blanks from the other night."

Adler went to the fridge and called after him, "Want anything to drink?"

"Just water."

"I believe I'll have a root beer." He dumped ice cubes in a tall gla.s.s, then filled it with fresh water. As he carried both to the living room, he said over his shoulder, "I left a message with the President's secretary, confirming our meeting with him tomorrow morning at 1030 hours." No answer. The water in the bathroom sink was running full blast.

Several minutes later, and wearing gray sweatpants, Grant walked barefoot into the living room. He dropped the sheets and pillow on the couch. "Thanks," he said taking the gla.s.s, just as the phone rang. "Stevens."

"My friend, you are home!"

"Hey, Grigori. Yeah, Joe and I just got here."

"How are you feeling, Grant?"

"I'll live."

"Alexandra and I would like to see you tomorrow, if you are up to it."

"Sure. You wanna come here?"

"No. You and Joe come for lunch. Alexandra insists."

"We'll be there! I'll call you before we leave."

"All right, my friend."

"See ya, Grigori." He turned to Adler. "Lunch with the Moshenkos tomorrow."

"No problem here! Hey, you realize we still keep calling them by their real names?"

"Yeah, I know. Just can't get used to 'Leonov.' As long as we don't slip up around anybody else, they should be okay." ("Leonov" was the cover name given to the Moshenkos when they defected.) Adler opened the root beer, took a gulp, then noticed blood trickling from under Grant's bandage. "Whoa! You need that dressing changed. Come into the bathroom and I'll take care of it."

Grant leaned back against the edge of the sink, as Adler started removing the old bandage. "My brain's still not working right, Joe."

"Do you think maybe it's because you've been bashed in the head one too many times these past couple of years?" He opened the medicine cabinet door, took out a bottle of antiseptic, then dabbed the wound with a piece of gauze. "Doc did a good job with the st.i.tches. You'll be pretty as new in no time." He taped a new dressing in place. "You've got one thing going in your favor."

Grant looked up through squinted eyes. "What's that?"

"Well, it could be worse. You could still be in la-la-land."

Grant finally smiled. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

"I can only do so much."

"Guess I had my 'head up my a.s.s' thinking this s.h.i.+t would be over once we left the Navy."

"It'll never be over until we're rocking on a porch somewhere, and keeping our teeth in a bedside gla.s.s."

"Remind me about that next time! C'mon," he said, leading the way into the living room. "Fill me in."

"I was hoping you could fill me in. You must've had a conversation with Jack. I'd like to hear about it."

Grant sat on the couch, with Adler opposite him. "It's starting to come back, Joe. But my question to you is how the h.e.l.l did you find me?"

"You don't remember me telling you?" Grant shook his head. "After I discovered you weren't in your apartment, I got on a conference call with the guys and Scott. We hashed out ever possible scenario, every location. I ruled out you were with Grigori. So, I hung out at my place while Scott made inquiries. Everybody but Mike took off in their cars, trying to pick up a trail, hoping they'd find. . ."

"What? My body?"

Adler shook his head. "No, but we didn't have squat to go on, Skipper. I had Mike come to my apartment just in case we got a lead, so I'd have backup."

"Then you found me, but how, Joe?"

"Your new friend. Nick."

"Nick?! But, how? That doesn't make sense! I mean. . . Jesus! He was at the emba.s.sy! What. . ."

Adler held up his hand. "Will you let me answer?!"

"Sure. Sure."

"For obvious reasons, he couldn't give me complete details, and was talking kinda fast, but the other KGB guy at the emba.s.sy followed Jack home, overheard a very heated phone conversation with someone. Jack said he was planning to kidnap you the following night, take you to his house, and then. . ." He pointed two fingers at Grant. "Boom."

"How'd he do it, Joe? How'd Nick contact you?"

"He let his 'fingers do the walking' and looked me up in the phone book."

"No s.h.i.+t?!"

"No s.h.i.+t. Plus, he used an emba.s.sy phone. And in case you're wondering why it took so long for us to get to you, he'd fallen asleep."

Grant ma.s.saged his arm. "Understandable. He probably hadn't slept since well before we got him in Shannon. Plus the interrogation. Plus the accident."