Navy SEAL Grant Stevens: Code Name Antares Part 7

"Creepy?" Diaz asked, without looking up from the writing tablet.

"Not exactly what I was going for, Frank," Grant responded. "But close enough."

He dropped the photo on the table, while Adler watched him, wondering why there hadn't been more of a reaction.

Grant sipped the coffee, then went near the two men. "Well, what've you got for me?"

"Besides an apology, boss?" James asked.

The phone rang. "That might be Scott," Grant said, walking to the side table. "Stevens."

"Grant, got some info for the Camaro, but don't know if it's gonna help."

"I'm listening."

"I eliminated anything registered outside D.C., or owned by females. I came up with eight. Any idea on how to get that figure down?"

"Eliminate any registered to drivers under the age of twenty."

"Hold on." Mullins slid his finger down the page. "We're down to five. Now what?"

"Wait a minute. I know I may be reaching here, but if those weapons weren't aboard that chopper when it went down, that means they were brought someplace or . . ."

"Or what?!"

"Listen, can you do a cross-reference?"

"Depends."

"Cross-reference that Camaro with another vehicle."

"So you're thinking two vehicles, same owner?"

"Yeah. But here's the thing. We--I mean you need to check SSNs and see if that 'owner' is still alive."

Mullins dropped his pen on the desk and rocked back in his chair. "Some day I want you to explain how you come up with this s.h.i.+t!"

"Practice, my friend. Practice!"

"Do you want me to fax what I've got in the meantime?"

"Do it."

Mullins rolled his chair near the end of the credenza, put the paper in the fax machine, and punched in the phone number. "Okay. It's on its way. Anything else?"

"Two things."

"Why do I ask?" Mullins said shaking his head.

"Check with the Coast Guard; see if any more debris was found from that chopper--any debris. Before you do that, I'd like you to contact the President. I want to bring Grigori in on this."

"Whoa, Grant! This is top secret s.h.i.+t! You promised the President. . ."

"I know what I promised! I have no intention of telling Grigori everything unless the President gives the okay. But Grigori could be our best shot at tracking down this guy. Maybe he has 'insider' details, since he used to be KGB. The Russians have gotta have at least one safe house here. Grigori might know where it is."

"Do you want to speak with the President directly?"

"If he has the time. Oh, one more thing. Did you check on a Russian plane at Dulles?"

"There's an Antonov registered to the emba.s.sy."

"That's all I need for now."

"Hang close to the phone, Grant" Mullins said. "It shouldn't take me long to touch base with the President."

Grant hung up, then reached for the fax Adler was handing him, as Adler asked, "Don't you think the odds are pretty remote that one of those names belongs to our guy?"

"Gotta start somewhere, Joe." He took the fax to Diaz. "Frank, you and DJ take a look at these. Maybe you can plan the best and shortest routes to each of those addresses. Scott's supposed to call back with info that might shorten your trip. And you'd better take DJ's car."

"Copy that, boss," Diaz said, taking the paper. "How long before you want us to leave?"

Grant checked his watch. "I'll give Scott a half hour."

Diaz nodded, then said, "C'mon, DJ. I'll treat ya to a cup of coffee and donut."

As the two started to walk around Grant, he blocked their path, pacing back and forth, rubbing the back of his neck. Should he take a chance, whether it was legal or not? Desperate times call for desperate measures. "Listen, get the shotgun mike. Once you're through looking for the Camaro, set up somewhere close to the emba.s.sy again."

Diaz and James shot glances at each other, before James responded, "Whoa, boss! You sure?!"

Grant leaned closer, nearly coming toe to toe with James. "Are you having a hard time hearing. . . or just understanding?!"

James threw his hands up. "Okay! Okay! I copy!" The two turned away, mumbling as they walked down the hall, going to the garage.

"Dammit!" Grant said through gritted teeth, as he started toward the kitchen.

Adler followed him. "Now do you want to talk about that picture?"

Grant refilled the mug then shoved a box of donuts across the counter toward Adler. "I've seen him before."

"Well, of course you have! Every time you look in the d.a.m.n mirror!"

"Joe! I said I've seen him before! Why am I not being understood?!"

"Jesus! What the h.e.l.l's your problem?!" Adler shot back.

"My problem?! Oh, let's see. There's a traitor and mole on the loose. We're missing top secret weapons. Now I have to inform the President about the mole. And I don't have a f.u.c.kin' clue which direction to go! Is that problem enough, Joe?!"

Time to defuse the tension. Adler shoved the box of donuts back at Grant. "Here! How about some extra sugar to turbocharge your brain even more!"

Grant kept staring at his good friend, slowly getting himself back under control. With an almost indiscernible smile, he asked, "Where were we?"

"You said you've seen that guy before. Where?"

Grant leaned back against the counter, crossing one foot over the other. "Can't remember, but it's been awhile. We were a lot younger."

"So this guy's been a 'sleeper' all that time."

Grant tilted his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. "Jesus! I wish I could remember!"

"You don't suppose he knows about you, do you?"

"Hard to say. And, no. None of those names Scott found were familiar. For some reason I don't think we met formally anyway."

The secured phone rang. Adler rushed to answer it. "Adler."

"Joe! Scott here. I've got the President."

"Wait one," Adler said. Grant was already walking toward him.

"I'm here, Scott."

There was a brief moment of silence, then, "Grant?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

"Can you tell me how you're progressing with the operation?"

"We may have a lead, sir. Two of my men got a picture of someone at the Russian Emba.s.sy, who we're almost certain was making a drop. But I don't believe it was our traitor. Hate to say it, sir, but I think we've also got a mole on our hands."

Carr's 6'4" frame slumped in his chair, not believing what was being suggested. "A G.o.dd.a.m.n mole," he repeated quietly.

"It's just a theory, but somebody else has to be involved. This guy was probably a 'sleeper.'" Carr remained silent, so Grant continued. "Agent Mullins has been trying to trace a car the individual was seen driving." He hoped he didn't have to get into the ugly details. "Be a.s.sured, Mr. President, the Team is prepared to leave immediately if it comes down to that."

"And if it does come to that, Grant, where would that be?"

Grant took a deep breath. "With the current situation, it might be Afghanistan."

"And your reason?"

"I'm sure you know the Russians are having a tough time getting the situation under control. It would seem those weapons might give them or the Afghans an edge, even if it were a small edge. And if not Afghanistan, those weapons will end up in Russia. No doubt about it."

"A place you're quite familiar with, right?"

"Yes, sir, very familiar."

"And what about the DoD problem?"

"Still nothing, sir. I'm sorry. But if we can find this mole, there's always the possibility he could lead us to him."

Carr swung his chair around, disappointed with the answer. "Agent Mullins said you had a question."

"Grigori may be a valuable a.s.set in determining certain factors in this op. I'd like your permission to bring him in on this."

Carr was quiet while he thought about Colonel Grigori Moshenko, former officer with the KGB. Colonel Moshenko who was instrumental in helping bring home five American POWs. Grigori Moshenko, personal friend of Grant Stevens and Joe Adler. Grigori Moshenko--Russian defector. Carr had issued an order that "misinformation" be leaked indicating the colonel and his wife had been relocated to the Midwest under a.s.sumed names. The only other way to protect them was to put them into the Witness Protection Program, something that was offered, but refused by the Moshenkos.

"Do you plan on bringing Colonel Moshenko fully onboard?"

"Only with your permission, Mr. President. Otherwise, I'll only request details from him of KGB activities that could help in this op. Grigori won't ask any questions once he understands this is top secret. I can a.s.sure you of that."

"All right, Grant. I'll trust your judgement. You do whatever you deem necessary. Anything else?"

"Sir, do you know if the NSA has picked up any transmissions that might give us some direction?"

"Nothing's been reported, but I have a feeling you've got something in mind."

"This guy's going to stay quiet right now, but he's got to make a move soon. My first thought was he'd try and get the weapons out by plane, the Russian Emba.s.sy plane. But now I'm not so sure."

Carr wondered if he should make his own suggestion. "Grant, you know we can't inspect in any way, shape or form, anything marked as a 'diplomatic pouch.' But I can have the plane put under surveillance, keeping an eye out for unusual packages. We can't stop it from leaving, though."

"Anything will help, sir. We'll have to depend on getting accurate intel on a flight plan."

"I can take care of that, too."

"Mr. President, may I suggest you ask NSA to flag any unusual traffic, especially if it's coming out of the Med?"

"Will do. Anything it picks up, I'll make certain it gets to the a.n.a.lysts as soon as possible."

"And our own s.h.i.+ps should listen especially for s.h.i.+p-to-s.h.i.+p and s.h.i.+p-to-sh.o.r.e transmissions. I understand the Minsk and Kiev have been operating together in the Atlantic and Med before being a.s.signed to permanent ports. They both carry KA-27 choppers which could be used for . . ."

"Wait a minute, Grant. Refresh my memory. Wasn't that the same type chopper you brought the POWs out of Russia with?"

"Uh, yes, sir. It was."

"You were saying?"

"A chopper could be used to pick up the weapons from another craft like. . ." Grant went quiet.

"Grant?"

"Sorry, sir. I had a thought that I'll need to discuss with Agent Mullins."

"How do you keep track of all those ideas?"

"With great difficulty, Mr. President."

Carr smiled. "Can you tell me what you plan on discussing with Agent Mullins?"

"Of course. The other craft I was thinking of might be a Russian cargo s.h.i.+p. Maybe that's where the weapons were flown that night." Grant started pacing, wondering if his idea was plausible. "But . . ."