Navy SEAL Grant Stevens: Code Name Antares Part 20

"Scott?"

"Grant! I just got word! Kalinin got away!"

Grant jerked to attention. "What?! How?!"

"He was being transferred to another holding facility. The van got T-boned!"

"Oh Christ! Anybody hurt?"

"Word was a couple of agents had broken bones but that van's 'toast.' A witness on scene said he ran to help. Two men in the back were unconscious, but a third was crawling around, trying to get out. He seemed disoriented.

"Two witnesses helped that guy out of the van, then turned their attention to the driver and a pa.s.senger. By the time cops and rescue vehicles arrived, Kalinin was gone."

"Where'd it happen?!"

"They were heading south outta D.C., somewhere along Glebe Road. I think that's 120."

Grant was pacing. "I think I know where he's headed! If you've got updates, call Joe's car phone!"

"Where's he go. . .?!" Too late. Connection broken.

"What happened, Skipper?" Adler asked with concern.

"There was a car accident. Nick got away."

"Holy s.h.i.t!" was voiced by more than one of the men.

"Everybody hang here. Joe and I are gonna try and find him. He may be headed to the safe house. C'mon, Joe! You drive!"

Twenty-five minutes later, Adler turned his red '67 Mustang off the main road leading into the neighborhood. "You realize we'll be in a world of s.h.i.t if anybody finds out what we're doing, don't you?"

"Take the next left," Grant said. He folded a map and shoved it under the seat. "The next street on the left should be Aless. Drive past it so I can get a look." Grant raised binoculars, turning in the seat, trying to get a better view. "Don't see any cars in the first two driveways. Think 'our' house is the second one, left side of the street, if I'm reading the numbers on the mailbox correctly. Go to the street behind it."

Adler made a K-turn, then headed back. "You really think he's here?"

"Closest place to where the accident happened, Joe, but it's still just a guess. Don't even know how he would've gotten here, unless he hitched. The agents would've taken all his personal stuff, so he wouldn't have any money on him."

Adler turned the Mustang at the next street. "Okay. Guess this is good enough," Grant said.

They tucked the weapons into their front waistbands, zipped up their jackets, then got out.

"Joe, get that emergency medical bag. He could've gotten pretty banged up in the accident." Adler got the bag from the trunk, hooking the strap on his left shoulder.

They perused the neighborhood. So far, not much activity, except for a gray-haired older man across the street digging flower beds behind a chain link fence. A small black poodle yapped and jumped at every shovel of dirt tossed. Most driveways were clear of vehicles. Who and how many were inside the homes was a different story. But at least homes were few, spread out, with enough property between them.

"Let's go," Grant said as he started walking.

Adler continued watching their backs, scanning the whole area, until Grant said, "This is it."

They were behind a rundown, single car garage. Getting as close as they could to the structure, then easing toward the corner, Grant slowly leaned his head forward until he saw the house. Windows were closed, shades and blinds were drawn. No one was in sight.

"Looks clear. You take the door's port side. Ready?"

"Go!" Adler whispered.

Crouching low, they hustled across the property, taking positions next to the door. They waited and listened, but it was quiet. Grant eased closer to the door. It was closed but not secured. Part of the framework was splintered.

He slowly pushed it open, just enough so he could get close. "Nick! It's Grant!" Nothing. "C'mon, Nick! Open up. Joe and I are here to help you." They waited. There was a possibility Kalinin had pa.s.sed out from a head injury, or he was very suspicious, or he wasn't here. Grant was ready to enter, when the door opened.

Kalinin had obvious surprise on his face. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" A S&W .38, taken from an agent, was gripped in his hand.

Grant pushed his way past him. "I told you. We're here to help."

Small cuts from broken gla.s.s, bruises and sc.r.a.pes were on his face and hands. Blood from a cut above his eyebrow had dripped on his shirt. Spots of blood had already dried on his clothes. He rubbed a shoulder as he went into the living room, walking past both men. He continued holding the gun. "How'd you know about this place? I mean, its location?"

"Uh, information was turned over to me by a certain party member." Grant unzipped his jacket, making sure Kalinin knew he was armed, too.

Kalinin's eyes narrowed. "Comrade Vikulin, right?"

"He's the one."

Now Kalinin understood the KGB officer's line of questioning and suspicions toward him. "But how'd you know I was here?"

"Part guess," Grant answered. "C'mon. Sit down. Let Joe take a look at those cuts."

Adler knelt next to the couch and opened the bag. "Guess there aren't any broken bones, right?" he asked as he dabbed antiseptic on the cuts.

Kalinin shook his head. "Doesn't feel like it, mostly muscle soreness."

Grant sat at the opposite end of the couch. "How'd you get here?"

"Hitched a ride on trucks."

"n.o.body questioned your injuries?!"

Kalinin managed a brief smile. "I wasn't always riding in the cab." He turned his head to look at Grant. "I can't believe you're taking the risk in coming here. Why?"

"Don't know. Just felt we had to." It was the only answer he could think of. "Weren't you in cuffs?"

"Found the key in one of their pockets."

Adler put the last of the Band-Aids on Kalinin. "Okay. That'll have to do." He closed the bag then stood.

Kalinin touched above his eye. "Thanks." He got up and went to the front window, with Grant watching him. He finally turned around. "You don't expect me to 'come over,' do you?"

"That'd be your decision."

"So, you're going to turn me in."

"No."

Kalinin was shocked, confused, but asking for a reason hardly mattered for now. "Then, what happens next?" He put the gun in his front waistband.

Grant finally stood. "There's probably a s.h.i.tload of folks looking for you. The best we can do is take you to the emba.s.sy."

"Which one?" Kalinin asked with somewhat of a smile.

"Don't think you wanna come to ours." Grant started walking the room with his head down, hands thrust into his pockets. "We can't hold off until dark. We've gotta get you to the emba.s.sy, without your being seen."

"Or us," Adler quipped.

"Right, Joe." He swiveled his head, searching the room with his eyes. "Is there a scrambler installed?"

"There was, but that was the first thing I looked for. The phone's been disconnected. Everything was removed."

"Everything?" Grant said with a slight smile.

"Everything, but I can't figure out why."

Grant turned away, rubbing his chin. "The parking garage on L Street."

"You know about that, too?!"

Grant continued his train of thought. "We'll take you there, then you can call the emba.s.sy to have someone pick you up."

"Uh, Skipper. What about the plane? You know?"

Grant looked directly at Kalinin. "Hate to tell you, but there was some kind of accident. The Antonov went down in the North Sea."

Kalinin sucked in a lungful of air, shocked. "Any survivors?"

"Last we heard, no."

The Russian ran his hands over his disheveled hair. "They think I'm dead, don't they?"

"Afraid so."

He looked around the room. "That's why the equipment was removed." He was quiet for a brief moment. "Guess when I make that call it'll have to be brief." He planned on using his code name: Antares.

"And you'll probably want to use your code name," Grant said.

"I'd like to know you better, Grant Stevens!"

"Wish we had the time. Are you ready?"

"Let's go."

"Joe, get the car, bring it behind the garage." Adler left.

Twenty-five minutes later they were in the parking garage, on the top level. Cars were coming and going, doors were slamming, people were rushing to and from elevators. Exhaust fumes permeated the air.

Adler drove slowly down the outer aisle. "There," Grant pointed. "A phone booth."

Adler pulled behind a parked vehicle. Grant got out then Kalinin. Grant reached into his pocket and pulled out some change. Sorting through the coins, he gave Kalinin a quarter. "I know it's not secured, but you've got no choice. We'll wait."

Grant leaned against the car, with a hand resting on the handle of his .45. Keeping an eye on Kalinin, he questioned what he and Adler had just done. Aiding and abetting a foreign spy. A Russian. "Christ!" he whispered between clenched teeth. His motives were unclear. Maybe this was finally the time when his instincts would be his demise.

"Someone will be here shortly," Kalinin said.

Everyone turned as a white Pontiac LeMans drove past them, heading for the down ramp.

"We'll pull over there until you're safe." Grant pointed toward a darkened area at the end of the aisle.

Kalinin leaned toward the open window, giving a slight wave to Adler. "Thanks."

Then he extended a hand to Grant, who latched onto it firmly. The two just looked at one another.

Kalinin said, "This sure is . . ."

"Strange?" Grant asked.

"Yeah. Strange. Listen, saying thanks just doesn't seem to be enough," Kalinin finally said.

"It's enough. Do svidaniya, Nick."

"Do svidaniya, Grant."

Grant got in the car, and Adler drove to the far end of the aisle, then pulled into a hatch-marked, no-parking s.p.a.ce. They both turned sideways, watching out the rearview window.

Headlights appeared, and a black Mercedes pulled in front of Kalinin. He got in the front seat, closed the door, and the Mercedes immediately headed for the exit.

"Well, Skipper, another fine ending, except, I wonder what Leavenworth's like this time of year?" He backed the Mustang up, then shifted into first.

As Adler turned left onto L Street, he asked, "What about Nick? Do you think he'll let the 'cat outta the bag' that it was us who helped him?"

"My gut?"

"What else?"

"Don't think so. C'mon. Let's head back to Eagle 8. We've gotta report to the guys, and I'll have to call Scott."

"Maybe I shouldn't ask, but what about the President? Think he should know?"

"That's the tough one, Joe. Really tough."