"I don't know where that could've been."

"Well, we both know you're what we call a 'sleeper' which means you've been in the States for a h.e.l.luva long time, probably since you were a little kid." Grant sat forward again, staring straight on at the Russian. "And I'll bet you were either in the U.S. Navy or at least worked for a defense contractor aboard one of our ships."

Kalinin's expression never changed. "Interesting idea, but still just a guess."

Grant knew he had him. "No," he said slowly shaking his head. "I think I'm right on the money."

Sudden slight air turbulence caught them by surprise. Grant stood, balancing himself against a seat. "Buckle up. Be right back."

Adler got up and followed him toward the c.o.c.kpit, then waited. Grant leaned forward between the seats, looking for possible storm clouds. "What's up, Matt?"

"Caught some CAT winds. I've received clearance to thirty-four thousand feet. We should have a smoother ride from there."

"You need me?"

"Should be okay." As Grant started to leave, Garrett asked, "How's the meeting?"

Grant glanced at Kalinin. "Think I'll reserve my comments for the time being. Oh, listen, Matt. Let me know when I can contact Scott." Garrett gave a thumb's up. Grant left the c.o.c.kpit, then leaned against the bulkhead, preparing to talk with Adler, who was sitting on an armrest.

"Well, did you get your answer, or are you still allowing that foolish thought to cloud your brain?"

"All clear, Joe."

"And?"

"I told him I'd seen him before."

"Did you tell him where?"

"Yeah. Gave him something to think about, but I still can't get his American name."

Adler slapped Grant's shoulder. "Give it time!"

Grant glanced toward the rear of the plane, seeing Kalinin drinking c.o.ke. He looked like any other guy, wearing black slacks, a white shirt under a dark blue pullover sweater, now slightly soiled from rolling on filthy tarmac. He could be a ballplayer, a teacher--even a U.S. Navy officer. Lowering his voice, he said to Adler, "Joe, between you and me, if things were different, my gut tells me we could be friends."

"Then what you've gotta do when we land, sure as h.e.l.l will be d.a.m.n unpleasant."

"Tell me about it," Grant responded. "Say. . .why don't you go talk with him for a while. You know how to make friends and influence people."

"I've tried teaching you the secret, but. . .," Adler said over his shoulder.

Off and on during the remainder of the flight, Grant Stevens and Nicolai Kalinin conversed, with Grant trying to put Kalinin more at ease, hoping he'd spill information. Not an easy task, considering Kalinin was on his way back to the States, with a "welcoming committee" of special agents ready to a.s.sume control.

Chapter 16.

Washington, D.C.

Russian Emba.s.sy 2230 Hours - Local Time Amba.s.sador Vazov reread the message from Moscow. Twice he ordered the emba.s.sy's communication corporal to confirm that the message was authentic and correct. Twice it was confirmed.

He slumped in his chair, with an arm hanging over the side, his hand gripping the piece of paper. "Nicolai. No. No."

Defense Minister Andrei Troski's message stated the aircraft carrying the weapons had been reported missing somewhere off the eastern coast of England, apparently crashing into the sea. The British Navy and Coast Guard had vessels and planes searching. Two Russian ships were headed to the area. Reports were coming in slowly, but so far the plane nor its black box had been found. Hope had diminished for finding any survivors.

A knock at the office door didn't take Vazov's attention away from his thoughts. Zelesky came in and went directly to the desk, prepared for business and nothing else.

"Mr. Amba.s.sador."

Vazov slowly raised his head. "What is it, Misha?"

"Will we be giving the American his money as planned?"

Even with his thoughts on Kalinin, Vazov realized he had to move forward. He still hadn't been able to "shake" his concern about the traitor, concerned he'd want more money, or perhaps he'd notify the American authorities, or he was a double agent. Vazov decided he couldn't take the risk. "You will make the drop tomorrow night. But I have decided not to give this American his money. I will prepare a message instead."

"You are sure this is what you want to do?"

"We do not have weapons that were promised. Our men have died and still we do not have weapons. For all we know, the American could have been involved in taking the weapons from the cargo ship. Are you sure you want to question my motive for denying him, Misha?!" Zelesky remained quiet. Vazov continued, giving Zelesky new orders. "I do not care how long you must wait, but you will follow him. Find out where he lives, if he meets anyone else, what car he drives. Do not harm him, do not approach him, just report your findings to me. . .only me. Do you understand?"

"I do."

"He expects a package by midnight. I will have it ready for you at six."

Zelesky started to turn then asked, "And what about the Navy SEAL Stevens?"

Vazov hadn't even thought about him, with his main focus centered on the traitor. "Right now, Misha, concentrate on 'Primex.'"

Zelesky left the office. As he walked toward his office, he glanced over his shoulder at the amba.s.sador's door. Once this matter was completed, he would be making a full report to Director Antolov. He was keeping explicit notes.

White House Thursday - Day 4 0900 Hours Grant rubbed a hand across his clean-shaven face, finally free of stubble. His hair was a bit longer than his usual military cut, but it was neat and squared off across the back. Wearing a dark, charcoal gray business suit, a white, long sleeve shirt, with a diagonally-striped gray and white tie, he stood in front of a bank of tall windows, looking out across the West Colonnade. On his mind was an upcoming meeting with President Carr.

On one hand the mission was a success, but on the other, they hadn't uncovered the traitor. Clues or trails leading to his ident.i.ty were non-existent or they'd been covered very well. Maybe it was time for the President to turn the matter over to the FBI or Naval Intelligence.

Grant slid his hands into his trouser pockets as he thought about Nicolai Kalinin. Four special agents had been waiting for him when the Team landed at Andrews. Grant had walked with him down the steps of the Gulfstream. An agent immediately handcuffed him, then led him away. Grant remembered the moment vividly with mixed emotions. But he reminded himself Kalinin was a communist, who stole top secret weapons, was probably responsible for the destruction of a chopper and the men aboard, and somehow, for the deaths of four American Navy men.

A door opened, and he heard a pleasant voice. "Captain Stevens?"

He turned, seeing Claudia Stockwell, one of the President's office a.s.sistants. She was in her mid-thirties, about 5'5", hazel eyes, chin-length brown hair, and what could only be described as picture-perfect features.

She held the door open. "The President will see you now."

He paused briefly in front of her. The light fragrance of her perfume drifted into his senses. "See you on my way out, okay?"

"All right," she smiled, looking up into his handsome face and warm brown eyes.

She closed the door and gave a brief sigh as she walked to her desk. It wasn't the first time they'd seen one another in the White House, and there were always pleasantries spoken between them. But this time was somewhat different. "See you on my way out," she repeated quietly, as she sat behind her desk with a smile on her face.

"Mr. President," Grant said walking toward Carr.

Carr dropped a pen on his desk then came around it with an outstretched arm. "Grant! Good to see you!" He held onto Grant's hand with a firm grip.

"And you, sir."

"Come on! Have a seat!" Carr lead the way toward the middle of the room. "Sit," he said pointing to one of two beige-striped couches. An oval silver tray, on a gla.s.s-top coffee table, held gla.s.ses, a silver ice bucket, and several cans of c.o.ke.

"Before we begin, Grant, mind if I tell you that you look good in that civilian suit?"

"Uh. . .thank you, sir."

"How'd you like a job on my staff?" Carr had a huge smile on his face.

Grant cleared his throat. "That's one heck of an offer, Mr. President, and I'm flattered. But. . ."

"I know. I know," Carr responded, waving a hand. "It wouldn't compare to your active lifestyle. Right?"

Grant laughed, with his head bobbing up and down. "Something like that."

"When did you get back?"

"Plane landed at Andrews around 0300. Flight was longer than expected."

"Guess none of you have had much sleep these past few days," Carr commented, noticing dark circles under Grant's eyes.

"Not much."

Carr handed Grant a can of c.o.ke, then immediately asked, "How's your man, the one who was injured?"

"Frank's doing okay. A couple of the men were going to stop by and see him at his apartment."

"Glad to hear it. Will he be ready when Alpha Tango is needed again?"

"Affirmative, sir." Grant's eyebrow raised. "Do you have another job for us?"

"Not as of this moment."

Carr got up and went to his desk, then returned with a piece of paper, handing it to Grant. "This came in earlier."

Grant read the report, then handed it back to Carr. "I saw it on the news this morning. That's gotta be the plane 'our' Russians were aboard. They took off just before us. The timeframe looks about right."

"Straight up, Grant. Did you or any of your Team place any type of device in, under, or on top of that aircraft?"

"Negative, sir! We had nothing to do with that plane going down. I'll take an oath on that. So will my men."

Carr folded the paper and laid it on the coffee table, then he popped the top on the can and took a drink. "All right, Grant. You're on."

Grant started from the first time Kalinin was spotted at the emba.s.sy, to Grant's meeting with Vikulin, to the op aboard the cargo ship, and finally Shannon Airport.

Carr had very few questions during the entire two and a half hours Grant spoke, managing to down three full cans of c.o.ke.

Grant moved toward the front of the cushion. "Mr. President, I'm sorry we haven't uncovered our traitor. As I said before, Nick. . ."

"Whoa, Grant! Nick?"

Grant laughed. "Yes, sir. That's what I called him on the trip home, when he wasn't being too talkative."

"Well, why not," Carr responded with a slight shake of his head.

"He didn't offer up any intel to us."

"Understandable."

"I have a feeling that whoever's questioning him will find he's got fingerprints on file, along with his American name."

"I've thought along those same lines, Grant, especially after remembering your mission aboard the Bronson."

Grant nodded, then said, "Mr. President, the Team's ready to offer its services in finding 'Primex' if you need additional a.s.sistance. We sure would like to know who the. . . uh, who he is."

"We all would, Grant. I appreciate your offer, but I think it's time to turn the investigation over to the FBI."

"Will NIS still be involved ?"

"They're moving forward with the chopper incident, trying to determine who those men were, etc." Carr put the c.o.ke can on the table, then leaned back. "Now, tell me what you think about the Russian."

Grant had to be careful with his response, and not give away his true thoughts on Kalinin, as in the word 'friends.' "Well, he's intelligent, personable, quick to respond, and even has a sense of humor. Although our conversation was pretty much one-sided, mostly my side, I felt there was a 'connection' between us. You know what I mean, sir?"

"Yes, I do, Grant. I've had those same feelings during many of my one-on-one meetings with dignitaries and world leaders."

"I don't know how long it took him to plan his mission, but there was a h.e.l.luva lot of work and thought put into it."

"A h.e.l.luva lot of work you and your Team tore apart, Grant."

"Yes, sir. We did."

"You know, Grant, I'd like to convince him to 'come over' to our side."

"If you don't mind my saying so, Mr. President, I'm not sure the odds would be in our favor."

"Well, look what happened with Colonel Moshenko."

"That's true. But Grigori's older, and he spent his whole life in Russia. He had to face some really harsh times, went through a lot of horrendous conflicts. His final decision was based on what was best for him and Alexandra at this time in their life.