MJ-12: Endgame by Michael J. Martinez

MJ-12: Endgame by Michael J. Martinez

Author:Michael J. Martinez
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Night Shade Books
Published: 2018-07-30T16:00:00+00:00

April 30, 1953

Danny really wanted to tell Sorensen to floor it, drive faster, dodge traffic—anything to get to the Lubyanka—but getting pulled over by the local cops would delay them further, if not blow their covers entirely. But now that they were closer to the city center, Danny could feel Frank’s presence in the general direction of MGB headquarters—and he could sense someone else as well.

“Are you sure it’s Maggie?” Sorensen said as he cruised through a traffic circle. “I thought she was in Leningrad.”

“I’d know her presence anywhere,” Danny said. “She’s there with Frank, and another Variant, too. I’m betting Beria. It’s his office, after all.”

“Any others?”

Danny closed his eyes and concentrated. “I think … yeah, there’s a couple others heading toward the Lubyanka, like us. But I only get those three in the actual building right now.”

Sorensen sped up. “So it’s a race. Great.”

Danny ran through the contingencies in his head. He’d left Katie and Mrs. Stevens behind, to prepare to bug out if everything went sideways. Their worst-case scenario—and this was looking more and more like it might very well become that—was to gather what they could carry, burn the entire safe house to the ground, and make for the U.S. embassy with all due haste. They all had code words that would get them past the Marine guards and safely onto U.S. territory.

The Soviet Variants were another story. Danny’s orders were to try to get them to the embassy as well and, barring that, deny them to Beria—permanently. He honestly wasn’t sure if he could do that.

“So is Frank really off the reservation here?” Sorensen asked. “I mean, do we have to take him down? Is he flipping to Beria? Or is this some kind of super-secret wrinkle in the plan?”

Danny shrugged and gave Sorensen a tired smile. “We’ll find out in a few minutes, I guess. I really don’t know. They don’t always tell me everything.”

Sorensen frowned, but said nothing and kept driving. Even with all of his experience in the field—four-plus years—the former mechanic from Minnesota still had problems adapting to changes in operational plans.

Granted, this was a doozy.

Sorensen sped past the Bolshoi Theatre and, within a few blocks, tore into Lubyanka Square, the MGB headquarters hulking over the place. “Now what?” he asked.

Danny pointed toward the left. “There—Ulitsa Bol’shaya Lubyanka. Pull over there and—oh, shit. Stop the car!”

Sorensen veered toward the curb and hit the brakes while Danny watched a glass window explode and shards fall from the corner of the building’s third floor. A second later, he saw someone jump out, seemingly trying to rappel off the side of the building without a rope, almost bouncing off the wall and grabbing onto the building’s ornamentation to momentarily arrest his fall. To his surprise, the man landed on his feet and began to run, off in the direction of the Bolshoi.

“Wrong way, Frank,” Danny muttered, then turned to Sorensen. “Go dark and head back to the house. Prepare to bug out. Stay by the radio.



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