“It wouldn’t surprise me. I do know they met in Berlin, but that’s about all I know. I’m going to have to go along with them. It’s the only way.”
“So you’re going back over there?”
“I finally got the multiple-entry visa and they want something from me so they’re not going to arrest me before I do their job. That means I’ve got a window of opportunity right now to clean the place out and the Stasi will stand by and watch. I can’t pass this one up-I’d never forgive myself for the missed opportunity or for letting their scare tactics get to me. The game’s still afoot.”
Hakan pulled a French passport from a drawer. “And I might not forgive myself, either, but you’ll have the new documents by morning.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
LUBYANKA (KGB HEADQUARTERS), MOSCOW
THURSDAY, APRIL 20
The director of the Counter Intelligence Service of the KGB’s First Directorate, Colonel General Vladimir Vladimirovich Stukoi, lowered his head to each of the dozen telephones lined up on the table beside his desk. He picked one up and spoke, but the ringing continued. One by one he slammed each phone into the cradle with a curse and continued his search for the ringing one. Colonel Bogdanov looked away so as not to embarrass the general. On the fourth attempt, Stukoi was united with his caller.
Tired from the flight from Berlin, Bogdanov waited in the hard red leather chair, content to stare at a painting of Lenin inciting the crowds at the Finland Station to revolution. She didn’t like how tempted she was by Kosyk’s plan, but she was even more irritated that he knew it would get to her. If she went along with him, as the organizer of the Moscow side of the conspiracy, not only could she restore her father’s honor, but she could position herself nicely in the new regime. Very nicely. She had the connections to pull it off. The future of the Soviet Union-her future-depended upon what she would report to Stukoi, if he ever got off the phone.
She absentmindedly straightened a lock of her short curly hair. She hated the curls. It was hard enough being taken seriously in the KGB as a woman without having curly hair, strikingly good looks and a taste for other women. At least she was tall, just shy of a hundred-eighty centimeters, and muscular. She trained and worked harder than any of her male colleagues because she had to be the best to have a shot at being equal. Restoring the old order would definitely assure her the respect she deserved-curls be damned.
The director slammed the receiver down. Bogdanov motioned toward his phone bank. “I’m surprised that they didn’t put in the latest telephone-switching equipment when they built this new facility.”
“My telephones are the most modern available.”
“I mean the facilities to route multiple lines and numbers into one phone. It eliminates all but one of your phones and the need for a lot of operators. That would even save us on the copper wiring used for each individual line.”
“We’re a very rich country. We have copper.” The general picked up a partially smoked cigar and champed on the end. “I must say I didn’t expect to see you in Moscow for some time. I take it you’re going to tell me who’s selling our communications algorithms to the Brits?”
“We’re narrowing it down to the residency, but we don’t know yet.”
“Then what’s so important? Let me guess: Honecker’s had an epiphany that his time is running out unless he gets with the program. The old fart’s ready to do something desperate and invade West Berlin?”
“More like Moscow.”
“Honie always was a cutup. I was at a get-together with him once out at Brezhnev’s dacha. By looking at him, you’d never know the guy would turn out to be the life of the party. Every time Leonid left the room to take a leak, Honie would go into this great Brezhnev impression. I tell you, he had him down.”
“He’s serious, sir. He’s plotting the assassination of Gorbachev.”
“How the hell do you know that? You’re supposed to be in counterespionage, chasing after our own people. You screwing his daughter or something?”
“Major General Gregor Kosyk of the MfS-”
“I know Kosyk. Shifty little prick.”
“Kosyk approached me on Honecker’s behalf. They’re convinced that the opening of the Hungarian border leads directly to the dissolution of the GDR, the Warsaw Treaty Organization and eventually the Soviet Union itself. In their scenario, not even the People’s Republic of Mongolia is left. Let’s just say, if the Germans are right, the Chinese are going to be pretty damn lonely.”
“They’ve got a point there.” Stukoi waved his cigar.
“Sir?”
“Some of our analysts would concur; that’s all I’m saying. Why did he approach you?”
“He’s known my father for years and he believes I have reasons to be dissatisfied with Gorbachev.”
“And they are…?”
“Personal, professional and ideological.”
“That about wraps it up. Are you? Are you dissatisfied with Gorbachev?”
Bogdanov shifted in her seat, searching Stukoi’s face for the right response. “I believe you know the answer to that.”
Stukoi pursed his lips and nodded his head. His large brown plastic glasses slid down his wide nose.
Bogdanov took out a cigarette and tapped the end on the table. “The bottom line is the MfS wants to lend its full support and cooperation to dissatisfied elements in the KGB to prevent the end of the Soviet era. Kosyk believes I’m cooperating with them and I’ve come to Moscow to recruit. He’s hoping I’ll even go outside the KGB and use my family’s contacts to go after key military officers.”
“Keep him thinking that. Tell him I’m in and I expect Gasporov to join us. We’re going to let this one run its course, catch them in the act and then we’ll clean house. And you’re right not to trust regular communications; assume everything between here and Berlin is compromised. I’m putting a Yak-40 at your disposal. When you have something to report, do it in person. We’ll let it leak that you’ve been reassigned to Internal Affairs. No one wants anything to do with Internal Affairs. Nothing you do will be questioned.”
“I’m sure you’re aware this jeopardizes my other investigation.” Bogdanov lit the cigarette.
“A small sacrifice. Saving the General Secretary’s life will give you your choice of postings. Who knows, your father might even get his full pension restored.”
“What about Titov? The resident isn’t going to like that I’m now reporting to you.”
“You always have, anyway.” Stukoi lit the cigar. “You afraid of Gennadi Titov?”
“All prudent officers at the residency are cautious, very cautious. Permission to speak freely, sir,” Bogdanov said, aware no conversation was ever truly off the record. “Mikhail Skorik was one of the best officers I ever served with. I witnessed how Titov fabricated reports to get his position. Misha was the one who earned the Berlin slot, but instead he was sent to chase mujahedeen in Afghanistan. At the risk of saying so, I wouldn’t be surprised if Titov would work with the Germans to eliminate Gorbachev if that would mean advancement.”
“We nicknamed that devil years ago. You don’t fuck with the Crocodile. People still call Titov that?”
“On occasion.”
“I take it the Croc doesn’t know you came to me directly. You ran a hell of a risk.”
She took a drag from the cigarette. “It was my duty.”
“You’ve got balls, Bogdanov. You did the right thing, but you’ve got balls.”
“I’m going to need more than that. Like West marks and a staff free to travel between East and West Berlin, surveillance people. I understand Kosyk is attempting to acquire an American asset, and I don’t intend to make things easy for him.”
Stukoi cleared his throat. “Do not discuss this with anyone-and I mean anyone, including your father. You report to me and only to me. Do I make myself clear?”