|
"Two Deaths, No Funeral" Part 1 | |||
|
SVR Headquarters February 14, 2008, 2030 hours They entered the office quickly, not wishing to extend this process any longer than necessary seeing as they both thought there were more pressing matters to be dealt with, but both men resigned themselves to the bureaucracy of the SVR. "This better be important," the older man said to his junior. "Seryozha, I'm sure there is good reason," Plekhanov replied to his mentor. Both men approached the large desk which filled a good proportion of the room, giving it a seemingly overbearing disposition, made of an ancient timber that only served to show how long this agency had been in existence through its various incarnations. There was an assortment of papers on the desk, many pertaining to things which they would never know about, but they didn't especially care. The rest of the room was remarkably devoid of hangings, the walls insulated but without any of the clutter found in other offices. A single light hung from the bare ceiling, struggling to illuminate the gloomy surroundings. The man behind the desk looked up. He was approaching his mid-fifties, though he had an athletic figure for a man of his age; broad shoulders lay on either side of a sturdy neck, a barrel chest below supported by powerful legs. The man stood about six foot, and had a head full of brown hair interspersed with grey. His dark eyes showed the stress he felt from this job, but when they fell upon the two visitors they grew solemn. He stood up and took the hand of the older man. "Sergei Semyonovich, I am truly sorry. My condolences." "What?" "Your death. It was most unfortunate." With that the youngest of the three men began laughing. "Hey, don't worry about it, I know how you feel. It may hurt at first but you get over it." He patted his partner on the back and continued laughing. "You're dead as well Nikolai Ivanovich," the man behind the desk said. "Ah fuck, not again," the youngster said as he stopped laughing. Again? he thought. What have I done now? He remembered thinking that it would be an adventure, the start of something good. After Russia he would travel the world, and eventually he'd end up on a little island somewhere, living off of the land in total tranquility. The thought of another year of school, followed by three years at university, did not appeal greatly, and so he packed, wrote a note to his family, and left. He could remember that: just placing the note by the kettle and walking out the door. He was still in his old life at that moment. The airport: checking in his luggage, browsing the shops situated around the departure lounge for some or other item, maybe a book to read, a good long novel to keep his mind occupied. Batteries. He could remember he needed batteries... "...officially dead as far as SVR is concerned," Grigory Romanovich Krivenko was saying. He was Director of the SVR, a man of much power and influence. He had had this job for only a few years since his mentor retired and moved to take a position on the Duma. His mentor was a hero to him, and his cordial relationship with the current US President was the partly the reason for `killing' his best operatives. He and Sergei Semyonovich went back a long way, back to their days in the 1st Chief Directorate when he trained him in Directorate S to serve as an illegal, all of twenty-five years ago. Since those days the man had turned into an outstanding operator, having moved about the KGB (it was highly unusual for an operative to be transferred within KGB), using his expertise in many different departments, and now he was `dead'. He knew a lot about what these men would be doing, having been informed by Ilya Georgiev, a man who he knew little about but respected/feared for the power he possessed, but that did not shake the feeling he had in the pit of his stomach. Despite only knowing Plekhanov for two years he had already developed a soft spot for him, and he much admired his boundless enthusiasm. He also knew that Popov thought very highly of him. Had he not then young Plekhanov would not be marrying the young Ms Popov, Sergei's daughter. Krivenko found it highly interesting that this union could work in such an environment, and this new assignment filled him with dread. The two men would be placed in greater danger than they had ever experienced. Well, he thought, Sergei had been in tighter spots back in his early years, but Nikolai will not be used to this. He wondered how he would cope. The bastard will probably enjoy it, he mused to himself. "Where are we going then?" Sergei inquired, still a little shaken. It wasn't often that you were informed of your death. "Pull up a seat and I will tell you." As the two men sat on the less than comfortable seats Krivenko opened his top desk draw and removed three glasses and a bottle of Starka brand vodka, the best in Russia. He poured the clear liquid into each glass, filling them generously, and then placed the bottle on the desk. He paused, then said,"What I am about to tell you is classified. In fact, I am going to tell you more than you should know." Thank you, Sergei said with his eyes. He knew that Krivenko was breaking the rules, but he also knew that if this job was as dangerous as he anticipated, then he would not allow them to go in without prior knowledge. He remembered what Krivenko used to say to him when he was training: Information is everything. Ilya Georgiev sat in his office, one that befitted a man of his status, large and comfortable. He reclined in his soft leather seat and looked over the files that he had laid before him. In total the files on Sergei Semyonovich Popov numbered twelve; for Nikolai Ivanovich Plekhanov they numbered three. For agents in the country's intelligence service there were remarkably few records of their activities. The files made for interesting reading, but they did not give much away. Despite his position the files he had were heavily edited, and it would take time before the originals could be brought up. This was a notoriously slow process, as with every agency worldwide, but it seemed to be excruciatingly sluggish in Russia. So, all he had to go on at the moment was their reputations within the SVR, and these were considerable. The Popov/Plekhanov team had become a quiet legend within the Russian Intelligence Community, something rarely achieved under normal circumstances, but this had occurred in little over a year, and that fact spoke volumes. Four complete missions undertaken, and all four completed satisfactorily. The word on Popov said he was an experienced and effective operator, a man who was sent in when a job needed doing both fast and well. Plekhanov has the ability to supersede his mentor, and if he turned into half the agent Popov was reputed to be then they were the correct choice for this splinter agency. There was also another factor in his decision, but that could wait for the moment. He lifted his telephone and dialed a number. "Central Records," the voice on the line announced. "This is Ilya Georgiev," he replied. That should shake them up. "I am calling about the files I ordered..." Plekhanov listened to the Grigory Romanovich intently as he explained about the new agency being set up to combat terrorism and to protect Russia from threats both internal and external. As he learned more he thought to himself that this agency was simply performing the same services as the FSB and FAPSI, but he knew better than to question it. A new agency isn't created on a whim, and there must be reasons. He could bide his time, the answers to his questions would come soon, he was sure of that. When Krivenko finished, Sergei leaned forward and asked, "When do we leave?" "Tomorrow, at six am. You will be escorted from your home to the location." "What about my family?" he inquired. "If everything is in order you will be allowed to return and collect them," Krivenko answered. "You must understand that I had to work very hard to have that condition met." "I know, and I am grateful Grisha." The two men stood and embraced. The Krivenko turned to Plekhanov. "Take care Kolya," he said, taking Nikolai's hand. "Always do Grisha, I always do." Marksa prospekt (Road outside the SVR Headquarters) February 14, 2008, 2108 hours "Well, that was a little unexpected," Nikolai commented, his voice even and composed. "Yes, I must say that it even caught me by surprise, though I feel that this is not a done deal." "Yeah, the usual training crap, but we can handle that," he replied. "Maybe you can, but the years are catching up with me," Sergei reminded his young charge, "and I cannot run as fast as I used to." "So, you can still shoot possibles for fun, and there ain't no need to run when everyone's dead." "True," Popov conceded. "Anyways, if you're real lucky you may get a desk job," Plekhanov said, the comment laced with facetious wit. "Yes, and maybe I will forbid you from seeing Yelena." Popov laughed, and his prodigy followed suit. "I forgot to tell you, you are staying the night with us." Nikolai looked up. "I am?" "Yes. It will be more convenient." "Ok, whatever you say." Only problem is, he thought to himself, the `funny business' ban. He couldn't understand it; it wasn't like anyone could hear them. "Is it ok if I pick up a few things?" "Yes." Sergei informed the driver and the car veered to the left. Plekhanov Residence February 14, 2008, 2119 hours As always, the first thing he did upon alighting from the car was to scan the immediate area. It was as natural to him as breathing. Always a careful person, his (rather brief) training had brought out a side of him which he never knew existed, he didn't even consider being able to do a fraction of the things he now did daily. Shooting a pistol before. Part of it was down to Sergei, but even he said that a lot of it was instinct. Rare was the person who could shoot consecutive possibles. Virtually unheard of was the person who could shoot possibles to their hearts content. He fell into the latter group, along with Sergei. Had someone informed him of this ability back in England he would have promptly laughed at him or her. He placed the gold key in the lock and twisted, waiting for the click which indicated that the alarm had been tripped. He then raced inside and pinched in the correct code. The next port of call was the lavatory, and he sighed with pleasure as he relieved himself. After completing the bathroom routine he made his way to his bedroom, opened the wardrobe, and removed a few sets of clothing. He then pulled the paneling out from the back of the wardrobe and retrieved the weapons he had stashed there. The Berretta 9F9S went into the small of his back, along with a couple of ammo clips, and the HK MP5S he shouldered. The others he replaced, though he did take flashbang after a few seconds contemplation. Down the hall, he opened the fridge door and removed a bottle of milk. After flicking the lid off he proceeded to drain the bottle of its contents, then placed the empty vessel in the bin, before resetting the alarm and heading for the door. "What do you need this for?" Sergei asked, gesturing towards the MP5 slung across Plekhanov's shoulder. "Protection," Nikolai replied. "If she is that dangerous then you should never have asked for her hand in marriage." With that he let out a hearty laugh. "Like mother like daughter," was his retort, and it did have the desired effect of subduing Sergei's laugh. Popov Residence February 14, 2008, 2133 hours The car pulled up outside the Popov residence soon after. Plekhanov was the first to step out, and again he scanned the surrounding area, the weapon in his hand facing out towards any possible threat. Popov quickly followed, and both men made their way to the door, moving cautiously. Once at the door Sergei removed his key from his pocket and opened it, and just like his junior he promptly moved inside and punched in the alarm code. Plekhanov, in the meantime, kept watch outside. There was no way round his training he knew, and it was better to be safe than sorry. After a few seconds he got the call from Sergei and went inside, removing the gun and placing it under the stairs; Mrs. Popov did not like having firearms in the house. Despite this, Nikolai kept the Berretta, still in the small of his back. As he entered the living area Yelena came over and gave him a hug and a kiss. Her eyes went a little wide when her hands felt the pistol, but he just smiled gently and returned the kiss. She took his lead and relaxed a little. "What's with the surprise?" she asked. After a moments panic he realized that she meant his visit and not the gun. "I thought you'd like to see me. Besides, I missed you hun." He gave her a kiss, hoping that she wouldn't ask too many questions. Thankfully she relented. Dinner was served, and soon the mealtime conversation turned to the two women's days. Yelena had had a typical day at Uni, long and boring. Anastasiya had the day off, and had cleaned the house before cooking dinner. "Oh yeah," Yelena said, "I need to ask you something dad." "What is that?" Sergei inquired. "What was the function of the KGB? Its for a history paper I have to do," she explained. "The KGB's tasks encompassed four areas: the struggle against foreign spies and agents, the exposure and investigation of political and economic crimes by citizens, the protection of state borders, and the protection of state secrets. In addition, the KGB was charged with a wide range of preventive tasks, which were designed to eliminate the causes of both political and ordinary crimes," he elucidated. "In other words, the KGB was tasked with ferreting out potential threats to the state and preventing the development of unorthodox political and social attitudes among the population." "So it functioned like a cross between the army and the police." "I suppose in a way it did, though it was far more complex than that. The KGB had a variety of domestic security functions. It was empowered by law to arrest and investigate individuals for certain types of political and economic crimes. It was also responsible for censorship, propaganda, and the protection of state and military secrets, so I guess it did perform police-like tasks," he said to her, and got a smile back. "Thanks dad." She was about to take another bite from her fork when she remembered something. "One more thing: what role did the KGB play in the downfall of the Soviet Union?" she asked. "I'll answer that one if you want," Nikolai offered. Sergei nodded for him to continue. "Well, KGB spetsnaz forces were assigned to storm the Russian Parliament building early on 21 August 1991 and seize key leadership personnel, including Boris Yeltsin. Units assigned this mission included the Al'fa counter-terrorist group subordinated to the KGB's Seventh Main Directorate (Surveillance), and commanded by Hero of the Soviet Union, General Major Viktor Karpukhin. Another KGB unit was under the KGB's First Chief Directorate (Foreign Operations), and was commanded by an officer identified only as Col. Boris B." He gave a quick glance in Sergei's direction and was satisfied to see his partner look away. "However," he continued, "the commanders on the scene decided not to execute this plan, and some Al`fa subgroup commanders and personnel refused to take part in the action, which contributed to the failure of the coup against Gorbachev, and ultimately the collapse of the Soviet Union." He smiled at his fianc� and saw him smile returned. "Is that enough for you?" "Yes, this should get me top marks." "I should hope so," Anastasiya said to her daughter, "with the amount of work you do." "You'll do great Lena," Nikolai told her. They retired to bed soon after dinner, the two men saying they had a busy day at work and had to get there early. Yelena joined Nikolai, but Anastasiya stayed up to clear away the dishes. Nikolai headed straight for Sergei's study, popping his head round the door when he reached it. "Yes?" Sergei said upon seeing him. "What time we getting up?" he asked. "We leave at six, so...five should give us sufficient time." "Ok. Night." "Night." Nikolai entered the shower and, after closing the door behind him, stepped under the spray. Though he was a man who preferred a long hot bath, he could still enjoy the finer points of a shower. They fine hot spray enveloped his body, and for a moment he was able to lose himself. He had always enjoyed the effect of being enveloped in an anonymous coolness, and this was no different. For a moment his mind shutdown and his thoughts on what tomorrow would bring were put on the back burner. He lost track of time, but he guessed it must have only been a couple of minutes before he felt a soft hand touch his shoulder. He hadn't even heard the door open. He turned round, wiping the water from his eyes, and saw Yelena standing beside him. She smiled, and he returned the smile, taking in her beauty at the same time. I thought you said not in your parent's house, his eyes said to her. She gave a gentle smile as she looked into his eyes, then moved her hand... As they lay in bed, his arms around her, she turned her head to face him. "What is happening?" she asked. "What do you mean?" "I know something is going on. Is it dangerous?" she asked him, the concern in her voice clearly discernable. "Not yet," he assured her. "Can you tell me anything about it?" "Only that we may have to move. Other than that, I don't know much." He stroked her face gently and said, "Now, lets get some sleep." Return |
|||