Mission to Novgorod

Mission to Novgorod

by

Don L. Clark

Published by Don L Clark at Smashwords.com

Copyright 2010 Don L Clark

PART ONE

1976

THE ASSIGNMENT

CHAPTER ONE

KTO KOVO?

What the hell am I doing?

The answer was simple. Tom Collins was in Novgorod, USSR—a city that in the Twelfth Century rivaled Kiev as the major Russian enclave, and he was there to kill. The USAF major had killed before, but that was from way up high in the air. This was the first time he’d tried to pull a trigger up close and personal—where he could see the look in the victim's eyes—to know Kto Kovo: who’s killing whom.

Tom sweated and his hands were simply unable to hold the weapon steady. It wavered even as he rested it on the rough cement between the iron bars. He tried to take a deep breath and only partially let it out, as he’d been trained to do on the range, but as he did so his whole body started to shake uncontrollably. S--t! I just can't do it.

Twenty hours earlier, Tom Collins had been engaged in his nightly perusal of the Paris edition of The Herald Tribune when he'd received a phone call from his boss, Col. Nelson.

After some small talk, Nelson had said, I’d like you to invite Col. Avgi, the Turkish Air Attaché to your next dinner party, Tom. I ran into him this afternoon, and he was dropping hints about being left out of the Western club. Since you speak Turkish, it just might make him feel more a part of the Western team if you’d include him a few times. Do you mind?

The Do you mind phrase had been said as colonels say it, you know, as in do it. But in fact due to the unique circumstances of where and when they were talking, the colonel's comments really didn’t even have anything to do with a Turkish colonel. Indeed, it was a coded message that sent the young officer scurrying to comply.

It was the first time in Tom's year on-station that one of the colonel's secret messages had actually been implemented, and the major couldn't help but wonder just what was up. He looked at his diver's watch and noted it was 2127. He slipped on his sneakers, ran a brush through his hair, turned the radio on to some music, and then hurriedly walked from his west-wing apartment to the center of the building and up the stairs.

The dingy old embassy located on Sadovaya Prospekt had an elevator, but most of the military attaches made a point of climbing the stairs in order to help keep in shape. Staying in shape there in Moscow was difficult enough due to the lack of athletic facilities, but even more so what with the extensive entertainment schedule in which all fifteen of the attachés had to participate. Indeed, when on station in Moscow most attended cocktail and/or dinner parties four to six times a week. Thus Tom took the steps two at a time.

When he reached the attaché office complex he found it locked and had to let himself in with his key. After stepping inside and locking the door behind him, Tom turned left down the hall to the colonel's office. As he strode into it, his gray-haired superior was sitting behind a large desk. Two strangers were also present in the room, perched rather stiffly on a sofa to Tom's right. The colonel put his right index finger to his lips, and then motioned for Tom and the other two to follow him. They did so—in uneasy silence.

En route, Tom wondered who the strangers were. He was pretty sure he’d met everybody currently assigned to the embassy, but he’d never seen either of these two before. The group walked down the hall and followed the colonel into a room that the thirty-two year old military attaché had found rather eerie a year ago when he’d attended his first meeting there. Now, however, he’d grown accustomed to it, the weird sound and the antiseptic appearance.

The actual room was a large one that held another slightly smaller one inside of it—the so called secure room. The secure room was composed of four walls of several inch thick clear plastic from floor to ceiling. The colonel pivoted the rather large latch on the door, opened it and stepped inside, motioning for the others to follow. Tom entered the room last. He closed the latch and chuckled inwardly as the wind-like sound machine then automatically kicked-on. It was designed to mess up any microphones or listening devices aimed at the room from somewhere else. Tom always wondered where that somewhere else might be since there were no windows and the room was sited away from any exterior building walls. He joined the others around the medium sized conference table that stood in the middle of the inner room, sensing a lot of tension in the air as he did so.

Tom, I want you to meet Richard Noble, Colonel Nelson turned his eyes toward the taller, slimmer of the two strangers. The shorter, stockier man was then identified as Stern Carpenter.

Tom rose and shook hands with both of them. They had firm grips and looked very serious. Tom thought Stern's name was appropriate for his demeanor. Instinctively, he did not like Stern Carpenter. His hand was cold and his expression even more frigid as he appeared to look right through the Air Force officer. Noble proffered a slight grin that quickly evaporated after the hand-shake. They all sat back down and waited for the colonel to pick up the conversation.

Tom, these men just arrived from D.C. They represent the CIA, and they've asked for our assistance. They have a mission for you, but I want you to understand that it's strictly voluntary, and if you say no, I’ll not hold it against you. I've been briefed in general terms about what they're going to ask though, and I agree that it's an important mission, for our national security.

Walt Nelson paused, letting his words sink in. He was not surprised that Tom appeared unmoved by the comments. After all, this young USAF major had survived a tour in Vietnam, and had been selected for this elite assignment in Moscow due to superb credentials. He’d been a useful asset to the colonel in his assignment to collect intelligence data about the USSR from the inside. It disturbed Nelson to think that if something went wrong and Tom was taken into Soviet custody, it could drastically reduce the ability of the Defense Attaché Office to conduct it’s most sensitive task, electronic snooping. Still, Nelson also realized the mission they were asking Tom to risk was clearly even more important to US national security than collecting ELINT.

Noble fished a folder out of his briefcase and held it up in front of his chest. Major, I want to emphasize the colonel's comments. This is strictly voluntary on your part. Frankly, we don't want to ask you or anyone else to do it, but the Soviets tagged us the minute we arrived in Moscow, and it's obvious they're not going to let us travel out of the city. For some reason though, the trip you and your counterparts have scheduled to Novgorod tomorrow is the only embassy travel activity that’s not been canceled by the Reds. He paused; sort of flipped through the pages of the document he held and then went on. Are we correctly informed that you're into scuba?

Well, into it might be kind of a stretch. I took a course in D.C. before coming here. I thought it would be sort of neat to dive in the world’s deepest lake sometime—you know, Lake Baikal. I also bought all my gear, but without specifically refusing to let me dive, the Soviets have kept me out of the water by denying my requests to join a club—therefore indirectly denying access to compressed air.

Just how many open water dives have you made? Carpenter interjected.

None, I took the course in the pool, passed the written exam, and then got too busy with my preparations for coming here to actually take any open water dives.

Carpenter's face took on a sour look, and he flashed a glance at Noble that looked a lot like an I-told-you-so expression.

Noble continued. "But you are trained. Are you a strong swimmer?"

Pretty strong.

Noble opened the folder in his hand, rearranged a couple of papers again and extended the file toward Collins. Take a look at this woman?

Tom took the file and stared at the eight by ten color photo that lay on top of a stack of about ten sheets of paper. His eyes widened and instinctively his lips shaped to let out a whistle. He stifled it, but when he looked up there was a clear expression of admiration on his face.

That's a woman all right! Tom's eyes had feasted on the photo of a classic Polynesian beauty, clothed in a bathing suit that would have been right at home on the cover of a ‘Sports Illustrated’ swimsuit issue. Who is she?

I think it better if we skip names and details. This is a very risky mission. Whether you fail or succeed, I think it best you know as little about the why's as possible.

Noble opened his mouth as if to go on, but then closed it and squirmed in his seat a bit uncomfortably. I could go on and on beating about the bush, giving patriotic speeches and dragging this out but let's cut right to the chase.

That was what he said, but not exactly what he did—at least for a few more seconds. Instead, he fumbled for the right words. His mouth moved and his forehead wrinkled, but there were no sounds for a good ten to fifteen seconds. Finally, he just blurted it out.

We want you to kill this woman. In spite of his obvious unease, Noble had spoken quite plainly. Nonetheless the words so shocked Tom he was sure he must have misunderstood.

"Did you say kill her?"

Yes. I did. We'll provide you with the tools and the plan. All you have to do is pull the trigger. Well, there is quite a bit more to it, but that's all that really matters. This woman must die and soon—very soon.

Why?

I can't tell you that. You’ll have to trust us and understand that we would not, indeed could not, ask you to do such a thing unless we had a viable reason. I can tell you that if she doesn't die, inestimable damage may be done to our national security. Indeed, I can say her survival could lead to a global take-over by the bastard Reds that rule this evil Soviet society.

Tom was quiet for almost a minute before he spoke. I'm sorry, but that's really not enough. If that's all you can tell me, I’ll have to say no. I've killed before, but from a distance, and even that still bothers me. Bothers me primarily because I sometimes think I trusted others' orders rather than thinking for myself. I’ve concluded we killed far too many innocent people in Nam because we didn't ask enough questions. Not long after I got back from there, I vowed not to kill anyone again unless I had adequate justification. Indeed, that’s why I switched from flying to spying. He smiled at the rhyming phrase he’d often used to explain his move off flying status.

This woman’s death has been authorized by the highest authority in this land, Major. Surely, you don't think we just go around killing people on whims. This is not my idea, not even just the director's—this has the approval of the top man, your boss and mine. Noble's tone of voice took on a hint of irritation.

I'm sorry but I’d still have to know more details before I could volunteer.

I told you so, Richard. Carpenter intruded on the conversation again. Let's get out of here and get busy finding a way to spring me out of this embassy. I can do this mission a lot better than some chicken fly boy.

The arrogant tone and the derisive words stung the young major, but he held his temper and looked to the colonel for guidance. Col. Nelson's eyes were locked on the two agency men. They rose and Noble took Carpenter's arm and led him away from the table and over to the most distant corner from it.

Excuse us just a moment, gentlemen, he said. They then talked in hushed tones. It was obvious Carpenter wanted to terminate the discussion, and the word terminate seemed particularly apt under the circumstances, but Noble wanted to press on a bit more and since he was in charge, he won. They returned to their seats.

OK, Major. The lead agent fumbled in his brief case again and brought out a single sheet of typed material, a form. You'll have to sign this first. He passed it to Tom. It's an approval form for access to Top Secret, Agency Only, ISOTYPE information. I'm sure you know all about code words. It commits you to silence about what I tell you and your mission—forever. Even fifty years from now you’ll need agency permission to talk or write about this. Either you sign this form or we terminate the conversation right now.

Tom smiled and laughed a bit sheepishly. I'm not too impressed with your choice of verbs. However, the major then sort of speed read the form, appended his signature at the bottom and dated it. Noble asked Colonel Nelson to sign as a witness, and then added his own name to the second witness slot.

OK, we can proceed. Noble edged the picture back over in front of Tom. "What do you need to know? Let's see. Her name’s Savoir O'Malley. That's pronounced, Sav-wah, as in the French, you know, Savoir faire. Around the company they call her Savvy. She's a Special Assistant to the Deputy Director. That's Albert Pendergrass the Third. I suspect from your back ground you know the name. He's headed up either covert or counter-intelligence activities at the company for almost two decades now."

Tom nodded an assent and another silent whistle formed on his lips. Albert Pendergrass was a legend in Intelligence circles.

Noble continued his recitation, now in a dull monotone. "She is…I think Pendergrass uses the words…his ward. She's an interesting ethnic mix. I think Cuban, Tahitian, Irish and Native-American; at least that's what the rumors say. She's apparently the product of a half-Irish half-Native-American sailor's romance with a Tahitian woman whose Dad was a Cuban and Mother a Polynesian. I'm told her Mother died when she was quite young. Some say from a hurricane, but most say it was from the syphilis she caught from her husband.

The story alleges that Savvy's father came back, found out about the death of his wife, became distraught, repentant, and then took the five or six year old daughter off the island with him. They moved to Belize where he set up a dive shop business. By the time she was twelve, she began leading groups on dives herself and more or less managed the business when her dad was drunk—which apparently was most of the time.

Tom was listening intently but still couldn't help but notice that Stern Carpenter was looking at his watch and acting bored as hell.

"Miss O'Malley grew up rather wild, mostly around sailors, divers, and tourists and without apparently any formal education. She was obviously a beauty very early on and both looked and acted a lot older than her age. Pendergrass met her when he was on a dive vacation. It was a disaster. They were checking out a ship wreck at a depth of about 75 feet when there was an earthquake. Pendergrass got caught under some collapsing debris, and O'Malley, Savvy’s father, rescued him. But then just as they were exiting the ship, an aftershock hit and Savoir's father himself got penned down under some debris. There was too much wreckage on top of him for Pendergrass alone to clear, so he shot up for help, but by the time he and others got back down, O'Malley was dead.

"Savvy was not with them on that dive, but Albert had met her and like any red-blooded man had been impressed by her beauty, her rather `earthy magnetism’ are the words I've most often heard in descriptions of her. He felt guilty about her father's death, and decided to take her back to the states where he could give her what her father had not: education, money, opportunity, etc. I think she was fifteen at the time. Pendergrass put her into several fancy private schools and treated her like his daughter. His wife had died several years earlier and there were rumors about him and his ward, but he was too powerful to be bothered by them. I suspect you know he's from one of the wealthiest families in the States?

Tom nodded affirmatively but wasn't sure why. He'd certainly heard of Albert, knew he was rich and powerful but had no idea how rich.

The insider story is that Savvy didn’t exactly adjust all that well to her new environment. She was kicked out of several excellent schools. They say that Albert was on the verge of giving up on her when he discovered her gift, as he calls it... It seems that in spite of her rather abysmal educational foundation, she always got kicked out of schools due to rebellious and undisciplined behavior rather than grades. In fact, her grades were excellent, and Albert wondered how and why. That's when he discovered that she had a photographic memory. Apparently you could show her—even just tell her, damn near anything, and she could then reproduce it with about ninety per cent accuracy—even more so if she put her mind to it—which back then they say she rarely did.

This time it was Colonel Nelson whose head nodded. He was thinking just how useful such a skill could be in his line of work.

Albert decided he could use that skill at the Company, Noble went on, stating the obvious. As soon as she turned eighteen he hired her on in a special capacity as his assistant. She attended all his meetings and read most of the reports he saw. He said she was better than a tape recorder because she didn't inhibit people the way a recorder did. In fact, just the opposite, people liked to talk with Savvy around. She became legendary around our place in Virginia, and everybody who was any body was trying to get into her pants. Many claimed to have succeeded, but who knows if they were telling the truth or merely creating fables."

Tom found the story fascinating but wondered where it was going. He kept looking at the photo and felt as if the rather mischievous smile she was flashing in it was reflective of a rather rebellious streak.

"Six days ago, Savoir and Albert went to Singapore to meet with a mysterious Chinese scientist named Zhang Yi. He was a Chinese defector who claimed to know how to build a perfect missile defense using magnetic forces. Albert wanted to have this scientist describe his system in person before he’d commit our protection and scientific support to him and his project. Naturally, the Chinese, Ruskies, and everybody who’s anybody in international intrigue were interested in this character and wanted to get their hands on him. I’m not sure but I believe Albert had had a hand in the man’s original defection from Mainland China, although now the rumor is that the fellow was balking about coming to the States unless Albert promised to fund his project first.

"The meeting was very hush-hush, but as often happens in this business, somebody—somewhere, must have leaked the details. I don't know the specifics, but the meeting was penetrated—apparently in an effort to wrest Yi from out of our control into theirs. Whatever, things got out of hand, a shootout broke out and apparently almost everyone there was killed, including the infamous Dr. Yi and Albert's personal bodyguards, both friends of mine—God bless em.

In the ensuing melee, Al and Savvy escaped only by leaping through a plate glass window into the Singapore harbor—apparently with a KGB team in hot pursuit. Al came out of the drink just fine but Savvy disappeared. At first we thought she'd drowned, the speculation being that she'd hit her head on the pier they had to clear in the jump. But forty-eight hours later, we got a hot tip that the Soviets had her, and had successfully moved her from their embassy in Singapore to the USSR.

Ah ha! Tom's mind reflected. At last this is beginning to make some sense.

Ever since then we've been in an all out, all-source collection effort to find out where she’s being held. Just recently we think we found out, and Carpenter and I were dispatched here to silence her. Now you understand why, don't you?

It was not clear from Tom's facial expression that he did.

For Christ’s sake, Major, Stern Carpenter chimed in, you that dense? She's apparently the only living person that can explain how this Chinese genius' missile defense would work. Therefore, if he was on to something, and the rumors are that he was a whiz, the Soviets could have the secret to an impervious missile defense while we would not. First Strike man, surely you've heard of that. They could destroy us, and we couldn't retaliate. There’d be no more MAD—no deterrence.

Noble cut back in. Stern's right. Mind you Albert Pendergrass cares more for this woman than probably any other living person, yet he still recommended her assassination. Naturally, there's little to zilch likelihood we could get her out of the USSR, her being in their custody and all, but if we can manage to kill her before she talks, and everyone agrees that Savvy would not break quickly, we can at least maintain the status quo: you know, the mutual nuclear standoff. But if she talks and they succeed in building an impregnable missile defense…well…would you trust the bastards you've met over here to spare us if they could destroy us without fear of retaliation?

All eyes were now on Tom, and he felt quite uncomfortable. I guess that all makes sense, all right, but what if she holds out and refuses to talk? O what if the Chinese professor was wrong and his system won’t work? Wouldn’t I then be killing someone who didn’t deserve to die?

Those maybes are possible, fly-boy, but it would be foolhardy to base our national defense on them, wouldn’t it? It was Stern again, and his impatience with Tom's reluctance to buy in to the need to kill Savoir O'Malley was growing. Hell, any professional interrogator can make anybody talk eventually—through torture, drugs or a combination of both. Even I would break eventually, although I'd find a way to kill myself first. And there must be something to Yi's ideas. Al Pendergrass would not have risked going to a meeting outside our security umbrella if he hadn’t thought it could lead to something not only revolutionary but possible—even probable. Remember, he heard the presentation, and he’s also the one who’s recommended the termination of a woman he quite probably loves.

Than he must know as much as she does about how this magnetic defense would work. So it would seem to me….

Stern flashed a look of disgust and interrupted. Albert’s not a scientist, and his memory’s ordinary. Hell, probably less than that at his age. There’s no way he could reproduce the details of this Yi’s theory from only a single briefing. That’s why Savvy was there—she’s the recorder. She doesn’t even have to understand it to repeat it—verbatim.

So that's the why—are you in for the how? Noble took over the conversation again. Our informer tells us she's being held in Novgorod. They're holding her in the Kremlin there on the Volkhov River. Noble handed Tom a photograph of an old fortress located along a body of water. The bastion had a single observation tower with a barred window located about three quarters of the way up to its top. Someone had circled that window with a red marker.

"You know of course that the word Kremlin simply refers to a fortress. This one in Novgorod was built back in the year 1045. The fact that Savvy's held captive there is probably why they didn't cancel your trip there tomorrow. The KGB probably feared that if they canceled your visit it might tip us off as to where they're holding her. We believe that by letting your group go, they’re trying to make us think she’s not there. However, we think our source is unimpeachable; so in a way they've playing right into our hands."

Noble paused to take a sip from the coffee cup he’d brought with him out of the colonel’s office. They also think, we hope, that if they can bottle Stern and I up here in Moscow and follow us around like leeches, there’s no way we’ll be able to get to Savoir. That's probably another reason why they'll let you military attaches go there. Based on your guys mindless routine, they can be pretty sure you'll just snoop around military bases and the like and not be involved in any effort to rescue or kill a CIA employee.

There was a pause and all the eyes in the room were now steadily on Tom, who had not missed Stern’s dig at the usefulness of attaché Intel collection. Your call, Major, are you in or out?

Tom sighed and reluctantly nodded his head up and down. I’m in—an effective missile defense could prove a hell of an advantage.

Colonel Nelson left the room after solemnly shaking the hand of his colleague. "Good luck, Tom, I thought you’d agree, and I have every confidence that with the equipment they have to offer you’ll be able to pull this off. My prayers go with