A Spy's Lonely Path

CHAPTER 1

Vienna

T he glow from a thousand tiny electric lights in the crystal chandeliers of a 19 th century Austrian palace ballroom drenched over the several hundred guests who had gathered there for yet another of the seemingly endless receptions held on the fringes of the arms negotiation conference between Russia and NATO. Dozens of other countries from around the world also had participants at the talks as official observers. By the end of the conference, the number of armaments might be reduced, but definitely not the waistlines nor the cholesterol levels of the men and women who had gathered to make the world a less dangerous place. In the crowd, there were many career diplomats, professional military officers and a few important politicians who had been added to various delegations for domestic political reasons back home. A good percentage of the crowd were intelligence officers under one cover or another. One couldn’t toss a small pastry over a shoulder in the room without hitting a spy, counterspy or a security official from some agency or the other. There was a phenomenon in the espionage world that once an event had a certain number of intelligence officers from the major countries, then dozens more felt they should be present simply because the Russians, British, French and Americans were there. It was jokingly known in the profession as the Kathmandu effect. The name coming from the legend that during the Cold War, the percentage of diplomats posted at the capital of Nepal who were intelligence officers was higher than in any other city of the world. Not that anything happened in Nepal, but every spy agency simply figured they should have someone there to keep an eye on all the o thers.

Among the attendees that night was Alexander Golovin, a middle-aged Russian diplomat, of which he was but one of many at the reception, but he was the Hollywood-version of being a distinguished Russian diplomat. The tall, thin man of fifty with classical Slavic facial features was graying at the temples, but still had a full head of hair and just a few wrinkles in his forehead and around his dark brown eyes. The speech of the handsome Russian was that of a highly educated individual. He did in fact have a doctorate in international relations from the prestigious Moscow State University and where for the past decade he had been its department chairman. He wore a personally tailored, black pin-striped suit that would have been out of the price range for most Russian academics, but then he was not your average professor. When not teaching, he had been serving for the past six months as a special advisor to the Russian Minister of Foreign Affairs and with that position came a number of perks.

His family could trace its heritage as academics, famous literary writers and occasionally senior government bureaucrats back to the time of Peter the Great. This noble ancestry of the Golovin family was a fact that had discreetly not been talked about during the 70 years of Soviet rule in Russia, but now that the USSR was called the Republic of Russia, the old photographs and Alexander’s full biography were proudly displayed once again. The fact that the family had passed through the Bolshevik period and Stalin’s purges unscathed showed that its twentieth century family members had the survival gene in their DNA. While they had performed excellent service to the Russian state over the centuries, they had performed even better looking out for the Golovins first, last and always. Counselor Golovin conversed and moved with the bearing of one accustomed to being in charge, whether it was in the university lecture hall or at an international disarmament conference.

Counselor Golovin, are you optimistic about the major powers coming to an agreement by this fall about arms reductions? asked the Turkish representative to the conference, in his British-accented English. Though it annoyed the French diplomats immensely, English had long ago become the lingua franca at such international gatherings. The other five diplomats in the circle of conversation turned their ears to hear the answer.

I think the conditions are more favorable now than they have been in several years, but of course there will have to be concessions from all sides in order to reach a satisfactory conclusion. It was the perfect diplomatic answer, which could be interpreted by the listeners in whatever manner they preferred to hear it.

And what of your magical risk formula that you have been developing? What is your little computer telling you of the prospects? asked the German ambassador.

Ah, Ambassador Schmidt, you shouldn’t believe all the rumors you hear in the Viennese pastry shops about my risk algorithm. It’s more of just a few doodles in a notebook that gives a rough idea of how to calculate advantages and disadvantages of different types of weapons and other factors of warfare.

I think you’re being much too modest of your ‘doodles’, replied a senior French diplomat in the circle. The others present nodded in agreement, while Golovin modestly shook his head negatively, dismissing the praise, which he in fact loved to hear. What everyone at the conference considered as fact, or at least a good solid rumor, was that Golovin had indeed put together a practical formula for comparing the apples and oranges of weapons, geography, economic factors and even weather conditions to come to a bottom line conclusion on whether an overall agreement was favorable or unfavorable to the Russian side. Supposedly, it had undergone several tests using historical data from different situations over the past two hundred years and made accurate calculations ninety percent of the time, as judged against the historical facts of what did occur. But even more important than its accuracy, were the rumors that President Putin believed in Golovin’s formula and would listen to his advice about whether to say da or nyet" to an agreement reached at the final conference session slated to be held late in the year in Warsaw.

Everyone having gotten something to report back to their respective embassies the next morning, the diplomats around Golovin allowed the conversation to shift to more mundane matters.

Is it true Counselor Golovin that you slipped away last Saturday and went fishing? asked Ambassador Schmidt of Germany.

Well, I suspect we were all fishing for something last Saturday. Some of us just did it in different ways and different places, responded Golovin with a smile. They all laughed.

There’s a wonderful fishing lake just twenty minutes southwest of the city, near Berndorf, interjected an American diplomat who had just joined the circle. Do you know of that lake?

Golovin turned to look at the tall, youngish man to his right, who given his apparent age was much too junior in rank to have ventured into a small circle of very senior diplomats. There wasn’t a single gray hair in his neatly trimmed, dark brown hair, nor a single wrinkle on his handsome face. But Golovin could pretend to be egalitarian when needed, and in fact he generally did find Americans enjoyable, on a personal level. No, I have not yet discovered that particular ‘secret’ fishing hole, he responded with a friendly smile.

He correctly presumed that everyone knew who he was, but for appearances sake, Golovin did go through the motion of introducing himself, as he was curious as to what junior rank official had had the audacity to address him so informally.

I’m Second Secretary Robert Hall of the American delegation, responded the thirty-something American in his flat, Midwestern version of English and extended a calling card. Golovin took it without looking at it and put it into his pocket. He didn’t bother offering one in exchange.

So, Mr. Hall, you’re a fisherman?

I grew up doing mostly river fishing, but since being assigned here to Vienna earlier this year, I’ve been doing more lake fishing.

Golovin assumed (correctly, he found out later) that Mr. Hall was a CIA officer. No lowly second secretary of even the egotistical American delegation, except for a CIA officer, would have had the audacity to approach the Russian diplomat with counselor rank, known to all as the personal advisor to Foreign Minister Bulganin. Golovin admired the young man’s yatsi of steel for having had the courage to do so, and engaged in conversation for some ten minutes with the earnest young man. Hall never asked a single question about the progress of the conference. All his questions were about Golovin’s personal life and he happily gave responses – the exact same information any Russian citizen could have known from reading the Moscow newspapers or academic journals over time.

Well, Mr. Hall, it has been a pleasure chatting with you. You must tell me more someday about this secret fishing lake of yours – perhaps when the conference has ended, I shall have to give it a try…

I shall do that, next time we meet.

They shook hands and both men moved on among the sea of diplomats circling the grand hall, all looking for rumors to report home, or at least to spot one of the waiters in a crisp white jacket carrying a fresh tray of delicious hors d’oeuvres or glasses of vintage champagne.

A minute later, Golovin bumped into one of his colleagues from the Russian Embassy. With whom were you just speaking? asked Leonid Stepanov, the FSB representative in Austria – the Russian Federal Security Service. Austria was properly the turf of the SVR, the Foreign Intelligence Service, but the FSB frequently demanded having one of their own representatives at large Russian embassies, so as to protect Russian diplomats and staff from foreign intelligence services – especially if it was an embassy in a very comfortable European city, such as Vienna.

I really didn’t pay attention when he told me his name, replied Golovin. I think he gave me his card. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an embossed calling card on high quality paper. Yes, here it is, if you want it? He extended his hand with the card to his colleague, whom he clearly considered a subordinate and his intellectual inferior, and walked away. He thought to himself, God save us from such morons! Did he think I was going to defect to the Americans after a 10 minute conversation in the middle of 300 diplomats? There were only minor, technical discussions slated for the coming week, so Golovin was departing the next day for a week’s vacation back in Moscow and doubted whether he would see Mr. Hall again in any case.

27 May

RESTRICTED HANDLING

FROM: Vienna

TO: HEADQUARTERS

FOR: RUSSIA HOUSE

SUBJECT: CONTACT WITH RUSSIAN COUNSELOR GOLOVIN

1. Action Required: Please provide all known information about Russian Counselor Alexander Golovin, assigned to the Russian Embassy Vienna for the duration of the international arms reduction conference.

2. Case Officer THORESON met Golovin night of 26 May at a diplomatic reception held in connection with the ongoing international arms reduction conference. Counselor Golovin is known as the special advisor to the Russian Foreign Minister for this conference. Per his own statement, he normally teaches international relations at Moscow State University. He is married and has one daughter who is a university student, but he did not say at which university or what she is studying. Golovin appears to be approximately 50 years of age. Despite the difference in diplomatic rank and age, Golovin seemed perfectly happy to engage in conversation with THORESON. Principal focus of the 10-15 minute casual conversation was about fishing and THORESON’S knowledge of an excellent, secret fishing lake near Vienna. Golovin expressed interest in fishing at that lake one weekend soon with c/o THORESON.

3. THORESON will look for another opportunity at the conference in the near future to chat with Golovin and try to arrange such a fishing excursion.

29 MAY

FROM: HEADQUARTERS

TO: VIENNA

FROM: RUSSIA HOUSE

SUBJECT: FURTHER CONTACT WITH COUNSELOR GOLOVIN

1. ACTION REQUIRED: Request that c/o THORESON continue contact with Alexander Golovin, as situation permits. Given his age and rank, he probably isn’t a likely candidate for a classic recruitment, but given the importance the White House attaches to the current negotiations with the Russians, even any unofficial insights/comments that Golovin might be willing to make to c/o about the progress of the negotiations would be valuable.

2. Alexander Petrovich Golovin (Subject): His exact date of birth is unknown, but agree that he is approximately fifty years old. Public records indicate that he received his doctorate in international relations from Moscow State University and has stayed on ever since graduating to teach at MGU and has been the department chairman for at least a decade. His father was Peter Ivanovich Golovin, also an academic, but who possibly also held minor positions within GOSPLAN, the Soviet State Planning Commission. Per one defector report from 1958, there was a Mr. Golovin in the Heavy Industry Section of Gosplan, who came from a very famous family of pre-revolutionary Russia and whose family had somehow survived the slaughters of the 1919-1923 period and also the Great Purges of the 1930s. It is not certain if this is the father of the Golovin that c/o has met in Vienna.

3. Until approximately six months ago, no one outside of academic circles had ever heard of Subject, but then State Department telegrams from AmEmb Moscow began reporting that Professor Golovin of MGU had created a software simulation program for calculating military/economic/strategic power balances, which had caught the eye of the Russian leadership, including President Putin. From relative obscurity, he suddenly was named as a Special Advisor to the Russian Foreign Minister and has attended all preliminary and formal negotiating sessions related to the ongoing arms reduction talks between NATO and Russia. He is married and possibly has children.

4. Secondary reporting describes Subject as witty, charming and quite sophisticated with a good command of English and French as well as his native Russian language.

5. Look forward to further reporting from c/o THORESON on Subject and his views on the progress of the negotiations.

CHAPTER 2

Moscow

T he two middle-aged Russians sat quietly in the middle of a common room of your typical Russian dacha, on the outskirts of Moscow. The wooden walls were covered with old black and white photos in simple wooden frames and the three book shelves were full of well-worn copies of great works of Russian literature that had clearly been read many times – not just put there for appearances sake. Except for the more modern clothing, they looked like two characters out of a 19 th century novel by Tolstoy. Russian tradition was that the higher the rank of the owner, the smaller and more simplistic the design and furniture of these summer homes – except for the new Mafioso millionaires who equated a large dacha as a sign of their importance or at least the length of their penises. Alexander Golovin’s dacha had only this common room and a be droom.

His chess opponent that day, Evgenny Shumilov, reached out and slowly advanced his black queen forward to the middle of the board, looked up and gave Sasha a devious grin. Let me see you get out of that situation, my old friend. The two had been playing chess together since they were small boys. Contrary to Golovin’s more youthful appearance, Shumilov’s hair, which always had a wild and disheveled Albert Einstein appearance about it had turned snow white. His face was well wrinkled and his waist line showed prosperity. Sasha stared at the board in silence for several minutes, with deep furrows in his brow as his brain calculated several moves into the future. He then let out a deep sigh of air and turned his king over on its side.

Let’s go outside and have another drink, proposed the loser of the chess game. He picked up the half-empty bottle of Johnny Walker Black and ambled towards the back door of his dacha. The screen door squeaked horribly as he opened it. He kept meaning to do something about that. Sasha was treated with great deference at the University and in diplomatic circles, but his lifelong friend showed him no such respect while playing chess. Evgenny won about 80% of the time and Golovin suspected that some of his few victories were charity gifts from Evgenny. But the two enjoyed each other’s company and regularly got together to play chess, drink and chat honestly about the world. When they gathered at spots less likely to have hidden microphones, the chats were more frank and honest than when they were at either’s residence in the city, or even inside the walls of the dacha. The heavy hand of the KGB during the days of the Soviet Union was long gone, but the current leadership of democratic Russia still appreciated the value of checking on the loyalty of some of its citizens at various times. Golovin understood that as an advisor to Foreign Minister Bulganin, the Kremlin might order the FSB to confirm his loyalty by occasionally, or perhaps always, monitoring his phone calls, emails and even personal conversations in his home. His childhood friend, Zhenya, formally known around the county as Dr. Evgenny Shumilov, had become one of the top medical diagnosticians for personages of the Kremlin and the Duma. As such, his loyalty was also of interest to the FSB.

Once the two men were settled in comfortable chairs out among the birch trees behind Sasha’s dacha, their conversation turned more political.

So, old friend, did you actually make any progress at Vienna in preventing the world from blowing itself up, or are we headed back to the days of Cold War insanity? asked Evgenny, after taking a sip from his refilled glass.

You overestimate my influence. Being an ‘advisor’ to the Foreign Minister and the President does not mean that they actually listen to me. You remember what Machiavelli had to say about giving advice? When the Prince asks for advice, what he really wants is simply your agreement with what he has already decided to do!

Evgenny laughed. But this new miracle computer algorithm to calculate ‘risk’ that you have created? Everyone in the government is talking about it and saying that even President Putin believes in it as if Lenin himself had invented it. I suspect that any day his press spokesman will announce that Putin actually created it! They both laughed.

Sasha lit a cigarette and blew the gray smoke slowly into the air, which made interesting patterns as the smoke floated upward, cut by thin sunbeams that managed to filter down past the canopy of leaves above them. He turned to look directly into the eyes of his childhood friend. Yes, the President does seem to believe in my formula, but we’re still inputting lots of data, so there is not yet an answer as to whether the final treaty proposal will be considered a positive or a negative for Russia.

But you have been present at many of the discussions with the Americans and NATO. Surely, you have some personal opinion on whether an agreement such as the Americans are proposing would be a good idea or not, don’t you?

Sasha paused before answering. This was clearly a topic that he should not be discussing with anyone outside of a small circle of leaders at the Foreign Ministry or the Kremlin. Even with a lifelong friend, whom he trusted immensely, he was hesitant. For all he really knew, Zhenya might be working for the CIA, or even worse, he was working for the FSB and had been directed to check on Sasha’s discretion and ability to keep a state secret. Such was the state of paranoia and suspicion among Russians after several centuries of intrigue and backstabbing that had gone on among the Russian people. Of course, it was such paranoia that had kept the Golovin family safe and prosperous for the past 300 years. Considering himself a good judge of human personality and having known Evgenny for almost all of his 50 years of life, he decided that his old friend could be trusted. Yes, I do have an impression and strictly between you and me, I think we could quite safely agree to most all of the provisions currently on the table. However, it’s not my position to be the one to come to a final decision.

But you have said that the President believes in your formula and you are the man who writes the formula and even inputs the data that it uses to calculate its scientific opinion. All you would have to do… Evgenny said no more. He simply raised his eyebrows. Both men understood what Evgenny was hinting at, but even alone in the deserted woods between two trusting friends, more specific words of treason could not be said aloud. Even a hypothetical discussion of Sasha rigging the results of his risk program was a dangerous subject. And in any case, Alexander Golovin was a firm believer in his unofficial family motto – Look after yourself first and if that helps Mother Russia as well, that’s good too.

Sasha remained silent and motionless for close to a minute, only the wind in the birch leaves making any sound, as he stared off into the distance. Finally, Sasha rose from his chair. It’s been a wonderful afternoon my old friend and I’m sure that we will see one another soon, but now I must throw you out. My Irina is expecting me home for dinner and I must be on my way back into the city. He said that with the same enthusiasm as a man would use to announce that he had to be on time for his own execution, but then a smile came to his face as he added, and my daughter will be home this evening as well.

And how are Tatyana’s studies going at her university?

Her studies go fine, when she actually spends time studying, but I think she spends more time in coffee shops discussing the evils of the current government than she does in the library! At least I’ve convinced her that given my position, it will not do for her to attend protest rallies on the streets of Moscow.

You seem to forget my old friend that we were once young university students as well and perhaps our thoughts were not always on studying either! Both men laughed.

I leave Saturday to return to Vienna, but I’ll phone you when I return again to Moscow, perhaps in three or four weeks. Be ready to lose next time!

Golovin came to the split in the highway just inside Moscow’s Ring Road. The boulevard to the right would lead him in about twenty minutes to his apartment building on historical Romanov Pereulok, near the city’s center. He smoothly turned his black Mercedes to the left and headed in the direction of the two-room apartment occupied by one of his doctoral students, in a much more modest neighborhood than his own. He had phoned Elizaveta Petrovicha earlier in the day to discretely confirm that she would be home in the late afternoon. They had their own code system for use on the telephone. He had simply mentioned that he had more hand written pages of a draft book ready for her to input into the office computer and asked if she had the time to work on them the following day. A positive response meant that she would be home and alone in the coming hours. Not only had the Golovins learned how to be survivors over the last couple of centuries, but conspiratorial as well. Alexander Golovin would hardly be the only married government official in Moscow to have a mistress on the side, but it was a fact best kept a secret from others if possible – one less thing that anyone could use to blackmail or influence him.

Elizaveta was, in fact, one of his graduate students and occasionally did do research work for him on the side, so the two of them being in frequent contact was perfectly normal. Initially, the relationship had been a proper one between a student and her mentor. She was very bright with a good sense of humor and she was beautiful as well. He had enjoyed her company from the first day they had met. Her auburn hair and a few freckles on her lovely face topped a perfectly proportioned body. She was pleasant to everyone and a genuine joy to be around. In short, she was everything his bitch