“I’m having a wonderful time,” she said.
Mikhail leaned forward. “Me too,” he smiled.
“You know when I first met you, outside of that tunnel, I thought you were an arrogant jerk,” she confessed.
Mikhail threw his head back and laughed. “Your suspicions were correct. I am an arrogant jerk,” he said.
“No you are not,” Brygida said, slapping his shoulder playfully.
“Well, I am arrogant,” he replied. “But it’s hard not to be when you are this good looking.”
It was Brygida’s turn to laugh. “Maybe so, but you are certainly not a jerk,” she said.
Mikhail cocked his head. “Not to you,” he said. “But to my enemies…” he let his words trail off and the tone of his voice sent a chill up Brygida’s spine. She knew he was serious.
“My father taught me that humility and kindness would get you nowhere in this world, and he was correct,” Mikhail said. “He is a very powerful man in the Politburo. And he expects me to be equally powerful if not more so.”
Brygida suddenly felt sad for him.
“In this world Brygida, you are judged by your power. And you, my dear are very powerful. Together, you and I will make an unstoppable team. We will climb the ranks. We will rule.”
Brygida had no desire to rule anything, but she did genuinely like Mikhail. So she quickly changed the subject.
“Where is the waitress?” she asked as she glanced around the pub. “I’d like a drink.”
“Hmm,” Mikhail frowned. “I don’t see her. I’ll go to the bar and get us something. What will you have?”
“You choose,” she smiled as he stood.
“Alright,” he said returning the smile. “I’ll be right back.”
Mikhail walked away to the bar, leaving his cigarette case on the table. Brygida helped herself to one and had just waved out the match when she heard a voice beside her.
“Comrade Valkyrie?” the voice asked and she looked up to see a soldier in a well worn olive drab uniform, twisting his hat nervously in his hands.
She blew out a stream of smoke and was about to deny that she was the Valkyrie when the soldier sat down beside her. In Mikhail’s chair.
“It is you,” he said.
Brygida looked into his eyes. They were young eyes, but his face was old and tired. This boy and become a man much too quickly because of the war.
Brygida smiled and in a hushed voice asked “How do you know me, efreitor?”
The soldier smiled brightly. “You saved my life,” he said. You saved my entire platoon. In Poland, we were pinned down. And you and the Red Patriots…” his words trailed off. “Thank you, comrade!” he said and then snatched her hand from the table and pressed his lips against her fingers. “Thank you so much!”
“Do not thank me,” she said. “Thank those…” she began to tell him that his gratitude should be with those brave men whose lives were lost. Not with her. But she was interrupted before she had a chance to finish.
“What the hell are you doing?” came an furious voice and Brygida turned to see Mikhail standing in front of the soldier’s chair, holding a glass in each hand.
The soldier released Brygida’s hand and scrambled to his feet.
“My apologies, comrade,” he began, but Mikhail was hearing none of it. He threw the contents of the first glass into the soldier’s face and then while the soldier was blinded, smashed the two glasses on either side of the soldier’s head.
“Mikhail!” Brygida shouted as she stood, but he did not pay her any attention.
Mikhail stepped forward and slammed his fist into the face of the stunned soldier, with a right hook. The soldier fell to the ground and Mikhail jumped on top of him.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Mikhail demanded as he punched the young man in the face again. “She is mine!” he spat as another fist slammed into the soldier’s face. “You are a maggot, not fit to shine my boots!” Another fist slammed the soldier. Then another.
“Mikhail stop!” Brygida shouted.
“You cannot have her, she belongs to me!” Mikhail screamed at the soldier, ignoring Brygida’s pleas.
“You’re going to kill him!” Brygida yelled.
“You’re damn right!” Mikhail cried as his fist slammed into the soldier’s face again.
Terrified for the soldier, Brygida snatched Mikhail up with one hand by the collar of his coat and tossed him backwards, crashing into another table.
“Oh no!” Brygida cried. She had not meant to toss Mikhail that hard, only to stop him from hurting the soldier. “Mikhail, I…” she began as he regained his feet. He did not say a word, but simply sneered at her before storming out of the bar, leaving her alone.
***
The next morning Brygida strode through the KGB training center with Alena and Alexi following close behind. She wanted to find Mikhail and apologize to him for the night before. Yes, he had overreacted and should not have hurt that soldier, but Brygida should not have let the soldier sit there and kiss her hand either. Brygida understood jealousy. Hadn’t she been jealous anytime the other young women even looked at Noah?
But most of all, Brygida should not have embarrassed him the way she had. She saw him step through a door on the other side of the room and rushed toward him. “Mikhail!” she said as she approached.
He held up a hand silencing her. “Comrade Valkyrie,” he said. “You will not address me in such a common manner.”
Brygida looked down at the ground and then back up at him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “And I’m very sorry for last night.”
The words wounded him. She had severely damaged his pride.
Mikhail looked down at the children. “Go on to the classroom children,” he said, his voice devoid of the warmth it had held the day before.
“Yes, comrade,” Alena said and led Alexi across the room and through the door. The girl turned and caught Brygida’s eyes just before she closed the door.
Brygida turned back to Mikhail. “I am very sorry,” she said.
Mikhail smiled. “Sorry?” he asked. “Sorry for what?” He stepped past her to a bench and began to unbutton his shirt. “Sorry for allowing some efreitor to take my chair?” he asked as he turned back toward her. “Or sorry for picking me up and throwing me?”
“Both,” Brygida said as she stepped toward him.
“I knew you were strong, comrade,” he said. “But I did not realize how strong you were.” He dropped his shirt on the bench and picked up a pair of leather gloves.
“I…” she began, but he interrupted her.
“But I did not have a fair chance last night,” he said as pulled the gloves over his hands. He began to walk toward her. “But don’t worry. I am still willing to marry you.”
“So you forgive me?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “You’ve got to learn not to embarrass me.”
“What do you mean?”
“How can I have a wife who can beat me in a fight?” he asked
“Why would we fight?” she asked.
He grinned. “You need to realize that I can beat you,” he said. More importantly, he knew that he needed to know he could beat her. She had emasculated him. She could never do that again. He punched her and her head flew back.
She turned back to look at him. “Hit me,” he sneered at her.
“Mikhail, I don’t want…” she began but was interrupted as he slammed his fist into her face again.
“HIT ME!” he screamed at her.
Brygida spit a stream of blood out on the floor. “Why are you doing this?”
“I need to beat you. In a fair fight. Not like last night when attacked me from behind, but face to face,” he sneered at her. Then you will know that I am better than you. You will fear me. You will obey me. And you will never embarrass me again.”
She was backing away from him as he moved toward her. “Hit me!” he shouted again as he punched her in the eye. “Either fight back, or I
will beat you to a bloody pulp and when I am done with you, I will go and take out the rest of my anger on those children.”
He reared back and swung again. He was aiming for her nose and his aim was perfect. But his fist stopped before he reached it and he realized Brygida had caught it in the palm of her hand. It felt like he had punched a wall.
“You will not touch those children,” she said through clenched teeth. She began to squeeze his fist and he felt the bones in his fingers popping. She then reached forward with her other hand and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him up off of the ground with one hand.
“You want me to hit you?” she asked, but he did not answer. He could not answer as he was struggling to breathe with her fingers gripping his throat so tightly. She released his fist, reared back and punched him. She punched him again and then tossed his body against the wall like a rag doll.
He had pushed himself up onto all fours when she reached him. She grabbed him by the hair on the top of his head and lifted him to his feet as he screamed in pain.
“If you ever touch me again, I will rip your head off of your shoulders and let the kids use it to play ball,” she threatened. She then raised her knee, slamming it into his stomach and doubling him over, before releasing him, allowing him to fall back onto the ground.
She used her sleeve to wipe the blood from her lips as she turned and walked away from Mikhail who laid on the floor moaning in pain. She hurried across the room, through the door into the room where Alena and Alexi were.
“Come children,” she said. “We’re going home.”
***
Brygida frantically shoved clothes into a suitcase. Hers and the children’s. They needed to leave Russia, but she wasn’t sure how. She prayed that Polkovnik Utkin could help her. He was her only hope. She would take the children to his house and explain what happened. Maybe something could be done.
She heard a knock on the door and froze.
“Comrade Valkyrie,” she heard the voice of the Director of Special Operations. “I know you are in there. Please open the door so my men do not have to break it down.”
Brygida set the bag on the bed beside Alena and Alexi and motioned for the two children to stay put. She stepped out of the room, closing the bedroom door behind her. She walked across the living room and opened the door to the hallway.
The Director was frowning at her. Large armed men lined the stairwell behind him. “May I come in?” he asked politely.
She hesitated.
“If you say yes, I won’t have to order these men to storm your apartment and take you and the children by force. If you say no…” he let his words trail off.
“Come in,” she said as she stepped to the side. The Director motioned for his men to remain outside in the stairwell. Brygida closed the door as he strolled into the living room.
“May I sit?” he asked. She nodded. He sat down on her little sofa and motioned for her to join him. She did so.
“Where are the children?” he asked.
“In the bedroom,” she replied.
“Good, you have not been foolish enough to try and hide them from us,” he smiled genuinely relieved.
He sighed as he stared at her.
“Brygida,” he began. “Do you mind if I call you Brygida?” She shook her head ‘no.’ He smiled. “Good,” he said. “Brygida, you have put me in quite the predicament. You have beaten an agent to a bloody pulp and broken three of his fingers.”
“Director,” she began, but he held up a hand to silence her.
He then leaned forward staring closely at her face. There were traces of bruises there, but amazingly they were already healing up. “I can see he started it.” The Director cleared his throat.
“But no matter who started it, it leaves me with a problem,” he said as he removed a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He pulled one out and offered one to her. She accepted and then stood briefly to find an ashtray. She soon returned as he was lighting his cigarette. He offered the flame to her and she stuck the tip of her own into it.
He sat back and puffed as he looked at her. “You didn’t just beat up a common agent,” he said. “Mikhail is the son of a powerful member of the Politburo,” the Director explained.
“I know,” Brygida replied. “He told me.”
“Well ordinarily beating up the son of a powerful man like that gets you transferred to a less than desirable job at best. Otherwise you’d be thrown into the gulag.”
Brygida tensed at that.
“But these are not ordinary circumstances and you are not an ordinary person,” the Director said. “You are the Valkyrie. I don’t think I’d win many friends by throwing a hero such as you in the gulag. Besides we still need you.”
“So, what are you going to do?” Brygida asked.
“I have to punish you without outwardly punishing you,” he said. “I have to do something that will satisfy Mikhail’s wounded ego, without annoying the wrong people.” Brygida cocked her head to the side.
“You will no longer get to care for the children,” he said.
Brygida’s eyes popped wide. “No!” she said as tears began to build in her eyes. She leapt to her feet. “You can’t take them away. The Nazis took my children, I won’t let you take them!”
“Sit down, Brygida,” he said, but she did not move.
“You’re not taking my children,” she repeated.
He sighed. “Sit down or I will be forced to cry out for the platoon of heavily armed men outside. Maybe you can take them all, but do you really want to risk it. Especially with Alena and Alexi in harm’s way?”
Brygida shook her head.
“Sit,” he commanded again.
She lowered herself back down onto the sofa.
The Director leaned forward. “I realize that the Nazis took your children,” he said. “But Alena and Alexi are not yours.”
Brygida buried her face in her hands and began to cry. “I need them,” she pleaded through her tears. “I love them.”
The Director patted her shoulder. “And you can still see them,” he said as he handed her his handkerchief.
She pulled her hands away from her face to look at him.
“If you cooperate and remain with the KGB, serving as an agent in Special Operations, you will be allowed to see them. Take them to the park, have them over for dinner, whatever,” he promised.
She wiped her eyes with the handkerchief.
“As I said before, you are very important to us Brygida. We want to keep you happy, but we also have to keep Mikhail’s father happy.”
Brygida nodded. “I understand,” she said.
The Director smiled. “Good,” he said. “I’ll allow you to say good-bye to the children, and then I want you to bring them to me.” She nodded. “You may take the rest of the day off, comrade, but report back first thing in the morning.”
Chapter 17
Siberia, U.S.S.R
1966
The light shown brightly in Brygida’s face as she sat at a table. She had been interrogated several days in a row and they kept asking the same questions over and over. They called it a debriefing, but debriefings weren’t nearly this intimidating.
“Why did you return to America instead of coming home?” the dark shadowed man sitting across the table from her behind the light demanded in Russian.
Brygida sighed. “As I’ve already told you, over and over, I was trying to gain information on where Comrade Sickle had been taken by the Nazi scientists,” Brygida replied.
“And who did you contact while in America?” the shadowed man asked.
“Just Agent Smith,” she replied referring to Axel.
“Codenamed, Blitz?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Brygida responded.
“Why did you contact him?”
“Because he is my son,” Brygida replied. She realized that the KGB already knew this. If Alena knew, that meant the Centre knew. “And I was hoping to flip him, to help us in our global w
ar against the remnants of the Nazis that are still attempting to stop the workers’ revolution,” she explained, attempting as best she could to sound like a good Communist.
“You are Jewish, correct?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Brygida replied, “but I am also a highly decorated hero of the Great Patriotic War!” she shot back. “And I have been a loyal agent of the KGB for many years. Why are questioning my loyalty?”
“We are, of course, aware of your war record, comrade,” the man said. “And your work with the KGB. But that does not put you completely above suspicion.” He cleared his throat. “You are Polish, by birth, not Russian.”
Brygida laughed. “You do realize the reason the Warsaw Pact is called the Warsaw Pact, don’t you, comrade?” she asked. “And Stalin himself was from Georgia, not Russia.”
“Yes, but Comrade Stalin was not a Jew, comrade,” the man shot back. “In fact, he knew the extent of the Jewish conspiracy against the revolution far better than…” he began but thought better of finishing. It was never a good idea to criticize those in power in the Soviet Union. There were ears everywhere.
Brygida squirmed in her chair.
“A Polish Jew who has worked with the Americans without orders on more than one occasion. By your own admission, you are the mother of two American agents. You joined with them recently on a mission of your own design without the authorization of the Centre. But you are telling me your loyalty should be above question?” he asked indignantly.
The man placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, “I think you should be thankful you haven’t been sent to the gulag yet!”
Suddenly, Brygida heard the door behind her open and a calm voice said, “that is enough, comrade, I will handle things from here.”
“As you say, comrade,” the interrogator replied. He glanced once more at Brygida before stepping around the table and leaving the room.
“Welcome home, Comrade Valkyrie,” the man said and Brygida thought she recognized his voice. “Please come with me, I’d like to show you something.”
“As you say, comrade,” she replied before standing and turning around to face him. When she did, her mouth fell open as she saw his smiling face staring at her. No! She thought. Not him!
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