Red Army Spies and the Blackrobes Trilogy

by Patrick Trese

  “Ignatius urges us to keep the images of an imagined Hell in our memories. They may prove useful, no doubt, but remember that they are only images, symbols of reality. Continue to believe in a physical Hell, if you must. But as you grow older, your ideas about Hell will probably change.

  “I know mine have. What frightens me now about Hell is not the fiery vision of damnation we conjure up for the purposes of contemplation and prayer. What Hell is all about, it seems to me, is spiritual pain. I think that is what the damned must suffer.

  “Every moment, for all eternity, the soul is damned to realize that he has used his own free will to banish himself from God’s presence. He knows that he will never be able to go home, that he will never be able to embrace the Infinite Goodness. Union with God, he realizes now, was the very reason for his existence. He has come to fully understand that. He knows, with absolute certainty, exactly what he has lost. He now knows exactly what he can never recover.

  “Is there a flame that can burn so intensely, a pain worse than the eternal realization of infinite loss? The damned soul realizes, at once and forever, that what he so desperately desires is exactly what he will never have.”

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  The Jesuit Provincial was in the bathroom when the U.S. Attorney General telephoned that Thursday evening.

  “Wouldn’t you know it?” Father Novak would say later. “I finally get a chance to talk to one of the Kennedys and Brother Krause has to get me out of the john to take the call. I felt like an idiot. And once I got on the line with Bobby Kennedy, I was so flustered that I was stammering like a schoolboy. Talk about getting caught with your pants down!”

  Nevertheless, the Provincial regained his composure and, within the half-hour, he was able to call the Attorney General’s office in Washington to confirm that arrangements had been made.

  Father Samozvanyetz would be ready to leave Milford Novitiate promptly at nine o’clock the next morning.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  That Thursday night, after Points, the man who played Father Samozvanyetz took Charley Coogan aside and gave him instructions.

  “There will be a change in the Order tomorrow,” he said. “Friday will be a break day. But only for the novices making the Long Retreat. Father Rector will announce that at breakfast. Ambulatio in the morning. Games in the afternoon. No mingling with the other novices or juniors. After supper, the primi-anni novices will resume Sacred Silence and the retreat will begin again. If you have any problems, go directly to Father Thornton.”

  “You won’t be here, Father?”

  “I’ve been called away,” he said. “It’s some sort of government business. The agents will be picking me up first thing in the morning.”

  “Do you know what it’s about, Father?”

  “I have no idea. But I’ve been told that I’ll be back in time for supper. May I give you a suggestion?” Charley nodded. “Take the day off. Just forget about everything. Have some fun and enjoy yourself. Promise?”

  Charley said he’d try. He went to his dormitory room and sat down at his desk to think. There was a telephone booth on Paters’ Row which novices and juniors were allowed to use, but only with permission, to call home collect in case of a family emergency.

  He had a roll of quarters tucked away in his trunk up in the novitiate attic. Could he slip up there after lights out and get some coins? Sure. And could he get to the telephone in the morning and call his Dad without being seen or heard? Maybe when the corridor was empty after meditation and before Mass?

  Possible. All he could do was give it a shot.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  At Fort Bragg, North Carolina, the commanding generals of the 1st and 2nd Infantry Divisions, the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions and the 1st Armored Division were following their secret orders and bringing their units to combat readiness. An invasion of Cuba might be necessary.

  The McDill, Homestead and McCoy Air Force Bases in Florida were already on full alert, as was the Key West Naval Air Station. Additional fighter planes, anti-aircraft guns and missiles were now on their way to Florida. The troops staging in Florida for a possible invasion of Cuba would have to be protected by an impenetrable air defense umbrella.

  U.S. Navy picket ships were steaming to their stations off the coasts of Cuba. At Norfolk, Virginia, supply ships began putting out to sea to replenish the destroyers and electronic surveillance ships. A blockade of Cuba might be ordered.

  Long-range bombers of the Strategic Air Command were in the air, as they were every day, ready to attack on a moment’s notice Cuba or anywhere else, even the Soviet Union. In the White House conference room, the bellicose general commanding the Strategic Air Command had joined the EX COMM discussion and waited impatiently for a presidential order for a first-strike nuclear attack on the Soviet Union.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  That Thursday night, after the novices were asleep, the man who played Father Samozvanyetz left the novitiate and strolled up the path leading to the dark woods and the shrine of Saint Stanislaus Kotska. At last he had something to do, some action to take. He sat down on the bench facing the statue, reached underneath, and pushed three thumbtacks into the wood: two yellow, one red.

  “The President has summoned me,” said the tacks. “I will meet you here tomorrow night at midnight to report.”

  Now the ball was in play at last. Obviously, he reasoned, the President knows, or at least suspects, that something has gone wrong in Cuba. Why else would he ask for a meeting? For some other reason? Doubtful.

  He walked slowly back through the darkness to the novitiate, thinking about how he would play this new scene. What should Alex Samozvanyetz’s position be?

  Well, he is less scrupulous now and more susceptible to Presidential charm. He has reflected on his prison camp experiences and separated what he heard in confessions from his store of general information. So he is now willing to entertain direct questions and will try to answer as many as he can. But he should refuse once or twice for effect.

  No need to be dramatic. Better to under-play the simple, humble priest. But there should be something about him that would be just a bit intriguing, but not mysterious. A touch of clairvoyance might be necessary, but don’t overdo it.

  Sit back and pay close attention to the President’s questions. They will be as important as your answers. Probably, as Oksana Volkova had pointed out, much more so.

  C H A P T E R • 19

  The grey sedan arrived at Milford Novitiate promptly at nine o’clock Friday morning and the man who played Father Samozvanyetz was whisked to the Kentucky side of the Ohio River where the Cincinnati airport was located. Once there, the car moved at a moderate speed past the passenger terminal, through a gate in the wire fence that surrounded the landing field. It came to a smooth stop in the aircraft parking area.

  A young Secret Service agent named Anderson swept him into the cabin of a small passenger airplane. The twin-engine aircraft took him to Cleveland where the Secret Service agent ushered him to a black limousine parked a good distance away from the main terminal.

  “It’s always hurry-up-and-wait,” said Anderson. “That was the hurry part, Father. Now comes the wait.” He told the driver to switch on the car radio so that the priest in the back seat of the limousine could hear what was going on downtown. The President’s visit was a major event for Cleveland and at least one of the city’s radio stations was providing on-the-spot coverage. The man who played Father Samozvanyetz feigned indifference and listened intently.

  The radio announcers were reporting that a large crowd had gathered in Cleveland’s Public Square. The mayor was there, as were the governor of the state, several congressmen and one senator. All Democrats, of course. The President was in Ohio to heal deep divisions within the state’s Democratic party before the November elections. But the people crowded into Public Square didn’t care much about that. They were there to catch a glimpse of the glamorous young President. The Ohio politicians were bit players. It was Pr
esident Kennedy’s show. He was the star attraction. So said the commentators.

  The man who played Father Samozvanyetz listened to the President’s speech with increased respect for his theatrical skills. If Kennedy knew about the nuclear missiles in Cuba, as he certainly must by now, he was playing his part perfectly. His speech to the crowd was spirited, witty, conciliatory and fiercely partisan. He gave not even the slightest hint of the menace lurking offstage.

  After he concluded and the crowd stopped cheering, the radio commentators speculated about how President Kennedy’s speech might affect Ohio politics and then the radio station switched its coverage to a breathless newsman stationed on the West Side who reported that it was another pleasantly cool, sunny autumn day here in Northeastern Ohio and the President was seeing Cleveland at its autumn best. Flags and banners were fluttering in the light breeze and the people along Detroit Avenue in suburban Lakewood were waving and cheering as the Presidential motorcade passed by on its way to the airport.

  “The President should arrive in twelve minutes if the schedule holds,” said Anderson. “So we’ll drive you over toward Air Force One now. You can see the plane over there.” The agent climbed into the back seat and rapped once on the thick glass partition. “Time to go,” he said, although the driver could not hear him. The limousine eased forward.

  “Under no circumstances are you to get out of this vehicle, Father.” Anderson was polite but firm. “There will be reporters and photographers in the area and the President does not want to have any speculation about his meeting with you in the news media. If reporters see him enter this limousine and ask about it, they’ll be told that he’s consulting with a member of his staff about some routine White House business.”

  The man who played Father Samozvanyetz nodded and said nothing. Once the car was parked in the shadow of the President’s huge jet aircraft, Anderson and the driver both got out and stood by the side of the limousine. A third agent joined them, spoke to them briefly and walked away.

  Anderson opened the back door. “There’s been a delay, Father. The President has stopped to pay a visit to a high school. That wasn’t on the schedule.”

  “Is it Saint Ignatius High School, by any chance? That’s one of ours, you know.”

  “Afraid not, Father,” said Anderson. “He’s visiting Saint Edward’s.”

  The man who played Father Samozvanyetz pretended to be disappointed.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Herb Coogan had not wasted any time hanging around St. Ed’s. He got to the Cleveland airport well ahead of the Presidential motorcade. Staying well beyond the area of tight security, Herb found a parking spot along the perimeter fence where he could watch without being noticed.

  He saw the limousine parked beside Air Force One. He also saw the small twin-engine jet parked several hundred yards away. Even from this distance he could see it was a government plane. He took out his high-powered binoculars and waited for the motorcade to arrive.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Looking through the tinted rear window, the man who played Father Samozvanyetz saw the flashing red lights on the police cars, saw the motorcycles, the limousines, the vans and the ambulance pull up and park. The White House reporters and cameramen spilled out of their bus. None so much as glanced at the limousine in which he sat. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind for the scene he was about to play. He did not have long to wait.

  The door of the limousine opened. The President of the United States entered with his dazzling smile and his firm handshake.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long, Father.”

  “Oh no, Mister President. The time passed quickly. I read my Office. And I listened to your speech on the radio.”

  “I won’t ask which you enjoyed more, Father.”

  “The speech, actually, Mister President. While you were addressing the crowd, I was thinking that, if I had a son, he would be about your age. An odd thought, I admit, but I was wondering if any son of mine would have been able to conduct himself so confidently. And under such difficult circumstances.”

  The President’s eyes hardened.

  “What circumstances do you mean, Father?”

  “The circumstances that have brought us together here.”

  “Do you have any idea about what’s going on, Father?”

  “Something to do with the Soviet Union, I assume. That’s the interest we have in common. Also, I suspect it has something to do with Cuba.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Just a guess. I am merely putting two and two together: the speculation in the newspapers and the talk about Cuba that I heard in the prison camps.”

  “You are willing to discuss what you heard in the camps?”

  “Up to a point. I concluded from our last conversation that, because you understand the constraints I have upon me, you would not consult me unless you had a serious problem. If so, I might be of some help to you. At least, I’m willing to try.”

  “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’ve made that decision,” said the President. “Let me first ask you about the men you met in the camps, Father. They had held important posts in the government?”

  “Some of them, yes. The government and the military.”

  “And they were resentful about the way they had been treated?”

  “Indeed they were, to put it mildly. Angry, bitter, unforgiving and vengeful. But I took that into account as I listened to their conversations. A liar often reveals the truth, you know.”

  “I know that very well, Father. I had a talk with that lying bastard Andrei Gromyko yesterday afternoon.”

  “Yes, I know. It was in the newspapers.”

  “He lied to me, Father. The Foreign Minister of the Soviet Union sat in my office. He looked me straight in the eye and he lied to me.”

  “You are certain he was lying?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But I gather that you learned some truth from his lies?”

  “Added to what I already knew, yes.”

  The President shifted his weight, as if trying to get comfortable. The man who played Father Samozvanyetz thought about the young world leader’s bad back. It must be painful.

  “I don’t know how to discuss this with you, Father, without being specific. Can I swear you to absolute secrecy? As if I was making my Confession?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Very well, then. Let me explain exactly what’s going on.”

  The man who played Father Samozvanyetz felt a sudden rush of excitement. As an actor, he was exhilarated. He was actually sitting with the President of the United States who was taking him into his confidence. He must be giving a perfect performance!

  But this was not a play. He forced himself to remain calm as he listened to the President describe the situation in Cuba and what the President called his “options.”

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Herb, looking through his binoculars at the limousine, wondered what was going on. The conversation was taking longer than he had expected. Was Father Samozvanyetz hearing the President’s confession or was the President using the priest as some sort of spiritual advisor? Or what?

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Inside the limousine, the man who played Father Samozvanyetz did not try to conceal the shock he felt. It was more horrific than he had imagined. What frightened him most was the realization that the life or death of the planet might be determined by the words and actions of an insignificant human being as himself.

  One misstep, one omission, one exaggeration, one mistake in interpretation, the smallest error however unintended, could give one of the leaders of the world a slight shove in the wrong direction and the entire planet could be laid waste.

  “Khrushchev made a serious miscalculation,” the President was saying. “He has pushed me too damn hard, Father, and I can’t let him get away with it.”

  “He has misjudged you.”

  “He certainly has and, in doing so, he has directl
y challenged the sovereignty of the United States. He should know that I couldn’t allow him to continue on the course he has chosen. No American president could.”

  “But you are afraid that Khrushchev believes that you are weak?”

  “I’m sure he believes that. Ever since the Bay of Pigs fiasco. He seems to be operating on the assumption that I will do nothing. That blunder was an amateurish attempt to invade Cuba by Cuban romantics and CIA lunatics trying to overthrow Castro with rifles and motorboats.

  “But this situation is deadly serious! Nikita Khrushchev has created a nuclear threat to the security of the United States! He is 90 miles off our shores with enough nuclear weaponry to kill 80 million Americans in a matter of minutes! Any man who put those weapons on our doorstep is stupid enough to use them! Or stupid enough to make a mistake and launch them by accident!”

  “So we are talking about the possibility of all-out thermonuclear war?”

  “Damn right, Father! Any confrontation can escalate, Father. Khrushchev doesn’t seem to realize that. He’s pushed me into a corner where I must either let him have his way, or fight. One of my generals wants me to order a pre-emptive nuclear bombing attack on every strategic target in the Soviet Union right now! Without warning! Today!”

  “Dear God!”

  The man who played Father Samozvanyetz closed his eyes. He was no longer an observer. He was back at the front. He could smell the stench of corpses. He must act or die.

  Act now, he told himself.

  “You are in grave danger,” he said to the President. “Khrushchev is not your greatest problem.”

  He saw the young President’s eyes widen.

  The man who played Father Samozvanyetz slowly called to mind the names of the women Oksana Volkova had given him months before. He held the President’s gaze as he conjured up their images.