Code Name: Kalistrat

by Arno Baker

  “In other words you would expect the United States to deliver no strings attached, over 200 atomic bombs that the USSR would use to destroy China’s population centers in a preventive war?”

  Beria was intelligent enough to know that he was losing ground and that his ‘secret protocol’ idea was not succeeding but he sat back and pretended not to notice as he persisted in his line of reasoning,

  “Of course this would only happen after a credible short crisis the United States need not even be involved in. But please consider the positive effects of knocking China off the world map: the remaining Chinese population will be completely at our mercy just like the Germans and Japanese in 1945 and still remain. No doubt the new Chinese government will immediately shake off communism through a comprehensive purge and open up to American and British trade: they will need absolutely everything. Together we must set up a totally submissive collaborationist Chinese government that would necessarily be ruling by terror at first and limit our requirements to ensuring the security of our borders. Russia will have no other interests in China except for territorial compensation in Manchuria and Mongolia. The result would be that the United States and the USSR will both be free of the Chinese threat for several generations. One billion would simply be vaporized and dissolve in minutes…! Puff! Like that…”

  He made a blowing away sound that signaled to Clark that the meeting should come to an end.

  “I can tell you with some certainty Marshall Beria, that no American administration or congress would ever acquiesce to such a plan. Believe me when I tell you this.”

  Clark was almost smiling as he looked directly at his Soviet counterpart. The audacity and ruthlessness of such a plan was breathtaking: a war that would be over in 72 hours or less leaving a major country in ruins. It would take the Chinese 50 to 75 years to rebuild. But then…No, Clark didn’t see Ike and Dulles getting into such a scenario no matter what the advantages could be. Eisenhower was too cautious a commander to risk everything on a crazy amateurish gamble. That was something a Hitler would go for…Beria was getting impatient.

  “Fine but if we initiate the process then what will you do?”

  “I can’t speculate or predict any such reaction. It would create a completely new and extremely dangerous situation everywhere in Asia. This will be discussed at the top and we will get back to you. But why would you entertain such a possibility?”

  Beria nodded and forged ahead,

  “The USSR in order to survive must concentrate on its own internal problems: integrating our nationalities to create a true Soviet identity remains a difficult process; we must let go those so-called Eastern European “satellites” that are only a source of endless headaches for us and wind up being a drain on our resources just because of the number of troops we must maintain in each country! How can we continue to do this if we have a double threat from the west and the east? Look at where you are now deeply involved: Korea, Japan, Formosa, Indochina besides Europe...How much more can America do? If it extends its resources to span the globe it will be drained of its wealth and become mired in economic penury. No resources are infinite and any empire will eventually lose its primacy if it doesn‘t continue to adjust to current conditions.

  Your continued armaments build-up forces us to do the same and makes it impossible for the party to give the Soviet people better living conditions without which the regime will eventually collapse. I think most of your experts will see the logic of my assessment and the validity of the proposed solution, no matter how unpalatable it may appear to bourgeois religious sensibilities.

  What I mean is that “incidents” can be manufactured very easily and so expertly that no one will ever figure out there was nothing spontaneous about them. Anyway we must keep in contact. If the United States can have a positive attitude once the change in leadership has been effected in Moscow then we can come a long way very quickly.”

  General Clark was not a squeamish man and had seen the horrors of war up close but this kind of cold blooded murderous planning that would snuff out the lives of hundreds of millions was not the kind of decision he could comprehend and his expression had turned into an unmistakable scowl.

  “What exactly do you mean?”

  Beria noticed the hostility but chose to ignore it.

  “Send us a signal that you are ready to negotiate and save face; one that will have meaning for the Soviet public. For example: if you can persuade the president to offer clemency to the Rosenbergs it would be seen as a most positive move by the Politburo. It would signal to my colleagues that a favorable trend has started with Stalin‘s passing from power and give my group a massive argument and the momentum to quickly reach a general settlement. I think this would allow us to get past the confrontational policies once and for all. We must end this Cold War, general!”

  The meeting was over. Beria rose and extended his hand which Clark agreed to shake with some visible reluctance. By then the Rosenbergs’ attorneys were already petitioning for stays of execution and other delays but that process was destined to run out of legal options in a matter of months. It appeared to most experts that the couple would have to be either granted clemency with a commutation of sentence or put to death that spring. The general, who was going to end the Korean War and sign the armistice at Pan Mun Jom, couldn’t imagine how Eisenhower would react to that specific request. The big picture, as Beria insisted, was all about China and the Soviet leader probably knew that General Mark Clark, his counterpart in the secret discussions, had been advocating a very tough response to Chinese intervention in Korea almost equal to MacArthur’s old demands if no cease fire could be achieved. But to go from there to a nuclear attack on such a scale…”

  Jack was convinced that if these notebooks were authentic, as they appeared to be, they would indeed become one of the most memorable bombshells in revising large slices of recent history. Their value could easily reach seven figures once their authenticity was established with enough certainty and Michaud went public. He told Laffont‘s son as much and the man in the wheelchair nodded,

  “I know that there will be skeptics but proving all this will be a rather simple matter starting with the ink, the paper etc. Once again I am well aware of the Hitler Diaries hoax so I can assure you that I do not wish to be humiliated or serve time in jail! Seven figures... well I can tell you straightaway that 80 percent of that money would go to charities should I be so fortunate. My life or what’s left of it is no longer worth that much!”

  Jack rose to take his leave of Sylvain Michaud,

  “This turned out to be far more than I expected, it gives me unusual insight into the whole story. I may contact you again very soon when I hope to make you a serious offer.”

  “Yes, but then…I am still living with the old fears…” he made a silent gesture with his hand across his throat. Jack looked at him in amazement and understood.

  “You really think so?”

  Michaud nodded and wrote on a piece of paper,

  “They will want the notebooks! At any cost! Especially the new regime…over there.” He tore up the paper, then took one notebook and tore off two pages, one blank and the other in the neat handwriting that belonged to Barnave and gave it to Jack.

  “But who knows, perhaps that particular book will never see the light of day! Good bye Mr. Michaud and thank you.”

  “No Mr. Harrison, it is I who must thank you!”

  XXXIII

  Jack was all set to return to Amsterdam by train that same afternoon. Paris was suddenly very uncomfortable with those few pages in his attaché case. Sylvain Michaud was under the dual threat of the Russians and the French, as he saw it. Both countries didn’t want to be seen as weak or conspiring to destroy China! This could mean disastrous public relations at a very delicate time. That alone could trigger a decision to shut Sylvain Michaud’s mouth up once and for all before he could go public!

  As he left the building Jack didn’t see the van anywhere so he decided to walk
to the nearest metro station. He went up toward the boulevard Edgar-Quinet and turned right.

  At noon people were coming out of the offices and businesses to shop and have lunch, the metro station had a steady flow of Parisians hurrying up and down the steps and traffic was heavy. He checked his watch and knew he still had two more hours to kill before the next train to Amsterdam from the Gare du Nord. Then on the far left, of the boulevard Edgar Quinet on the corner of rue de la Gaité, he saw the van parked just across from the metro station. The plate numbers were identical 1099NR75. Michaud‘s apartment was one bloc down just three minutes away at the most. Jack knew something was wrong and he quickly returned to the rue Delambre toward the boulevard Montparnasse. The entrance was just two more doors down, in two minutes he‘d be on the fourth floor ringing Michaud‘s door…

  One more second and then came a tremendous blast that sent glass windows shattering on the sidewalk and car alarms ringing out of control. The explosion shot a long blue and reddish flame from the fourth floor of the building and a fire had started on the inside. There could be no doubt, it was Michaud’s apartment with its windows on the street and a little balcony with its wrought iron grid now knocked off into the street below.

  A policeman came running up from Montparnasse with his pistol drawn, expecting more attacks and convinced that this was only a prelude. People were huddled in doorways looking at the flames. Jack had left that floor less than 40 minutes before. He turned around because the gendarme was gesturing energetically to get off the street and rushed back up to the Edgar-Quinet metro station as three police cars with their sirens blaring barreled down and cordoned off the blast area. A fire truck arrived at full speed and in seconds was shooting water into the fourth floor windows.

  As Jack reached the metro station he saw the van again and two men getting ready to open the doors. One of them was the delivery boy from the café who came with the croissants. Jack ducked into a doorway and was now convinced that others could be following him. The van pulled away and drove off into the snarled traffic in the opposite direction. The number was 1099NR75 and he had it engraved in his memory.

  He didn’t know who could trace it inconspicuously other than the Gendarmerie or…the CIA, but he didn’t want to chance being stuck in Paris. Sylvain Michaud had paid the price and with him all the documents were gone, or rather...vaporized as Marshall Lavrenti Beria would have said with a faint smile. From an internet café in Amsterdam Centraal station he emailed a tip to the Paris police and Le Figaro newspaper giving them the license plate of the van and detailed descriptions of the two men.

  There wasn’t enough time to test the paper samples from the notebooks so he abandoned the idea of changing the press release and modifying the opening statement he had prepared for the press conference two days later. There was now a murder investigation taking place. After sending the email he took the first train to Frankfurt and was certain that no one was following him. They knew where he was headed anyway.

  That evening as the train sped through the Dutch countryside, he watched the news channels and caught a report on Antenne-2 from Paris ”accidental gas explosion ends in tragedy” in an apartment in the rue Delambre just off the boulevard Montparnasse. Two persons were dead and an entire floor of the building had been devastated. Within seconds the photograph of Sylvain Michaud appeared on the screen. Jack powered up his laptop and read the AFP wire service dispatch,

  “AFP Paris, October 2000/// Retired invalid dies in terrible gas explosion. This morning at 11:33 am according to police officials a powerful explosion erupted in a peaceful street near Montparnasse. Minutes later the body of Sylvain Michaud, an invalid confined to a wheelchair and a former manager of the SNCF, was discovered in the debris of his fourth floor apartment at 22 rue Delambre in the 14th arrondissement. A second body was also found on the landing but its identity remains unknown. It appears that a gas leak may have been the cause of the terrifying blast that shook several buildings and sent shattered glass and debris flying into the street. The victim was the son of the left wing journalist Lucien Laffont aka Barnave, well known during the early Cold War years, who died in mysterious circumstances while exiting the Paris metro on the place de l’Opéra in 1953. His son Sylvain always claimed that his father had been poisoned by the injection of a lethal chemical that dissolves into the blood stream. No corroboration of the claim was ever possible since “Barnave” was cremated after his death. The police are still not ruling out the possible criminal origins of the gas explosion and the legal magistrate may open a procedure against X.”

  Like father like son. Both men had paid the ultimate price and Sylvain’s ambiguous death was more than a warning.

  The end of communism and the breakup of the USSR had created a strange partnership within the espionage establishment: no one wanted to upset the newly found reservoir of goodwill unless it was absolutely imperative to do so. But Jack felt that Michaud’s murder was also a brutal signal for him to stop while he was still in time and not press his luck any further. He also thought that the entire exercise could have been set up to lead the SVR or other involved to Michaud’s cache of documents: that was what they were after and the CIA had paved the way. It was only an assumption for now. Things would be cleared up at Frankfurt and Feklisov would be on hand to make a statement in front of the cameras. It wouldn’t bring back poor Sylvain Michaud, though.

  Bill had already checked in at the Bahnhof hotel near the station. Television news crews would be present to record the press conference along with two dozen journalists.

  ”Jack, we’ve been looking all over for you, damn it! Irina has been asking to speak to you regarding those interviews. She left her cell phone with a German number.” Then they discussed business details.

  Jack was calling Irina within minutes.

  ”Mr. Harrison, at last! I was trying to call you for several days.”

  ”I am sorry I was traveling.”

  ”I am with the colonel in Frankfurt only today and tomorrow but need to speak with you as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll be at your hotel in a few minutes.”

  “I’d rather not discuss the matter on the phone so let’s meet at the bar.”

  Jack thought her call was connected to the Michaud attack. He quickly made some minor changes to the press release just in case there was a problem with Feklisov. Irina was waiting patiently in the darkened lobby bar of the Hessischerhof, a luxurious establishment facing the main entrance to the book fair. Belmont Books had rented two rooms for Feklisov and his “assistant.”

  “Shall we take a table?” she asked looking very official in her strict blue suit and tight mini skirt reminiscent of a 1960s flight attendant, the kind that winked at the camera. Despite her hard looking features she was a handsome and statuesque woman and heads turned when she walked over to the armchair.

  “How is the colonel feeling after all that filming?”

  Jack asked as they sat down and ordered drinks.

  “Very well, very happy, ecstatic actually: everything is on track as far as he is concerned. But we do have one problem.”

  She smiled as if she were getting ready to play cat and mouse, with herself cast in the role of the cat. He sat up very straight waiting for the fireworks to begin, but she took her time, smiled coyly and said,

  “The colonel feels nervous about making a statement about the Rosenbergs and prefers to cancel the interview with TNT Network. He says he has already discussed the case in the documentary in great detail and doesn’t wish to repeat any of that material again. He wishes to put it behind him.”

  Jack didn’t expect that news and naively wanted to know why,

  “I am very surprised Irina, why even come to Frankfurt if he wants to keep silent?”

  “You will have the honor of holding court for the media and he says he has no need to even be present. His point is that he will not discuss the case again. That‘s the final disposition.”

  She crossed her legs and
let her tight skirt slide up a bit too high and Jack didn‘t fail to notice that she made no effort to correct that small embarrassment. He smiled as his eyes lingered far too long,

  “I see, so the whole exercise here is for nothing?”

  “Not exactly, but it will not be what you think, Jack.”

  “Ah! And what am I supposed to think, according to you?” He asked clearly annoyed at the little dance she was giving him,

  “You are supposed to do what you were paid to do and leave the rest as it is.” She answered dryly.

  “Is that a warning from somewhere, or a suggestion from you?” Again the coy smile reappeared as she switched with great flexibility from one attitude to the other,

  “Both actually, and in very friendly terms from my end, I would say.”

  She smiled for the first time and looked at him seductively in a way that was more than simply flirtatious.

  “But Irina, if I may say so, you may feel friendly but you don’t sound that friendly right now.”

  She put down her glass and smoothed her skirt finally tugging it to where modesty and esthetics dictated that it should be,

  “I am doing my job, Jack. That’s all. But then I can also have feelings of my own…”

  “But when we last discussed all this…”

  She suddenly leaned over, uncrossing her legs and unexpectedly, took Jack’s hand in both her smooth and strong hands, he didn‘t pull away because something was suddenly making her very attractive and he couldn’t quite say what it was,

  “I know Jack, but things change, and what was true yesterday is no longer valid today. Try to understand that this is a bit bigger than you and me and that I would like us to remain good friends, very good friends, in any case.”

  He smiled and he let her keep his hand. She had suddenly transformed into the Biblical female snake poised to perform her unavoidable seduction. He thought about it for a few seconds and said,

  “Irina, in a rather bad old TV movie a Mossad agent lets a treacherous woman talk him into having sex in a hotel in Frankfurt. His buddy finds him dead in his room the following morning. Is that what you have in store for me?”