Nick Conrad, Major USAF, electronics warfare AOS (Nikolai Konrad, forty-two, recruited into KGB from Red Army in 1952 and trained in languages and electronics).
Adele Conrad, Grade 9 civil servant, senior clerk-typist Eareckson Wing personnel department, DMAFB (Alla Konrada, forty-one, recruited into KGB while a modern-language student at Moscow University, met and married Nikolai Konrad at Amergrad, 1953). Three children, all of whom had been born in America—ages 19, 18, 15.
Fred Winslow, Lieutenant Colonel USAF, Deputy ICBM Wing Commander, Eareckson Wing, DMAFB (Vladimir Voz-shin, forty-four, recruited into KGB from Aeroflot pilot-training program and trained in military administration and languages).
Celia Winslow, housewife, active in community affairs—League of Women Voters, Pima County Democratic Party organization, Parent-Teacher Association (Kassia Vozshina, forty-three, recruited into KGB with her husband and trained in languages). The Winslows had a twenty-two-year-old son born in Russia and a fourteen-year-old daughter born in West Germany where Winslow had served a two-year tour of duty as a major with a ground-to-air missile squadron.
Two others were not present. Ilya Zinenev, in Washington, D.C., had been recruited out of Leningrad University and seeded into Tucson as a university mathematics instructor but as requirements had changed he had been shifted into the political sphere. Boris Dolinski, today in Scottsdale, had been assistant to a Ukrainian commissar when recruited, and had been trained in American political science by KGB at Amergrad. The absence of these two didn’t matter since the mission would be military rather than political.
The Rykov plan had allowed for the fact that the American armed forces tended to rotate their personnel from base to base. About one-fifth of the Amergrad agents were posted away from Tucson at any given time: Winslow, for example, had served tours of duty in West Germany, Alaska, South Vietnam, New Jersey and California. But Winslow’s predecessor as Deputy Wing Commander had been another Amergrad agent and his successor would be yet another. This was ensured by the placement of Amergrad personnel administrators in key Pentagon and NORAD offices so that control was maintained over transfers and reassignments. The preponderance of Amergrad agents remained in Tucson at all times but the scheme allowed for sufficient rotation to avert suspicion. By the same token local officials like Adele Conrad had been seeded into positions from which they could direct the placement of lower-echelon agents like Hathaway to units where they could exercise maximum leverage from within.
The scheme had been worked out to maintain cell-to-cell security. The system was analogous to a cargo ship’s watertight bulkheads, which were designed to seal off any compartment that leaked, to preserve the seaworthy integrity of the vessel as a whole. Of the nearly three hundred Amergrad agents, there wasn’t one who could identify more than eleven of his comrades. Most of them could identify only four or five. In the entire Western Hemisphere there was only one man alive who could name all 287 Amergrad agents: that man was Leon Belsky, and each time he thought of it his tongue twitched against the hollowed molar near the back of his lower jaw.
He sat them down and told them what they were to do. He delivered his address in a pitchless voice, without animation, as if it were a ritual incantation. While he spoke he watched them. They were filled with nervous anxiety, that much was evident—all except Ramsey Douglass who appeared bemused.
“The objective is the missiles themselves rather than the command hierarchy. You have to work out the details in terms of a one-shot coup, not a continuing operation. Moscow wants these ICBMs fired at targets of Moscow’s choice. That’s all you have to do, shoot the missiles—not take over the air base or the state of Arizona. In a way this makes it easier but remember you won’t know the precise day or hour until the last minute and when it comes you’ve got to be prepared to move instantly and simultaneously. It’ll require faultless timing.
“I’m meeting with you before the others because your cell is the key to the whole job. Winslow will execute the command to fire the missiles. Conrad has to see to it that our own code envelopes are substituted for the NORAD ones at the proper time. Douglass will draw up the details of target reprogramming. Douglass and Conrad together will have to blueprint the severing of the fail-safe communications links within the missile groups themselves so that when the group commanders double-check for confirmation they’ll receive the replies we’ll be substituting for NORAD signals.”
Ramsey Douglass showed a double row of white teeth. He spoke in a drawl. “You’d have to interdict the security system and the communications hookup at every level from Colorado Springs and Washington on down. How am I supposed to handle that?”
“You’re not. Everybody has his own job to do—just worry about yours. When the time comes we’ll have control of every communications relay and all signals to and from the silo complexes will go through us. No messages will be allowed in or out except those we initiate. The group commanders won’t know they’re receiving fake messages and the higher commands outside the base won’t know anything unusual is going on here until it’s too late for them to do anything about it. Of course they’ll see the missiles on radar after they’ve been launched but they’ll have no way to stop them.”
A throbbing vein stood out in Nick Conrad’s forehead. Fred Winslow was twisting his knuckles. Adele Conrad’s eyes were moist and blinking fast like semaphores; Celia Winslow’s stare was fixed against the knot of Belsky’s necktie and she kept rubbing her thumb across the pads of her fingers. Nicole Lawrence stared astringently at Ramsey Douglass as if it were up to Douglass to remedy the situation. The five of them made a studied mute tableau; only Douglass seemed capable of rational speech.
Douglass of course was the cell leader and he had had more advance warning of the meeting than the others, but he hadn’t been told the purpose of it. Either he was a man who adapted quickly or he was bright enough to have guessed it had to be something like this. In either case it made him valuable. But Belsky didn’t like this screened porch as a meeting place and it was Douglass who had suggested it. The man was erratic; there were signs he was too easily prepared to choose the paths of least resistance without asking enough preliminary questions.
Still, it was Douglass who asked the obvious question: “Just who are we supposed to shoot at? I assume that information’s on a need-to-know basis but you’ve got to realize we have to know the general nature of the targets if not the specific locations. Before you tell me it’s none of our business you’d better know this. These missiles have been fueled and installed with the expectation that if they’re ever used, the targets will be Russian or Chinese. Now if Moscow wants us to shoot them at Washington or Western Europe or Tel Aviv, you’re going to have to tell us pretty far in advance. It’s not just a question of reprogramming the target coordinates—it’s a question of adding or draining fuel and programming new data cards for the computers and all sorts of preparations that you simply can’t do at the last minute. These birds weren’t installed with the idea in mind that they’d ever have to be used against targets in Colorado Springs or the District of Columbia. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Perfectly. Take my word for it that we’ve taken that problem into account in our planning. You’ll be given the target information in time to make all necessary adjustments and preparations. For the moment we’re withholding it because we’re entering a critical stage of activation and that means the risk of some of you being blown is greater than it’s been at any time since you were seeded in. If you’re blown and cornered you’ll be questioned, and you can’t reveal what you don’t know.”
Douglass said, “That’s okay, as long as you know the full extent of the technical side of it. If that’s going to be my responsibility I’ve got to be given time enough to do the job. On a thing like this you can’t just get nine women pregnant and expect a baby in one month.”
The kitchen door squeaked open and Belsky’s head whipped around. Hathaway stopped in the doorway and said, “I�
��m sorry to bust in. It’s important.” He lifted his chin in beckoning signal and stepped back into the house.
Belsky strode inside and pulled the door shut. “What is it?”
Without speaking Hathaway turned on his heel and led him past the closed bedroom door to the room beyond the kitchen, Nicole’s office.
Hathaway pushed the door open and stood to one side and when Belsky stepped into the doorway he saw Torrio in the room holding a stranger at gunpoint. The stranger’s face was rigid with alarm.
Hathaway said, “Torrio found this guy out back of the house with a shotgun mike and a tape recorder. Bugging your meeting.”
The stranger winced when the door slammed. He had his hands behind his head and his shoulderblades against the wall. Torrio was sitting on a corner of the desk, on one hip, training a .25 Browning automatic pistol on him from eight feet away. The surveillance equipment lay on the desk blotter—a small battery tape recorder and a high-resolution microphone with a nine-inch cone and disk sound reflector, one of those ultrasensitive long-range microphones adapted from missile-tracking antennae. It had a shoulder stock like a light carbine and there were stethoscopic earphones. The device was familiar enough to Belsky. With it you could hear ordinary conversation four blocks away.
Belsky said, “Do you know him?”
“I’ve seen him around,” Hathaway said.
Torrio reached under his elbow with his left hand. Belsky saw a wallet in it. He took three steps forward and emptied the wallet on the desk.
Driver’s license, Social Security card, private-investigator’s license, Police Auxiliary membership card, miscellany. August R. Craig (the Police Auxiliary card listed him as “Gus Craig”), 357 South Kavanagh Ave., Tucson, Arizona 85716. Driver’s license: ht 5′ 10″, wt 150 lbs, date of birth Aug 1 1933, place of birth Peoria, eyes brown, hair brown, identifying marks left earlobe missing, ½-in. scar on lower lip.
Belsky could hear the man’s breath rasp in and out. Hathaway swung toward him. “Who’re you working for, Craig?”
Craig’s only reply was a nervous hostile grin.
Hathaway made a fist and moved forward on the balls of his feet. Belsky said, “No. Come out here with me.” He went into the hall and nodded through the doorway to Torrio, who stayed put and kept his gun leveled. Hathaway emerged from the room and pulled the door to. Belsky said, “I have to finish with these people. I’ll attend to him later.”
“You want me to soften him?”
“No. Let him sweat a while—leave him alone until I’m ready for him. It’ll shake him up.”
“He ain’t the only one that’s shaken up.”
“I want you to comb the place to make sure he hasn’t got a partner,” Belsky said, and returned to the patio.
He pulled the chair forward and sat down. The interruption had given them time to absorb the impact of what he had told them. They were in the first stages of digestion now. Winslow and his wife had slid their rattan chairs close together and, remarkably, they were holding hands. Adele Conrad watched Belsky with a curiously impassive face and he couldn’t tell if she had really accepted it all and made peace with herself or was simply in a mild stage of shock. Major Conrad was nodding his head rhythmically as if he had said something to himself and was agreeing with it. Ramsey Douglass was staring down the plunge of Nicole’s neckline where her unsupported breasts quivered when she turned to face Belsky.
He had reduced them initially by forcing them to submit to a degrading bodily search. Naked, his mouth and anus probed, a man lost some of his defiance. Belsky had rocked them with the blunt announcement of their mission and had made them feel smaller by refusing to divulge answers to their questions. Now they had had time to regain some of their balance but they were still unsettled and it was time to hit them hard so that there would be no question of their obedience henceforth. It was a simple problem of discipline: the cruelty which he now inflicted was of no emotional consequence to Belsky.
He removed the thick manila envelope from his pocket and placed the stack of postcard-size photos on the wicker table by his chair. He gave the group time to speculate about the photos while he spoke to them:
“When you came here you’d spent an exhaustive year learning the lessons of protective coloration—you were taught how to be Americans. But at the same time you were, and you are, Russians. You signed an oath in which you pledged secrecy and eternal obedience. You were advised that every year you spent outside the Soviet Union in KGB employ would count as two years toward your retirement and of course that means you are eligible for retirement now at any time when you return to the Soviet Union. You’ll be eligible for all the benefits of consumer priorities, respected status, preferential housing selection.
“I mention all this simply to remind you that there are worse things than returning to the Soviet Union and the privileges that will accrue to you in recompense for the loyal service you have done Mother Russia.”
Ramsey Douglass spoke without bothering to pry his lips apart. “We’re a little old for a recruiter’s pep talk, don’t you think?”
Belsky’s face hardened. “What we require of each of you now is a total sense of loyal duty. There’ll be no time for you to stop and debate whether what you are doing is right or wrong. What you must live by is a fundamental obedience.
“I’ll remind you that Moscow keeps hostages on each of you to discourage your defection. We can always imprison these hostages in the interests of national security. I suggest the possibility of seven years’ coal mining on a penal squad in a taiga, or ten years in the Potma labor camp. But we also recognize that hostages are not always effective levers of persuasion. After twenty years we can’t be certain all of you still hold your Russian families in such close regard that you’d do anything to avoid jeopardizing them. After all, you haven’t seen or heard from these people for half your lifetimes. Douglass has a son he hasn’t seen since the boy was eight months old—how much can he mean to you now, Douglass?”
“He’s my son.” Douglass’ expression was hot and unforgiving and again he spoke without moving his lips. “If you’re suggesting I don’t care about him—”
“I’m saying it’s possible. You understand why I can’t depend on your assurances.
“Perhaps some of you feel you don’t need to be bound by any oath you signed half a lifetime ago. Perhaps you feel you’re out of our reach. We understand that. We understand the superficial attractiveness of the decadent bourgeois life and we don’t expect you to realize you may have become unwitting tools of a system in which men exploit other men and the workers have been conditioned to lick the boot that kicks them.
“You all know in a general sense that the penalty for deviationist crimes is severe. But we’re not interested in penalizing the guilty. We’re interested in making sure no one is tempted toward guilt. The only fish that get caught are the ones that have their mouths open. You people will keep your mouths shut, and I’m going to show you why.”
He pointed to Nick Conrad and beckoned with his finger and when Conrad dragged himself out of his chair Belsky handed him the packet of photographs. “Examine those closely if you will and pass them around.”
The blood drained from Conrad’s face when he looked at the first picture; he backed toward his chair, moving like a mechanism. Adele took part of the stack from him and passed them out, and Belsky spoke abruptly—this time in Russian:
“The remains you are looking at are those of the members of a cell of Illegals who were seeded into Bonn in 1962. Three years ago they formed a secret compact and resolved to refuse activation. In the event of pressure they agreed to defect to the Allied authorities rather than submit to recall to Russia. They considered themselves safe since West Germany is the most anti-Communist and well-policed state in Europe. They counted on the efficiency of German security to protect them.
“KGB has a number of mobile disciplinary squads, one of which is commanded by a Mongolian known as Tircar whose work you see in th
ese photographs. As you see most of them have been systematically dismembered beginning with the digital extremities. The punishment was inflicted gradually over a period of ten or twelve days—perhaps you can see the evidence of that in the profuse extent of the bleeding. If they had been killed first and then hacked up there wouldn’t have been so much blood away from the remains—once the heart stops pumping the blood stops spurting. The order of events has been worked out by Tircar and his people. First the children of the Illegals are assembled within view of their parents. The female children are impaled with bottles which are then smashed. The male children’s genitals are removed and stuffed into their mouths. Adolescent girls are raped with spiked dildos until they shriek for death. The parents are forced to watch this and when the children die Tircar turns his attentions upon the elders.”
He stood up and walked from place to place collecting the photographs. He put the pictures away without looking at them. “You find this inconceivable but I remind you that all acts which further history and socialism are moral acts. In Moscow we have great confidence in you; we’re quite sure this kind of measure won’t be required in your case. But if it proves necessary Tircar and his Mongolians can be brought into this city within forty-eight hours. I won’t belabor it any further.”
Nicole said very dryly, “You ought to apologize to the Party for your negative thinking, Comrade.”
“I hope you’re right,” he answered gravely; he was demonstrating the seriousness of his purposeful melodrama.
He turned to Douglass. “You’re the cell leader. I don’t need to know every step you take in carrying out your mission, but you’ll have to inform me of all details which require the cooperation of people outside your own cell. You’ll have to work out the rest of the details among yourselves and I don’t need to remind you we haven’t time for endless mental masturbation and debate. You know how to reach me. That’s all for the moment—you’ll leave by twos, at intervals.”
Deep Cover Page 17
