by Saul Herzog
“Which is?”
“Two million square miles of territory,” Tatyana said.
“What document did you see this on?” Laurel said.
“It’s a file called Sphere of Influence Fifteen, and it’s been signed by every Marshal, General, and Colonel in the Russian army,” Tatyana said. “I’ve seen a copy with my own eyes.”
“How did you come to see a copy of a document like that?” Laurel said.
“The Main Directorate had me spying on three of the signatories at the time of its circulation.”
“You mean, sleeping with?” Laurel said.
Tatyana’s eyes flashed. “You know that’s what I mean.”
“Sorry,” Laurel said.
Lance wasn’t surprised by any of what he was hearing. Everyone knew Russia had territorial ambitions. Molotov wouldn’t be satisfied until every inch of the USSR was back under his control.
Russia was like a glacier. It moved slowly, very slowly, but in the end, it proved unstoppable. Any force, if it only moved in one direction, would reach it’s goal eventually.
As Lance left the hotel room, the two women were ordering room service and checking the television and their phones for any signs that the Latvian communications system was back up and running.
He went down to the lobby and had the valet bring his car around, then he began fighting his way through the city’s mangled traffic. It was getting late, traffic was lighter than it had been, but getting around was still a battle.
At one intersection, some people attacked the car in front of him. A woman was driving.
Lance got out and pointed his gun at them and they dispersed.
“Things are getting out of control,” he said to the woman. “It would be safer to get off the streets.”
She nodded her head frantically and thanked him.
Kuzis’s address was a well-appointed apartment in a grand, art nouveau building in the Teika district. Lance parked outside and smoked a cigarette while he waited for one of the building’s residents to open the front door.
He didn’t have to wait long, and as one of the residents stepped out, he stopped the door from shutting and went inside.
He was wearing black pants, a black leather jacket, and black leather gloves. In his coat were two fully-loaded, silenced pistols. He knew Kuzis had a family, and he was already preparing himself mentally for the fact that he might have to do something to this man in front of his children.
It wasn’t a part of the job he relished, but he didn’t get to make the rules.
He climbed three flights of stairs and found Kuzis’s apartment. The door was solid, with an iron gate in front, but when Lance checked, he found that the metal gate was unlocked.
He didn’t waste time.
He raised his foot and brought it down so that his heel hit the bottom corner of the door, as far from the hinge as possible.
The wood of the door bent inward and the air was filled with the sharp crack of snapping wood. He brought down his foot two more times before the lock gave way and the door swung open.
Then he reached around the wall and flicked on the light in the apartment.
It was empty.
64
Lance searched the apartment efficiently, flicking through the sideboard in the hallway, looking through the top drawer closest to the kitchen, looking at the calendar on the refrigerator door.
There was mail by the phone and it didn’t take long to find the bills. There were bills for this address, and for a dacha Kuzis owned in the lake country north of the city. Lance put an electricity bill for the dacha in his pocket.
He also scanned the family photo albums, which were lined up in a row on the bottom shelf of the bookcase in the living room. He still didn’t know what Kuzis looked like, and found some photos of him and looked at them closely.
He was one of those smug looking men whose wife was a lot more attractive than he was. She was slim, with smile lines around her eyes and lustrous hair that hung down over her shoulders. He could tell from the apartment that she had good taste.
Lance wondered what had made her marry a man like Kuzis.
Lance also made note of Kuzis’s children, and felt a pang of remorse for what was to come.
He left the apartment without taking any steps to hide the fact he’d been there other than shutting the broken door behind him. With the telephones down, he didn’t have to worry about anyone warning Kuzis.
He got back in his car and made his way north out of the city. The street lights were out, the cyber attack was affecting the power grid too, and above him, the sky opened up to reveal more stars than he’d seen in some time. The cold air seemed to make them brighter.
He drove fast on the highway and exited onto a regional road that wound through dense forest. He could tell the area was popular with vacationers. The houses on the lakes were expensive, with boats and docks and swimming pools. There were few businesses on the road but those he passed, a gas station, a local diner, catered to tourists.
Kuzis’s dacha was located at the end of a long, dirt driveway and the view over the lake would have been spectacular in the daylight. As it was, he could see a wide vista of ice that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight like Swarovksi crytal. Out across the lake, he could see the twinkling lights of a few other dachas. They were far enough away that they wouldn’t hear what was about to happen.
When he saw the lights of the house up ahead, he pulled over and cut the engine, covering the last hundred yards on foot.
The dacha was built in the style of a Bavarian mountain house, with ornate wooden shutters and detailed carvings on the dark wood beneath the eaves. There was a wide set of steps leading to a wraparound porch on the first floor. Light glowed from some of the rooms facing the lake.
Lance climbed the steps quietly, and was about to check the front door to see if it was locked when he heard the sound of hammering coming from the lake.
He crept around the porch, ducking below windows and checking to make sure no one was looking out. When he reached the back of the house, he saw that a man was out there, about a hundred yaerds away, chipping at the ice with a pick.
It looked like he was making an ice-fishing hole.
Next to him, lying on the ice was a broken hand auger, as well as some fishing rods and tackle. In his mouth, the red ember of a cigar glowed in the dark.
Lance made his way quietly to the edge of the lake, and said aloud, “Alfreds Kuzis.”
His voice broke the silence that hung above the lake like a crack of thunder, and Kuzis dropped the pick.
“The country’s in a state of absolute turmoil,” Lance said in English, “and you’re out here fishing. I’d have thought the captain of the police national security division would be more concerned.”
“Who are you?” Kuzis said.
“You know who I am.”
Kuzis shook his head. He glanced around, looking for a way to escape, but there was nothing he could do. Out on the ice, without cover, his body creating a clear outline against the white ice in the moonlight, he was singularly vulnerable.
He hadn’t prepared.
He had no weapon.
He’d thought he was safe.
“You really didn’t think we’d come for you?” Lance said.
“I thought…” Kuzis stammered.
“You thought you’d get away with it.”
Kuzis said nothing.
“You thought you’d serve your country up to the Kremlin on a silver platter and no one would have anything to say about it.”
“You’re CIA.”
“I’m CIA,” Lance said.
“Where were you when we needed you?” Kuzis said. “Where were you all these past years, as the Kremlin ramped up the pressure? Where were you when they first approached me and forced me to make a decision?”
“Did you ask for help when the Russians approached you?”
Kuzis said nothing.
“Did you report it up the chain?
We have a station chief in Riga. Why didn’t you go to the embassy?”
“I didn’t know who to trust.”
“You took the money.”
“I was looking for security,” Kuzis said. “I was looking for safety, for my family.”
“You’re not safe, Kuzis. Your ass is hanging in the wind and there’s not a thing your Russian friends are going to do to save you now.”
“If you lived in the world we live in,” Kuzis said, “even for a minute, you’d have done the same thing.”
“You live in a dangerous world, Kuzis. I’ll grant you that. You’re right on the doorstep of the largest and most aggressive nation on earth, Vladimir Molotov’s Russia.”
“Exactly, Kuzis said. It’s so easy for you Americans to come here and tell us we should stand up to them. I’d like to see how you acted in our situation.”
“You were dealt a tough hand, Kuzis. I’ll grant you that. But that doesn’t change the fact that you still have to play it. Every man, no matter where he’s from, knows that. You play the hand you were dealt.”
“Easy for you to say,” Kuzis said. “Your hand is nothing but aces.”
“You haven’t seen my hand,” Lance said.
“Americans,” Kuzis spat. “You have it so easy, and then you come to us and preach that we should act as you act. But we’re not holding aces.”
“Like I said, Kuzis, you haven’t seen my hand.”
“I don’t need to.”
“Let me tell you something,” Lance said, “not that it will do you much good now, but the difference between you and me isn’t that I was dealt four aces, and you weren’t.”
“What is it then?”
“It’s that I play like I was dealt four aces.”
Kuzis let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, I see. You’re just bluffing your way to victory then.”
“I’m saying, it isn’t the same as a card game, Kuzis. You’re only dealt one hand in life. One hand. And that’s the hand you play.”
“Now you’re going to preach to me how I should have played.”
“When you’re only getting one hand, Kuzis, you don’t play it like it is, you play it like its aces.”
Kuzis drew from his cigar and a cloud of smoke billowed from him.
“What are you going to do to me now?” he said. “You know how I played the hand I was given. Now you get to judge me.”
“I ain’t judging you. You sold out your country. You killed your own officer. You left the door wide open for the Russians. You, Kuzis, judged yourself.”
“So what happens now?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“I want to know what’s coming, Kuzis. What are the Russians planning? How many units? What equipment are they bringing? Where will they cross the border? And when?”
“There’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
“You let me be the judge of that.”
“Oh, I see. American hero. Bluffing aces will only get you so far. The Russians are calling your hand.”
“Like I said,” Lance said, “you haven’t seen my hand.”
“But I know the Russians,” Kuzis said. “And they’re a tide. You can’t hold back a tide. When it comes, it comes.”
“You keep saying this invasion is inevitable, but that’s just you justifying your actions.”
“I don’t have to justify my actions.”
“You betrayed your country.”
“My country?” Kuzis spat. “A country is an idea. Same as a religion. It’s not real.”
“Oh, you think so?”
“I know so,” Kuzis said. “It’s a construct. It means nothing.”
“Fuck you,” Lance said, and he fired a suppressed bullet at the ice at Kuzis’s feet.
The sound of splitting ice filled the air as long cracks spread across the ice about three yards in every direction.
“Don’t,” Kuzis said.
“Don’t what?” Lance said, and he fired another bullet into the ice.
Kuzis saw what was happening. The ice was thick, maybe four inches, but not so thick that it would hold up to gunfire. Enough bullets and it would give way beneath his feet.
“Stop,” he said.
“How many people do you think died so that Latvia could be a free country?” Lance said. “They played their hand so that men like you could be free.”
“All right,” Kuzis said, beginning to panic. “I admit it. I sold out my country.”
“The least you could have done,” Lance said, “was recognize that millions of men, with cards no better than yours, fought and died so that this country could be free from Russia.”
“You can say that,” Kuzis said, “because you’re the one holding the gun, but you know as well as I do that none of this makes any difference. Latvia is a patch of dirt. Whether the flag is red or blue or green, who gives a fuck? Whether we’re part of NATO, or the EU, or the USSR, what difference does it make? What difference does it make to the farmer ploughing in the field? What difference does it make to the builder laying bricks? What difference does it make to the soldier firing the bullets?”
“You start going down that path,” Lance said, “and where does it end? USSR versus USA. You really think it makes no difference who wins? Nazis versus Allies? No difference? Really?”
Kuzis nodded his head. “Really,” he said.
“You believe that,” Lance said, “and you believe in nothing.”
“I do believe in nothing,” Kuzis said, “and you tell me what makes you so certain I’m wrong and you’re right.”
“I’m not certain,” Lance said. “Maybe you are right. But you sold out your own agent. Agata Zarina. She was under your charge. You were sworn to protect her.”
“I never swore anything to her.”
“You’re nothing but a faithless, lowdown traitor,” Lance said. “You sell out your friends. You sell out your country. That woman is dead because of what you did. And you know as well as I do that you had your reasons. You say you believe in nothing, but you believe in something, Kuzis. Everybody believes in something.”
“That’s bullshit,” Kuzis said.
“That’s bullshit?” Lance said. “You’re bullshit, Kuzis. You believe in something, and you decided what it was. You decided to believe in filling your pockets with Russian money. That’s what you chose. So don’t tell me you believe in nothing.”
Lance fired three shots into the ice and the cracks spread out from each bullet hole like spider webs.
“Please,” Kuzis said, dropping to his knees.
He began to whimper and Lance said, “Where are the Russians going to attack?”
“I don’t know,” Kuzis said. “They don’t tell me things like that.”
“Near where that biplane came down?” Lance said. “Where Agata Zarina went looking? That’s the place, isn’t it?”
Kuzis nodded.
“The border region,” Lance said.
“There’s a village out there called Ziguri,” Kuzis said. “She stayed in a hotel there. I never sent her. She just went.”
“And that’s where the Russian’s are coming?”
“It’s the most likely place. She found something she wasn’t supposed to find. But I never sent her.”
“What are Latvian defenses like in that region?”
Kuzis shook his head.
“Come on, Kuzis. I’ve seen the NATO disposition documents. You’ve got monitoring on the border.”
“Along that stretch,” Kuzis said, “our forces are nonexistent.”
“Nonexistent? How is that possible?”
“I advised the military to pull them out.”
“What? Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“The Russians told you to?”
Kuzis nodded.
“You actively sabotaged your own military?”
“I told them to redeploy farther south.”
Lance shook his head. “How can you do that?” he s
aid.
“I told you. None of it makes a difference. Latvia is a nation of two million people, next to a country with a hundred-forty-million, and the largest chemical, biological, and nuclear stockpiles on the planet. If they want to invade us, they’re going to invade us. It’s futile to resist a force like that.”
“And what about NATO?”
“What about NATO?” Kuzis said. “You tell me where NATO’s going to be when Russian troops cross the border. You tell me.”
“The Russians wouldn’t dare attack a NATO member without the help of insiders like you making it easier for them.”
“This country,” Kuzis said, “this land you’re standing on right now, this lake, these forests, when I was a boy, this was all part of the USSR. It was then, and it will be again. It’s inevitable.”
“It’s only inevitable if you let it be,” Lance said, and he fired his gun three more times into the ice.
“No,” Kuzis screamed. “Please.”
“You tell me what you believe in now,” Lance said, turning to walk away.
The ice around Kuzis was beginning to come apart, and Kuzis started running for shore. Lance had already decided he’d give the man a sporting chance, but it made no difference. The ice came apart at Kuzis’s feet and he disppeared into the lake.
He never broke the surface again, never fought, never came up grasping and gasping for air.
He just disappeared into the black water as if he’d never been there at all.
And from inside the house, Kuzis’s wife watched without uttering so much as a word.
65
Zhukovsky pulled off his socks and rubbed his raw feet. He dried them off and held them over the propane heater next to his desk.
This weather wasn’t doing him any good. His old wounds ached. A man his age, with his seniority, should have been operating out of the General Staff Building in Saint Petersburg, not living in an army tent in a marsh, eating field rations like a fresh conscript.
His men were ready to go. Two squads, as ordered, all of them dressed in Latvian army uniforms and trained so thoroughly that they were willing to carry out any atrocity.
They were sworn to secrecy, and had been observing complete radio silence for weeks.
