by Mark Henshaw
Kyra didn’t try to fill the silence. Finally, Sokolov looked up. “And I am a coward,” he said, self-loathing in his voice. “They bring these men to me . . . sometimes women, sometimes journalists who try to solve murders done by government . . . officers and spies who tell superiors that they are evil men . . . sometimes just businessmen who do not want to sell things to the Kremlin at prices the Kremlin wants to pay. And I ask them questions, and if they do not give me answers that my bosses want to hear, then I step outside and let guards come in and beat them until they give me answers that my bosses want to hear. And I am afraid to say no because I know the names of so many people that my bosses kill. I am afraid that if I stop, they kill me too.”
The Russian colonel slumped, resting his backside on the heavy metal table. “So I think maybe I can be a spy, but I never volunteer because I am afraid. And then Lavrov tells me that he has source who is going to give him names of Russians who I need to kill. And I think, if names come from his source, then Russians brought to me must be working for CIA, yes? And I think, maybe I can warn the men who the source names, so they can maybe escape. So Lavrov gives me the name, I find the person, and I make private phone call and tell them to run. But my unit, they are too good and catch them anyway, and I have to act like I am pleased and do my duty so they do not kill me.”
He had hardly looked at Kyra during his explanation, but he raised his head and looked at the analyst’s face. “But now Lavrov brings me Americans, you and the other man. He will not talk and I have to try to make him. Lavrov does not want me to kill him, but I think maybe it would be better. If you do not talk, maybe Lavrov will tell me to do to you the things I had to do to him. I do not want to hurt you. I hope you can tell your bosses about me and help me escape my country. Will you help me? Will you help my family? If you say yes, I try to save you. I cannot get you out of the building. The escorts have orders from Lavrov. The only way to get you outside is to tell FSB. Grigoriyev hates Lavrov and to hear that Lavrov is holding and torturing diplomats will give him a chance to hurt Lavrov. But FSB, they will contact your embassy first to confirm you are diplomat. They will need your name to do that. If your embassy agrees, FSB will come—”
The door opened behind them. Sokolov’s face switched from one of depression and despair to a mask of nonemotion in an instant. He turned around.
General Arkady Lavrov stood at the door. “I am told that we have an American guest,” he said, in English.
“Yes, General,” Sokolov replied in the same language. “I am asking her questions, but she says only that she is diplomat and will not answer questions. She wants us to tell U.S. embassy—”
“Yes, yes,” Lavrov said, waving the explanation away. “You are dismissed.”
“I—” Sokolov started. Then he decided that silence was the better course, looked at Kyra, and retreated from the room. The door closed behind him.
FSB headquarters
“And this ‘situation’ . . . who does it concern?” Grigoriyev asked.
Play it up, Cooke thought. People believe what they want to believe . . . even Russians.
“Three of our officers and GRU Chairman Arkady Lavrov,” Barron said.
Grigoriyev held up a hand. “You have never admitted to having intelligence officers on Russian soil.”
“And we’re not admitting it now. You understand how this is all played, Director,” Barron told him.
“I do. But to the best of my knowledge, Arkady Lavrov and the foreign minister have expelled all of your people. Are you telling me now that they missed some?”
“We’re not at liberty to confirm or deny whether any of the people Lavrov had expelled were intelligence officers,” Cooke countered. “They’re not the issue. The officers that Lavrov is holding is the issue.”
Grigoriyev frowned. “The GRU has no authority to detain foreign citizens for espionage. Such arrests are strictly the purview of the FSB.”
“Director Grigoriyev, there’s a very good reason that Chairman Lavrov hasn’t told you about the arrests,” Barron told him.
“And that would be . . . ?”
“Because he was working for us,” Barron replied.
Grigoriyev furrowed his brow. “An extraordinary claim requires extraordinary proof.”
“The proof is sitting in a cell at GRU headquarters,” Cooke said.
The “Aquarium”—old GRU headquarters
“When my subordinates told me that they had caught an American spy trying to take sanctuary in her country’s embassy, I had so hoped it would be the young woman I met in Berlin at the embassy,” Lavrov said, exultant.
“I think I’m a little young for you,” Kyra replied, deadpan.
“There is no such thing,” Lavrov said. “But you are a woman of deeper morals, then?”
“More than you, apparently.”
Lavrov laughed at her response. “Yes, I think that is true. But we are both spies, and it is also true that the longer one is a spy, the fewer morals are left to her.”
“Only if she’s weak,” Kyra replied. “If she’s strong, the longer she’s a spy, the more devoted she becomes to the morals she believes in.”
“You are a thinker, then? Very good.” Lavrov chuckled. “But you do not know me—”
“You’re Arkady Lavrov, chairman of the GRU,” Kyra said. “And for the last twenty years, you’ve been selling strategic military technologies to foreign buyers. You sold stealth materials to the Chinese recovered from the wreckage of an F-117 Nighthawk shot down in Serbia in 1999. You sold nuclear weapons designs to the Iranians and have been helping them with uranium enrichment and nuclear waste reprocessing to manufacture plutonium. And now you’re trying to sell an electromagnetic pulse weapon to the Syrians, probably for use against Israel.” Kyra grinned. “I could be wrong about that last one.”
Lavrov smiled in surprise, nicotine-stained teeth showing between his lips. “And why do you think I do these things? Do you think I do it to destroy your country?”
“Actually, I think that would just be a bonus for you,” Kyra replied.
“Again, very good.” Lavrov looked down at her. “Destroying countries is the grandiose ambition of lunatics, movies, and fiction books,” he said. The man’s English was refined, very smooth compared to Sokolov’s diction. “But if that were my goal, I would need do nothing. Your own politicians are doing it efficiently enough. The irony is that you’re doing to yourselves what you once did to us. Your leaders are wasting your wealth, spending more on your military than the next ten countries combined, trying to keep the world in a bottle. But I promise you, I am very interested in building up your country.”
Kyra frowned. “You’ll forgive me if I think you’re a liar.”
“Of course,” Lavrov replied. “But I am quite telling the truth when I say that I have a proposal for you.”
“Such as?”
“I would like you to work for me.”
FSB headquarters
“If Lavrov is one of your assets, why would he be holding your officers?” Grigoriyev said, disbelieving.
“That’s complicated—” Barron started. He was playing the idiot, giving Cooke’s more generous answers greater credibility.
“I am not a stupid man,” Grigoriyev cut him off.
“No, you’re not,” Cooke replied. “Lavrov was a volunteer, but not for ideological reasons. Simply put, he was feeding us information about you, sir, and the FSB. I don’t think you’ll be surprised to hear that he’s wanted to remove you from your post for a long time. To that end, he gave us information about FSB operations that let us protect our operations and undercut your efforts. In short, Lavrov wanted to neutralize you.”
Grigoriyev gave no reaction to the accusation. “Continue,” he said, his voice showing no emotion.
“We were happy to cooperate with that effort until we learned about some of Lavrov’s own operations. I presume you know about the Chinese stealth plane that the U.S. Navy shot down over the Taiwan Str
ait two years ago?” Cooke asked.
“Yes.”
“Lavrov sold the engine and stealth technologies to the Chinese to make that plane. Its engine designs matched those of Russia’s fifth-generation fighter, the Sukhoi T-50,” Barron said.
Grigoriyev frowned. “Those engines are not for export and the plans are classified.”
“And you also know about the Iranian nuclear warhead that we recovered in Venezuela last year?” Cooke asked.
“Yes,” Grigoriyev said.
Cooke extended a USB thumb drive to the Russian. “It was a Russian design, last generation.”
Grigoriyev took the thumb drive. “That cannot be true. That would be treason of the highest order, unless the order came from the president himself.”
“Yes, it would,” Cooke said.
GRU headquarters
“Work for you?” Kyra asked. It was the least subtle pitch for treason she’d ever heard. “Like Maines?”
“I thought Mr. Maines could understand my views. But when he arrived in Berlin, he proved to me that his interest was money above anything else. I knew then that he was not the person I needed inside the CIA. So I refused to give him anything,” Lavrov countered. “But I have greater hopes for you, young lady. Our conversation on the embassy roof . . . you showed me then that you see things in a different way. Shall I explain?”
“Oh, please, by all means,” Kyra told him. “I want to hear this.”
Lavrov dragged a chair over toward his captive and set his bulk on the seat. “Some years ago, Vladimir Putin said that the collapse of the Soviet Union was the disaster of the century, and he was correct. He was thinking of the plight that faced the Russian people in the years after, but he failed to see the plight that our collapse left for yours.”
“I think being the world’s only superpower worked out pretty well for us,” Kyra observed.
“Then you have been blind,” Lavrov told her, his voice suddenly cold. “There must be opposition in all things, don’t you think? For almost fifty years, your country faced nuclear annihilation at our hand, but that did not break your spirit, your sense of who you were . . . quite the opposite, in fact. But you spent so long fighting us that when we could no longer fight, you found yourselves without direction. Then September eleventh. Terrorists are vicious people, to be sure, but hardly a threat to your national existence. But how did your leaders respond? They dropped expensive bombs on people who lived in caves and huts. They kidnapped and tortured. They tried to control chaos with tools designed to fight an organized enemy.”
Kyra said nothing. She wanted to tell the man that he was wrong, but she wasn’t sure that he was.
“During the Cold War, two great powers offered a single choice to every country in the world . . . whose side will you join? And the world was more stable for it.” Lavrov stopped talking, ran his hand through his thinning gray hair. “Do you see it?” he asked. “Two fallen countries that could be great again . . . but neither without the other. We need our enemies, devushka. That is why I don’t want to destroy your country. I only want to build mine up, but it cannot rise to its full stature without yours to oppose it. We will draw other countries back into our arms—”
“So you can take them over again?” Kyra asked. She didn’t try to hide her contempt.
“Not so much. That did not work so well for us before . . . but weaker countries do turn to stronger ones for guidance. That is to be expected. And it is the nature of almost every person, as soon as they gain a little power, that they begin to exercise it to control those around them. No, it is better, I think, to offer them something they want and attach conditions to receiving it. Better to bribe than to bully or butcher. People will fight to the death for their freedoms, but they will sell them quick and cheap for something they want.”
“Like weapons?” Kyra accused him.
Lavrov shrugged. “There is no moral law of the universe that says the Chinese may not have stealth planes or the Iranians can have no nuclear weapons, or the Syrians no EMP bombs. You only want to stop these because they scare you.”
“We’re afraid? You’re the one hiding from us,” Kyra replied. “You don’t sell your technology out in the open.”
“Privacy is good business. Surely the United States doesn’t make public all of its weapons sales? And there is nothing I have sold to other countries that your country has not. Stealth, nuclear weapons, EMPs . . . have you held any of these back from your allies? No.”
FSB headquarters
“We demanded that General Lavrov stop his proliferation activities immediately,” Cooke continued. “He refused, saying that he was making more from that business than he was from us. The fact is, we can’t get approval to pay him the kind of money that he’s making from proliferating strategic technologies to foreign buyers. President Rostow is afraid it would set a precedent and he doesn’t want to reward men who traffic in illegal arms. So we told General Lavrov that we would burn him ourselves by reporting him to you. Whether your president had approved or not, he would have to stop Lavrov to protect his own interests.”
“Then Lavrov killed Strelnikov to protect himself,” Barron added. “He could blame all of his activities on Strelnikov and say that he’d already found and executed the mole himself. It was a stalemate. So we decided to negotiate a truce. We sent a CIA officer named Alden Maines to Berlin to meet with Lavrov. Maines’s cover story was that he was defecting and had burned Strelnikov to prove his bona fides. The general detained him. We sent two more officers to find out what happened to Maines and Lavrov grabbed one of them. The other escaped, but we believe the general is holding our two officers at GRU headquarters. The U.S Embassy also informed us a short while ago that he arrested a third officer just this evening, a young woman who was investigating Maines’s detention.”
Girgoriyev frowned. “As I told you, the GRU has no authority to detain foreign citizens engaged in unlawful actions on our soil. That is the duty of the FSB.”
“We have the security footage,” Barron replied. “It’s on that thumb drive. Feel free to confirm it. I won’t be surprised if the men in the video don’t work for you.”
Grigoriyev stared at the thumb drive in his hand. Cooke couldn’t tell whether he could separate the truth from the lies. “So you believe he is trying to neutralize everyone who could confirm his treason, whether Russian or American,” he said.
“We’re not sure, but that’s our working theory,” Barron agreed. “And we think he’s tried to push the point by evicting mass numbers of U.S. citizens from the country, probably hoping that we’d back off. At this point, Lavrov is beyond our control, has undermined our operations, and could kill three of our officers. Since he’s broken Russian laws by detaining foreign citizens on Russian soil without valid legal authority, we’re going to the only person with the authority and resources to stop him.”
“But we know that some of the people who Lavrov evicted from the Rodina were CIA officers, not diplomats. We are very good at counterintelligence,” Gregoriyev replied.
“Some were,” Barron conceded. “Mostly senior officers who were already nearing the end of their rotations in Moscow. The rest were just State Department employees.”
“So the bulk of your officers, they are still in Moscow?” Grigoriyev asked, suspicious.
“That I cannot confirm nor deny,” Barron replied.
Grigoriyev leaned back, clasped his hands together, and stared at the Americans.
GRU headquarters
Lavrov leaned back in the chair, looking suddenly tired. “So I ask you, the final time . . . work for me. I will not insult your loyalty by offering you money, though I can and will arrange that if you agree. You spoke the truth when you said you were a moral woman, and I need such a person. In return, I can give you the intelligence you need to win some battles and rise through the ranks. I will give you what you need to become one of the CIA’s leaders. You will be in a position to influence presidents. Help me to rebuild my count
ry so that yours can be strong again.”
Kyra stared at him, trying to read his face, his movements, to get some look into his mind. “Will you answer one question?”
“Perhaps.”
“How much money have you made selling technology to other countries?” she asked.
Lavrov’s smile froze and melted in seconds. He turned to the table where the contents of Kyra’s pack were still organized. He picked up the letter and showed it to her. “They showed me a photocopy of this letter. Who was it meant for?” he asked.
Kyra refused to answer and Lavrov read the letter aloud. “We regret the actions you had to take with regard to your friend, but we concur with your decision. While he was valuable to us, you have proven yourself more so and your protection is paramount.” He looked back at the analyst. “I think this letter is not meant for anyone,” Lavrov offered. “I think this letter is a forgery, a prop for a play on a stage, and we are the actors. I believe you wanted to get caught, hoping that this letter would reach the highest levels of the FSB. Grigoriyev would read it and think that I am a CIA asset. Grigoriyev hates me, as I am sure you know, and he would use this as an excuse to denounce and jail me . . . possibly execute me.”
Kyra gave him no reaction. “But you did not think that the GRU might detain you instead of the FSB. A shame, it was clever.” He pulled a lighter out of his pocket, ignited it, and touched it to the paper. He held it until the fire reached his fingers, and he dropped it. Then he picked up the stacks of euros. “But I will keep the money, for which I thank you.”
“So it is all about money,” Kyra said.
“No, devushka,” Lavrov said. “It truly is as I said. I want my country to be great and I need your country to stand against it for that to happen. But great men deserve great rewards. Your country thinks so. Why else do so many of your politicians become wealthy in the service of your nation?”
He sighed. “I regret that we could not come to an accommodation.” Lavrov walked to the door and opened it. “You have your orders?” he asked the guards.
