The Last POW

by Howard Cohen

  “I’ll need documents as well as background stories for identities once I plan the approach. Start with a Russian visa and German passport, and I’ll let you know about others as things develop. Double the usual fee…in advance.”

  “Don’t trust your uncle Sam to pay up? “Paul chuckled.

  “You got that right. You still owe me for the Mexico kidnapping.”

  “We paid you for that. You could have rented that jet not buy it.”

  “Owning it gave me more flexibility than renting. “Jax smiled. “And I love flying it.

  What’s my time window on this?”

  Paul stood, handed Jax a large envelope he had been carrying “This is all we have on the target, Norwegian scientist, and Sarov, the city he lives in. Good luck. Don’t get caught. We will throw you under the bus. No one will come for you.” It was not an idle threat as many private contractors over the years had found out. They shook hands at the door.

  3

  New York

  February 2019

  Jax poured scotch, sat at his desk, then opened the file. Vitaly Sonkin was seventy-two, the head of the avionics and combat systems research facility in Sarov. Every Russian combat aircraft and missile has his designs or programs. Man is a genius.

  Wife Anna deceased two years ago. No children. Sonkin holds the rank of Professor at Lomonosov Moscow State University. Rarely teaches a class anymore. When travelling, a dozen FSB agents accompany him.

  Sarov is a city of ninety thousand people located two hundred and ninety miles west of Moscow. It is a closed city, one of several in the Russian Federation. In 1946 it became a nuclear weapon research center called Azamas – 16. In 1991 it was renamed Sarov. It is almost impossible for a tourist to visit. Russians can enter, only if they have one of three types of passes: one time, temporary, or permanent. Passes are specially made and impossible to counterfeit. Fences with razor wire surround Sarov. Military patrols routinely check the perimeter, and all entrances are heavily guarded.

  There was only one grainy photograph of him taken from a distance at a meeting in St Petersburg. Moscow University listed him as Professor, but unlike the other faculty, there was no photo. A google search yielded no images. Sonkin’s work was top secret, and they kept his profile low. Why would he want to defect? He’s probably well off, heads a major research facility, and lives well. Maybe it’s bullshit. Maybe Putin is looking to create an incident. I’ll have to talk to Sonkin face to face. The question is how do I get in and out of Sarov?

  4

  Oslo Norway

  March 2019

  When Jax called asking to meet to discuss Sonkin, Olaf Nielsen suggested they meet at a chocolate shop in downtown Oslo where they served the best hot chocolate in the world.

  Jax was on his second cup when Nielsen arrived. Professor Olaf Nielsen was fifty-eight years old, six feet, blue eyes, thinning blond hair and lean from cross country skiing. He had a firm handshake and a ready smile. “I see you have already ordered. What do you say? The best, correct?”

  “You did not exaggerate. This is my second cup.” Jax said in fluent Norwegian. A waiter arrived, and Nielsen ordered

  “You speak Norwegian like a native. Were your parents from Norway?”

  “Yes, from Oslo. They insisted I learn their native language.”Jax lied. He had introduced himself during their phone conversation as Thomas Gustafson.

  “What can you tell me about Dr. Sonkin?” Jax asked slowly sipping the creamy chocolate liquid.

  “Just what I told the man in the embassy. He is a brilliant engineer, scientist and innovator. His thoughts on the application of artificial intelligence to aircraft design are revolutionary. I know him only through some collaborative papers we wrote on multi-targeting missiles. It was a great surprise when he asked me to tell the Americans that he wanted to defect.”

  “He must trust you if he asked you to do this. If you turned him in, he would end up in a gulag or dead no matter how important he is. Why did he trust you?”

  “When we were working on the paper together in Moscow. He shared information with me that would be considered top secret. Vitaly only did it so I would understand the logic of what he was aiming at in the paper. I never shared that information with anyone in my scientific community or discussed it at a meeting where it could have been a game-changer. That is where the trust comes from.” Nielsen finished his chocolate then ordered another.

  “Do you think he was serious about it or just wanted someone to talk to him about it. Or could he have been put up to it to create an incident Putin could use to his advantage?”

  “He was serious. It was a big risk. I cannot imagine that Vitaly would use me to create an international incident. He wants to defect.” Nielsen said adamantly.

  “’ Sometime in the next few weeks, Sonkin will call you. I am going to call his office, say I am you and leave a message. He will return your call on this phone,” Jax handed him a cell.

  “Shouldn’t I call him instead of you?” Nielsen asked.

  “ If by chance he answers, I will be able to speak with him directly. If not he’ll call you and this phone is unique. When you press the green button the call will be forwarded to a phone I have so that Sonkin will then be talking with me. Anyone listening on the line will hear static in the background. It will give me a few minutes to talk to him. If the call lasts longer than three or four minutes with static, the listeners will become suspicious. You will check the time. At three minutes say, “ I can’t hear you, I will try again later and hang up.” The FSB cannot trace this phone. After the call, destroy the phone. Are we clear, and do you have any questions?”

  I will handle it. Where will you be?” Nielsen said, savoring the last drops of his chocolate.

  “I will be in Prague.” Jax lied again.

  “I assume that you are going to help him defect. Good luck to both of you.”

  They shook hands. Nielsen ordered another chocolate as he watched Jax leave. “Don’t get caught.” He mumbled to himself

  5

  Moscow

  March 2019

  Jax Wilder arrived in Moscow posing as a German businessman. He was looking for a contact in the Russian narcotics trade. After he checked into his hotel, he called John Scales the CIA Moscow station chief with whom he had worked with when they were both field agents.

  “Your best bet is an information broker named Ziggy Moscovitz. Our assets have used him a few times in the past, and his information is remarkably good. Quite a character. Tell him you got his name from Helga. She’s a high-priced call girl he met in Vienna last year. He helped her get a passport. She helped him feel twenty again. He talked a lot about what he did. Helga was also in the information business and sold Ziggy’s to the CIA officer she was fucking. You can find him any afternoon at Café Zell. He liked Helga. Offered to keep her in style if she would come to Moscow.” Scales told him.

  “How does one become an information broker?” Jax asked

  “His parents were Jewish communists living in Berlin. They were smart enough to see the handwriting on the wall and left Germany for Russia in 1932. Father joined the Russian communist party, fought at Stalingrad, became a hero of the Soviet Union and a friend of Stalin. Ziggy grew up knowing everyone in high places. After university, he joined the KGB. During his time there he went through the files collecting information on anyone of importance. When the Soviet Union broke up on December 26, 1991, he left the KGB.

  “As the country was in the chaotic throes of change, oligarchs were beginning to divide up the country. Ziggy’s father partnered with a man who took over much of the distribution of oil and gas. In 1992, his father died at age eighty-four. His mother had died two years before. Ziggy was their only child and inherited considerable wealth. He believed that Russia was in for bad times. Ziggy sold his interests and invested the capital in the American stock market.

/>   “Ziggy socializes with business oligarchs, politicians, including Putin, and Russian Mafia bosses. He gathered information on most things that went on in Russia. Although he doesn’t need the money, he enjoys buying and selling information. It’s a hobby with him.” Scales said, “Good luck.”

  Café Zell was located a few blocks from the old Moscow Choral Synagogue in what had been Moscow’s old Jewish quarter until destroyed in World War Two. The café had a large glass window with its name in large gold letters. Although people were in line for a table, one corner of the café had only one occupied table surrounded by four unoccupied tables. At the one occupied table sat a man in his sixties, thinning gray hair, short, in a Zegna suit, Ferragamo strap shoes, and Ricci tie

  “Can I help you?” a waiter asked.” There’s a thirty-minute wait for a table, less for a seat at the bar.”

  “I’m here to see Mr. Moskovitz.” Jax said in German-accented Russian.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but I think he’ll want to speak with me. Could you tell him Helga sent me.”

  The waiter hesitated, looked over at Ziggy, decided he better deliver the message. He returned, nodding towards Ziggy, “He’ll talk with you.”

  Jax walked over taking a chair opposite Ziggy. “My name is Dieter Stossel, Mr. Moskovitz.”

  “Call me, Ziggy. So, where do you know Helga from?” Ziggy said in excellent German.

  “We met in Vienna last year.”

  “How is Helga, still as beautiful as ever?”

  “Helga is still amazing. If you know what I mean.”

  Ziggy smiled, “What can I do for you, Dieter?”

  “During a long weekend in the alps, I mentioned to Helga that I was coming to Moscow. She asked me about the trip. I mentioned that I had a product to sell but was having a problem finding someone to sell it too. Helga told me that you were the man who knew everyone. So here I am.”

  Ziggy signaled the waiter who ran over. “Vodka.”

  “What are you selling?” Ziggy asked. The waiter was back and poured vodka for both of them. Both men drank, the waiter refilled and stood by with the bottle in hand. Ziggy waved him off. He left the bottle.

  “I have a large supply of opioids that I need to sell.”

  “There are many different groups that are involved in this type of activity. Five thousand euros, cash. “

  Jax had brought twenty thousand euros with him divided into four envelopes of five thousand euros each. He slid one envelope over to Ziggy.

  “You came prepared. “Ziggy said, putting the envelope in his breast pocket. He took out a gold Montblanc pen, wrote on a napkin, then handed it to Jax. “Be careful, Mr.Stossel. These people are dangerous. If you make it back to Vienna, give Helga my regards.”

  “Thank you,” Jax said, placing the napkin in his pocket. He did not look back as he left. When he left the café Ziggy made a call on his cell “Hello Alexey. It’s Ziggy. I’m fine. You’re going to get a call from a German named Dieter Stossel. He has opioids to sell. Looks legit, came to me from someone I know. His German had a Berlin accent that only people raised there have. You owe me.” And he hung up.

  6

  Moscow

  March 2019

  Jax returned to his hotel, went to the bar, ordered a Glenmorangie eighteen year old Scotch neat, then took a seat away from the other patrons. He dialed the number Ziggy had provided. It rang four times before a man said, “Da.”

  “Ziggy gave me your number. Said you could help me.” Jax said in poor Russian.

  “Ziggy called me after you left. Come to the Odessa Kitchen tonight at six.” He said, and the line went dead.

  Jax had a plan. At best he gave it a fifty-fifty chance. Odessa Kitchen was a small restaurant with a large neon sign, a placard that announced “Best Russian Food in Moscow” next to a faded menu. Inside there were several men at the small bar. A man sat at a table near the kitchen, eating soup. He looked up, then beckoned Jax over. The men at the bar watched his every move. They were the muscle. Probably armed. Two approached him. Jax knew the drill raising his arms for the very well-done frisk.

  “Sit.” The man said in excellent German.” My name is Alexey.” He added scooping up the last of his soup.

  “Dieter. Dieter Stossel.” Jax answered. Neither man offered to shake hands. A waiter took away the empty bowl.

  “So, Dieter I hear you have a source for a popular item here in Russia. I would be interested to hear more.” Alexey smiled, showing perfect teeth. Expensive dental work Jax thought to himself. This was where his plan reached its first hurdle. Should Alexey agree to do what Jax asked, things would progress, if not it would be a messy exit.

  “Not true. I only used that to get this meeting, “Jax said in perfect Russian.

  Alexey looked over his shoulder at the men at the bar. Jax could hear stools moving as they got off them. No footsteps approached, a good sign, but they were ready.

  “So, what is your real name,” Alexey asked calmly. “You speak like a native.”

  “Dieter is still good. I need your help. For that help, I will pay you twenty thousand euros.”

  Alexey looked over his shoulder again. Jax heard the men sit back down, the bartender poured drinks, and quiet conversation begin.

  “What do you want,” Alexey said, cracking his knuckles. Tattoos ran down to his fingers, up to his neck to his ears then down onto his chest. He was shorter, more muscular and heavier then Jax.

  “I need to get into Sarov.”

  “Impossible. The passes cannot be faked.”

  “There’s not a city in Russia where people don’t take drugs. Somehow you are getting the product into the city. There are ninety thousand people in Sarov, so you bring in quite a lot. I want you to smuggle me into the city.”

  Alexey seemed to be mulling his offer. “Vodka!” he shouted, slapping the table. “Whoever you are, you have balls. Big balls coming here with that request, bigger balls to want to sneak into Sarov. I’ll not ask you why you want to go there. I don’t want to know. But for fifty thousand euros I will get you in.” One of the men from the bar rushed over and poured chilled vodka for both of them.

  “Na Zdorovie.” Alexey toasted. “All the money before you go.”

  “Half when I go. The rest when I return.”

  “And if you don’t return? How do I get paid?”

  “Think of it as an insurance policy that you will make sure I get out.”

  “When do you want to go?”

  “I can leave anytime. The twenty-five thousand is in the trunk of a Volkswagen, license number 2A4 5602 parked in front of eighty-seven Victory street.”

  “You heard what he said?” Alexey shouted. “Go get me the money.” He accepted the keys from Jax, then tossed them to Nikolai. Nikolai and one other man left. Jax estimated it would take thirty-five minutes for the round trip.

  “How did you know I would ask for fifty or take half beforehand?”

  “It’s what I would have done.” Jax lied. He always took the entire payment upfront.

  Jax looked around, got up and took a menu from one of the tables. “What’s good here?” he asked, sitting back down looking at the fare.”

  “Food here is terrible. Except for the soup.” The waiter heard him and disappeared into the kitchen. A minute later he put a large bowl of soup in front of Jax. It was brown, dense, loaded with chunks of meat, potatoes, carrots and beets. Jax ate for a while then said,” This is very good.” He finished the last spoonful when Nickolai returned.

  “I could kill you right now and keep your money,” Alexey said, not smiling, looking hard into Jax’s blue eyes. When he saw no fear, he added.” But I’m a greedy man. Another twenty-five thousand euros is too good to pass up. Be here tomorrow at 8 AM. Dress like a working man. You have such clothes?”

  “I’l
l be here dressed for work.” Jax did not trust Alexey. He had expected a double-cross once Nikolai returned with the money. At the first sign of trouble, Jax had planned to jump over the table with the soup spoon, driving it quickly into Alexey’s eye, take his gun which was in his waistband, shoot Nikolai and the other two at the bar.

  Jax said goodbye to Alexey and left. He took a cab back to his hotel. That night he ordered a steak dinner from room service and went to bed early.

  At 8 AM he arrived at the restaurant dressed in a weather-beaten canvas shirt, worn denim pants and old work boots. Alexey approved. They went out the back where a large panel truck awaited with its rear door open. Inside were large barrels. Men unloaded one.

  “They are filled with brine. We deliver the barrels to a company that make pickled foods. They cannot make the brine. Has something to do with the minerals in Sarov’s water. Deliveries are made three times a week, every week by the same driver. They no longer check him. You will get in that barrel.” Alexey pointed at the one offloaded barrel. “You’re a big guy. It will be a long uncomfortable trip but is the best way to get you in. Coming out, he takes empty barrels. Same procedure. No problems.”

  Jax did not like the idea of spending six hours cramped in a smelly barrel. However, he had to get to Sarov and speak with Sonkin. Alexey gave him a few bottles of water along with a sandwich. “You drink the water; you use the empty to piss in. Drivers name is Sergei. Halfway there he will take a break. You can also take a break. Good luck. If you get caught, they will get the truth about who sent you, then kill you. They will come for me, and I will have to pay a substantial sum to save my ass. Don’t get caught.”

  It was a bumpy ride. Jax’s barrel was over the axle absorbing every pothole. Once he got to Sarov he would have to find Sonkin. The truck slowed then left the smooth highway for a bumpy road. Jax checked his watch. Eight minutes on this road. At twelve minutes, the truck stopped. He heard the door of the open, and the lid removed off his barrel.