The Last POW

by Howard Cohen

  “Seven it is. Keep me updated on Miller. We need to get him a Russian name. Improve his language skills. No one can ever know he’s an American.”

  15

  Secret Military Base USSR,

  1973 - 1982

  Miller was in the kitchen trying to decide what to make for his dinner when someone knocked on his door. It was 4 PM. Boris was not due for another week. He pulled the curtain back to see who it was. A woman, in her late twenties, early thirties, plainly dressed, no makeup, brown hair, brown eyes, not beautiful but very pretty, carrying a paper bag.

  He opened the door. “What can I do for you.” He stammered.

  “Mr. Popov sent me.” She said softly.

  “Mr. Popov?” Miller asked.

  “Boris Popov. May I come in.”

  “Sure, come in.” he stepped aside, embarrassed that he had forgotten Boris’s last name. She went directly to the kitchen. The bag contained meat, potatoes, carrots, seasonings and other root vegetables.

  “Mr. Popov asked me to come here, prepare a meal for you and” she hesitated” stay overnight.” Her eyes never left the food; her hands never stopped working. “My name is Anna.”

  Miller did not know what to say. He had always been shy around women. “Do you do this often?” he blurted.

  She made eye contact with him for the first time, a furious look on her face. “I am not that kind of woman. I work in the science library. Mr. Popov asked me if I would come to visit you, prepare a meal, talk with you and if I wanted to spend the night. He chose me because I speak English and your Russian is still rudimentary. It is possible, but not advisable to refuse Mr. Popov when he makes a request.”

  “I am sorry if I insulted you. My name is Robert.” He watched her as she put the meat, vegetables, several seasonings into a large pot, covered it and turned on the stove.

  “Would you like a drink?” he said, taking the vodka from the refrigerator.

  “Yes, thank you.” They went into the small living room and sat on the sofa. They drank. He refilled his drink she waved off a second.

  “I have been instructed not to ask you any questions about who you are, what you do, or where you’re from. Where you’re from, I think I can guess. I am Anna Yeshevski. My husband, now deceased, was a professor of mathematics. He hated our autocratic system. He was vocal, marched with protesters, and wrote anti-government articles. One day they arrested him on charges of plotting the assassination of the premier. They sent us here. I had attended Moscow University majoring in economics. I learned to speak English from my mother, who had worked at our UN mission. Joseph and I were married when I graduated. I warned him not to be so vocal. He would not listen. Two years later, we were here.” She said, refilling her glass.

  “What happened to him,” Miller asked.

  “I am only allowed to say that he became ill and died despite the excellent care of our Russian medical system.” Anna drank her vodka in a single gulp. Her eyes watered, but she did not cry. “That was three years ago. Since then, I work as a researcher in the science library. It has been a long, lonely three years.”

  They talked about their childhood, growing up, their parents. He laughed for the first time since his capture. Anna seemed to relax as if she had come to some decision. At one o’clock she took his hand, and they walked to the bedroom.

  When Boris came, the following week Miller thanked him for arranging Anna’s visit.

  “If you like her, she can return if she wants. We are removing the fencing from around the house, and you can go anywhere in the unguarded part of the compound. Moscow is delighted with your work.”

  “Yes, I would like her to return.” Miller smiled, “If she wants.” He added.

  Anna returned a few days later. After a month of visits, she arrived with a few suitcases.

  ” Mr. Popov said I could move in if you wanted.”

  “I want very much.”

  16

  Secret Military Base USSR

  1973 - 1982

  Every night they would take a long walk. Anna had informed him that all living quarters on the base had listening devices. They monitored everything said in the house. During their walks, they could talk freely. One evening he finally told her of his time in Vietnam.

  “I should have held out longer. What’s worse I was so afraid of it happening again that I agreed to work for the Russians. I’m a coward, a traitor, acts for which there is no redemption. I’m so ashamed. ”Miller stopped walking, head hug low, sobbed. Anna hugged him.

  “You were not prepared for what happened to you. A sheltered childhood, an academic life, no military training made you an easy victim. That’s the past. Now you are working for the Soviet Union. Use your abilities to achieve the same things you would if you were in America. You have a new life. You’re a good man, Robert, don’t wallow in self-pity. Take charge of your life. Let me help you.” She wiped his tears away, kissed him tenderly “Things will get better.”

  Miller threw himself into his work. When Boris visited again, he made demands.

  “I need these monthly journals. Most are published outside the Soviet Union. If you can get plans for American aircraft, you can get these. Without them, I cannot stay current. My work will suffer.” He thrust the list at Boris, and you must start working on getting computers. They are the future. We were working on programs for them when I left MIT.”

  “Glad to see you so enthusiastic.” He looked at the list. I will see what I can do. They will always be a month or so behind, but I will see to it.”

  “and the computer?”

  “There has been some discussion about that. To build, steal or buy. The government will try all three. It will be a slower process than the journals.” They played the usual three games of chess which Boris lost. “One day, I will beat you.”

  “No, Boris that will never happen. I think you come every few weeks with the hope I will make a mistake so you can win. If that happens, your visits will be less frequent, and I can’t let that happen.” They both laughed. “I’ll call you if I need anything else. Want to stay for dinner?”

  “Can’t. Late meeting of the Communist party. I must go.”

  17

  Secret Military Base USSR,

  1973 - 1982

  Anna opened the door to the science library conference room. It was midday, and the library closed for lunch. Most of the other eight staff had gone to eat at the science center cafeteria. The meals were free and better fare then most in Russia endured.

  Boris was already there seated at the conference table. She sat down across from him. It was a sparse room dominated by a large portrait of premier Lenin.

  “It has been six months since you moved in with Miller. How is he doing? “Boris asked.

  “Much, much better. Robert’s Russian has improved immensely. A few more months and he will sound like a native of east Moscow. As you know, his work output has been amazing. He can work without eating or sleeping if it’s something he has to solve. Robert amazes me.”

  “How does he feel about working for us?”

  “At first, he felt ashamed. Robert believed himself a traitor to his country. I talked with him many times about putting that life behind him. Re-enforcing what his reality is. That he should embrace it, we should embrace it together. You can see how he is working. He is going to do great things for the Soviet Union.”

  “And how is your relationship with him?”

  “Robert is the kindest, nicest man I have ever met. He is an unhurried lover and does what is necessary to satisfy his partner. I am sure that he loves me. Probably wants to marry me.” Anna said, smiling.

  “And how do you feel towards him?”

  “If I stay longer, I will love him, maybe I have already started to feel that way. If allowed, I would marry him if asked. It is not the KGB career I had envisioned, but it is a lif
e I could enjoy.”

  “Good. If Miller asks you to marry him, say yes. This will be a lifetime assignment. He is going to be working on top-secret projects, and his loyalty must always be assured. That is your assignment. If ever he wavers, wants to defect, even talks of defection we must know. It is good that you love this man. That you are happy with him, this makes your assignment a pleasant one. I like you both very much, but never forget your responsibility to your country. It would not go well for either of you if you did.” He stood, stretched and left.

  Anna sat for the rest of her lunch hour, thinking about her future. When she accepted the assignment, it was to seduce him and keep checks on him for signs of potential problems. He was going to work on very sensitive projects, and they needed to trust him. But attraction happens, love happens, and there’s no way to turn it off except to walk away. She wanted to stay with Miller, love him, marry him. What if he did want to defect in the future. Would she tell them? It was a question that could never be answered for sure until it happened.

  Ten months later, they were married in a civil ceremony. The marriage certificate listed the name of the husband as Vitaly Sonkin. Boris made it clear that from that point on Robert Miller was to be referred to as Vitaly Sonkin at all times. “For now, you are living in a restricted area, but eventually you will be at a larger research facility. When that happens, you must be very careful. One mistake at the wrong time could have serious consequences.”

  Miller understood the need for the change. No one could know he was an American. Although he had a Russian name, spoke Russian like a native, loved a Russian woman, worked for the Kremlin, he was not a Russian. Sonkin hated their system of government and the endless bureaucracy riddled with corruption. Often, he complained to Boris about deliveries of plans that were late or misprinted. Sonkin worked on upgrading the MiG 23 and MiG 25 which had been in service since the late sixties, early seventies. Replacement equipment took months, or never arrived. Like all Russians, he did what he could with what he was given. He already harbored a deep resentment towards the Vietnamese and the Russians for what they had done to him. What they had made him. That he would never forgive or forget. Anna had helped him accept the reality of his new life. Bouts of depression became less frequent.

  Seven years after he arrived at the base, Boris came for his now monthly visits with four new suitcases.

  “What’s with the suitcases?” Sonkin asked, offering him a vodka.

  “You are moving to a research facility in the closed city of Znamensk. These are for your trip.”

  “Anna!” he shouted, come here. She came into the living room, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

  “What’s happening?” she said, looking from Boris to Sonkin.

  “They’re sending us to a research facility in Znamensk. Boris just told me. Look he brought us suitcases. Boris was about to go over the details, and I wanted you to hear it.” They both looked at Boris expectantly. Boris had not told Anna at their monthly meeting because he wanted her to be surprised. Who knows what Sonkin would do it he knew she was KGB. They moved into the living room. Anna poured everyone a fresh vodka than sat next to next to Sonkin.

  “Znamensk is a closed city. One of several in the Soviet Union. There is a missile test facility there. Entrance and exit are limited to only certain individuals. They have a facility there that does some of the work on new fighter aircraft. Much like you’ve done here, alone, for the past several years. More advanced equipment, computers and engineers to help with the projects. The director is a Yuri Polinski. He has been the director for seven years—smart but not anywhere near your capabilities. Yuri is an excellent bureaucrat. He will find out what you need, get it for you, then try and take the credit for your work. It’s the way the system works.” He paused to drink his vodka, holding out the glass for a refill. “It pains me to say that I will no longer be your handler. Znamensk is outside my area. Your new handler will be Vladimir Lebedev. Vlad is somewhat stiff. Not the type to play chess with you or care about your feelings. Vlad will only care about results.” Boris gulped his drink.

  Sonkin sat quietly. He looked shocked. His eyes watered. “Boris you saved me. I would have killed myself if not for you. You brought Anna to me. You…you are my dearest friend. Can’t they make an exception? I could threaten not to work unless you were with us.”

  “Don’t do that. The KGB would hurt you and Anna. There are no exceptions. They maintain order by enforcing the rules. You will do alright. They need your talents. You are the best they have. I will write.” Boris paused. “You will leave in a week from today.”

  They drank too much vodka. Laughed and cried late into the night. A week later, with Boris’ new suitcases in hand, they were flown to a small airstrip inside Znamensk. Their new living quarters was a large two-bedroom apartment, furnished in the Russian version of Danish modern. Sonkin had a den complete with computer, private telephone line and printer. They were on the third floor of a five-story brick building built in the ninetieen fifties, It was one of three that housed the staff of the facility.

  The facility was a nondescript brick building so ugly in appearance that no one would suspect that some of the most sensitive Soviet military work went on there. Inside the front door of the building, there were armed guards discretely off to the sides. Passing through metal detectors was mandatory

  Yuri Polinski gave him the grand tour introducing him to the staff. After spending almost nine years working alone, with Anna, and occasionally Boris for company, this was almost overwhelming. So much light, noise, movement. How did anyone work in these conditions?

  Sonkin’s title was the assistant director for research and development. His office was next to Polinski’s. It was large, well equipped with a view of the lake that formed the back of the building isolating it from the city traffic.

  Sonkin was happy to find that when he closed his office door sounds were muted. From his experience, he knew that there were listening devices everywhere in the building including the lavatories. No conversation was private.

  He had helped develop the avionics, computer programs and integration for the MIG 29 Fulcrum. Now he was modifying it to become the MiG 29 M Super Fulcrum. He followed that with the MiG 31. Sonkin was fast becoming the leader in aircraft avionics, military use of computers and aircraft design. Two years later he replaced Polinski as institute director.

  They still took their nightly walks where they would talk about forbidden subjects. Sonkin had no problems with his work. He ran the facility, had an unlimited budget and the best engineers in the field to work for him. Sonkin had lived in Russia for forty-three years, but he was not Russian. If it were not for Anna, he would have tried to defect years ago. Vitaly Sonkin wanted to be Robert Miller again. For years he had planned how to offset his traitorous career. It would be enough for him just to tell them what the status of the Russian missile program or future aircraft capabilities. A long time ago, he had thought about how he could serve two masters. It took decades for the technology to be developed that would allow him to put his plan into action. Every night after their walk, he would retire to his den to work. Anna came, brought him a cup of tea, and looked at the computer program he was writing.

  “I am curious as to why you do your work at home on paper pads rather than the computer.”

  “It’s a hobby of mine. I am trying different variations on programs that have been tried and failed. I use paper for the same reason we take walks. No one sees my mental ramblings when it’s on paper.” He said, patting her behind.

  “I’ll wait up for you.” She said, walking away with an extra shake of her hips.

  18

  Zanmenski, USSR

  1982 -1988

  Anna had met with Vlasamir Lebedev her KGB superior who had replaced Boris as Sonkin’s handler. They met every six months in his office at the local KGB building on Semansky street. She did not like him. He always made
remarks about her looks. Stood to close to her. Anna rebuffed his attentions, gave her report and quickly left. Today for the first time, he offered her a drink when she arrived. She refused. Lebedev came closer to her. His breath was a fetid mixture of cigarettes and vodka. Anna tried to move away from him, but he blocked her way to the chair.

  “I have always had a desire for you, Anna,” he said, smiling.

  “Mrs. Sonkin is my name. I am a married woman, and I don’t appreciate your unwanted attentions.”

  “You are a KGB agent on assignment. Being married, even being in love, doesn’t change the mission. I want a closer relationship with you. You know how the system works.” He allowed her to sit but remained standing close to her chair.

  Anna knew only too well how the system worked. Low ranking female KGB agents were often forced into relationships with superiors to move upwards in the organization. It was a male perk. Women who achieved high rank did nothing to change the system.

  “I am married, and I will not have a relationship with you.”

  “Does your husband know that you are KGB? That you were assigned to seduce him? Will he believe you love him if he finds out? Or will he think that you are just doing our bidding to keep him working for us?”

  “It would hurt him deeply. It could affect his work, and that would not go well for you with your superiors. “Anna snapped angrily.

  “He is a weak man. I read his file. A few days in a dark room, a few shocks and he will cooperate. If he doesn’t…” he left the rest unsaid.

  “If Sonkin stops working, you will be at fault, and they will eliminate you.” Anna tried to stand, but he pressed her shoulder, holding her in the seat.

  Lebedev said, “My uncle is head of the district FSB. He protects me against such repercussions. You can gamble that he will believe you or you can meet me at this place at eight tonight.” He handed her a slip of paper with an address and room number.