Harry's Rules

by Michael R. Davidson

  “The man who killed Stankov and nearly killed you had some useful information that he was finally only too eager to divulge. His name is Drozhdov, and he is an SVR Illegal, based in Munich. He is the same man who murdered your colleague, by the way. Drozhdov told me he recovered a computer disk from your man and carried it personally to a Russian in Spain named Arkadkiy Nikolayevich Yudin. He passed Yudin the disk at a meeting at the airport in Madrid. Yudin actually lives in Marbella in a large villa on the coast. Drozhdov was then ordered back to Vienna to continue the search for Stankov … and for you.

  “Yudin was a mid-level functionary in the Moscow City Government with considerable experience in the Soviet mining sector. After the dissolution of the Soviet Union he made a fortune selling Russian commodities, primarily metals and minerals, through a cut-out firm in Switzerland. He controls vast funds and has interests in many enterprises, including some in the United States. He is an authentic ‘oligarch,’ as the genre has come to be called. Just a year ago, however, he began to live a more sedate life and settled down in Spain. His wife and children remain in Moscow. He travels frequently to places like Vaduz where we believe he manages various financial holdings. Drozhdov’s confession leads me to conclude that Yudin is somehow associated with the group that controls the missing Russian funds, the group that calls itself Voskreseniye.”

  This was all fascinating stuff, but something Ronan had said had caught my attention.

  “Ronan, if Drozhdov delivered a disk to Yudin, why did he return to Vienna? Wouldn’t they have thought their operation had been a success?”

  “That, my friend, is a good question. It’s likely that they wanted to tie up a loose end. After all, Stankov was still missing, and still possessed sensitive information. You also should consider the fact that the Russians knew Stankov’s contact plan, the same contact plan you used to find him. They also obviously knew he was still alive and would be meeting someone – you – who also would have to be eliminated.”

  Something ugly and uncomfortable squirmed at the back of my mind. There was a possible explanation, actually a very logical explanation, for how all this had come about -- one that I didn’t want to believe.

  CHAPTER 39 – The Black Treasury

  Ronan continued his narrative. “Voskreseniye is made up mostly of former KGB officers of all ranks who seek the re-instatement of Russia among the preeminent world powers. They are not communists. Few in the KGB, the ‘Sword and Shield of the Revolution,’ ever believed deeply in Communism. Nevertheless, they do have a profound belief in their otechestvo, their Fatherland, as they call it. They believe in the inevitable supremacy of Russia, especially in Europe, and they harbor a deep and abiding hatred for your country.

  “As I explained earlier, it's this group that controls the so-called ‘Black Treasury.’ Think of it -they have implanted their people in every institution, both legal and illegal, of post-Soviet Russian society. They control several criminal gangs, most particularly the Brotherhood, a group with strong links among recent Russian émigrés to my own country. They have taken advantage of the failure of the economic reforms and the innate corruption of the modern Russian kleptocracy to purchase or acquire by force the most prominent levers of the Russian economy. Soon they will control everything in Russia, including the government and the military. They intend to use their power to restore hegemony over the former states of the Soviet Bloc, and even further, they seek the means to exert their influence over Western Europe, as well. They will use Russia’s vast oil and gas reserves without restraint to blackmail the West to achieve these goals.

  “They now sit and wait as the Yeltsin Government implodes in an orgy of corruption, blackmail, drunkenness, and greed. They'll be ready to take control when the current Government finally self-destructs.”

  Ronan’s sophistication was surprising. The thuggish exterior concealed a first rate mind.

  I considered the American government’s futile efforts to “control” and “guide” the development of democracy in Russia. There are none so blind as those who will not see. The American plan had been ill-advised and poorly executed. Or maybe the Russians simply weren't ready.

  “Anyone who ever dealt with them knows that the KGB was the most capable institution in the Soviet Union,” I said. “The Russian spooks are using the same techniques they used to topple or infiltrate foreign governments to topple their own. Too bad my guys seemed to have lost interest them.”

  Ronan grimaced. “It’s incredible, actually. The SVR must be amused by what their mole is telling them. Their disdain for the United States must be tremendous.”

  Sasha still had not returned from her shopping trip, and I had almost forgotten my disreputable state, so engrossing was the conversation.

  The Israeli continued. “Now I come to the reason we injected ourselves into your operation.”

  “No matter the reason, it was lucky for me.”

  “No doubt, but the reason is important, important for Israel.

  “About a year ago Russia and Iran signed a nuclear cooperation agreement. Since then we have detected a pattern of Russian officials and technical personnel travelling to Tehran. There also have been some high level Iranian visits to Moscow, not all of them overt. We do not doubt that The Iranians have already signed or soon will sign agreements to purchase weapons from Russia, and we have documented information that the Russians have replaced other foreign teams working on Iran’s nuclear development program at Bushehr. Needless to say, we don’t trust them. Should the Iranian fanatics ever possess nuclear weapons the consequences for Israel and the world could be fatal.”

  I had to agree. “One of the key strategies of any group seeking to restore international clout to Russia would have to involve re-establishing and shoring up its Cold War alliances with the bad boys of the Middle East.”

  Ronan nodded. “They have hundreds of millions of dollars tied up in the Iraqi oil industry, for example.”

  “And so, when you learned that I was coming to Vienna to meet Stankov, you thought it might involve this Voskreseniye group, and you wanted to get your hands on the information?”

  “Yes. Nothing important happens in Russia without Voskreseniye involvement.”

  “And what would you have done had that meeting taken place with no problems and you knew I had the disk?”

  Ronan locked eyes with me. “Whatever we had to do. Certainly Sasha was prepared to play her part if need be.”

  It was an ambivalent statement, but I wondered if they had planned to steal the disk while Sasha took me to her bed?

  “Um hum,” I said. “And if the honey pot ploy failed you would have found another way?”

  Ronan’s face clouded over, but before he could reply Sasha burst into the room with several shopping bags filled with clothes.

  Forty-five minutes later after another shower and a shave in the Embassy’s facilities I was finally dressed in clean clothes – dark brown corduroy slacks and a maroon turtleneck cashmere pullover. I had to admire Sasha’s taste.

  We gathered again around the table in the reception room.

  A Gauloise in one hand, Ronan held a computer print-out in the other. Excitement showed through his phlegmatic veneer.

  Handing the paper to me, he said, “This is a list of bank accounts, addresses of financial institutions, companies, and access codes. The balances in the accounts are staggering, but they amount to less than half of the funds we know to have been in the Voskreseniye treasure chest, the ‘Black Treasury.’ We must assume that they have expended a lot of money buying up businesses, paying bribes, etcetera, and in investments like Iraq. A lot of the original money must be tied up in equity around the world. These accounts must contain most of their remaining liquid assets. They amount to roughly twenty billion dollars.”

  This was a lot of pocket change. “OK,” I said. “What next? Will you make the information public? Reveal the extent of their influence, their plans?”

  Ronan shook his head. “I’m
afraid no one would believe us, and even if they did, what could be done about it? The accounts are 'legal.‘ No one in Russia is going to admit that the original funds were secreted out of the country by intelligence operatives. They are not going to admit they are involved in criminal activities. The power these people seek has already been bought and paid for. Their plan is already well advanced. No, it’s too late to stop them or eliminate the group. They will inevitably control the reins of power in the new Russia, and most Russians would probably applaud the Voskreseniye plan if it were made public.

  “No, we’re not going to make anything public. We’re going to hurt them. We’re going steal as much of their money as we can before they can slam the door shut!”

  CHAPTER 40 – Langley, Virginia

  Monday Morning

  Jake Liebowitz sat at his desk in the executive suite of CIA’s Russia Section struggling to maintain his equilibrium. Before him lay a Flash message from Vienna Station reporting that the Austrian press was full of stories of a manhunt for Harry Connolly, who was wanted for questioning in connection with three murders at a Viennese hotel. The hotel night manager, as well as two unidentified men found in Connolly’s room, had been killed by gunshot. Other hotel guests reported hearing a raging gun battle the previous night. Numerous shots had been fired in Connolly’s room, as well as in the hotel corridor. The official investigation would take days, but in the meantime one Harry Connolly, a US citizen who had occupied the room for some days under an assumed name, was missing and urgently wanted for questioning. Interpol and the American authorities had been notified and their assistance requested.

  Liebowitz’ heart was in his throat. He could anticipate the shit hitting the fan within a very few moments because he knew Barney Morley was at that moment digesting the same news from Vienna. It was going to be a helluva start to the week.

  Liebowitz managed to put in a quick call to Harry’s office in Travel before Morley’s anticipated roar.

  “Jake, get in here!”

  Morley was a big man, and the volume of his shout was barely diminished by the thin wall between their offices.

  Liebowitz took a couple of deep breaths, stood up, and walked to his boss’s door.

  The office was adorned liberally with photos of Morley with the famous and near-famous – a typical Washington vanity wall. He had carefully built his reputation and cultivated the “right” contacts over nearly 25 years in the CIA and was widely considered to be on the threshold of even further advancement.

  As Liebowitz entered Morley stood behind his desk and waved the Vienna message in an upraised fist.

  “What the hell is this about, Jake? Are they talking about OUR Harry Connolly? What’s he doing in Vienna? The Seventh Floor is in an uproar.”

  There was a row of chairs against the wall facing Morley’s oversized desk, and Liebowitz plopped himself wearily into one of them. When he spoke his voice was strained, and the words came out haltingly.

  “Barney, I just called Harry’s office. They say he took some vacation days and hasn’t been in the office for at least a week. They don’t know where he is.”

  “Goddamnit!” Morley exploded. He stared balefully at Liebowitz across his photo festooned desk. “I never liked that overdressed sonuvabitch! That’s why I got rid of him.” Through clenched teeth he asked, "What the hell's going on in Vienna? First Thackery gets himself murdered on a milk run. Stankov disappears, according to the Russians, and now it looks like Connolly is there, and three more people are dead! And what’s all this money they found? If it really is him, it won’t take long for someone to discover the Agency connection. I can only imagine the goat fuck that will cause. This whole building is going to get a lot of stink on it fast because we can’t keep secrets anymore, and now we have another fucking rogue on our hands. Thank God I pushed him out of this Section.”

  Liebowitz remained silent until Morley brought his anger under control. There was a lot riding on how Jake handled this moment. Not everything had gone as he had planned it, but he thought he still could salvage his objective.

  CHAPTER 41 – Morley

  Morley dropped heavily into his chair and stared in sullen expectation across his desk at Liebowitz. His voice tired, he asked, “Well, what’s your take on this? Connolly is your buddy, isn’t he?”

  Liebowitz pulled a long face and sighed, his eyes downcast.

  “Yeah, I’ve known Harry for a long time, but I haven’t seen him in months. After his wife died, he moved clear out of town. It was a hard blow when you fired him and kicked him out of Russia Section. This Section had been his whole career, and he was a damned good officer, even you have to admit. God alone knows what went through his mind when he was reassigned to Travel. Harry is an operations officer. It’s in his blood. He must have been furious.”

  Liebowitz paused. Morley’s face had grown ashen and now flushed red.

  “What are you getting at Jake? You think I’m to blame?”

  “What is the Russia Section’s biggest problem right now, Barney? Why don’t we have any operations left worth talking about?”

  Morley’s voice went flat as the realization hit him. “The mole? You think Connolly is the goddamned mole.”

  Liebowitz leaned forward.

  “I hate to even suggest such a thing, but with everything that’s happened in Vienna …” He allowed his voice to trail off into meaningful silence. “Harry’s just not the same guy anymore.”

  Injecting just the right amount of anguish into his voice, he continued, “God, this is awful. I don’t want to believe it, but let’s look at the facts. We’ve been turning the Section upside down looking for the leak. Harry hasn’t been in the Section for some time. Nevertheless, he knows all the operations because he’s been personally involved in most of them, and has read all the files at one time or another. He was being considered for your job at one time, you know, Barney.”

  Morley snorted. “Yeah, he certainly had the access.”

  Liebowitz shook his head sadly. “And Stankov? Hell, he RECRUITED Stankov.”

  “You think he was behind what happened to Thackery?”

  “If Harry is the mole, it’s a reasonable assumption, isn’t it?”

  “But how could he have learned that Thackery was meeting Stankov in Vienna?”

  This was tricky, but Liebowitz had anticipated the question and formulated a completely plausible response.

  “Who knows? Thackery’s assignment was a milk run. No one was treating it as high priority or even as particularly sensitive. Harry could have heard about when he saw the travel orders. And he’s still friendly with Russia Section folks. You know how it is. They admire him. But I think it’s more likely that Thackery himself consulted with Harry before his trip. Jim must have known that Harry was the recruiting officer. The two did know one another, and Harry still has quite a reputation in the Section.”

  Morley found this reasonable.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet Thackery did talk to him.” He shook his head. “But why kill Thackery? What the hell could have been so important about Stankov?”

  “Again, we just don’t know and probably never will unless Harry is captured or gives himself up. Whatever it was it was important enough to risk blowing everything up by getting involved personally. This could only have been the action of a desperate man.”

  Morley was still considering ways to protect himself. This couldn’t be happening. “But what is this latest stuff about? What about these three killings in Vienna? Two of these dead guys are Russians, according to the press.”

  “Stankov is still missing in Vienna. Remember the notice the Russians put out. This has to be connected. Here is what we do know: Stankov, Harry’s agent, calls for a meeting; we’re pretty sure that Thackery met Stankov and then was murdered; shortly thereafter Harry Connolly takes leave and disappears and then turns up in Vienna. Maybe Stankov somehow had discovered that Harry was the mole. Harry clearly has done something rash, to say the least. It’s possible th
e Russians decided they would be better off if he were dead. Of what use could he be to them once he’d blown his cover? It would just be a big political problem for them. The dead Russians in his room support that theory. And now the whole world is looking for him on suspicion of murder. Even if he was not the mole, his actions will be traced back to the Agency, and there will be hell to pay, possibly even a Congressional investigation. Harry Connolly will be traced right to this office, even if you did kick him out.”

  Liebowitz’ words were calculated to chill Morley to the bone. He was a Company man, a team player. He’d done everything right. He could envision all those years climbing the bureaucratic latter, saying the right things, and finally placing himself in line for real power now going for naught. If this should come to public attention, the onus would fall on him personally as Chief of the Russia Section. He knew how the Washington game was played, and his “friends” would turn on him in the blink of an eye. Scapegoating was a well-honed survival skill in this town. The political appointee Director of Central Intelligence sure as hell wasn’t going to take the blame.

  “What do you think we should do, Jake?”

  “If you expect to salvage anything, you need to mop things up before anyone else can get to Harry. You’re the boss, Barney. The decision is yours. If something is not done fast, he could turn up in Moscow. He may already be on his way there.”

  Morley was quick to grasp Liebowitz’ meaning. “Go back to your office, Jake. I'll take care of it.”

  Liebowitz had to be sure. “What are you going to do?”

  Morley glared at him. “I’m going to send a team out to rid ourselves of a problem,” he snapped.

  Liebowitz returned to his own office and sank heavily behind his desk, the chair creaking under his weight. He gazed out the window at the tree lined shores of the Potomac and beyond into Maryland. The pieces were now positioned on the chessboard for the end game, maybe not according to his original plan, but still good enough for a checkmate in a few more moves. He had had to move fast, but his manipulative skills were considerable. He sighed contentedly. All he had to do now was make a phone call to the 'Washington Post’ and wait.