by Brian Meeks
“We only need one team. They hate each other, and whichever one comes here is who we watch. It means the other isn’t involved. Their rivalry dates back to the battle at Leningrad.”
“To the best of my knowledge, we don’t have ears on either one of them. Nobody has gotten anywhere close to being able to listen in on their plans.”
“You just need to put a call into Langley and ask if either of them has dropped out of sight. We don’t need to know what their plans are because if they've gone missing, it means they're here.”
Dewey smiled. Gilbert was right. Both Russians were high enough up the ladder that protocol required they attend meetings with a frequency that made them visible whether in Leningrad or Moscow. The only excuse for missing a meeting was being on a mission. Dewey picked up the phone and made the call. A courier would bring the status reports for both men, and they would have their answer.
CHAPTER 22
Henry hired a taxi to take them to 55 Sullivan Place. As he got out of the car with Luna, Celine, and Bobby, he could barely contain his excitement. The crowd near the main entrance buzzed with the talk of the year to come. Henry, holding Luna’s hand, said, “Welcome to the best place on earth. It opened on April 9, 1913 and was designed by architect Clarence Randall Van Buskirk. The current capacity is 32,000 people. It was built on a site which included ‘Pigtown,' a garbage dump where pigs would hang out and eat as much as they could.”
Luna giggled and looked at Celine, who was enjoying Henry’s excitement, too. “Why is it called Ebbet's Field?”
“That is an excellent question. It was built by owner Charlie Ebbets. In their first game, the Dodgers played the Philadelphia Phillies. The original stadium had fewer seats, only 25,000, but when they realized that the Dodgers were the greatest baseball team on the planet...”
“I thought the Yankees usually won the World Series,” Bobby said.
“I don’t recognize those wins,” Henry said. He appreciated the good-natured ribbing.
They found their way to their seats on the first base side. “These are great seats; how did you get them?”
Celine said, “I dated a guy who works in the ticket office.”
Henry looked at her. “I think you're due a promotion.”
Bobby, not sitting, said, “Let me get the first round of hot dogs.”
Henry said, “I won’t hear of it. The entire day is on me. Let’s go, it's a good idea.”
After they returned from the concession stand with the food, Henry took a few minutes to let the warmth of the sun wash over his face, as he watched the players warming up.
Jackie Robinson stretched while Gil Hodges and Duke Snyder talked to a few fans. All around, the boys of summer were getting ready for the start of the season. The grounds crew waited for the end of batting practice to do their last bit of tidying up before the first pitch. A man selling score cards walked past, and Henry bought four of them as souvenirs. There was an ease about the stadium as people filed in, found their seats, and greeted friends from seasons past.
Bobby showed Celine how to fill out the scorecard. “It's easy. You have the Dodgers on one side and the Pirates on the other. I'll read you the names, and you can write them down. Keeping score is fun and part of the tradition. You'll thank me later.”
Celine didn’t care much about baseball or the outcome, but the enthusiasm from both Bobby and Henry had, for this day, rubbed off on her. “Okay, who is first for the Pirates?”
“You just write down the last name and then their position. Batting first, or lead off, is Saffell and then write cf, which means center field. Next is Roberts. He plays second base, so put a 2B after his name.”
Henry and Luna were filling out their cards, too, as were most of the people around them. Bobby was doing such a good job of reading the names that those within ear shot were busily writing them down, too. When he finished with the Pirates, Bobby said, “And now for the Dodgers.”
Half a dozen people gave a cheer. He started to do an ‘announcer’ voice and said, “Leading off for the hometown Brooklyn Dodgers, playing second base, Jim Gilliam. At short stop, batting second, from Ekron, Kentucky, Pee Wee Reese.”
He paused as his following had grown. About twenty people cheered at the mention of their beloved short stop’s name. A little louder now, he continued, “Roaming center field, batting third, Duke Snyder. Last year he hit 42 home runs and today bats clean-up. Playing first base, Gil Hodges.”
Somebody yelled, “Hey, buddy, you should be in the announcer’s box.”
Now standing, he continued, “Playing left field and batting fifth, from Havana, Cuba, Sandy Amoros. At third base, batting sixth, Jackie Robinson. Playing right field, in the seventh spot from the right side of the plate, Carl Furillo.”
A few more people were now listening to Bobby announce the lineup. The cheers continued after each name. “My favorite player, Roy Campanella, catching and batting eighth. He had 32 home runs last year and one stolen base.”
This got a rise from the crowd and a hearty bit of laughter. Bobby had them in the palm of his hand. “Pitching and batting ninth, and in his seventh year, with an 18-15 record last season, Carl Erskine.” A final rousing cheer went up, and Bobby waved to those around them.
Luna gave Henry a smile and finished writing in Erskine’s name. Celine was clapping along with the others. The players had left the field, and the umpires were gathered behind home plate with the managers. Everyone talked about this being the year. Soon, it was time to stand and sing the national anthem. Then it began: the 1955 season.
The first inning ended without any runs and then the second and the third. The crowd, anxious for that first score, cheered every crack of the bat, every Pirate strike, and when every out was made. Finally, in the bottom of the sixth inning, the Dodgers took the lead one to nothing. In the top of the seventh, the Pirates tied it up, but then the Dodgers fans were rewarded with five more runs in the bottom of the inning. Henry, Bobby, Luna, and Celine all cheered, as did the rest of Brooklyn.
When the final out was recorded, the Dodgers had won six to one, out-hit the Pirates eleven to seven, and had two more strike outs. As Henry, Luna, Celine, and Bobby started to make their way to the exits, some of Bobby’s fans credited him with the win, saying his reading of the lineup got them off on the right foot. The strange little man from down the hall grinned from ear to ear. Henry was glad Celine had invited him.
CHAPTER 23
Nikita Khrushchev and Alexander Shelepin sat alone in the Kremlin drinking tea while they discussed Ivan Serov. Serov had been the head of the KGB, since the death of Joseph Stalin, a little over one year ago. Khrushchev was beginning to have concerns about the progress of the Committee for State Security, though he did admit to several minor successes. Servo was a brutal leader, who organized the killing of over 22,000 members of the Polish Officer Corps. They both agreed he was a double-edged sword.
Khrushchev said, “If he starts to get ideas which are too grand, well, then, I may need you to take over.”
“If that day comes, then I'm ready, and it would be my privilege to do so.”
There was a knock at the door. Both men stood up as the secretary showed in Colonel Oleg Kiselev. The Colonel stood at attention until Khrushchev welcomed him and said, “Please, comrade, have a seat. We have much to discuss. Do you know Comrade Alexander Shelepin?”
“We met once, briefly, last year, at Nizhny,” Kiselev said, shaking his hand.
Shelepin said, “Ah, yes, at the reception. It is good to see you again. You have been busy.”
“Thank you, sir. I believe we have gathered much actionable intelligence. The next generation of attack subs will be the best in the world and far better than what the Americans are designing.” He opened his briefcase and removed a thick file, as the secretary brought him a cup of tea.
She looked at Khrushchev and said, “Colonel Chistyakov is on his way up now.”
He asked, “Shall I wait until the colonel arr
ives?”
Khrushchev nodded and said, “Yes, that would be best. I know how you two feel about one another, but it is time you are both read into the rest of the plan. This has been in the works for some time, and the work you and Colonel Chistyakov have done the last year has allowed us to move onto the next stage.”
The next few minutes were mostly spent in silence. Alexander Shelepin sat and watched the young colonel wear calm like a dinner jacket, but he knew that beneath the surface Kiselev was livid. It would be up to him to decide which man would lead from this evening forward, and he was still undecided. Alexander knew Pytor Chistyakov well as they had worked together for six months in 1951.
Pytor was a bear of a man. Large, imposing, with a thick beard and booming voice, Pytor Chistyakov inspired confidence in his men and always delivered.
Oleg Kiselev’s record was equally impressive. He was one of the first recipients of the Medal for Courage, after it was established October 17, 1938. He was at the Battle of Lake Khasan. Oleg stood six foot three, had black hair and dark brooding eyes, which seemed to hide a mind that was always racing. The ladies were fond of him.
Pytor Chistyakov strode through the door and said, “Mr. President, you look well. Nikita, how is the family?” He grabbed Kruschev's hand, shook it, turned toward Alexander, and said, “Comrade, so good to see you.”
Kiselev stood.
Pytor reached out a hand and greeted him, though without so much gusto. “I was not aware that Colonel Kiselev would be joining us tonight. It is good, though; he'll offer much insight.”
Khrushchev began, “You were each tasked with two important missions, one to find out how far along the U.S submarine program is with its newest model and to secretly perform the same investigation into our own Whiskey class submarines. You have both completed your tasks admirably. Alexander and I have reviewed your reports and find the conclusions to be encouraging. We have decided that our strengths in the design of the Whiskey class subs and our planned changes, combined with adding in the advancements the Americans have made with their gauges and materials, will give us a formidable naval vessel.”
Kiselev said, “It is true. There is one company who has been able to create improvements in dozens of internal parts that have much higher crush tolerances. These parts are better than ours. We are close to ten years behind them. I personally reviewed our facilities, and, sadly, their quality assessment is far too optimistic.”
Khrushchev said, “Yes, I'm not pleased with our progress, but that is a different conversation for another day. The reason you're both here, without the knowledge of Serov, is because we wish you to complete a deal with the American company that is creating these parts.”
Both the colonels looked at each other. Pytor said, “A deal? We are going to buy the parts?”
Shelepin lit his pipe then answered, “We have looked at the possibility of stealing the technology. That is an option, but, after reading your report, we are not confident that we can analyze and quickly copy the advancements. It is easier to simply buy them. “
The looks on the faces of the colonels spoke volumes. Shelepin continued, “I know this flies in the face of what our intuition tells us to do, but, bear with me, comrades, it will be best for Mother Russia and the entire republic. The greedy Americans will sell the parts to a corporation in Stockholm. They will then be funneled through multiple channels until they arrive here where we will install them in the newest Whisky class subs.”
Pytor asked, “Why would these Americans agree to this? How will we convince them?”
Shelepin answered, “While your teams have been gathering the intelligence we needed, we have had a third team, completely outside of the KGB, reporting directly to us. Two operatives, who have been in the US for many years, are in place to guarantee our success. Needless to say, this mission is well beyond anything ever attempted in the world of espionage. There are many moving parts, and we must be the puppet masters to make this a reality. It is important that all of this is done without leaving any fingerprints that lead back to the Kremlin. This group of greedy Americans will agree to it because we won’t tell them what they are doing until it is too late for them to back out. Right now, they think they are selling excess parts to a small company in Finland, technically breaking their contract with the Navy, but not rising to the level of treason.”
Pytor, nodding in approval, said, “These American men live in the gray area between their loyalty to country and their own lust for money.”
Kiselev asked, “So what is it you wish us to do?”
Khrushchev answered, “Comrades, after we eat some dinner, you will both leave here and, later tonight, be killed in a plane crash. There will be great funerals, tears, and then you will each take control of one of the assets in the US. We will give you the details after dinner. Now we eat and drink.”
CHAPTER 24
Jack made it back to the office around 8:00 p.m. He had gotten a few hours of sleep, a shower, and was back in the game. Most of the analysts had gone, except for the one who was just coming out of Dewey’s office. The analyst said, “Culberson will want to see you; we just got an update on Kiselev and Chistyakov from Moscow.”
“Thanks.” Jack didn’t know his name or care. He walked in, and Dewey was pouring himself some vodka, which he did whenever they were discussing intelligence from Russia. “I hear you got some news on Kiselev and Chistyakov?”
“You know Gilbert is going to say ‘I told you so’?”
“About Kiselev and Chistyakov?”
“No, about waiting to bug the detective’s office.”
Jack shrugged and said, “I’m sleeping with Gilbert’s secretary and I’ve been waiting to tell him.”
“You want some vodka?” Dewey asked and continued, “I'm going to need you to hold off on that bomb shell until another day. I need all hands on deck, and you know that will fry his circuits.”
“Okay, boss, I’ll let him have that one. You want me to bug the office now?”
“Yes, do it tonight. We've been at this for a long time now; people are starting to question the direction this has gone. I can’t say I blame them. I need you to keep this between you and me.” He waited for Jack to nod.
“I mean it. Nobody else knows.”
“I got it. What’s up?”
“We started out with a theory, one Gilbert put together, which I believed and still do. It’s not looking good, and people are starting to say we are tilting at windmills. The mountains of data we've gathered points to a vague hint that somebody somewhere might be up to something. That isn’t good enough. When Robert Lohman was killed, I suspected it was the first move...that the game was afoot.”
“It does seem like we touched a nerve.”
“The problem is that there hasn’t been any noise. Every report is the same old thing; daily meetings, their spies watching us while we look back at them. Nothing is happening. I was sure that with this new KGB and Serov at the helm they would start to make some moves. We've been waiting, ready to counter them, but nothing.”
“So what happened with Kiselev and Chistyakov?”
"The reports have been coming in hourly, twenty-four seven. They were both summoned to the Kremlin yesterday and were there for over four hours.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes. It's strange as the worst kept state secret is their hatred for one another.”
“Do you know if they were in the same meeting?”
“No, but they arrived fifteen minutes apart, after most of the staff had left. They exited together and got into a car which took them to a private airfield outside of Moscow.”
“Was Serov at the meeting?”
“As far as we know, he was in Stalingrad.”
Jack had a strange look on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Go ahead.”
Gilbert, almost running, came through the door. “I just heard about Oleg and Pytor.” He had a habit of referring to foreign oper
atives by their first names. It annoyed Jack.
“I was just getting to that. They took off on a private military flight that…”
“You know what this means?” Gilbert said, sounding almost frantic. “We are screwed!”
Dewey gave Gilbert a long look and then continued, “The flight went down in the Ukraine. Though we don’t have any confirmation, the reports out of Moscow are that there weren’t any survivors.”
“We are completely screwed.” Gilbert said again as he paced.
Jack smiled ever so slightly to himself. Gilbert noticed and went crazy and yelled, “Oh, you think it’s funny? A couple of commie bastards die, and it's a happy day. Let me tell you something, knowing your enemy takes years. These men were brilliant adversaries, and, yes, it will hurt Moscow to lose them, but it hurts us worse. We have no idea who will step in; there are dozens of possible successors to take over their operations. Every one of these men could be considered a wild card. All of our work is completely down the toilet. We are screwed.”
Jack said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything. You're right, of course.” His conciliatory tone was noticed by Dewey and appreciated. It also seemed to catch Gilbert somewhat off guard and calmed him down.
Dewey continued, “What we need to do is think this through. Before the news, we thought they were about to make a move, and either Pytor or Oleg would drop out of sight.”
Jack thought, I guess they both did. He was still glad. “If there are to be new people taking over their operations, they will need to start by making contact. Wouldn’t they?”
Gilbert looked at Jack. “He’s right.” He grabbed a yellow pad and started writing. Dewey and Jack just watched as he scribbled two dozen names on the pad in under a minute.
“Any of the analysts still around?” Gilbert asked.
Dewey answered, “Only a couple.”
“Get them back...all of them. We need a status report on every one of these names. Someone, or likely two people, will be summoned to Moscow. They will be the replacements.”
