Coercion

by Tim Tigner

  Alex felt his throat turn dry as a sense of foreboding reverberated along his spine.

  “Four months ago, the helicopter piloted by my deputy and carrying my chief of staff, crashed in the mountains southeast of Novosibirsk. My deputy, Leo Antsiferov, died in the crash. My chief of staff, Andrey Demerko, walked away.”

  Alex drew a deep breath as he thought back to the man who had saved his life and the ultimate sacrifice he had made.

  “After the crash, Andrey found documents in Leo’s briefcase that outlined something horrible. That something is what we now call the Karpov conspiracy.

  “We found Victor Titov’s fingerprint, but the only name mentioned in the documents was the code name Knyaz. Even without specific names, however, it was clear from those documents that the conspiracy ran very high, so high that even at my level I did not know who could be trusted—who was Knyaz, and who was not. If they had recruited my own deputy . . .” Sugurov shrugged.

  “To make matters worse, the fragile yet volatile state of Russian politics combined with the fledgling status of our economy made this the absolute worst time to stir things up. Even without the destabilizing force of the Knyaz, we knew that President Gorbachev was at risk of being toppled at any time. And we knew that if he fell, it would be a tragedy of historic proportions—for our country, and for the world. The bottom line, Alex, was that we were looking at a ticking bomb we could neither attempt to disarm nor afford to ignore.”

  “So you came to me?”

  Sugurov nodded. “If an American were caught meddling in Russian affairs, the scandal would pull the people of Russia together, unite us against a common enemy. Whereas if the government of Russia were discovered conducting a witch hunt among its own, it could blow the country apart.”

  “Why me?”

  “I’m not entirely sure. I left the details and the implementation up to Andrey. He enjoyed my full trust and confidence. Andrey came to me convinced that you were the best man for the job, and I accepted his judgment. Now it’s clear that he was right. I doubt there was anyone else who could have done what you did, Alex.”

  “Still, how did you find me? Was it my CIA file?”

  “I’m sure that played a role, but it would have taken more than that. Andrey was not a gambler.”

  Alex paused. It didn’t really matter how they found him, did it? Not in light of subsequent events. “But I got involved because of the death of my brother, and it was Jason who killed—” Alex’s heart moved into his throat, cutting off his voice.

  “It was Jason who killed Frank. He pulled the trigger. But we set Jason up. Andrey broke into Frank’s house and sent an e-mail to Jason from Frank’s computer. It said. ‘I know who you really are. Come by my house tomorrow evening, and we’ll see what we can work out.’ The next day Jason did what we knew he would do.”

  Alex looked up at Sugurov, aware that there were tears in his eyes. “And the puzzler entry?”

  “Andrey planted it. It was insurance. He was afraid you might catch Jason without learning about the Knyaz, so we had to direct you toward Jason through Elaine. Meanwhile, Andrey kept a watchful eye on you and Jason.”

  “The loose wire on the car bomb . . .”

  “That was Andrey.”

  Alex nodded his understanding. Sugurov was giving him a lot to think about.

  “I won’t make excuses for what we did, Alex. As we saw it, there was no other choice.”

  “Well, I certainly can’t question your conviction,” Alex said, thinking of Andrey. Then his thoughts shifted to a question that had been eating at him these past two weeks. “You still haven’t explained to me how you ended up at the church that night.”

  “Some time ago an accountant named Luda Orlova stumbled across Karpov’s financing scheme—the details of which aren’t important.” Sugurov’s tone on the last part of the sentence indicated he did not want to get into that discussion. “Karpov killed her.”

  “Her father, already a widower and now further devastated by the loss of his only child, somehow figured out that Karpov was responsible. He went looking for a chance to extract his revenge. He found that opportunity when he found you . . . bringing you breakfast.”

  “The friendly eye at the peephole?”

  “That would be he.”

  Alex found the wherewithal to smile.

  Sugurov put his glasses back on. “I lost track of you after Andrey was killed. Since I couldn’t conduct an outright search, I set up a passive search. I called the police and border patrols to request that they inform me immediately of any incidents involving Americans—for diplomatic reasons, you understand. A week later, a call came in from the chief of police in Novosibirsk. He told me of an old man who had gone to the US Consulate to report an American being secretly held by the KGB. I flew to meet Mr. Orlov, got his story, and then came for you.”

  “Unbelievable. And just in the nick of time.” A switch clicked on in Alex’s head. “Did you follow us that night in a helicopter?”

  “Right again.”

  “Wow. So much information . . . so many opportunities for things to have gone wrong, terribly wrong.” Alex began shaking his head and then stopped to look up at Sugurov. “Tell me, minister, did you ever give up hope?”

  “No, Alex, I never did. Guys like Karpov can’t go on forever.”

  Epilogue

  CRANE BEACH, BARBADOS

  “When is Anna landing?” Elaine asked.

  Alex’s cell phone chirped as he looked at his watch. He mouthed “three hours” as he flipped the phone open. “Alex Ferris.”

  “Please come up to the bar, Alex.”

  “What?”

  “The bar. I’m waiting for you.”

  “. . . Minister Sugurov?”

  “Call me Pavel.”

  Alex gave a shrug to Elaine and did a slow jog across the burning sand and up the cliff-side staircase to The Crane’s Nest. Arriving at the picturesque watering hole, he saw that it was not Georgio behind the bar. In his place stood a pale elderly man with the distinguished face of an accomplished diplomat but the sunglasses and faded fishing hat of a beach bum.

  “You’re blending right in there, Pavel.”

  Sugurov smiled. “How are you doing, Alex?”

  “I suspect you have a pretty good idea how I’m doing, Pavel.” Alex had been tripping over Russian agents ever since leaving Gorky Eight, three months earlier. He understood why the surveillance was necessary, but it annoyed him all the same.

  “Ah, yes. You understand we just wanted to make sure that you adjusted satisfactorily. No post-traumatic stress disorder or whatnot.”

  “How kind of you,” Alex replied in monotone.

  “Now that I see you’re doing well, I’m sure the courtesy won’t be necessary anymore.”

  “Thank you.”

  Sugurov pushed the sunglasses down to the end of his nose and peered over them. “Yes, well, I understand you’ve got some company arriving this evening?”

  “Fancy you should know that. Yes, Anna’s flight arrives in three hours.” Then the light went on in Alex’s head. The fact that Anna’s passport application had suddenly been approved was linked to the decision to cancel the surveillance. Alex knew he was lucky to get away with just three months, lucky to have the foreign minister as an ally, but it burned nonetheless.

  Sugurov undoubtedly saw the realization dawn on Alex’s face, but did not comment. “I’m going back on the same plane.”

  “Quick trip.”

  “Just a stopover from New York.”

  “I’m guessing you have something more to tell me.”

  Sugurov looked aside and smiled. “I thought you might also like to be among the first to know that Andrey Demerko has been posthumously named Hero of the Soviet Union. The way things are going, he could well be the last. Anyhow, it means that his family will be we
ll provided for.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Alex looked down at the sand between his toes. “What about Leo?”

  “His untimely death, tragic though it was, probably ultimately saved our nation. Unfortunately, only a few people will ever know the truth, and his family cannot be among them. That revelation will have to wait until the hereafter.”

  “I figured as much.” Alex leaned against a bar stool and gave Sugurov an appraising stare. “You seem to have gotten religion, minister.”

  Sugurov’s pale face reddened. “Karpov brought us so close to the edge . . .”

  “But for the grace of God,” Alex finished.

  Sugurov removed his sunglasses to focus on Alex with his crystal-clear eyes. “I fear I do have one bit of disturbing news to deliver. Victor Titov has escaped from the Lubyanka.”

  Alex closed his eyes for a long second, but did not comment.

  “We’re not exactly sure how he did it—this is a first—but we know he had help.”

  They were quiet while Alex absorbed the news. Finally Alex asked, “What condition was Victor in when he escaped?”

  “He’s missing his left eye now. Other than that, the physical damage should heal. Psychologically . . .” Sugurov shrugged.

  “I see.”

  Sugurov nodded toward Elaine down on the beach below. “You certainly travel in style.”

  It was Alex’s turn to blush. “I inherited Frank’s stock options. They are paying off nicely now that the sabotage has stopped, so I figured I’d live a little. And I thought it appropriate to share the wealth.”

  Sugurov nodded his approval. “It was a great idea you had, having Elaine meet personally with the American Peitho victims last month to deliver the good news. Thank you again for ensuring that there was no hint of Russian involvement.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Well, I guess that’s it then . . .” Sugurov trailed off and began nodding to himself.

  Alex raised his eyebrows.

  “It seems you’ve finally achieved what all of us want but few truly possess, Alex.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Freedom.”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Academic City still exists, although it no longer functions as a think tank the way it did during Soviet times. Back then it was full of privilege, but devoid of freedom. Now the opposite is true. The village church is fictitious, although Europe boasts a number of churches that echo like the one described there, as does the US Capitol.

  The KGB was abolished by Mikhail Gorbachev on October 24, 1991. At its peak, the Committee for State Security was estimated to have over seven hundred thousand employees, making it the largest organization of its kind in world history.

  The politburo, having transferred its powers to the parliament a year earlier, ceased to exist in August 1991. On August 31, 1991 Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev resigned as general secretary of the Communist Party Central Committee. On December 25, 1991, one year after this tale concludes and four days after the Soviet Union itself ceased to exist, Gorbachev resigned as President of the USSR.

  Though Gorbachev was immensely popular abroad, his reforms cost him the support of the Russian people. In effect, the people of Russia shot the messenger. Although I am encouraged that the world community chose to honor his sacrifice with the Nobel Peace Prize and Time magazine’s Man of the Decade award, and am pleased to know that history books give favorable mention of the Gorbachev name, I am disheartened to find that so very few politicians have the decency to choose what is right for tomorrow over what is popular today. Surely that, too, cannot go on forever.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tim began his career in the Green Berets, where he learned Russian and specialized in Soviet counterintelligence. Moving to Moscow in the midst of Perestroika, then Brussels during the formation of the EU, and eventually landing in Silicon Valley as a start-up CEO, he has enjoyed a globetrotting career on the cutting edge of medical technology.

  Equally active outside the boardroom, Tim has climbed the peaks of Mount Olympus, hang glided the cliffs of Rio de Janeiro, and parachuted into places undisclosed. He walked the Serengeti with a Maasai warrior, worked medical experiments with an orbiting cosmonaut, and crossed the Atlantic with the Gorbachevs. While none of his adventures were planned to be a thriller writer’s research, they certainly help.

  Tim lives with his wife, Elena, and their two daughters in the San Francisco Bay Area. Tim earned an MBA from Wharton, and an MA in International Studies from the University of Pennsylvania. He welcomes your feedback.