Birth of an Assassin, Books 1-3: Killer Plots and Powerful Characterization (Birth of an Assassin - the series)

by Rik Stone

  It had taken the Greek boy only hours to drive in by jeep, but the trek back to base took more than a week. The journey revealed a lot of common ground between him and Viktor: both had total commitment to the job, a similar sense of humor and girlfriends waiting back home. At least, Jez liked to think that was true.

  As the stockade came into sight, Viktor said, “You were a bit slow to start, but when you got going you gave a first-class performance. Well done.”

  The anxiety and shame of killing dissolved. Jez felt that something inside had changed, and he knew more than ever that the army truly was his destiny.

  *

  It hadn’t been so long since the Greek boy with a lifetime of experience in his face had met Jez at the landing strip. The boy’s characteristics had seemed odd then, like no other Jez had met, but now his own demeanor had altered. He had killed, and there were no beads of sweat, guilt or shame, and no detachment from reality. He held an inside track in the race of life and death, and was happy to keep that position.

  After a number of similar missions by Viktor’s side, the sergeant called him to the tent. “There was news for you when we got back. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but you’re no longer required as a private in this special unit,” he announced.

  “But why?”

  The question of what he’d done wrong reared up in Jez’s head. But then Viktor continued, “Because you’ve just won a couple of stripes, Corporal Kooornfeld.” He stretched the name as he had when Jez first arrived at camp. “Well done.”

  Both shock and relief jolted Jez’s body. “I… you...”

  “Careful, Corporal, you don’t want to lose those stripes on the same day you get them.” His huge frame shook with laughter.

  “Thank you, Viktor,” he said, and grinned as his heart rate returned nearer normal. “I know none of this would ha…”

  “Yes, yes, enough. There’s no room around here for that sort of talk. You only got what you deserved, and you worked hard enough for it. It was inevitable, so no more, please.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.” He rose to attention and suddenly, before Viktor had a chance to pull back, he rushed forward and embraced his friend.

  Sorties had now become second nature, and the intensity he felt on them was like a drug. But nothing lasts forever, and in June 1949 Sergeant Sharansky ordered his complement into the main tent. It was unusual that they should gather as a group, and murmurs rippled through the unit as to why they might be there. Everything suddenly went silent as the sergeant entered.

  “At ease, men. I know you’ll all be beside yourselves wondering why you’ve been mustered together, so I’ll get straight to the point. Your tour of duty here is at an end.”

  An initial silence broke when, to a man, they asked why.

  “Quiet… Diplomatic relations between Stalin and Tito have broken down,” Viktor told them. “You knew it was likely and you know we’re here because Tito is a staunch supporter of the KooKooEh. So now it’s a blow to him that we have to leave.”

  “But the KooKooEh will fall without Soviet support,” Jez said with disapproval, as his thoughts turned to the serious young Greek who, along with his comrades, would be abandoned.

  “Not our worry, Corporal. We just follow orders and support, fight or retreat when told. Okay, enough talk, the meeting’s over.”

  Chapter 7

  The 1950s brought increased trade relations between the Soviet Union and Afghanistan. Jez and Viktor posed as trade technicians in the Afghan terrain, but were there to give military help to the Afghans: a friendly gesture to give a boost in morale to those caught in the conflict with Pakistan. A successful period won him another stripe, but he remained with Viktor. Jez liked to believe Colonel Petrichova was getting positive feedback and thought it good for his advancement.

  Jez had just returned from a single-handed task when Viktor sent one of the Afghans to get him.

  “You couldn’t come for me yourself?” he asked.

  “Jez, come in,” Viktor said. “Apparently this is urgent, so I had a man watch out for you.” He held up a letter. “I think this is a transfer order. In a sealed envelope, no less.”

  “Oh.” Jez took the envelope and tore it open. His hands trembled. He felt unsure that he was ready for the next step. He liked working with Viktor, and didn’t want the partnership to end. But… he tore open the envelope.

  It was a direct order from Colonel Petrichova: return to Moscow.

  *

  Jez walked along the bank of the Moskva River with Colonel Petrichova, his back to the Kremlin.

  “Have you kept your silence about our arrangement?”

  “Yes, Colonel, of course, sir, I don’t see anything’s changed.”

  “Good, keep it that way. You’ve learnt much about Spetsnaz during your foreign assignments, and your promotions were awarded on merit.”

  The afternoon was in decline. They reached the Bolshoy Ustinksy Bridge and turned back. Jez watched the sun wither behind the Bell Tower of Ivan the Great, while a cold swirl of mist hung low over the river. He shivered. It had seemed forever since he’d had to endure a Soviet winter. He gathered the greatcoat under his chin and glanced at the colonel. He looked weary.

  “Do you keep abreast of politics, Sergeant?”

  “Not really, Colonel. I carry out my orders and they usually fill my time…”

  “Yes, understandable,” Petrichova halted him. “When Stalin died, there were no natural successors. So, from the internal struggle, Nikita Khrushchev has emerged as our leader. He’s a reformist, an anti-Stalinist. Destalinization means that those who spoke out against Stalin when he was alive have a chance to progress their careers.”

  “I didn’t think anyone dared speak out against Stalin when he was alive, sir.”

  The colonel chuckled. “That’s a good point. What I should’ve said is ‘those who spoke against him in carefully chosen company’. I told you my father had been a prominent Bolshevik, and seeing as how Stalin rooted out and purged them all, I was obviously one of those in opposition.”

  “Yes, I can understand that, sir.” Jez was pleased to hear the admission. Stalin had been an anti-Semite, so Jez had no time for him either.

  “Anyway, you’re probably wondering where I’m going with all this; so, to get to the point, I’ve just been made lieutenant general.”

  “I see, sir.”

  So that’s why he’d been brought back so quickly. But what would that mean for his career? Surely, he’d proven himself? He’d won his stripes fairly, hadn’t he? Yes, the colonel… the general had just said so. His mind raced and the general’s presence faded, but then he spoke again and Jez felt his insides jump.

  “As I said, up to this point each of your stripes you’ve earned irrelevant of any support I’ve given you.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the words.” In fact the relief on hearing them again was immense.

  “But I’ve organized another promotion, maybe a bit earlier than it should have come, maybe a lot earlier.”

  “A promotion? But why, I don’t understand, sir.” He tried to keep the excitement from his voice – but everything had just turned full circle.

  “I’m about to leave Lubyanka for the Kremlin, but I want to move you on before that happens. You’ve been made lieutenant, and the rank is assumed with immediate effect. Your assignment will be with internal security here in Moscow, Osnaz. But first, you’ll need to attend military academy. You can do that?”

  “Yes, sir, I believe I can. Thank you, sir, this means so much.”

  “Believe me, I expect much greater things in return. Don’t let me down.”

  “No, General, I won’t, sir.”

  Chapter 8

  Three years later, in KGB headquarters, Dzerzhinski Square, Moscow

  “Welcome to Osnaz, Lieutenant Kornfeld,” Jez was greeted with a smile. “I see you’ve graduated from the Dzerzhinski Military Academy with distinction…” Giving his attention back to the file, his new unit
commander read on. “…And your Spetsnaz duty is very impressive.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jez said, and stuck his chest out that bit further.

  Jez had left Spetsnaz for a position with internal security and would now be under this Captain Isakova. A chubby-faced man in an overly tight uniform, his long thin moustache balanced on the edge of cherub lips and his heavily oiled hair was parted down the centre. He sat behind his desk reading the document through pebble glasses, looking as if – well, if he wasn’t doing that, he’d be doing something similar in a post office.

  Isakova nodded. “You should slot in nicely here. With the recommendations attached to your files, if you keep on top of what you’re given, you’ll soon see yourself on the move. The job isn’t particularly strenuous. Hold a low profile and, providing there are no uprisings,” he laughed, “not a lot to worry about.”

  And that was near enough the last thing Jez wanted to hear.

  *

  No action, definitely no excitement, but internal security gave Jez plenty of free time, so he thought he’d look Anna up. But why couldn’t he find her? There was not a placement, not a sign that she’d ever been in the army, not even a record to say she’d done basic training. And he knew she’d done that – he was there. But according to the files, or lack of them, she’d never even been in the army.

  Time passed and duties in internal security became ever more dismal. To fill the boredom he studied languages, the cultures and geography of the Soviet Bloc, anything to fill his interest – and to forget the silly dreams he’d nurtured of Anna.

  It was in the summer of 1965 when the sergeant acting as his aide came to him. “Captain Isakova wants to see you immediately, sir.”

  A transfer back to the front? At last. He rushed to the captain’s office and entered without knocking. “Oh sorry, Captain Isakova. I should have knocked. Excuse me, sir. My sergeant said you wanted to see me urgently.”

  “Yes, yes, never mind that, come in, Lieutenant Kornfeld. You may as well remain standing. This job needs a quick response. I’ve just received direct orders from the Kremlin and you’ve been specifically requested to carry out the task. Information has come in about a demonstration about to take place in Red Square. It will require immediate corrective action. Disperse and arrest.”

  “What is it about, sir?”

  “Apparently there are some Jews who think they have the right to leave Soviet soil in favor of Israel.”

  “Oh… right, sir, I’m on it now.”

  He left with haste, but his enthusiasm had dwindled and he mumbled his way back to his sergeant’s office. “Disperse and arrest. What difference does it make if a handful of people want to live somewhere else? And not necessarily because they’re Jews. Anyone should have the right to come and go.”

  All the same, with orders to disrupt the demonstration, he couldn’t help feeling he’d been turned against his own people. Whatever his emotions, he had to carry out the order. Refusal would shoot down his career, probably get him arrested, and someone else would do the job anyway. The task was inevitable, so he mustered the people he wanted. But by the time he got to Red Square his head was throbbing. “You’re trained, think… Follow procedures softly and make sure no one gets hurt,” he told himself. “You could be a benefit to them.”

  It seemed reasonable, but he became confused again on seeing the secret police. That he didn’t need: Smersh, the rogue 79th unit absorbed into KGB, and still renowned for their brutal tactics. Jez trembled when he saw the crowd the demonstration had attracted: he had become a traitor to his own people.

  Another surprise – the demonstrators were all women. A pang speared him on imagining Miriam and his younger sisters amongst them. The protesters were banded together, linking arms in a pitiful attempt to stand proud. Ridiculous. Still, Jez’s chest swelled with pride at the display of his people’s bravery.

  Most of the onlookers around the women were just curious, but others jibed, trying to get the crowd to hustle the protesters. Secret police, Jez could see them harrying the throng.

  “How do I keep a lid on a situation like this?”

  The bustling began, the onlookers broke rank and the resolve of the demonstrators looked near panic. If they scattered, violence would surely ensue. He shuddered to think what that could mean.

  This was unacceptable. It had to remain orderly, no violence. He let his eye wander through the crowd and saw foreign press amongst them... He could use that as a reason to defend the soft approach.

  “Sergeant Abram,” he called. “I don’t need to tell you which of those in the crowd are secret police. Bring their senior officer to me immediately.”

  The operative in question was a woman, tall, thin, hair unkempt and the obligatory poker face for a Smersh agent.

  “Tell your people to go in gently. I don’t want any violence,” Jez ordered.

  “But, Lieutenant, I don’t understand, you can’t…”

  “Stop! I thought this was my operation and that you should follow my orders without question. Since I owe you no explanation, I will save further argument… and you from being put on report to your senior officer when the task is over. Foreign press number nearly as many in the crowd as secret police.” Sergeant Abram tittered and Jez withered him with a glare. “There are similar tones of discontent throughout the capital. If we allow the press to exaggerate what’s happened here, it would not be viewed favorably in the main assembly. So, save me from reiterating my orders and just do as you’re told… now.”

  It wasn’t long before the trucks thundered into the square from every direction, and slowly but surely soldiers herded the seventy or eighty women towards them. Contrary to orders, secret police jostled the demonstrators, banners fell, trampled in the wake of the crowd, but still the dissolution went smoothly, almost orderly.

  And then Jez became spellbound as he stared at one of the women; in fact he gawped, dumbfounded. “It couldn’t be.”

  His sergeant turned, but hadn’t heard what he’d said. “Yes, sir?” he questioned.

  “What… oh, I’m not sure I don’t recognize some of them.”

  He thought maybe if he stared long enough the vision would go way – but it didn’t. It was his older sister Miriam. She was being pushed and jostled, and stumbled between two of her comrades. The comrades, the women Miriam linked up with, they were Rachael and Lydia – his little sisters. He had to think quickly. Had the Kremlin known they would be there? Was he given the job to test his reaction?

  But that didn’t matter right now. His sisters had been arrested. The girls hadn’t seen him yet, which was how he would keep it. If they recognized him they might say something, make it known to his colleagues.

  “…Ah yes, Sergeant, those three, the ones still linking, load them into that empty truck. I think they could be the ringleaders. Take them to the office I use in central Moscow and post a guard. I’ll interrogate them separately.”

  He had no ideas in mind. But with his sisters in danger, he needed to get them out of harm’s way. He’d work out a plan later. He would go to Dzerzhinski Square, make his report to Captain Isakova and then speak with the girls.

  Chapter 9

  “…And finally, Captain, the trucks brought the protesters here for questioning.”

  Captain Isakova’s moustache stretched thinly as he beamed with delight. “Excellent, Lieutenant, a smooth job. Whoever arranged your part in this will be well satisfied.”

  “Thank you, sir,” he said, squirmed, and felt his neck itch against his collar. Army rules were his rules so he’d let both parties down.

  He left Lubyanka early, but darkness had already fallen. “That finishes your duty here, Private. I’ll take over,” Jez said, and dismissed the guard who had watched over the girls.

  In the office, the younger women cowered, but not Miriam. She stood firm and studied him with her head held high. But then her expression changed to one of puzzlement.

  “Is that you, Jez?” she said. “Is it re
ally you?” At first contempt colored her face, but then her countenance softened. She rushed across the office, threw her arms around him, and turned to the other women. “It’s your brother.” She held him at arm’s length and then pulled him to her again. “I see you still look as if you need a good meal inside you,” she laughed.

  His tough shell couldn’t conceal the little boy smile that involuntarily spread over his face. But the seriousness of the situation jarred him back to reality. “Please, Miriam,” he said, “I’ve been frantic about how I’m going to get you out of this. You don’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation you’ve put yourselves in.”

  “Oh, but I do, brother. You’re not the only one in the family who follows the path they see as right,” she replied.

  He wriggled from her grip and looked at Rachael and Lydia. “You both look so grown up,” he said. “I only recognized Miriam.”

  They looked confused and kept him at arm’s length, but they smiled shyly.

  “Why haven’t we seen anything of you, Jez?” Miriam asked, and sounded wounded.

  He sighed. “I may have a few things to answer for at some point, but now is not the time. We have to think of a way out of this mess. The whys and wherefores of the past won’t help.”

  For now, he was delighted to see his sisters, but his mind still acknowledged the work before him. Smersh couldn’t be trusted. They had no offices here, but they could have followed the truck and might still be monitoring them. He had to get the girls out of Moscow – and soon. The question was, how? Miriam had always been rational. He’d take her for a walk and talk over the options. And it would give him a chance to check if the building was under surveillance.

  “Walk with me, Miriam,” he said and turned to his younger sisters. “Rachael, Lydia, whatever happens, you don’t leave this office. Understand?” They nodded as one.

  Outside, a light rain made the street glisten. Jez noticed the damp evening chill shiver through Miriam, so he linked up. She snuggled close.