“While they were raping Mother Russia, they worried that one day the people would realize what was happening and the orgy would come to an end. There might be riots in the streets, revenge killings. There is one lesson of history that Russians know well: when the masses get fed up, you don’t have enough guns to stop them.
“To prepare for that day, corrupt government officials, the oligarchs, and the criminal gangs needed … an exit strategy. That strategy involved moving lots of money out of Russia and into countries where they could enjoy the good life if Russia went up in the flames of revolution or drowned in debt. The best place for the good life was the United States. The problem was how to move all those millions—maybe billions—into the States without alerting your tax authorities—and without the Russian people finding out that you’re robbing them blind.”
“And the solution was … ?” I asked.
“They needed money laundering businesses that were cash-intensive, like real estate development. Over time, the mafia and the oligarchs established such companies in various countries, including the States, but they could launder only a fraction of the money that had to be moved.
“Along comes Ted Walldrum, New York real estate developer extraordinaire, all ego, all penis, drowning in debt, and no money. His businesses had gone belly-up. The banks were into him, up to his small intestines.” Novak hunched his shoulders as he flashed a weak smile of apology to Sherri. “Banks wouldn’t loan him another dime.” Novak chuckled. “He owed them so much money, they couldn’t even foreclose.
“At the time, I was working for what eventually became the FSB. My section was responsible for identifying and recruiting—or compromising—foreign business people who might be of use to Russia then or at some time in the future.
“We had a developer in the States approach Walldrum. Our man said, ‘Ted, you are a great real estate visionary. You’re just going through a bad period right now. It happens to all visionaries. The bank bureaucrats always run at the first sign of trouble, but we believe in your vision. Let us lend you some cash at a reasonable interest rate. We’ll even defer the interest. Pay us back when you’re on your feet.’
“He bit like a hungry dog. We connected him to a German banker who ran a wealth management fund for some oligarchs. The fund loaned Walldrum money through the bank to conceal its Russian origin.
“We let him get used to the money. Then, while he was still struggling financially, our guy took him aside, bought him something nonalcoholic, and said, ‘Ted, the people lending you money from their wealth fund could use your help. They need to move some money out of Russia and into the United States. Your businesses would be ideal for that. Can we count on you?’”
Novak uttered a little laugh at his memory of the kill. “He had no choice. He was hooked on the oligarchs’ loans and the lifestyle they supported. Once he laundered the first dollar, we owned him … from the 1990s on.”
“You keep saying we and ours,” I noted. “It sounds like the FSB was working for the oligarchs.”
Novak grunted. “Everyone was working for the oligarchs or the mafia, and they worked for Putin. They were—and are—one organism, inseparable.”
“Were you responsible for building the dossier on Walldrum?”
“Yes.”
“How did you do that?”
“I ran agents who encouraged and recorded on film his vices, sexual and so forth. And, of course, I recorded compromising conversations about his money laundering activities. We built a dossier on him that would choke a Siberian tiger.”
Novak poured himself another vodka as I asked, “Did you keep records of bank accounts and money transfers?”
Novak laughed. “I was an apparatchik, a low-level officer. No one was going to trust me with oligarchs’ bank account numbers. If anyone in the FSB kept details of the money transfers—which I doubt—it would have been General Grishin, my director.”
Sherri asked, “Without bank account numbers, what was the compromising information on money laundering?”
“The kompromat was the process. We recorded discussions of how much money would be moved and when, approximately. How the money would be laundered. Which real estate projects were involved. And, of course, how the thieves in Russia would gain access to the money after it was laundered. Specifics like dates, accounts, and access codes were left to bankers. The operation was compartmented by design.” He laughed. “With account numbers and access codes, a lot of FSB officers would have made themselves instant millionaires.”
“And instant targets,” I added.
Novak observed, “You, yourself, are a target in return for millions. Is it worthwhile?”
“I see your point.”
Sherri focused on essentials. “How did you and the dossier get to London?”
“Yeltsin established the FSB in 1995. My duties didn’t change. I continued to build dossiers on prominent businessmen, including Walldrum. But in 1998, everything changed. Putin became our director. He reorganized the FSB and replaced key officers with his own people. That included General Grishin, my superior and father-in-law. Putin’s people had an intense interest in the dossiers compiled by my section. They came to our secure reading room to study the dossiers and question us about the contents. Although they attempted to conceal it, they had a special interest in the Walldrum dossier.
“After Putin was elected president, there were changes in management of kompromat dossiers. The most developed dossiers in my section were removed and taken to Putin’s office—the Presidential Administration—where they were stored and maintained.
“Officers working overseas, who had detailed knowledge of the oligarchs’ financial dealings, were recalled to Russia and replaced by men loyal to Putin or Putin’s allies. With the exception of a few officers in my section, the same thing happened to those at FSB headquarters who had knowledge of the dossiers. Generally, they were reassigned to unimportant duties, often away from Moscow to places where contact with foreigners was virtually impossible. One day, a colleague would have a nice apartment and a good job in Moscow. The next day, he could be running a security detail at a radar site on the Arctic Circle. Those were the lucky ones. Some officers who complained that the oligarchs were looting Russia just disappeared.
“What remained of my section became a training unit for Putin loyalists. We knew that as soon as they had a thorough knowledge of our operations, they would take over and we would be out. My career was over,” Novak added wistfully. He raised his glass.
I poured him another vodka. “Was that when you decided to defect?”
“Yes.”
Ever on target, Sherri asked him again, “How did you get Walldrum’s material out?”
Novak smiled and tapped his temple. “I have a photographic memory.” He downed the vodka and sighed. “When I was a boy, my father gave me the best advice I ever got. He said, ‘Vasili, never tell anyone about your ability to remember things. There is a camera in your brain. Possession of a camera is a threat to the state. If you become known as a threat, the state will kill you. Keep your memory a secret and trust no one with it, not even those you love.’” Novak looked from me to Sherri. “That was good advice under the Soviets. It’s good advice today, yes?”
Sherri again. “Tell us how you got out of Russia and survived the plane crash.”
“You’re well informed. I think you are CIA.” Novak smiled. “Excuse me, ex-CIA.”
He continued, “While I was training those Putnicks—as we called the president’s lackeys—to take my job, I realized that I had to find a way out of Russia and to the West. It was not easy. We were being watched and evaluated for our loyalty. So, the easiest way to leave Russia was to take Putin’s spies with me and, then, elude them.
“At the time I made my decision to defect, we had targeted for subversion an important technology executive. He was an American CEO, trying to raise cash for his company, but he would not come to Russia. On overseas trips, he would route himself through Cap
e Town because he preferred black women as sex partners. Fortunately for us, he was a married white Southerner. We were planning to entrap him during one of his Cape Town orgies. I suggested that I take my Putnicks to South Africa to show them how it was done. To my surprise, the trip was approved. Eight of us flew to Cape Town. We never made it. The plane crashed and everyone aboard was lost and presumed dead.”
“Including you, Colonel Bogdanovich,” I noted.
“Including me, but now I’m Lucas Novak, retired engineer and British citizen.”
“How did you escape the crash?” asked Sherri.
“Why do you care, young lady?”
I answered. “In order to verify the dossier for our employer, I need to account for all the details.”
“For your employer? You said you were freelance.”
“I am, but I consider the man with the ten-million-dollar reward my employer. I want to be thorough, should these questions arise.”
Novak gave me a skeptical look. “If you were thorough, your research would have told you that I was a parachutist in the Red Army before being recruited into the security services. I left the plane several minutes before it crashed into the sea.”
“Why didn’t the Putnicks stop you?”
“Sadly, everyone on the plane—except me—inhaled a lethal gas before my exit.”
Sherri wanted to know, “What was your route for defecting to the Brits?”
“I had arranged for MI6 to have a boat waiting near the coordinates where I planned to jump from the plane.”
“Why did you go to the Brits? Why not the Americans?”
“In Moscow, the Americans were closely watched. It was easier to contact the British. Besides, the British needed a win, don’t you think?” He smiled at us.
Sherri, keeper of the calendar, noted, “You defected in 1998. The Ironside Dossier on Walldrum didn’t surface until 2016. Why the delay?”
“And why,” I asked, “did the Brits leak the dossier through a retired MI6 officer?”
“You’ll have to ask the British why they chose Mr. Ironside. The timing of the release was my doing. I didn’t inform MI6 that the FSB had kompromat on Walldrum until he announced he was a candidate for your presidency.”
“You didn’t tell MI6 about Walldrum during your intake debriefings?”
“That is correct.”
“Why not?”
“I needed insurance that MI6 would resettle me, not wring me dry and abandon me. I gave them many dossiers during my year of debriefings. I also warned them that I knew of others and would reveal them only if I was given a fair resettlement. Periodically, Ironside—I didn’t know his real name until I read it in the papers last year—would come here and I would dictate dossiers to him.”
I looked at Sherri. She rolled her eyes.
“There are specific allegations in the Ironside Dossier. I want the names of people who have firsthand knowledge that those allegations are true.”
“You’re going to Russia to interview them?” Novak was incredulous.
“I have to.”
We took a break. Sherri and one of our security guys napped in Novak’s guest room so we would have fresh drivers for the trip back to London.
I got pen and paper and sat with Colonel Bogdanovich—alias, Citizen Novak—as he wrote a list of dates, locations, deeds, sources, and their jobs, while he drank enough vodka to give a Clydesdale permanent brain damage. When he finished, I put him to bed with a promise that we wouldn’t blow his cover, if he kept quiet about talking to us.
* * *
On the way back to London, Sherri drove, but I couldn’t sleep. I was worried. It was easy to tell Bogdanovich that I was going to Russia to interview the sources he gave me. It would be hard to get into that country, find the sources, and convince them to talk to me. I needed a plan. About an hour from the city, one began to take shape in my mind. I drifted off to sleep stretched out on the back seat.
CHAPTER 9
THE NEXT DAY we all slept late and I had brunch with Sherri Layton at her hotel. I needed advice. When we were sipping our last coffee, I asked her, “What did you think of Novak?” We had agreed not to use his real name. “Was he credible?”
“His eye movements and body language said he was telling the truth. We should’ve done a voice stress analysis. Did you test his photographic memory while I slept?”
“He memorized and correctly repeated the serial numbers on ten bills in my wallet.”
“That’s as close as you’re going to get to credibility without a voice stress analysis or polygraph. Do you want to go back for those?”
“No. MI6 may be moving to protect him.”
“Well, now, you have to go to Russia and track down the sources.” She shook her head slowly. “It’s been three decades since the Russians first compromised Walldrum. Even if you find the sources Novak gave you, they may not remember, they may lie, they may be afraid to talk to you. Worst case, they turn you in to the FSB.”
“I got smoke, if I don’t go to Russia. My first problem is getting in. Any thoughts?”
“You could fly, but you’re in their computers. Not a good idea. You could sneak in through Finland.”
I nixed that idea. “It would involve too many people on both sides of the border.”
“You could parachute in, like they did in the OSS.” Sherri smiled at her ridiculous suggestion. Turning serious, she recommended, “Go in by cruise ship. No individual visa application is required. The downside of cruising is, once you land, you have to slip away from your tour, do your business, and rejoin the tour undetected. That’s possible, but risky. A tour guide might report you. The ship will, if you don’t return before it sails.”
“A cruise might get me in, but it won’t give me enough time to contact sources.”
“You’d have time if you had a look-alike to replace you on the tour and return to the ship posing as you. If you were still with the Agency, that might be possible. Even so, getting out of Russia after the ship sails is a whole different problem.”
“I’ll have to give that one some thought.” I was thinking about Rodney.
“Max, what’s with Rucker?” On the drive back from Dumfries, I had told Sherri that Jill Rucker was joining the team. “How come you didn’t use her at the warehouse or take her to Dumfries? Is there something I should know?”
“Jill’s management; we’re labor. If management knows what we know, they don’t need to pay us. Besides, I don’t trust her. She’s too eager. It’s a gut thing.”
“Well, if you went the cruise route to St. Petersburg, a couple would attract less attention than a lone guy in his thirties. Jill could pose as your traveling companion … and you can keep an eye on her.”
I didn’t relish traveling with Jill Rucker, but Sherri was right. “If I travel with Jill, I want backup. You and one of your security guys apply for Russia tourist visas. Fly into St. Petersburg. We’ll meet you. After Jill and I finish our business there, we all take the train to Moscow. I’ll give you details as I work them out.”
“What business do you have in St. Petersburg? The only thing Walldrum had there was failed attempts to start businesses and sex with prostitutes. Everybody knows he chases women. What’s the point of sourcing it? The money laundering sources are in Moscow. That’s where you should focus.”
“I disagree. Novak said the KGB documented their first compromising information on Walldrum in St. Petersburg during the 1980s. If the Russians have had the capability to blackmail him since then, that’s significant. I need verification.”
“What are you going to do, Max, knock on whorehouse doors and ask if anybody knows the prostitute Walldrum screwed in 1987? That’s not a plan. That’s suicide. The mafia and the FSB will be all over you on Day One. Besides, Novak’s information is fifteen years old. What’s the source of the current information in the Ironside Dossier? The infighting among Kremlin players about whether or not to meddle in our elections. Putin’s firing of advisors because o
f blowback when the Kremlin’s meddling was exposed. That didn’t come from Novak. We’re flying blind in one eye. If Ironside didn’t go to Russia, he had other sources. Who are they?”
With that question in mind, I went to my hotel and called Langley on the sat phone.
Rodney came on full of good cheer. “Max, what a surprise.”
I asked, “Do you remember that cancer study you asked me to verify?” Spyspeak: cancer study meant the Ironside Dossier.
“Progress already?”
“To a point. As best I can tell, the principal researcher never left the U.K. while he was writing the study. For all the statistics before 2000, he relied on a database provided by his former employer.” Spyspeak: Ironside got the pre-2000 dossier dirt from MI6. I dared not mention Novak on the phone.
“You’re absolutely sure about that?” Rodney sounded alarmed.
“Ninety percent.”
“And the post-2000 research?”
“There’s the mystery. The post-2000 studies are from a different database, recently updated. If those studies are accurate, I’d say they were made available to the researcher during the past year, possibly by someone from a competing firm and here in London. Do we know anyone like that?” Spyspeak: Ironside got his post-2000 information on President Walldrum from one of two sources: a recent Russian defector to MI6, or a MI6 mole in Russia’s employ. The source must have come to London during the past year.
“I don’t know if we are aware of anyone like that,” replied Rodney. “I’ll try to get an answer for you, but everyone here is busy on high priority work at the moment. If I find anyone, I’ll call you on Sunday.” Spyspeak: This is high priority and I can’t talk about it on the phone. Sunday means I’ll get back to you in twenty-four hours. I’ll pick the time and place.
The President’s Dossier Page 4
