Laynie Portland, Spy Rising—The Prequel

by Vikki Kestell

  “I’ll miss you and Dad when I go back, Mama.”

  “We’ll miss you, too, sweet girl. I take my comfort in knowin’ that wherever you go, Jesus goes with you, Laynie. He will never, ever leave you, sugar. He done made that a promise.”

  Polly’s words irritated Laynie and stole the pleasure of their outing, but she didn’t reply. She couldn’t bear to wound her mama.

  Oh, Mama! How can you believe such nonsense? You don’t know the real me. If you knew the truth, it would break your heart.

  Jesus isn’t “with” me! How could he be?

  I am not worth his time.

  LAYNIE WAS GRATEFUL for her time home, but the month passed, and Sweden beckoned to her. She was anxious to return . . . because, her instructors had told her before she left, they had received permission to begin to use her for simple mission tasks—pickups, deliveries, surveillance relief, and the like.

  “You’re doing well, honing your skills,” they told her. “You are going to make a fine operative in time.”

  In time. It was what kept Laynie determined, kept her focused. Achieving the goals Marstead set out for her and thereby earning their trust and respect was her only path forward.

  Her efforts also kept her from feeling the deep, pervasive loneliness that, if she allowed it to, crept into her thoughts and her emotions.

  The hard work kept her from hearing Mama’s voice in her head, “Wherever you go, Jesus goes with you, Laynie. He will never, ever leave you, sugar. He done made that a promise.”

  “I didn’t ask for you to ‘go with me,’ to stalk my every move,” Laynie hissed when the voice persisted. “I didn’t ask for you in my life.

  “Just leave me alone!”

  Part 2: Linnéa

  Chapter 14

  Stockholm, Sweden, August 1981

  LINNÉA LOCKED THE DOOR of her apartment behind her and set down her suitcase. Home again.

  She scanned her bare apartment and sighed. Marstead had transitioned her back to the U.S. for her annual leave two weeks early this year, as they had last year, to accommodate the classes in Linnéa’s master’s program that began the third week of August.

  It had been a nice visit home. Mama and Dad were in good health, although Mama seemed to tire easily.

  “I’m all right, Laynie-girl. Just a mite weary.”

  Laynie, not entirely convinced, had sought out Gene. “Dad, is Mama okay? She seems a little off.”

  “I know, I know. She’s been stumbling some, too, but she never complains. I haven’t been able to get her to see the doctor about it until recently. We have an appointment for her in October.”

  “You’ll let me know what he says?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Laynie had been able to answer their questions about school and pass off their queries about Marstead with simple, pat replies. She was yet to be employed by Marstead as Linnéa, but the cover story her parents believed had Laynie working out of Marstead’s Stockholm office going on four years now.

  Then there was Sam. While some things at home seemed to never change, others did. With his degree behind him, Sam had taken a job he enjoyed and had rented his own place to live. And in February, he had found the little two-man sailboat they’d dreamed of buying together.

  “Let’s get it, Laynie,” he’d written to her. “I can have it seaworthy when you come next summer.”

  So, Laynie had sent him half of the boat’s price plus extra to refit sails and tackle. Sam had spent his spring weekends stripping the old paint, sanding the hull smooth, repainting it, letting the paint cure, then hand-lettering the boat’s name on its stern in flowing red script: The Wave Skipper.

  Laynie had been delighted when first she set eyes on the boat. “Oh, Sam! It’s perfect.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s little, maybe not much to boast about in the looks department, but the ‘Wave Skipper’ part? Totally right on. Can’t wait for us to take her out together.”

  He’d scheduled a week of vacation during her visit, and they’d sailed out of Lake Union and west across the length of Salmon Bay, then motored through the Ballard Locks out onto Puget Sound. They’d flown across the Sound’s chop and danced atop the waves, proving the worth of their little sailboat’s name.

  A good visit, indeed. A needed distraction.

  With a sigh, Laynie hauled her suitcase into her bedroom to unpack. She was relieved that classes would start up again soon, that her push forward would continue.

  When she’d “graduated” from Marstead’s linguistics center after going on three years under their tutelage, Marstead had placed her with a “handler” who would be Linnéa’s sole Marstead contact, guiding her movements going forward.

  Her handler, known to Linnéa simply as Olaf, had informed her that “she” had applied for admittance to a master’s program in the Stockholm School of Economics and had been accepted. Olaf had also found Linnéa her own apartment near the campus.

  During that first year of school, Linnéa had taken a full load of classes, but she and Olaf also met twice weekly after dark. Linnéa would walk to a nearby car park. Olaf would flash his headlights once, and Linnéa would get into his car. Olaf would then take her to a building Marstead owned where, for two hours or more, Olaf would tutor her on Marstead’s business dealings in the Baltic region.

  “The Soviet Union is going to collapse, Linnéa,” he predicted. “It is only a matter of time before the Communist government fails. And when it does? Marstead must be ready. This incoming U.S. president, Reagan, means business.”

  Linnéa was skeptical. “But he’s just an actor, isn’t he?”

  “He didn’t become president of the Screen Actors Guild and then governor of California for two terms by being ‘just’ an actor, Linnéa. Watch him. The man is smart. Savvy. And the Soviet Union is ripe for change.”

  “You are telling me this for a reason, Olaf.”

  “I am. We are grooming you, Linnéa, investing a great deal of time, money, and effort into you. We expect you to help us make inroads into the USSR after their Communist government falls. We cannot predict what shape the government will take afterward, so we must prepare—you must prepare—and be ready to exploit any eventuality.”

  A portion of Linnéa’s preparation, Olaf told her, was to develop a network of international contacts while earning her master’s degree. It was why he had enrolled her in the school’s International Business program, the program where she was about to start her second year.

  The master’s degree in International Business was new, the class quite small, no more than two dozen students, only half of whom were Swedish. The other half of the class came from varied points around world—Switzerland, Germany, Great Britain, the U.S., South Korea . . . and, surprising Linnéa, even the Soviet Union. The two Soviet students, a young man and a young woman—cousins, in fact—were the offspring of high-ranking members of the Communist Party.

  Olaf had taken an immediate interest in them, had investigated them.

  “These privileged scions, the adult children of wealthy Communist oligarchs, are being groomed as the next generation of Party leaders,” he pointed out. “Make nice. Get close to them. Develop friendships while avoiding romantic entanglements that might prove problematic later on.”

  Other students in the program, while polite to the two Communists, wanted little to do with them outside school. Their disdain for the Russian students had been Linnéa’s opening.

  The master’s program had a three-language requirement. Linnéa’s first two languages were English and Swedish; her third was Russian. Linnéa had used her facility with Russian to introduce herself.

  “I’m Linnéa Olander. Privyet.” Hello.

  “I am Artem Ivanovich Kuznetsov; this is my cousin, Daria.”

  Linnéa was one or two years older than they were, older than most of her classmates, but the Russians had taken to her. The trio spent time together throughout the academic year, Linnéa gaining their confidence and trust.


  Then, as the end of spring semester had neared, the program had required the students to participate in an “International Immersion Field Trip.” She and her classmates flew to India and spent two weeks in Bombay observing India’s rising entrepreneurship and studying the city’s emerging business models. Since the semester officially ended on the last day of the trip, many of the foreign students in the program planned to fly from Bombay directly to their respective homes.

  Linnéa finished unpacking, latched her empty suitcase, and sat down on her bed. She put her face in her hands, her thoughts wending down the same path as they had for weeks now.

  Bombay. That was where things had begun to go wrong.

  “WILL YOU GO HOME TO Sweden, Linnéa?” Daria had asked. “Spend your summer with family?”

  “No. I will probably spend the summer in my apartment.”

  “Oh! You had told me before that you have no family left; I apologize for my insensitivity.”

  Artem overheard Daria’s comment. “What? You have no family, Linnéa? None?”

  Daria glowered at him. “Did you not hear me apologize for my insensitivity?”

  Artem shrugged. “Well, I think you should come with me to my family’s summer dacha, Linnéa. My mother knows you are my only school friend; she already loves you for it. As she has only two sons, she will pamper you, treat you as the daughter she has always wanted. And my father? He will expedite your visa. You must come home with us.”

  He pointed at Daria. “Daria’s mother is my father’s sister. Her family has a dacha on the same lake. We are together all summer. You must come; I insist. It will be fun to have you along.”

  “Yes!” Daria chimed in. “Please come. You could stay with my family in our dacha, if you prefer.”

  Artem frowned. “I asked her first, Daria. She will stay with us.”

  Linnéa’s lips parted to deliver a polite refusal, then closed. “Are these serious invitations? Do you mean it?”

  “But of course. A few phone calls, and all will be arranged.”

  How convenient for you, Linnéa thought—along with the other notions racing around in her mind. “I cannot accept until I make arrangements; I must check with the friend who waters my plants and collects my Posten when I am gone.”

  Artem and Linnéa agreed to go to their rooms and make the long distance calls, then meet up afterward. Linnéa shut the door to the hotel room she shared with Daria, gratified that the girl had gone with Artem instead of following her back to their room. From memory, Linnéa dialed the number to the Marstead employee switchboard.

  “Alpha seven three three five,” she said when the switchboard operator picked up. She had to wait a full five minutes before her handler picked up.

  Glad that’s not my dime, she thought while waiting, knowing the long distance charges would be outrageous.

  A familiar voice came on the line. “Yes? Aren’t you in India?”

  “I am, and the trip is scheduled to end in two days. However, I’ve just received an offer I wished to report to you.”

  She recounted Artem’s invitation—Artem, the second son of Ivan Gregorovich Kuznetsov, one of the most powerful members of the Communist Party in Russia.

  “You did well to call this in, Linnéa. Let me consult with my superiors and call you back.”

  The consultation must have taken a while, because Linnéa didn’t receive a call back until late that evening. While Artem had received his parents’ immediate and enthusiastic approval to bring Linnéa to Russia, Linnéa had needed to put Artem off until Marstead approved the trip.

  “My neighbor wasn’t home; I left a message with her daughter to call me back,” she said over dinner. “I’ll let you know then what she says.”

  Artem’s brows tangled in puzzlement. “You would turn down a summer among the trees with the lake nearby to swim and boat in, over a few potted plants?”

  Linnéa laughed. “Maybe not, but I’d like to have both if I can, please. I dearly love my houseplants!”

  When her Russians friends laughed with her, she added, “I should also say that I applied for a summer job—just as a helper in the local outdoor market. I have an income from my father’s life insurance to see me through school, but I still must supplement it. So, if I come, I may only be able to stay a week or two.”

  Artem exhibited the stubbornness of his privileged upbringing. “If? If? Even two weeks in the sun will do you good, Linnéa. You work too hard. You must think of yourself more than you do.”

  Daria put her hand on Linnéa’s “Yes, I agree. Linnéa needs some rest and sunshine—but to tell the truth, she is our solnyshko, our little ray of sunshine wherever else she goes, no? I think you are thinking of yourself, Artem. That is why you wish her to come.”

  Artem grinned. “Da. She is our bit of Swedish solnyshko—and why I wish her to spend the summer with us.”

  Linnéa laughed again and had the grace to blush, too. “You two are incorrigible, but I think that’s why I love you both.”

  Late that evening, when Linnéa and Daria were already abed, the phone finally rang.

  “That is for me, I wager,” Linnéa said cheerfully. With Daria in the room, it would have to be a one-sided conversation.

  “Hello? Ah, Lillith. Thank you for calling me back.”

  Olaf on the other end answered, “I take it you have company in the room?”

  “Yes, thank you. So, I called earlier because my friends, Artem and Daria, have invited me to fly home with them for the summer. Actually, I can only spare two weeks if I’m to earn any money before the next term begins. I was wondering if you would continue watering my flowers and collecting my Posten for two more weeks?”

  “Yes, you are instructed to go, and two weeks is a judicious amount of time. Will Ivan Gregorovich be present during your stay?”

  “Uh-huh, I believe so. I’m rather excited about it. Such an unexpected treat!”

  Her handler snorted. “Indeed. Well, what we want you to do is nothing. Absolutely nothing. You are to do nothing except be your charming, innocent self with the Kuznetsov family, particularly Ivan Gregorovich. We expect you to keep a mental list of everyone you meet, but that is all. Can you do that?”

  “But of course.”

  “Let’s see if your relationship with the family progresses. If it does, we’ll hope for other opportunities in the future.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Lillith! See you in a couple weeks.”

  “Do nothing more than what I said, yes?”

  “Ja, goodbye.” Linnéa hung up and beamed at Daria. “It’s all arranged! I think I’m a bit giddy.”

  IN THE MORNING, SHE gave Artem the news. “I can come!”

  “Good! Then the three of us will fly from here to Moscow tomorrow. Soon after, we will drive to the lake.”

  “Don’t worry if you didn’t bring any swimming suits,” Daria added, “I have several and will share with you.”

  Linnéa exchanged her plane ticket to Stockholm for a seat on the same flight as Artem and Daria. They left Bombay early the following day and landed in Moscow at Sheremetyevo Airport quite late.

  “You should have been here last year, Linnéa, for the Summer Olympics. It was the grandest spectacle I have ever seen,” Artem bragged.

  Daria’s parents sent a car for them. As they drove through the city, Linnéa observed that all the cars were uniformly black and the pedestrians sported clothing of very little color.

  These Muscovites are certainly a dreary lot, she thought.

  Then the driver stopped before Artem’s family’s home, and she was swept inside an apartment of high, gilded ceilings and overstated opulence. Linnéa tried not to gawk.

  My word. The perks of the Communist upper crust.

  Artem’s mother took Linnéa’s face in her hands and kissed her on both cheeks. “You are the only classmate in the Swedish school Artem and Daria speak of, Miss Olander. You are most welcome here.”

  She showed Linnéa to a bedroom twice the size o
f her own at home with a bed so large that it would not have fit in her room. The driver had already delivered Linnéa’s suitcase, and a maid was unpacking for her.

  “Come. Come with me. You are hungry, yes? I have a nice dinner waiting for you and Artem. Then you can rest. Day after tomorrow, we go to the lake, to our little dacha. My husband will join us there after he returns from his trip abroad.”

  Chapter 15

  LINNÉA STEPPED FROM the car and stared at the summer house. What Artem’s mother had described over dinner her first night in Moscow as their “little dacha” (something akin to a summer cottage), was actually an ornate, two-story wooden structure, a large, well-kept lodge built on a slope, with a wraparound porch, the lake shimmering before it. The dacha’s many windows were trimmed in colorfully carved and painted wooden “gingerbread.” She noted a detached garage farther up the slope, behind the house, a row of servants’ quarters built above it.

  The house was surrounded by flowerbeds bursting with blooms that dulled the fact that the lot was enclosed in a high fence of iron bars. Down the slope and through the trees, the sun sparkled on the water. A dock began at the shore and extended many yards out into the lake. A motorboat was moored to the dock. Farther out in the water, she saw an anchored platform, a diving board and a slide built atop it. She turned in a circle; the peaked roofs of two or three other dachas were not that far away.

  “Daria’s family has the dacha just there,” Artem pointed. “They are to arrive today also.”

  After a late lunch, Artem walked Linnéa to the lake. “That is our dock and our boat. Would you like to go out in the boat?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “We have a sailing boat, too. They will haul it to the lake tomorrow, now that we are here.”

  “Oh, I love to sail!”