The Arcturus Man

  Few knew his real first name. His enemies began to call him Saami because of his unusual facial features. They thought he look like a Lap. He embraced the insult and began to introduce himself as Sami, dropping the extra “a.” He was Sami the Great.

  There were no photographs of Sami. The CIA did learn that he had married a homely Chechen woman who bore him four sons and two daughters. The two eldest boys worked for Sami. They had photos of the sons. It was reported that his children adored him and that he was a good family man.

  Sasha and Sami walked up the steps to Klub 46. The old German grandmothers had already been out to mop the steps and sidewalk clean. The sidewalks gleamed in the afternoon sun. Sami pushed open the door. It was a dark bar that reeked of bad cigarettes and whiskey. The Americans were waiting for them at a table in the back. There was no one else in the bar and wouldn’t be.

  “Hey, Sasha, how’s the KGB doing these days?” asked Reisinger.

  Franklin Reisinger held out his hand. Reisinger was dressed casual. He had an Irish wool sweater, corduroy pants, and a scarf wrapped around his neck. No coat! He could be easily been mistaken to be a German. His clothes and his hair cut were European. He looked like every man and he was good at that. It was a well practiced art. Reisinger was smoking. It’s been a few years but Sasha and Reisinger have known one another for a long time, back to the good old “cowboy” days when the CIA and KGB were killing off one another. That was the golden era of espionage.

  Sasha laughed. “What KGB. Don’t you read newspapers? The KGB is gone. We are now the Foreign Intelligence Service…the SVR…the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki. But tell me, how is your wonderful CIA doing now that its reason for existing is gone?”

  “We’re doing great, Sasha. We have terrorists in our sights. And, I don’t want to hear that bull shit about the KGB being gone. You people just keep changing names. The SVR is the First Directorate of the old KGB. Not much has changed. In any event, I don’t believe you’ve met John, that is…Mr. Anderson.”

  John Comfort Anderson stood. He was wearing a perfectly tailored black HickeyFreeman suit. His Allen Edmonds shoes were highly polished, if not spit shined. A small American flag pin was on his lapel. His white shirt was heavily starched, in fact all of John Comfort Anderson was heavily starched, body and soul. Small granny glasses were perched on his patrician nose. In his fiftied, his hair was perfectly groomed and didn’t show any grey, not even at the temples. He dyed his hair. His tie was red with thin blue stripes. A small white pocket square neatly protruded from his breast pocket. He wore his Rolex watch low so it was always visible. He had a small gold cross around his neck. It was tucked behind his shirt. No one ever saw the cross. It was crafted with very sharp protruding edges so the wearer always felt its presence above his heart. It was meant to be painful. He didn’t smoke or drink and eschewed people who did—if there was a choice.

  “Pleased to meet you Mr. Anderson. I have never previously met a Deputy Attorney General of the United States. May I call you John? Please call me Sasha.”

  “My friends call me JC, thank you.”

  The truth was that hardly anyone called him JC. The obvious reference to Christ was appealing to Anderson but it was like trying to prod friends to use a nickname they didn’t like. Reisinger always called him John. Anderson and Sasha shook hands. Anderson flashed a typically American set of brilliant white teeth. It was almost a smile.

  Sami hated Anderson the moment he spotted him across the room. He was everything that Sami despised in Americans.

  “I am with the embassy in Berlin. I am representing my friends in the SVR and Speznaz. No, we are not entirely gone.” said Sasha.

  Sami never bothered to stand. He had already sprawled into the nearest upholstered chair. He reached to a small table and poured himself a drink. The bottle was labeled Kleiner Feigling. It was vodka flavored with figs. He took a sip.

  “Damn Germans ruin good vodka. Taste like shit,” said Sami in broken English

  He abruptly put his drink down. Without getting up, he spoke in a loud voice.

  “Hello. I am Sami. You know me or you heard of me. Why I summoned to meeting? Why wait year for meeting?”

  Reisinger reached down to Sami. “Great to make your acquaintance, Mr. Zhidov. Of course we know of you.” Most people had an urge to wipe their hands after touching Sami, but Reisinger was a master at handling unpleasant people. He did it for a living. Reisinger’s job was to convince people to commit treason against their own country. Most foreign agents were psychotic one way or another. Sami was just one more nut case to deal with.

  “Yes, how are you. Why we here?” asked Sami.

  Sasha stepped in. “We’re here, as you know quite well, to decide what to do with this Siemels fellow.”

  “Kill him. What is to decide?” Sami was loud.

  “Sami, we don’t want to upset Putin and his new boys. This must be dealt with under four eyes. You know that,” said Sasha.

  “Ziemelis…Siemels…whatever he call himself…he insignificant. Why four important people spend days traveling to tiny German town…so we don’t leave tracks…to talk about one shitty Latvian,” said Sami.

  “Sami, my friend, we came to Bonn because now that the capitol is back in Berlin, no one pays attention to what happens in Bonn. With regard to Siemels, I tend to agree with you. But for the sake of our respective interests, he has to be dealt with very discretely and very quickly. Your efforts to date have been very disappointing. Siemels is important,” said Reisinger.

  “There is nothing trivial about Jared Siemels.” Anderson’s tone was harsh. It was meant to be harsh. “He is a product of Soviet genetic engineering and he is unnatural and he is an insult to God. He is an abomination. He is evil Mr. Penkovskiy.”

  “John, Sasha has repeatedly proven that he was not gene spliced. Why do you insist on bringing that mythology up again and again,” said Reisinger.

  “That is alright, Franklin. I understand that this has religious importance to Mr. Anderson. I respect his strong beliefs,” said Sasha.

  “I said it because it is the truth and no damn Soviet propaganda is going to change the truth,” said Anderson.

  “We have Ami chosen by God in humble midst?” declared Sami.

  Everyone ignored Sami, even Anderson. Reisinger leaned over to Anderson and whispered in his ear.

  “Ami means American, John,” said Reisinger.

  Anderson was inured to social ridicule for being God fearing but he sensed that it was time change direction. He was tacking into the wind.

  “What brings you to Germany John?” Asked Sasha.

  “I’m picking up my new Mercedes on this trip…an SL-550 roadster. I can’t wait to get my hands on it,” said Anderson.

  “Jede putzfrau hat ein Mercedes,” said Sami.

  “Sorry,” asked Anderson. “I don’t speak German.”

  “Every cleaning woman own Mercedes,” said Sasha.

  “Thank you for explaining that,” said Anderson.

  “You’re welcome,” said Sasha. I love Americans who don’t speak German. It can be very funny. You remember when President Kennedy gave his famous Berlin speech in 1963. He said he was a pastry in front thousands Germans.”

  Sami began to laugh. It was a foul and guttural laugh.

  “Kennedy said ‘Ich bin ein Berliner’ whereas he should have said ‘Ich bin Berliner.’ By adding the “ein” he declared himself to be a pastry made famous in Berlin. The pastry is called a Berliner.”

  “Yes, that is a humorous anecdote,” said Anderson. “I’ve heard it before.” Sasha saw that the meeting was not going well. It was time for him to get the gathering focused on the problem.

  “We can talk freely. Our best sweeper has been here for a week to ensure that there are no surveillance devices. He is living in a pension in Bad Godesberg so he won’t attract the attention of anyone in Bonn,” said Sasha.

  “Sasha, I think it would be helpful for John if you explained why the Russians a
re interested in this man,” said Reisinger.

  “To be entirely frank, we don’t want you Americans to have this man. I know that the CIA tried to recruit him a number of times. We regard him as a being potentially a serious long-term threat to the new Russia. If not him directly, then his progeny. And since you Americans want to be rid of him as well, the matter becomes quite simple. Besides, he is a Russian. It is a Russian matter.”

  “This Russian notion that he is some kind of superman is absurd,” said Anderson. “He is nothing but a scientific freak, like finding someone with six fingers on his hand.”

  “I am reluctant to convince you how important an asset you have,” said Sasha.

  “If you want our continued cooperation, you have to convince me, said Reisinger. “John and I obviously have different views on this matter. I believe that this genetic engineering business is bogus. Could the real reason you want his head is that he has developed new technology that may eradicate the threat of weapons of mass destruction? Isn’t that the real reason we’re here?”

  Anderson’s face turned beet red. He glared at Reisinger.

  “Now hear truth,” said Sami. He was having a difficult time keeping his mouth shut.

  “The technology he is reputed to have developed…we still don’t have any proof that it exists…the demonstrations could have been rigged…continues to be kept a secret by Siemels. We don’t have it yet,” said Anderson.

  “Has your President approved of the assasination?” Asked Sasha.

  “There is no need to involve the White House is such a trivial matter,” said Reisigner.

  Sami smiled.

  “I like Obama very much. Finally America has its Lenin,” said Sami, laughing.

  “And can we assume that our efforts are sanctioned by Putin?” Asked Reisinger.

  “Of course,” said Sasha. It was a lie. Everyone knew it was a lie but no one was going to challenge Sasha.

  “Sasha, the message you sent me last week was not exactly to the point, but it appeared to suggest that you had a new plan to rid ourselves of Siemels,” said Reisinger.

  “Yes, in fact, it is in place. This is Sami’s plan, however. Why don’t you explain it Sami?”

  Sami finally stood up. He had the floor now.

  “No plan. Too simple to call it plan. I have sleeper at M.I.T. who will kill Siemels on his little island in Maine. Soon!” Said Sami.

  “Who is this sleeper? What are his qualifications? How is he going to kill him?” asked Anderson.

  Reisinger stepped in quickly. “We don’t need to know who he is, John.”

  “It has been a year and so far Mr. Zhidov’s plan has been an abismal failure,” said Anderson.

  “Not secret,” said Sami. “We have best sniper in Russia but also professor. Name Professor Ivan Smolenskiy.”

  Anderson directed the question to Reisinger. “You guys know this Smolenskiy?”

  “Not that I can recall,” said Reisinger. “I’ll check. We probably have a file on him.”

  “I reveal name. You give protection until the job done? After that, don’t care what you do with him,” said Sami.

  “Count on it. We’ll take care of him, be assured. And, as long as he avoids the local police, you can have him back afterwards. We really don’t care,” said Anderson.

  “And you too,” asked Sasha.

  “Yes, we’ll watch over him too. Not to worry,” said Reisinger.

  “If, for some unforeseen circumstance your professor fails in his assignment, is there a backup?” asked Anderson.

  “Of course,” said Sami. “You think Sami fool? First, Smolenskiy never miss. Never miss. Second…”

  Sasha stepped into the conversation. “The backup is my assignment. I have a team of Cubans who will finish the job if Smolenskiy fails.”

  “They Colombians,” said Sami.

  “Cubans. Colombians. What is the difference?” said Sasha.

  “OK, it sounds like you have it worked out. I don’t need to remind you that the hand of the American government cannot be seen in this.” said Anderson.

  Sami was perturbed. “Why we come to Bonn for this? I answer question. There no purpose. We expose selves to discovery.” Pointing his finger at Reisinger and Anderson, “No one knows us. Your faces known. It mistake to come here.”

  Reisinger spoke. “Telephone calls are too risky Sami. It was essential that we understand what you were planning to do. Beyond that, we really don’t want to know any of the details. It’s best that way. You should have no concerns about John and I being recognized. Aside from the fact that we are not that recognizable in Europe, we were driven in private cars from different origins. No one knows that we are in Bonn. As John already told you, he’s here to pick up a new car he ordered. As for me, I have a private apartment in Hamburg and people are accustomed to seeing me in Germany. I come here at least once a month. On this trip I drove in from Brussels. My car is ordinary looking but has tinted glass. My driver drove in circles for miles until he was certain that he wasn’t being followed. I was dropped off a block from the club.”

  “I also think it was important that we all meet and get to know one another better. This is an important mission,” said Anderson.

  “Sami think you had information for us,” said Sami. “You waste time for meeting.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” said Reisinger. “I don’t think it has been a waste of time.”

  “Neither do I,” said Sasha. “It was good that we could meet.”

  “When is the assassination going to take place?” asked Anderson.

  “Smolenskiy will decide when right moment to kill Ziemelis. Maybe now…maybe week…maybe month,” said Sami. “We go now.”

  Sami and Sasha walked out without looking behind. There were no hand shakes and there were no good-byes.

  Sasha was leading the way. Sami was following. They walked up Wessel Street and then up Rathaus Alley. They reverted to speaking Russian.

  “Where are we going?” asked Sami.

  “Let’s get something to eat. Some place where we can talk. I liked the restaurant in the basement of the old town hall but I believe it is closed. I think I remember a decent place right next to it. Do you know the one I mean?”

  “No. I don’t like German food. It’s all sausages and pig’s knuckles.”

  “You just don’t know what to order. You must improve your German, Sami.”

  “I’ll wait until they speak Russian. How long can that be? Not long!” Sasha was right. The Brauhaus Bönnsch was right there. He wanted to find a restaurant that he had never been to before so no one could have anticipated where they might end up. Jared obviously knew they would be in Bonn. But how? He needed time to think.

  They were greeted as soon as they walked in and were immediately seated. It helped that Sasha’s German was impeccable.

  “I will say this, Sasha, our miserable restaurants could learn a thing or two from German waiters. The Germans see it as a profession.”

  “Yes, that’s true. I think the Austrians make even better waiters. Do you like venison?”

  “Of course. Just no sausages,” said Sami.

  Sasha ordered two Dortmunder Union Pils beers and two orders of Hirschbraten, Eifeler Art.

  “So what do you think, Sami?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sami. “Maybe I should call the Colombians and get them into Canada right away. This Anderson is an idiot,” said Sami.

  “He is not an idiot. On the contrary, it is extremely intelligent and very powerful. Don’t underestimate him. The problem with Anderson is that he doesn’t know much about the intelligence business. Nothing at all! Worse, he is a religious zealot. That makes him irrational, and therefore dangerous, when it comes to anything that touches on religion,” said Sasha.

  “I can understand Anderson’s obsession with Ziemelis, but why is Reisinger so interested in killing Ziemelis? I know that they don’t have any official backing from the White House. I heard another source
that said that they are working entirely alone in this matter and that the White House has no knowledge of their activities,” said Sami.

  “I’ve heard those stories as well. With regard to Reisinger, I think he is cooperating as a favor to Anderson. Reisinger is a very politically astute fellow. He has been in intelligence since college. I doubt he gives a damn about killing Ziemelis. He is currying favor with Anderson and Anderson thinks that God wants Ziemelis to die,” said Sasha. “Reisinger is close to involuntary retirement. He wants to find a comfortable home after he leaves the CIA.”

  “I am glad I don’t have Anderson’s fucking God. Jews don’t have God speaking to them to do things.”

  “Are you serious or is it that you just don’t read the Old Testament?”

  “OK, let me rephrase that. My kind of Jew doesn’t have God speaking to people. For that matter, I’m not much of a Jew.”

  The food arrived. They drank and ate but didn’t speak much more for the rest of the evening. They both had a lot to think about.

  Chapter Five – A Distant Wind

  Eagle’s Head Island – 26 May 2013

  Smolenskiy was highly skilled with the Mir assassination crossbow favored by Speznaz, but now he finally had what he was really longing for. He slowly opened the aluminum case and took out the rifle. He never failed to appreciate its dark beauty and cold elegance. His brother had saved it for him all these years, waiting until Smolenskiy returned from Afghanistan and eventually got to America. Smolenskiy drove it down from Canada just a month ago. It was his beloved Dragunov. He mouthed the name like he was beckoning a lover. It used a NATO 7.62 mm round with precisely 3.1 grams of powder. He always loaded his own shells. Hot loads were too risky. Smolenskiy had considered requesting a .50 caliber sniper rifle, but he wasn’t accustomed to it. Moreover, he knew that it might attract attention if he tried to sight it in.

  As far as he was concerned, there was no sniper rifle like the Dragunov anywhere. Everyone knew that the Russians were the masters of weaponry, especially rifles. His Dragunov could theoretically kill at two kilometers but its reliable accuracy—by an expert—was about 800 meters. It was the wind, not the rifle that sometimes failed him. He had often done far better than that. The muzzle velocity was a remarkable 830 meters per second. It was a marvelous tool if it was in respectful hands. Smolenskiy was very respectful.