Eves of Destruction

by Roy Berelowitz

  After some time a nurse came up to her and gave her a folded piece of paper which she unfolded and read. The message was brief. She was instructed to be at an address the next morning in Moscow at 9:00 o’clock. There was no explanation as to the purpose of the meeting.

  She arrived the next morning at the address in downtown Moscow as instructed. The building, an office complex built just after the Second World War, was squat and stark and quite foreboding. With some trepidation she went inside and reported to the receptionist who curtly instructed her to take a seat in the lobby. She did not have to wait long; soon after she arrived she was taken to a small windowless room furnished with one small well-worn Formica table and four metal chairs. An attendant handed her an aptitude test and she spent the next hour carefully answering each question. As she completed the test, a man in a white coat entered and told her he was a psychiatrist. He interviewed her for about half an hour and when he was done, he left her alone in the room and she sat there nervously wondering what was happening when the two strangers from the previous day’s medical exam stepped in. This time they introduced themselves and explained very briefly that they were members of the Soviet Security Service but they did not specify which agency.

  For a terrifying moment, Katia thought she or someone in her family was in trouble. As a valued athletic asset she had been protected from the heavy hand of the Soviet internal security system but was still well aware of the capricious nature of Soviet justice. One of the men realized her discomfort and put her at rest.

  “You are not in trouble,” he said gruffly as if putting people at ease did not come easily to him. “Don’t worry. We just need to learn more about you, to ask you certain questions. You just answer as best you can. Do you understand?”

  The color which had drained from Katia’s face slowly returned and she nodded quickly that she understood.

  For the next two hours the men interviewed her about every aspect of her life, her academic record, her friends, her older brother, her parents, her grandparents, and even her grandfather’s service in the Second World War The questions became increasingly personal focusing on her sexual history, her sexual orientation, different sex acts she had engaged in, even pressing her on homosexual encounters with other women, which had never happened. They already seemed to know a great deal about her life but insisted she tell them everything, sparing no small detail.

  When the session finally ended, she felt drained. It had been humiliating to speak about oneself in so open a manner with two complete strangers but, as a product of the paternalistic Soviet system, she had simply complied as instructed.

  The next few weeks after the interview had been a rush of unexpected activity. She was scheduled for surgery and her hopes rose again she might be able to return to her teammates but the doctor explained that due to a serious deterioration of her hip joint she would to have hip replacement surgery to alleviate the pain and allow her to walk normally. But he was very explicit; her sports career was over. Following surgery she would have to be very careful to avoid further injuring her hip by running or jumping.

  Within a few months of her injury Katia found herself in a new career, as unlikely as anything she could have imagined. Even before she was off crutches from the surgery she was informed she had been selected to join the Komitet Gosudarstvennoi Bezopasnost, or Committee for State Security more commonly known as the KGB. She immediately had to report for training which, in the beginning consisted mainly of full emersion in the English language. All the students, a few young women like her, a number of young military officers and other civilians became residents of an English only dormitory. Any conversations in Russian were strictly outlawed and the few students who disobeyed lost privileges. Katia found it difficult at first while her knowledge of the language was quite rudimentary, but she was a diligent student and as the weeks and months past, her conversational and comprehension skills improved rapidly. By the sixth month she was easily conversing in English and by the time she completed the first full year, she found herself even thinking in English.

  Additional training classes in standard espionage skills followed and by the end of her third year she was sent on her first foreign assignment; the Soviet embassy in Norway. Her job was to read and translate documents and intelligence related to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization or NATO. The Soviets had learned that Norway was the easiest way to get access to confidential English language NATO documents and Katia was assigned to read through and select documents for translation based on their value.

  The job was quite tedious but life in Norway with its open society and warm friendly people more than made up for the tedium of her job. The Embassy staff was encouraged to meet and mingle with the local people and report back to their superiors on what people were saying or thinking. On a number of occasions she was sent on missions to other European countries, at first as part of a surveillance team and later on her own. Most of her assignments during these missions were innocuous but everything changed one day when she was summoned directly into the Ambassadors office. There were two senior KGB officers in the room with him.

  “Do you know who this man is?” one of the KGB officers asked her, laying a picture of a smiling middle aged man on the table in front of her.

  “Yes,” she answered quickly. “He is the deputy Minister of Defense here in Norway.”

  “Have you met him?” the same officer asked.

  “Um.. yes,” she replied. “I think we met last year at our embassies New Year’s Eve party.”

  There was a brief silence as the two KGB officers glanced at each other. The ambassador stood by saying nothing.

  “Would he recognize you if he saw you again?”

  Katia shrugged. She knew that as a tall athletic blond, most men remembered meeting her but she responded cautiously.

  “We spoke for some time. He seemed very interested in my sports background.”

  The two agents looked over at the Ambassador as if this was his cue to speak. The Ambassador cleared his throat and pulled his chair closer to Katia’s. He seemed uncomfortable with what he was about to say.

  “This man, he could be very useful to us.” He cleared his throat again and dropped his eyes from Katia for a moment.

  “We need someone to uh… become friends with him. Get to know him, gain his trust, you understand. He is coming here tomorrow for an embassy dinner. You will be seated next to him, while his wife will be seated elsewhere.”

  The Ambassador stopped speaking and stared in to Katia’s eyes.

  “Make him like you, want to see you again. Be suggestive. We know he has had some affairs outside of his marriage. Do you understand?”

  Katia glanced around the room at each man, a quizzical look on her face. “Am I supposed to have an affair with this man, to sleep with him? Is that what you are asking me?”

  One of the KGB officers answered brusquely. “This is a very important assignment. You should be grateful we have chosen you for this undertaking.” His words and tone left Katia no doubt that refusing was not an option.

  Nor was it the next time nor the time after that. She became a reluctant expert at sexual seduction and manipulation. She did as she was told and seduced men so they became enamored with her, desperate for her affection until the KGB milked them for their secrets or blackmailed them into spying for the Soviet Union, but for Katia, it came at great personal cost. Her life descended into a spiral of alcohol and self loathing. She began to hate men for what they made her do and what they did to her. After six increasingly miserable years, she was no longer useful and she was returned to Moscow for a desk job in translation.

  Unable to have normal relations with men, she lived a lonely and occasionally drunken life, her once magnificent athletic body deteriorating to the point where she no longer recognized herself in the mirror. But in an ironic twist, as the Soviet Union collapsed in the early 1990s, her situation improved. She and thousands of other government employees were furloughed as the
new Russian government was unable to pay its bills. Katia quickly sobered up and got a job with a Norwegian company in Russia working on improving Russia’s crude oil drilling operations. Her language skills in Russian, English and Norwegian were considered very valuable and the management at the Norwegian company was pleased with her work. She joined a fitness club and while carefully avoiding any exercise that would hurt her hip, became fit and strong by lifting weights, swimming and riding a stationary bicycle. For the first time in many years she felt good about herself and began a healthy relationship with a Norwegian man stationed at the Moscow office. She kept her past a secret and rejoiced in her new life until a surprise phone call at work. She answered by saying just her first name.

  “Katia Molensk?” said the man’s voice on the phone.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Your personal ID number is 38374747,” he said. It came out more as a statement than a question. Katia paused before responding. She had not used her KGB identification number for a number of years.

  “Who is this?” she asked with some uncertainty in her voice.

  “It does not matter who I am,” the voice on the phone replied. “You have been recalled to service. You will need to take a leave of absence from your work immediately.”

  “But…but I was fired years ago,” she stammered in response. “I don’t work for the KGB-”

  The caller cut her off in mid-sentence.

  “You were not fired. You were furloughed, temporarily released from service. You are now being recalled.”

  She said nothing and sat ashen faced with the phone gripped tightly in her hand. After a moment of silence she replied, “What if I refuse?”

  There was a snort of laughter on the phone before the man replied. “I know your history Katia Molesk. I, uh… we have pictures of you, compromising pictures which we will be happy to send to your colleagues at work.”

  Katia swallowed hard. She was angry and afraid, a feeling of nausea welled up in her throat.

  “A package will arrive for you at your office. Inside will be a safe deposit key. Now listen carefully and write down these instructions.”

  The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. She never met the man on the phone but he directed her to a safe deposit box which contained traveler’s checks, a newly issued Russian passport, a slightly worn Norwegian passport with her name and picture and instructions to fly to Norway on her Russian passport, stay there a few days then make her way to England via France, using only ground transportation. A cell phone was provided as well with strict instructions never to call anyone but to make sure it was fully charged and close by at all times. Within three weeks she was in a cheap hotel in London, waiting for instructions.

  For days she had no communication and wondered what she was supposed to do. She had been provided with almost fifteen thousand dollars in traveler’s checks but felt awkward about spending too much money without authorization. Finally after idling away her time for more than a week, she received a call with instructions to move into a room reserved in the named on her Norwegian passport at the Dorchester Hotel and stay in her room until instructed otherwise.

  The sound of the phone ringing jarred her out of her reverie in front of the mirror.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “You know who this is?” the voice on the phone said in Russian.

  She stiffened slightly as she responded.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now listen carefully. Do exactly as I say.” The man spoke for a few minutes and then said, “Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she replied again.

  “Very good,” the voice responded. “Now listen to me, do this job well and I’ll send you home and you will be done. Now get moving. I want you down here in ten minutes.”

  She hung up the phone and starred at it for a second and then quickly crossed the room to the large closet and began to get dressed. She had her assignment with a promise this would be her only assignment and she did not want to be late.

  CHAPTER 8

  GERALD RIFKIN WAS bored. This was only his second visit to England in fifteen years, and the place still felt exactly the same. On the first trip, he had come over during summer vacation with a backpack and a few dollars in his pocket and seen all the typical tourist sights. All he could remember was that London seemed to alternate between cold and rainy or hot and muggy. He had been bored then, was sorry he had not remained in Greece where the weather was decidedly better and more importantly, the vacationing Northern European girls were both pretty and friendly—his favorite combination.

  Now he had been in London for four days, this time as a businessman. His company had arranged accommodations for him at one of London’s best and most expensive hotels. He appreciated the luxury and convenience of The Dorchester, but he was getting tired of the bowing and scraping by the staff, and the prices were just ridiculous. One afternoon he paid almost thirty dollars for a cup of tea and a few cucumber sandwiches. Not that the money came out of his pocket, but even so, a cup of tea served in expensive china by a man in coat tails tastes no different than tea in less auspicious surroundings. His fellow residents, the Arabs and Asians, seemed to enjoy the obsequious service, but to him it was just another reminder of what he disliked most about England, the emphasis on class and breeding. He was a New York City College boy, having worked his way up through hard work and guile. Most frustrating of all, he was having trouble getting his English customers to commit to the deal he had assumed was all wrapped up. This was a multi million dollar contract and most of the details for this deal had been worked out weeks before in New York. He could not understand the delays.

  The first two days, he couldn’t even get the executives to talk about the deal. They started late again this morning, and then decided to take an early lunch which finished at around two. Like an idiot, he followed their example and drank a couple of warm beers with his food. He was not used to drinking at lunch and felt uncomfortable afterwards, unable to follow the conversation, which was compounded even more by his inability to decipher their accents. After lunch, the meeting ended, still with no resolution, and he went back to his hotel.

  Now he sat in the bar at the Dorchester Hotel, refreshed and hungry after a two hour nap and a shower. He ordered a drink and then glanced up at the mirror behind the bar and spotted an overweight and remarkably ugly man nursing a drink in his hand. The man seemed to be mumbling to himself and then he watched him place the large glass to his mouth and swallow the contents in one gulp. He turned to stare at the man, wondering how someone like that could be staying at the Dorchester and then turned quickly away as the man returned his stare with a look that made him feel uncomfortable.

  Turning around on the stool, he glanced around the bar and was disappointed to find it so empty. A few tables were occupied, mostly men drinking together and a few women also in the company of the other men. He was really looking forward to some female companionship but doubted he would find it this evening. He slowly drank the wine in his glass, chatted with the bartender for a few minutes and then ordered another. Glancing up at the mirror, he noticed one attractive woman walk in and take a seat not far from his. She looked like she might be in her late thirties or early forties, blonde, slender, and although seated, she appeared tall, with long strong legs. She was looking at her watch when he noticed her and appeared to be waiting for someone.

  He sighed and looked away, realizing the evening might end up with him in bed alone watching boring English television. Just then, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

  “Excuse me, but have you had dinner yet this evening.” It was the tall blonde.

  “No, no,” he said, rising out of his seat, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice.

  “Well, it seems I have been stood up. I noticed you were drinking alone. I thought you might like some company.”

  “Well, yes,” said Rifkin, barely able to conceal his enthusiasm. “Please, won’t you sit down. I am here
on business. I don’t really know anybody.”

  “Oh, me too,” said the blonde. “I am here from Nor-way on business. By the way, my name is Greta Franz,” she said extending her hand.

  “Oh, I’m Rifkin, Gerald Rifkin,” he said taking her hand and shaking it. “Most of my friends just call me Jerry.” The woman let her hand linger in the American’s grasp, and then slowly withdrew it.

  “Well, Jerry, now that we have been introduced, let’s go and eat. What’s your fancy?

  * * *

  Dinner lasted over two hours and had been fantastic—the company, that is. She was funny, attentive, entertaining. She was so comfortable talking with him, and casually let her hand touch his, or their feet touch and linger together under the table. In the taxi on the way back to the hotel, he wanted to kiss her desperately, but did not know how she would respond. He had no idea what was expected, but he was hoping, praying she would spend the night with him.

  “I take it you are staying here,” she said as the taxi stopped back at the hotel. “Oh yes, of course,” he replied. “Great,” she replied happily, taking his hand in hers, “then we can have a night cap together in your room.”

  He wanted to kiss her in the elevator as they rode up but the Dorchester had elevator operators in each elevator so he just reached for her hand and was rewarded as she took his and let her hand rub against his inner thigh. As they entered his room, he grabbed her and kissed her. She responded until he began to undress her, fingers fumbling at her buttons. She stopped him and then undressed him, kissing his face, his neck and then his chest she slowly removed his clothes. He was passive, watching her, feeling her, head numb with alcohol, food, and pleasure. Then she gently made him sit on the edge of the bed and stood in front of him, while she methodically removed her own clothes. She watched his face carefully, making sure she kept his interest, touching herself here and there to maintain his focus. But it was unnecessary; he was focused and very interested. Her body was firm and full. She had strong legs and a flat belly. As she removed her panties, his eyes focused on her pubic hairs and he did not notice the long thin scar above her right thigh.