Eves of Destruction

by Roy Berelowitz

  Finally, she pushed him back on the bed and climbed on top of him and they began to make love. After a few minutes of kissing and caressing, she sat up, turned her face towards his penis and straddled his face with her legs, her vagina inches above his mouth.

  Outside the hotel room, Michael Devskoy stood close to the door, but not too close to be obvious. Had anybody walked by, they would have thought he was waiting for someone. He was waiting, but only for the sounds from within the room telling him that the man and woman inside were intimate, locked in a lovers embrace.

  Satisfied with what he had heard, he began to walk away from the room, slowly withdrawing a long tube like object with a short trailing wire from his left pocket. As he turned towards the elevators, he flipped off the safety switch on the tube and put his thumb firmly on the top of a small, button-sized plunger at the very top of the tube. As the elevator doors opened in front of him, he pressed the plunger and stepped into the elevator. Behind him he heard a dull explosive thud and as the elevator started down, he smiled.

  CHAPTER 9

  VLADIMIR KOSNAR STOOD before the heavy upright punching bag with his feet shoulder width apart, arms bent at the elbows, fists clenched and tight to his sides. His left hand shot out and his fist struck the bag hard. He pulled back on his left and simultaneously punched with his right. He settled into a quick cadence—left, right, left, right. As each punch made contact with the bag, he exhaled, pushing the air out of his lungs, tightening his stomach muscles, driving all his energy and focus into the point of contact between his fist and the bag.

  Of moderate height and a slight frame, his stature belied his strength; each punch rocked the heavy bag back on its stand. After fifty punches with each hand he stopped, adjusted his stance, moving his left leg in front, his right leg behind, feet still shoulder width apart, arms raised defensively in front of his face and chest—the classic karate fighting stance. In one fluid motion he kicked the bag, curling his toes back and making contact with the ball of his foot. His leg snapped back from the bag as it rocked back on its wide base. As soon as his leg returned to its starting position, he kicked again. He began to alternate his kicks using different techniques in his repertoire; front kick, round house, jumping round house, crescent kick designed to snap a mans jaw, spinning butterfly kick. His movements were controlled, deliberate and fluid, each strike evolving naturally into the next. After a few minutes he stopped and dropped to the ground and did twenty quick pushups. Jumping back up, he continued his routine, sweat pouring down his face and neck and soaking through his thick karate uniform.

  He was in the middle of another punching drill when a commotion at the front of the dojo caught his eye. He stopped and peered around the large punching bag, eyeing the three men standing in the doorway. The one in front was tall and immaculately dressed in the uniform of an officer of the Federal’naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti, the Russian Federal Security Service, commonly referred to as the FSB. The two men behind him were younger and dressed in full combat dress, Kalashnikov rifles slung in the typical Russian military style across their chests.

  Vladimir’s eyes narrowed as he watched the three men walk confidently into the dojo. It was fairly common to see members of the FSB in Moscow. Chechnyan terrorists struck Moscow with sickening regularity and the Russian authorities maintained an extraordinary high level of visible security forces in their major cities. But as an elite protective force, their police functions were limited, making Vladimir wonder what or who could have brought them to this dojo. As he watched, the officer turned back to his subordinates and barked something at them and they immediately turned and blocked the entrance. The officer then looked around the large dojo and noticed that most of the students and instructors who were training had stopped to watch him. He fixed his gaze on one young instructor and beckoned him towards him with his index finger. Vladimir was too far away to hear their conversation but he quickly knew who they were talking about when the instructor pointed directly to him. The officer turned from the instructor and strode purposefully across the padded floor. The rules against wearing shoes on the training floor were usually strictly enforced but no-one stepped forward to stop the officer.

  “Vladimir Kosnar?” the officer said as he stood before him.

  Vladimir did not reply. He turned and picked up a small towel hanging on a nearby railing and wiped the sweat off his face and neck.

  “Colonel Vladimir Kosnar?” the officer said more emphatically.

  “I am Kosnar,” Vladimir replied softly.

  “I have been sent by General Siminov to collect you and take you to his office immediately.”

  Siminov was Deputy Director of Counter Intelligence and was Vladimir’s last commander at the FSB. It had been more than a year since they had seen each other. Their last parting had not been very pleasant.

  “I am busy right now as you can see,” Vladimir replied. “Tomorrow will be better, I will have more time.”

  It was obvious the FSB officer was not used to being rebuffed. He stared at Vladimir for a moment then said: “You have five minutes to get showered and dressed.”

  He paused briefly and with a smile that did not convey any warmth he said: “Or if you like, we can go as you are. Either way, you are coming with me.” He was not smiling when he finished talking.

  Vladimir stared at him for a moment, his eyes cold and unblinking and then he turned towards the locker room.

  The short drive from the dojo to their destination was done in silence. Vladimir knew quite well that despite his arrogance, the officer who had come to collect him was merely a glorified errand boy without any knowledge of who he was instructed to pick up or why. Asking him any questions would be pointless. The car slowed as they approached the guardhouse, a uniformed guard stepping slowly towards the vehicle as they approached. The main office of the FSB was one of the most secure buildings in Moscow, but even they had suffered at the hands of Chechnyan suicide bombers who twice had blown up cars at the entrance to the building. Now every approaching car had to run a gauntlet of checks before being allowed to enter the inner courtyard of the old building.

  Vladimir’s escort presented his credentials and they were waived through. The car stopped in the courtyard and the FSB officer turned to Vladimir.

  “Out,” he said brusquely, pointing at the door.

  Vladimir looked at him and then reached for the door handle. He stepped out of the car and waited for the officer to climb out after him.

  “This way,” said the officer as he walked off without breaking his stride.

  Vladimir walked slightly behind him as the officer lead him into the familiar building, up one flight of stairs to an office door. The officer stopped in front of General Siminov’s office and opened the door. There was a large interior room, staffed by two female secretaries. Both of them looked up at Vladimir as the officer ushered him through the doorway.

  “Hello, Olga,” said Vladimir. She had worked for General Siminov as long as he could remember. He did not recognize the other much younger woman.

  “Hello, Colonel Kosnar,” said Olga with a warm smile. “It is good to see you again. General Siminov is expecting you. Please go in.”

  Vladimir opened the door to the General’s office.

  “Vladimir,” said the General in a loud voice with exaggerated warmth as he got up and walked around his large desk. “It is good to see you. Please, come inside and sit down.”

  Vladimir took Siminov’s out reached hand and gave it a perfunctory shake. “I’m not sure I am so glad to be here,” he said. “I must say I was perturbed by the invitation to meet with you this morning,” he continued giving the word invitation a little extra inflection.

  “Yes, I’m sorry,” said Siminov, ushering Vladimir towards the couch. “But you are here now, so please, sit down and make yourself comfortable. Can I offer you anything—coffee or tea perhaps?”

  “No, thank you. I am fine. Now General, you did not go to all this trouble to bring me
here to drink tea or coffee. What is it you want?”

  The General’s face lost it warmth and turned serious. A conspiratorial tone crept into his voice. “I need you to do something for me,” he said. “Something very secret and very important.”

  “General,” said Vladimir shaking his head, “I’m retired. You know -”

  “I know, I know,” said the General, cutting him off with a vigorous nod of his head and wave of his hand. “You are retired, but this assignment is imperative. It must be done at all costs. And,” the General said as he sighed, “you are probably the only man who can do this.”

  Vladimir looked at his former commander with dispassion and a small measure of antipathy. He had to admit to himself that sitting here with his old boss rekindled an old passion for a job he had excelled at, but still he was not inclined to make any changes, and in fact could really care less. His commitment to the Communist Party and the service to the country had long diminished and he had become disillusioned. In rare moments of introspection he sometimes wondered if his life had had any meaning or if he had done anything redeeming at all. A little flattery would get his former commander nowhere.

  “I’m sorry, General,” he said. “Those days are behind me. I am sure there are plenty of good men, younger men in the new service who can help you.”

  “Yes, you are probably correct,” the General replied unconvincingly as he threw his hands up in an expansive motion. “There are many good men. But I tell you what, I have here a dossier I would like you to read. It will only take you about an hour. If the assignment still does not interest you after reading it, then we will have vodka to celebrate old times and you will be on your way. Is it a deal?”

  Vladimir paused for a moment and then said “All right. Give me the dossier. I will read it and then I will leave.”

  The General rose and walked back to his desk. He picked up a large folder, tucked it under his arm, and walked to the door, motioning to Vladimir to follow.

  “Olga,” he said to his secretary. “Please show Mr. Kosnar to an empty private office.” He turned and gave Vladimir the dossier.

  “Yes, General,” said his secretary as she rose from her seat. “Please follow me, Colonel Kosnar.”

  * * *

  Vladimir did not know how much time passed since he began reading the dossier. The contents were shocking, even disgusting, but for someone with his background and experience, not very surprising. Working in the KGB for so many years, he had gotten used to strange plots and ill-conceived plans. According to the dossier, in the early 1980s the KGB had created an unlikely team of killers, assassins who could deliver death in a method unique and so secret even they were not aware of it. As he read the dossier it reminded him of a book he had read once called The Manchurian Candidate in which a captured American soldier is hypnotized into becoming an assassin.

  He was also not surprised they had never been used as assassins. It was common for upper level officers to concoct bizarre plans the senior intelligence management never implemented or the old Politburo reviewed, and then stopped. Vladimir surmised that by the time these assassins were operational, Gorbachev had come to power and the Cold War was ending. Maybe it had been decided not to make use of their special capabilities. There was one strange note, however, in the dossier. Apparently, a lot of the assassins in the program were already dead, many having died in the last three years. If the program had never been implemented, why were so many dead and why so recently? The information in front of him contained no explanation.

  Now, it seemed the assassination program had been implemented. A significant number of these women had been activated by someone in the FSB and sent to Europe and America. The exact number was unknown but it was thought to be between fifty and one hundred. At least one and possibly even two had already been used. The remainder were believed to be in contact with their handler, under strict orders not to contact headquarters or their embassy. They were walking time bombs, out of touch and out of contact. The worst part was they were not even aware of their own lethality.

  Closing the dossier, he returned to General Siminov’s office suite. Ignoring the secretaries, and without knocking, he opened the door to General Siminov’s office.

  “Well?” said the General.

  Vladimir put the dossier back on the General’s desk, looked up his former commander and shaking his head said, “I don’t see how I can help you.”

  The General stared at him for a few moments and then said, “Are you curious to know who is doing this?”

  As Vladimir shrugged his shoulders with indifference, the General reached into another file folder on his desk and withdrew a small black and white picture. He slid it across the desk to his former subordinate. Vladimir glanced at it briefly and then with a gasp of surprise, he picked up the picture and stared at it. He glanced back at the General and then back at the picture.

  “Devskoy, that drunken sadistic bastard, it can’t be.” His voice was incredulous.

  Siminov nodded slowly as he retrieved the picture and placed it back on top of his desk. “I am afraid so,” he replied.

  “But how,” Vladimir responded. “Was Devskoy involved in this project?”

  General Siminov sighed loudly as he sat down heavily and slumped in his chair.

  “No,” the General answered emphatically. “He had nothing to do with this. A year ago he was a fall down drunk just trying to stay in the service long enough to get to his pension. He was going to be dismissed, but he contacted me and based on his record, I stupidly agreed to allow him to be placed on a minimum security task and assigned a small office to work until his retirement date. Mostly he just sat there and looked at pornography on the internet. By some stupid mistake, a box containing all the relevant information about this program was delivered to him. So Devskoy looks inside the box, sees all these files and starts reading through them, obviously realizing he is sitting on a potential goldmine if only he can find a willing buyer.”

  The General paused for a moment before continuing. “Who and how we don’t know but about nine months ago he disappeared without a trace. Then purely by chance, someone noticed that a substantial number of these women in the program had left the country. How he got the money and means to get them out, again we don’t know but I am assuming Al Qaeda or Hamas or maybe the Iranians. It could even be the North Koreans but I suspect it is someone on the Arab side because that is where he had most of his experience and some contacts. Regardless, someone gave him money.”

  “Well I can see why you are so anxious to have someone take care of this,” replied Kosnar, his voice slightly mocking and derisive in its tone. “But, like I said before, why me?”

  “There are two reasons to use you,” the General replied as he leaned forward in his chair. “The first reason is you actually know Devskoy which is not true for many of my younger agents. Also, you are very effective at hunting people down as you showed in Afghanistan.”

  Vladimir shrugged off the Generals ham handed attempt at a compliment.

  “So?” Kosnar replied. “That was a long time ago. At best it would give me a slight advantage but not a very significant one.”

  The General looked back at him, his lower lip quivering almost imperceptibly, eyes blinking rapidly. He would never admit it but he was intimidated by Vladimir Kosnar, particularly now. The information he had to share was his trump card, but he was not sure what kind of response it would illicit. He cleared his throat and was about to speak when there was a sharp knock at his door and, before he could answer, the door opened and a man stepped in. At the sight of him Siminov rose quickly out of his chair and stood at attention.

  The man who entered the room was tall with perfectly groomed hair and a well tailored expensive dark blue suit. His dark red tie was perfectly tied and hung just below his belt line. Vladimir immediately recognized him although they had never met before. Victor Chenko had been appointed head of the FSB eighteen months earlier. He had no background in security or e
spionage but was a protégé of the current Russian President. Chenko had been one of the first Russians in the post Soviet era to attend Harvard’s MBA program and returned to Russia to make a small fortune as the country stumbled its way to a free market economy. Unlike some of the other early capitalists in Russia, Chenko worked hard to maintain good relations with the Russian political elite and was brought in to government by the current President to help modernize Russia’s oil distribution system so the country could better capitalize on its vast oil resources. His success at that had led to him being appointed head of the FSB in order to modernize its role in the new Russia. Many people believed he was being groomed to be a future or even next president of Russia.

  Chenko completely ignored General Siminov who was still standing at attention behind his desk but focused on Vladimir who was standing in front of him.

  “Colonel Kosnar,” he said warmly as he grasped Vladimir’s hand in a strong grip. “It is an honor to meet you. I have heard many of stories about your exploits in the past.”

  Vladimir said nothing but smiled briefly to acknowledge the compliment.

  Chenko turned to the General who was now standing in a slightly more relaxed stance and said, “So have you told the Colonel our sorry tale?”

  “Uh…Yes Sir,” Siminov stammered as he replied. “I have explained to him the uh…situation.”

  Chenko roughly pushed aside a couple of folders on Siminov’s desk and assumed a half seated position on the desk with right leg dangling and his left leg on the floor. He picked up the picture of Devskoy lying on Siminov’s desk and stared at it for a moment.