Eves of Destruction

by Roy Berelowitz

  “I understand you know this man?” Chenko said looking up at Vladimir.

  “Yes, I know who he is,” Vladimir replied without much enthusiasm in his voice.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  Vladimir shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe six or seven years ago. I’m not really sure.”

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

  Vladimir nodded and said, “Yes, probably.”

  Chenko glanced at the picture again. “He is an unpleasant looking human being isn’t he,” he said with a brief laugh.

  Vladimir remained silent. Chenko stared at him for a moment and then asked, “So, are you going to help us with this little problem?”

  Vladimir sighed and said, “As I explained to General Siminov, I am no longer in service. I have other obligations and responsibilities now and I am quite sure there are younger, more able men who can do this.”

  Chenko said nothing but slowly nodded his head while staring hard at Vladimir. He rose to his feet as he spoke. “Colonel Kosnar, you do know that all retired KGB and FSB agents can be recalled to service at the discretion of the Director. You do understand that, right?”

  Vladimir just nodded in response.

  “But,” Chenko continued, his voice softening slightly, “under those circumstances, your uh… motivation might be limited, shall we say, if I ordered you back into service.”

  Vladimir remained silent. For a moment no one spoke.

  Chenko turned to General Siminov. “Do you have the folder?”

  Siminov stared back at him for a moment not knowing exactly what folder Chenko was referring to and then quickly made the connection and reached for a single thin brown folder on his desk. Chenko took the folder and very deliberately opened it up and glanced at it contents. He looked up at Kosnar and then snapped the folder shut, quickly handing it back to General Siminov as if he did not want to touch it for too long.

  “Colonel Kosnar,” he said as he stuck out his hand towards Vladimir and gave him a quick almost perfunctory handshake, “It was a pleasure to meet you. I am going to leave now and after I go Siminov is going to share the contents of the folder with you and then you can make your decision. I will not order you back into service but I am hoping we can help you make the decision yourself.”

  As Chenko closed the door behind him General Siminov sighed deeply and slumped back into his chair. He pulled a small handkerchief out of his pocket and patted his damp brow. He glanced up at Vladimir who had remained standing after Chenko had left the room.

  “Here,” he said holding up the brown folder, “read this.”

  The folder contained one single spaced typed page and a number of small black and white photographs. Vladimir picked up the typed page and began to read it. As he read his face grew ashen and without realizing it he backed into a chair and sat down. After reading the entire page he began to pick through the photographs in the folder. Some were quite old and fading to yellow, others were more recent. He looked at them again and again in disbelief and then suddenly stood up and leaned over the desk and glared at the General Siminov.

  “You fucking son of bitch,” he said, his face now flush with anger.

  The General threw up his hands as if to fend off Vladimir’s fury.

  “Don’t blame me. I had nothing to do with this-”

  Vladimir cut him off. “How long have you known about this?”

  “Not long,” the General replied.

  “How long?” he shouted, demanding an answer.

  “I told you, not long. I have only learned about this whole thing recently and it was just this week I finally got all the details including that information.” He nodded his head towards the pictures in Vladimir hands.

  Vladimir sat back down in the office chair facing the General’s desk, face expressionless, eyes staring at the man across from him.

  “Well?” Siminov repeated, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  Vladimir took a deep breath. “You knew if I read the dossier, I would accept the assignment.”

  “Yes,” answered the General.

  “And you are going to help me,” Vladimir quickly responded. He rose out of his seat again and pointed his finger at the General. “Money, information, support, resources, whatever I need you will give me.”

  “Money and information, yes, whatever you need,” the General replied. “Support, resources, no I’m sorry. You have to do this yourself.”

  “What?” Vladimir exploded. “How can I do this by my-”

  The General cut him off. “You can because you are skilled at these things and you will because you have to. Those are my orders. You have to do this alone.” His last words hung in the air.

  * * *

  Less than ten minutes after Vladimir Kosnar had left the FSB headquarters building, the phone rang in General Siminov’s outer office. His secretary patched the call through to her boss immediately.

  “Good morning,” said Siminov, trying to sound pleasant. Chenko did not respond with pleasantries.

  “Well, will he do it? Did he accept the assignment?”

  “Yes, I think he will help us,” Siminov replied, trying to sound upbeat.

  “You mean he will help you, you idiot,” Chenko responded, shouting into the phone. “You’re the fucking idiot who allowed this mess to get out of hand. Now, you better make damn sure you finish it.”

  “But Sir,” Siminov responded, “How could I have known Devskoy would-”

  Chenko cut him off. “Devskoy is a fucking idiot and a sadistic bastard. You should have fired him years ago. Instead you kept him around for your own purposes. Now look how he has returned the favor.”

  The caller paused for a moment, and then asked, “Have you had any success in bringing him back in?”

  “Uh, no, Sir. I’m afraid he’s not responding. We have had no contact with him now for almost nine months. There have been no sightings of him since he was spotted in Syria although we do believe he might be in Pakistan.”

  “I’m warning you, Siminov, this had better get resolved and soon.”

  “Yes Sir, I understand. Kosnar is a good man, well motivated. He’ll get it done.”

  “Well, for your sake, I damn well hope so. If this is ever connected back to me, you will wish you were dead, you fucking idiot. Do you understand?”

  There was a click as the phone disconnected before Siminov could respond. Slowly, gently, he replaced the handset and let out a long slow breath. He wiped the sweat off his brow, slumped back in his chair. He hoped he was right about Kosnar.

  CHAPTER 10

  SHE WAS RUNNING, legs driving hard into the dry earth fighting for traction and speed. She could hear the bullets whistle past her head and see the puffs of dirt as bullets struck the ground around her and she tensed up, anticipating to be hit any second. Up ahead large rocks offered cover and she ran hard to reach them but seemed to make no progress. She felt like she was running in place and as she fought against conflicting emotions of panic and resignation to her fate, the sound of cruel and jarring laughter began to envelop her as she struggled to get to safety.

  The sound of the phone ringing jarred her awake. She sat up in bed, heart racing, sweat beading up on her forehead. She glanced at her bedside clock: it was just after four-thirty in the morning. She took a couple of quick breaths and reached for the phone.

  “Hello,” she said her voice thick and unclear.

  “Casey, can you hear me?” She recognized the voice of her immediate supervisor, Gordon Lewis. He did not wait for her answer.

  “I’m sorry to bother you at home this early but I need you to come in to the office right now please.”

  “What’s up Gordon? What’s happened?” She was wide awake now, the urgency in his voice quickly dissipating the lingering affects of her dream.

  “I can’t discuss it now. Just get dressed, nothing formal and meet me in my office. No, wait a second…” There was a pause as she heard him conferring with
someone else. “Meet me in conference room 22B down from my office. Quick as you can please.”

  Casey was already out of bed and moving towards the shower as Gordon hung up. She took five minutes to shower, throw on some casual clothes grab her computer bag and run out of her apartment to the elevators. She pushed the buttons but then quickly turned and chose to run down the stairs. Within fifteen minutes of Gordon’s call she was in her car heading towards the office. Without the typical early morning D.C traffic she would be there in another fifteen minutes.

  It had been almost a year since Casey Jenning’s plane had landed at Reagan International Airport in Washington D.C. on a flight that took her from Afghanistan to Ramstein Air Base in Germany and then to America. By the time she landed, her name was a household word. A nervous young ranger had almost shot her when he saw her stumbling in the dark and then collapsing near the entrance to Camp Huge but fortunately, he had held his fire and she had quickly been identified and carried back into camp.

  Her condition had been critical and only a medic was available in the camp to treat her. Her skin pallor was ashen, pulse rapid but weak, eyes sunken and when he tried to provide intravenous fluids, he could barely find a vein; her veins had contracted so far beneath her skin. The medic had quickly applied standard first aid but he was afraid that without quick treatment by a doctor she might die. A helicopter had been summoned which arrived in short order with a doctor on board and she was transferred to a large medical facility at Kabul’s airport and within a few days her medical condition had stabilized and she was out of danger.

  The story of her encounter with the Taliban and incredible escape to safety had been leaked to the press only hours after she had provided the first of many depositions to the FBI. She was stunned to find out how quickly her story had became public, but with four agents killed in an ambush, the FBI and the administration were anxious to put some positive spin on the loss. She was quickly elevated to the status of hero, with almost every television station leading their news report with updates about her condition and whereabouts. Her life and life story quickly became public and people she barely remembered from high school and college were interviewed and talked endlessly about her. She could not stand to watch television and studiously avoided reading about herself in the newspaper.

  Requests for interviews, offers of movies and ticker tape parades flooded the FBI’s media relations office but Casey declined them all. The only public meeting she could not avoid was an invitation to the White House to meet the President. As she was escorted to the Oval office, staffers lined either side of each corridor and cheered her as she walked by. It was an uncomfortable moment but she handled herself graciously, smiling at every one and making small talk with the President, posing for endless number of pictures with him and the Director of the FBI.

  Finally, after a week, the press found new topics to cover and her story faded into memory. Casey understood that people need to find and celebrate heroes and she was also cognizant what had happened to her was not trivial, but she also knew her survival was also due to a lot of luck; luck she had not been shot during the ambush, or worse yet, captured by the Taliban. Despite her outward appearance of a full physical recovery, it took longer than she cared to admit to put the loss of her colleagues and the three lonely and trying days in Afghanistan behind her.

  The most surprising aspect of her mental state she had not anticipated was her response to coming home to an empty house. She had been married for five years, widowed for almost four years and despite the passage of time since her late husband’s tragic death in a car accident, missed him more than ever upon her return. On some days, she found herself grieving as if he had just died and on other occasions, she had trouble remembering what he had looked like. She could rationalize that her state of mind was as result of her escape from Afghanistan, but it made the pain no easier to bear. She had not had a significant relationship since his death and was somewhat resigned to the fact she might never. She had given up dating colleagues from the FBI: it seemed every conversation revolved around the Agency and internal politics and she did not care to bring that home with her. Conversely, men she dated from outside the agency seemed unable to relate to her job and seemed to be intimidated by her. Her sense of loneliness was disconcerting and it was a dependent emotional state that made her feel uncomfortable. She tried to put it behind her by returning to work as soon as possible.

  A few months after her return, she had been promoted to a group working on risk assessment, reporting directly to the Executive Assistant Director for Counter Terrorism and Counter Intelligence, Gordon Lewis. She had no staff assigned directly to her but operated on behalf of Lewis to coordinate the reporting process for risk assessment. Practically every federal agency had created their own risk assessment group trying to sift through the voluminous amount of data flowing into the government from different intelligence agencies. The FBI’s threat assessment team worked closely with the Department of Homeland Security, the National Security Agency and the Central Intelligence Agency to try and coordinate and assess each risk scenario as it filtered in from the different government agencies. Most of Casey’s colleagues were highly trained academics, many with doctoral degrees spanning specialties from nuclear and chemical engineering to political science and psychology. At first Casey felt as if she was insufficiently trained to be a part of this group but, she soon realized that as a highly trained and experienced field agent, she knew a great deal more about how to collect and verify threat information than her more educated associates. She found her new job very interesting although she did miss the opportunity to get out of the office and do field work.

  There were always some cars in the parking lot at the Hoover building regardless of the time of day but at this early hour she quickly went through the security check points and found a parking spot. She jogged up to the building and took the elevator to conference room. The door was open as she walked in and she quickly recognized three of the six people in the room; her boss Gordon Lewis, his chief of staff Doug Pruett, and Jane Phillips, an expert on the Russian intelligence services assigned to the National Security Agency.

  Casey had attended two seminars conducted by Dr. Phillips at the NSA as part of an interagency educational process to foster great cooperation between federal security bureaucracies after the attacks on September 11th 2001. Casey recalled being very impressed with her broad knowledge as well as specific issues related to Islamic Fundamentalism and efforts to counter it by the Russians. Her first presentation had focused on the various Russian provinces with Muslim majorities or large minorities and what their push for independence or autonomy would mean to Russia and neighboring countries. Dr. Phillips’ second presentation, which Casey had found even more interesting, focused directly on the Russian intelligence services since the collapse of the Soviet Union.

  The windowless conference room was dominated by a large wooden table and surrounded by twelve chairs. A small credenza, which lined one wall was stacked with Styrofoam cups, an assortment of sweeteners and a pot of coffee. On the ceiling above the table a projector was mounted and the unit was powered up, filling the large screen at the end of the wall with the image of someone’s computer desktop.

  Gordon Lewis, who was holding a cell phone to his ear, waved Casey over to him and he quickly shook her hand and thanked her for coming in so quickly.

  “We are just waiting for one other person from the Bureau and we’ll get started,” Gordon whispered to her. “Grab yourself a coffee while we wait.”

  A few minutes later Gordon Lewis finished his phone call and called the group to order. “Please take your seats folks, we need to get started. We are waiting for one other person to join us but we can start without him.”

  He stepped up the small podium to the left of a large screen hanging down on the far side of the wall. He launched into his presentation directly without making any pleasantries.

  “Two weeks ago this man, General Bill Cafery, was
killed by an explosion in a hotel room in Paris.” The screen filled with a portrait picture of a smiling and plump middle-aged man in dress uniform with numerous ribbons and decorations on his chest. “He was killed in the company of a woman, not his wife.” Gordon paused for a moment. “Now I am about to show you pictures of the death scene and I have to warn you they are gruesome.”

  He pushed another button on the computer and a horrific image filled the screen. Casey’s eyes narrowed at the picture, a naked woman lying on top of an overweight man. The woman’s body was shattered, apparently having caught the brunt of the explosion. Her upper torso from below the breasts was mostly intact, but below, the body was barely recognizable. The man was a bloody mess where his pelvis had been pierced by what appeared to be shrapnel from her bones and from the explosive device itself. Gordon cycled through another couple pictures of the dead couple from different angles and then back to the portrait of General Cafrey.

  Gordon began to describe what had happened immediately after the explosion was reported to the French police. “The death of the General lead to notification of the US Military Attaché attached to our embassy in Paris who arrived at the hotel and death scene soon after he was informed. The nature of the deaths was so unusual the military attaché immediately requested the FBI be summoned. As you can imagine the French police had not been pleased, but did agree and a London based Special Agent named David Green who is a forensic specialist was quickly dispatched to Paris. He got there within a few hours and was present as the French crime scene investigators were finishing up their work. The pictures I just showed you were taken by David Green.”

  He held up a thin manila folder and said, “This contains David Green’s report. Some of you have already had a chance to review the report yesterday and I am going to distribute it the rest of you to review right after this meeting.”

  Gordon paused for moment. “Now, General Cafrey had been stationed in Germany working on an ordinance project with NATO, specifically to supervise the inventory on aging artillery. It was a low level job and he was scheduled to retire at the end of this year. Unfortunately, he had been warned twice about engaging in behavior unbecoming an officer for having relationships in Europe with prostitutes. We have determined he was not visiting Paris on official business and in fact was not on leave to be away from his assignment.”