Operation Gold Eagle

by Jamie Fredric

  "It does not, Comrade Antolov. Once we were instructed to find Reznikov, we had little time to . . ."

  "Do you have any idea who was responsible for his disappearance? Could it have been the same people who helped Reznikov escape?"

  "Doubtful, sir. And there hasn't been any transmissions detected by our intel people."

  "Do you think the Americans were involved?"

  "Anything is possible, sir. Comrade Komarov did not have much for us to go on."

  Antolov decided to move the conversation forward. "Tell me what you have that is so important."

  Removing the mini recorder from his jacket pocket, Kalinin held it tightly in his hand. He would verbalize the investigation to Antolov, then play the tape -- Zykov's tape.

  He chose his words carefully, beginning when they recognized Reznikov fleeing the embassy, to finding Baskov, to their inspection of the destroyed hideout and finding a license plate and RPG launcher.

  Antolov stood without any expression, without any comments. Occasionally, he'd look at Kalinin through narrowed eyes, silently questioning what was being relayed to him.

  Kalinin took a breath, and immediately said, "Comrade Antolov, I would like to play this tape for you. It is Sergeant Baskov's confession and explanation why he participated in the attacks, why he helped in the escape of Reznikov." Antolov nodded. Kalinin pressed the button, adjusted the sound to a lower level, then handed it to him.

  Holding the recorder close to his ear, Antolov slowly walked down the passageway, concentrating on the voice speaking on the tape. At one point, he stopped the tape, rewound it, then played that section again.

  The recorder clicked off. Antolov stood motionless, except for the heaving of his barrel chest. His two agents had uncovered the unthinkable. The accusation left him dumbfounded. He finally turned and went back to Kalinin. "Who else knows of this?"

  "Just Agent Zykov, sir." Kalinin silently thought,Oh fuck! His decision to keep the extra recording might have been a wise move.

  Antolov stared hard at the younger agent. "You did not coerce him in any way, did you?"

  "Negative, Comrade, sir! Everything he said can be verified." Kalinin knew that might be a problem, since records and dossiers had been 'scrubbed.' He might have to stretch the truth. "Sir, after interrogating Baskov, I reviewed records. The information seemed incomplete, as if the records were tampered with, so I did further research, and found Reznikov and his men were in the same prison, then released on the exact same day. I then discovered Sergeant Baskov worked at the Kremlin, on the Premier's staff. And as far as Reznikov escaping, there were very few people who knew of the exchange date and time, and very few who could have financed all those previous attacks, sir." Kalinin decided to make a suggestion. "Sir, if you interrogated Baskov yourself . . ."

  "You said he was still in hospital?"

  "Yes, sir. There are two East German police guarding him. He is handcuffed to the bed. Agent Zykov has the key. The hospital is only a couple kilometers from here. We can drive you, Comrade."

  An indiscernible smile briefly appeared on Antolov's face before he answered, "Comrade Kalinin, you realize that I report to Minister Sokoloff, and protocol dictates this information be presented to him."

  Kalinin gave a quick nod of his head. "I do, sir."

  Keeping his eyes on Kalinin, Antolov called, "Agent Zykov."

  "Sir?"

  Antolov held his hand out with the recorder in his palm. "Can you verify that Sergeant Baskov told the complete truth and you did not coerce him in any way?"

  Zykov brought himself to attention. "Comrade Antolov, neither of us coerced him! And we believed him completely, especially after finding Reznikov's hideout, exactly where he said it would be, sir. And the explosives. No one else could have known."

  Antolov lowered his eyes, and closed his hand over the recorder. "How far are both of you willing to go with this . . . knowledge?"

  Kalinin's brow wrinkled. "I do not understand, sir."

  "Are you prepared to confront the Premier?"

  Kalinin sucked in a breath, quickly looked at Zykov, then answered for both of them. "If we are requested to do so, Comrade Antolov, then, yes, sir. We are."

  That response told the KGB director how confident the two men were with the thoroughness of their investigation and truthfulness of one witness. He also realized that allowing the accusation to proceed would put him in the "line of fire" as well.

  He put the recorder in his pocket. "Follow me."

  The three men got out of the elevator on the twentieth floor. Antolov looked down the hallway. All guards were still outside the three rooms.

  Security guards focused their attention on the three men, recognizing Antolov immediately. "They are with me," Antolov said, then pointed down the hallway. "Room 2012, Comrades. Wait outside the door."

  Kalinin and Zykov walked to the door, then posted themselves just past the security guard, who eyed them cautiously, as he adjusted his rifle strap.

  Antolov knocked on Gorshevsky's door, then entered. The Premier was seated on a brown leather sofa, puffing on a cigarette. Sokoloff was sitting at a small desk next to the door, writing in a leather-bound notebook.

  "Excuse me, Comrade Gorshevsky, but I would like to discuss plans for the morning with Comrade Sokoloff. Perhaps he and I should go to my room so you will not be disturbed." He walked to a credenza, opened the middle drawer, removed a hotel menu, then handed it to Gorshevsky. "If you wish, you can order something light from the restaurant on the top floor. We will rejoin you in a while, then perhaps all of us can have dinner."

  Gorshevsky took the menu, but flipped it onto the coffee table. "You two go discuss your plans. I will work on my speech."

  Once the two men were in the hallway, Antolov started toward his room, when Sokoloff stopped short, seeing Kalinin and Zykov. "Who are they?"

  "Comrade, those are the agents who have been searching for Reznikov. They have extremely important information, sir."

  "But why . . ." Sokoloff motioned toward Gorshevsky's door."

  "You will understand once you hear what they have to say, Comrade."

  Kalinin and Zykov brought themselves to attention, nodding to both men. Antolov unlocked the door, letting Sokoloff enter first.

  Once inside, Sokoloff immediately wanted answers. "This is highly irregular, Comrade Antolov! Can you explain your actions?!"

  Kalinin and Zykov remained by the door. They couldn't help but feel slightly intimidated by being in the presence of both high-ranking KGB men.

  Antolov finally replied. "Comrade, these men have uncovered more than just information on Reznikov. With your permission I would like them to explain."

  Sokoloff eyed the two younger men, then walked to a white upholstered side chair. Pausing briefly, he finally sat down, then crossed his legs. "Exactly what do they want to report?"

  Antolov motioned Kalinin and Zykov closer, as he sat on the couch opposite Sokoloff. "Comrade Kalinin, give your report to Comrade Sokoloff exactly the way you told me. Exactly."

  Kalinin stood with his arms behind his back. Keeping his eyes focused on Sokoloff, he repeated the story almost word for word, without faltering at any point.

  Antolov glanced at Sokoloff', whose expression was difficult to decipher. But as he listened to Kalinin, Antolov believed the story even more.

  Kalinin was nearly finished, when he said to Antolov, "Sir, the recorder, please." Antolov handed it to him. Kalinin held it in his palm. "Comrade Sokoloff, sir, this is the confession of Sergeant Baskov, verifying everything I have told you." He stepped closer to Sokoloff, offering the recorder to him.

  "Mikhail," Sokoloff said, directing his eyes to Antolov, "do you believe this?"

  "There is no reason for me to doubt anything Comrade Kalinin has said, sir. And if you listen to the recording you will understand even more. What Sergeant Baskov says on that tape should assure you it is not a lie. Such a story could not be made up, sir. No one would have anything to gain by
lying."

  Sokoloff stood, then took the recorder from Kalinin. As he turned it on, he slowly walked to the window. There he'd stay until the recorder shut off.

  Kalinin went closer to Zykov. Whatever happened next was completely in the hands of Minister Sokoloff.

  They heard the click of the recorder, and Sokoloff's heavy sigh. He turned, then let his eyes go to each man, before settling on Antolov. "Mikhail, this is almost unbelievable."

  "I know, sir, but what are we to do now? Do you wish to interview Sergeant Baskov yourself?"

  Sokoloff shook his head. "There is no need." He motioned Kalinin and Zykov to him. "If the files were 'cleaned,' tell me again how you managed to figure all this out!"

  Without hesitation, Kalinin went through the whole scenario of how he pieced the puzzle together. "Baskov confirmed everything, sir." Taking a breath when he finished, all he could do was wait.

  Sokoloff pointed at the two men. "You two wait outside."

  The two agents left immediately, then walked farther away from the security guard. Kalinin fell back against the wall, brushing his hands over his head. "Jesus, Oleg!"

  Zykov took short steps, back and forth, in front of him. "What will happen to us, Nicolai, if they decide to toss everything, to pretend we did not uncover the truth?! What will they do -- and to us?!"

  Kalinin grabbed Zykov by the jacket lapels and spun him around, pushing him against the wall. The loud noise made the security guard take a step toward them, before he decided to stay out of what appeared to be only an argument.

  Kalinin's voice was a low, gruff whisper. "I told you before! We did everything by the book! We went by what Baskov told us! And we found those sonofabitches! We had proof. If they do nothing, Oleg, then they have to live with it, knowing all the while the Premier is guilty."

  Zykov's eyes narrowed, as he pushed Kalinin away. "We had better hope they believe us!"

  Kalinin knew his partner was right. If this whole situation turned to fucking shit, what the hell would they do? Antolov seemed to believe them. If he hadn't, he never would have gone to Sokoloff. That was a confidence builder. But if Gorshevsky didn't admit his guilt, what would be the KGB's next move with the overwhelming evidence they now had?

  Suddenly, the door swung open. Antolov and Sokoloff walked into the hallway, with Antolov motioning the agents closer. "It has been decided. We must confront the Premier now. It is only right that he be given the opportunity to prove his innocence. Do both of you understand?"

  "Yes, sir, we do." But inwardly Kalinin thought,Do we have any choice?!

  Sokoloff knocked on the Premier's door, then the four men entered. Gorshevsky had his back to them, sitting at the desk, writing a short speech he planned on giving in front of the embassy ruins. A list of employee victims was printed across the top of the page.

  "Premier Gorshevsky," Sokoloff called softly. "We must speak with you, sir."

  Gorshevsky swiveled around on the chair, resting his arm on the backrest, with the pen dangling between his fingers. Seeing two unfamiliar men standing by the door, he rose slowly, then flipped the pen onto the desk. "What is it, Vasily?"

  "Sir, some intelligence has come to light concerning Reznikov and his men."

  "Just tell me they have been found!"

  "Their hideout was discovered. The three men are dead, sir."

  Gorshevsky's relief was obvious. He pounded a fist against his palm. "This is great news! Tell me. How did those bastards die?"

  "The hideout was loaded with explosives, and something set them off. The entire building was destroyed. They were buried under the rubble."

  "So, they died the same way our comrades died in the embassy."

  "It appears to be the case, Comrade."

  "This should be a time for celebrating, Vasily, Mikhail!" He finally noticed the expression on the men's faces. They weren't happy. He stepped closer. "There is something you have not told me."

  Antolov began the interrogation cautiously. "Comrade Premier, sir, do you know Sergeant Baskov?"

  "Baskov? Oh, he was the driver for Comrade Komarov. Is he still in hospital?"

  "He is, sir, but my question was, do you know him?"

  Gorshevsky was growing suspicious. He shoved his hands into his pockets, then leaned forward. "What are you intimating, Mikhail?" Before Antolov replied, Gorshevsky turned his head, staring at the two agents by the door. He whipped a hand out of his pocket, pointing continuously at the two. "Who the hell are they?!"

  Antolov kept his eyes on the Premier. "They are my agents who have been working the investigation, sir. They found Reznikov. And they interviewed Sergeant Baskov in hospital."

  Gorshevsky glared at Kalinin and Zykov, who stood tall, returning the Premier's stare.

  "Comrade," Antolov called, "you still have not answered my question! Do you know Baskov?!"

  Gorshevsky remained quiet, but his mind was spinning. How was this possible? How . . . ?

  "Sir, I would like you to listen to this," Antolov said, holding the recorder in his hand.

  Gorshevsky lowered his eyes, seeing the small black recording device. "And just what am I supposed to hear, Director Antolov?!"

  Antolov held the recorder closer to Gorshevsky. "Listen, sir."

  Yanking the recorder from Antolov's palm, Gorshevsky walked toward the desk, then started the recording.

  Kalinin sensed something was about to happen. He tried to be inconspicuous as he reached inside his jacket, feeling his weapon secured inside the horizontal shoulder holster. He slowly withdrew his hand, then unbuttoned his jacket.

  With a sudden move, Gorshevsky swung around, holding the recorder in the air. "This is bullshit! Bullshit!" This bastard has accused me of . . . of . . .!" He threw the recorder on the floor, stomped on it, then ground it with his heel.

  Taking deep breaths, trying to bring himself under control, he slowly stepped close to the agents, poking a finger into Kalinin's chest, and then Zykov's. "Which of you recorded that filth!?"

  "I did, sir!" Zykov answered with as much conviction as he could muster.

  Gorshevsky continued staring hard at the men, then spun around and went directly to Antolov. "Mikhail, you cannot believe what I am being accused of!"

  Antolov said, "I am waiting for you to answer that question, sir."

  Gorshevsky felt his powers slipping away, but he refused to answer. He turned his back on everyone, pointing down at the smashed recorder. "You no longer have that supposed proof, and what was probably coerced from that lying, bastard sergeant."

  When he faced the four men again, his eyes went wide, catching sight of Kalinin holding a recorder with his left hand. Kalinin spoke. "I interrogated Sergeant Baskov before Agent Zykov, Comrade Gorshevsky. There was no difference in what he told both of us. To me that meant he was telling the truth, sir. It was you who gave Baskov the code name 'Yermak.'" Without taking his eyes from the Premier, Kalinin said, "Comrade Antolov, I can answer your question. There is no doubt that Premier Gorshevsky knows Sergeant Baskov, sir."

  Gorshevsky slowly backed up. He wanted a drink, he needed a drink to calm himself down, to allow him to think clearer, to deny the accusation. But instead, he started withdrawing his hand from his pocket.

  Kalinin's hand was already on his weapon, when the PSM pistol came into view. Kalinin shouted, "NO!" As quickly as Gorshevsky raised the gun, Kalinin's reaction was quicker. He fired a split second before Gorshevsky pulled the trigger. The sound exploded within the confines of the room.

  Antolov had a hand on his holstered Makarov, but all he could do was stare at the sprawled out Gorshevsky, who still had his pistol in his grasp.

  Guards in the hall burst into the room, with weapons drawn. They immediately reacted by taking Kalinin into custody, pulling his arms behind his back, snatching his weapon from his hand. The faces of everyone in that room exhibited outright shock.

  Antolov knelt next to Gorshevsky's body, placing his fingers on the carotid artery, seeing blood spreading acr
oss the chest, and under the body. The pulsing artery beat slower, slower, and finally -- nothing. Antolov stood, staring down, then turned, and pointed toward the guards. "Release him! Return his weapon to him!"

  Kalinin holstered his weapon without taking his eyes from the former Premier's body, until he saw Zykov out of the corner of his eye, leaning against the wall, holding his side. Blood was seeping through his jacket. "Oleg!" Kalinin put his arm around his partner, helping him down. "Let me look!" He pulled aside the jacket, then lifted the blood-stained white shirt. "It went right through, Oleg. You should be okay. I will get something to help control the bleeding." Kalinin rushed into the bathroom, and grabbed a towel from the rack. "Here. Hold this against it."

  "Is he dead?" Zykov asked, wincing.

  Kalinin looked over his shoulder. "Yes."

  Both Antolov and Sokoloff finally walked to the two agents. "Are you all right, Comrade?" Sokoloff asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  "I have called for an ambulance." He immediately opened the door and motioned for the security guards to follow him to the hallway. "An ambulance crew will arrive shortly. You will make them wait out here while you assist our comrade. No one is to enter this room. No one. Is that clear?!" Replies were clicking of heels and simple nods. "I will be calling for another ambulance to take the Premier's body to our plane at Schonefeld. Two of you will ride with the Premier, keeping the body covered at all times. I do not want any mistakes." He came back into the suite, motioning Antolov toward the other side of the room.

  Kalinin stood, and walked to the body. His eyes caught sight of the PSM pistol, almost unnoticeable in the gnarled hand. Designed around the newly developed 5.45x18mm cartridge, the small pistol, with a 3" barrel, was a suppressed operational pistol. The blowback-operated handgun had a double action trigger and slide mounted manual safety without a slide stop.

  The full impact of what he'd done hit Kalinin like a freight train. No longer able to look, he turned and went to the window, resting his palms and forehead against the glass, trying to grasp the situation. He and Zykov had proved their case, but the unexpected outcome was not what they anticipated.