“What can I do for you my Russian comrade?” Cricket asked in a welcoming tone after a few minutes. “Didn’t expect your visit.”
“Three of our newest recruits will be coming through from Edmonton this week. Their English is not so good. I thought some comments about procedures from you, which I could pass on to our pilots, could avoid problems.”
“Good thinking. A little polish on protocol couldn’t hurt.”
Vladimir was aware that Cricket knew that he and Robert were acquaintances. He thought it was odd that Cricket didn’t inquire about Robert, considering the general nature of passing on information from person to person, particularly when there was a connection.
“The Lana Turner movie is still on, right?” Vladimir loved Lana Turner. “Are you going tonight?”
“No, I’ve got too much paperwork to catch up on. Maybe another time.”
They chatted a bit more before parting.
Vladimir had years of experience in three languages and cultures looking for things out of the ordinary. What he witnessed that day was definitely out of the ordinary, so he decided he would keep an eye on Cricket that night, particularly if he left the base. Vladimir had seen Russian men pat each other on the butt before, but it was always in a businesslike way that was to foster camaraderie not in an affectionate way to show endearment. There was a subtle difference, but Vladimir was trained to detect subtleties.
What had been promised to be a busy night “catching up” turned out to be not so busy after all. Vladimir observed Cricket leaving flight ops around 5:45 p.m.
The sun had set a couple hours earlier, so with the cover of darkness, Vladimir decided to follow Cricket. He kept his distance, staying in the shadows of the various buildings they passed as they made their way to the entrance gate. The final fifty yards were completely exposed. Vladimir figured that Cricket intended to leave the base in one of the Pioneer taxicabs that were always waiting to cart GIs into town. It was too early for the usual crowd of GIs so it was just the two of them approaching the gate. Vladimir stopped to tie his shoe, stalling for the right moment to follow without being noticed but staying close enough not to lose sight of Cricket’s cab. Vladimir jumped in a second waiting cab and pointed to the taillights up ahead. “Follow that car,” he said.
His driver was an older man who had emigrated to the United States in 1910 from Moscow. Lucky for Vladimir that Russians weren’t all that uncommon in Anchorage, or Fairbanks for that matter, as many generations were still intact. It kept his identity less memorable, should someone ask later. Vladimir limited their inevitable exchange of the Old Country and the harsh politics of Stalin to a minimum. He avoided eye contact in the rear-view mirror completely. He did not want to be remembered. They followed for about three miles, keeping a safe distance. Cricket’s taxicab was in easy view as it pulled away from a cabin at a motel called the Vista. The vacancy sign flashed off as the two cars passed on the highway. Vladimir’s only option to stop without being obvious was a general store a quarter mile down the road. It would have to do.
“Keep the change,” Vladimir said, thanking the Russian driver with a good tip. Vladimir went inside and purchased a candy bar and a soda, all the while keeping his eyes on the dimming taillights of his departing taxi. Otherwise, the road was quiet.
Within twenty minutes, Vladimir had positioned himself outside the window of the cabin where Cricket’s taxicab was seen. He was easily concealed by his dark clothes and by a large cedar shrub off the two-lane service road winding through the private cabins and trailer court. The cotton curtains in the window would shield him from anyone inside. The cold air stimulated his already heightened senses. He could see his breath as he moved quietly. He was happy he had gloves. By cupping his hand on the window pane and tucking in his ear real close, he could actually hear some of what was being said.
“It’s probably not smart to stay,” he heard one of the voices say, sounding like Cricket’s.
“But I can’t just ignore the facts of what’s going on either,” came the reply. “Maybe if we try to not overreact and just enjoy the evening, things will be better. I got a couple of steaks we can broil. Along with the potato salad and beer, it shouldn’t be too bad. What do you say?”
“Okay, Robert. You win, but not overnight. We can’t be too careful.”
Vladimir could hear movement by the men and got a glimpse of Robert embracing Cricket with a familiarity that could only come from a genuine feeling of shared desire. Then, there were no sounds for several minutes as the men held their position and kissed and embraced passionately. “Easy, Robert. Not so fast. Why don’t we enjoy those steaks first?”
Vladimir felt like a pervert as he watched. How can this be natural? he asked himself. In disgust he turned away.
Recognizing that his focus for this “listening” objective was lost, he departed the motel area and began the walk back to the base. Nearer to town he found a taxicab. During the ride he mentally constructed his next message to Agent Sirak, including what he had learned about these two men.
CHAPTER 19
“Captain, can I talk to you in private for a few minutes?” Cricket said to Nick as he approached the counter in flight operations. He motioned like a hotel doorman to an open door where there was a private meeting space, suggesting it as a place to talk.
“What’s up?” Nick replied matter-of-factly.
Once inside the room, Cricket closed the door, shutting out the ever-present clatter of the Teletype machines, and sat down on one of the chairs at the small table. The room was void of any decoration except for the required picture of President Roosevelt in a cheap wooden frame and a bright blue ashtray on the table. “I’ve had a unique request, not one I’ve actually had before,” he said as he lit a Camel.
Nick settled in his chair, but said nothing—waiting for Cricket to continue.
“It seems you and your crew must have impressed Major Gordon from New Mexico during your flight in October.”
“How so?”
“I just received orders from the brass at the 11th Air Force that your services have been requested for a curtain-call flight back to Yukon Flats. Since you and that Okie co-captain are certified on the C-45A, they’d like you two and PFC Endo to handle the flight.”
“I’ve only seen one of those planes at Ladd. Why not have the regular pilot and crew handle the flight? Besides, it only needs a crew of two.”
“I’ve been able to keep my job in flight ops by not pissing off the brass with questions that imply that their logic may not be sound. Besides, that pilot is on furlough until the third week of December, and they want this flight to go in three days. As far as PFC Endo is concerned, I think it will become clear when you hear me out.”
“I can’t speak for Red, but I haven’t flown that plane in months.”
“Well then, I’ll get you two shuttled to Ladd later today. Sounds like a few practice hours are in order. I’ll process the paperwork.”
“Any idea as to what this is all about?”
“Nothing concrete. May be connected to their last trip, although the flight plan for this one is classified. It’s likely they don’t want any new crew involved in their activities.”
“I’ll round up Red. Let me know when the paperwork is done.”
“1530. Be prepared for some ground time as well, which is where PFC Endo comes in. You’re going to be the guests of Grant Pearson, acting superintendent of the national park. He’s there with a guy the army is going to have test cold-weather gear. Camp’s already set up, and they’ll need additional help with the camp duties—more suited to a PFC. They’ll be expecting you Thursday. PFC Endo will meet you in Fairbanks.
“By the way, it’s a winter camp.”
After alerting Red, Nick got his own gear packed. A “winter camp” meant tents, so preparing to be in the cold twenty-four hours a day definitely changed Nick’s packing plans. With the time left, he put his mind to getting a postcard off to Martha. After missing Thanks
giving, he thought, surprises on the home front involving potential Christmas delays would not be good. A heads-up postcard to Martha was definitely in order.
Anchorage, Alaska
December 9, 1943
My Dear Martha,
Red and I are heading out today on a trip to the Yukon Flats. Sounds like a boondoggle by some brass from New Mexico. Pretty hush-hush. The good news is that I can get my time in a little faster on this assignment. I definitely want to make it home for the holidays, for a hike in the woods and the snow like we did last year—remember? Bad news is that we don’t control the itinerary on this trip. Sounds like we’ll have some ground time for sure while they snoop about.
Glad you found a meat locker. That should save money and help a little by reducing trips to the butcher stores.
Yours,
Nick
With the days getting shorter, the afternoon sun was fading fast by the time Nick and Red met at flight ops for their departure. Each had a full duffel in preparation for a stay of several days in cold weather combined with various outdoor activities. Other than the discussion with Cricket, there were no orders.
“Strange, don’t ya think?” Red asked as they walked to the ship that would take them to Ladd. “I mean, I sorta feel like a coon up a tree with the dogs howling. I know how I got here, I just don’t know why. And do people really sleep in tents in the winter?”
“Wish I could help you, partner.”
The flight to Ladd followed the Susitna River just north of Anchorage and continued past Mt. McKinley, which stood to the west at 20,320 feet. The framing effect of the sun’s last light behind the great mountain left a halo-like, glowing outline that suggested an accessible, more friendly world beyond its rim. Immediately below them, in contrast, was the Matanuska-Susitna valley, completely obscured into the depths of darkness with the great mountain as its shield. Nick and Red rarely enjoyed this flight as passengers. The intense view from the plane overtook their normal discussion involving checking and rechecking the elevation movements of the plane as a result of drafts, winds, and thermals. Tonight was relatively easy, however, with excellent visibility and passive weather. But they knew that could change quickly with the potential for wind shear from lenticular clouds around mountain peaks and snow buffeting a plane up to eighty miles per hour. The final pass between the Alaska Range to the east and the McKinley Range to the west was only about ten miles wide with peaks from twelve to fifteen thousand feet on both sides. It marked the beginning of their descent into Fairbanks and Ladd Field.
“Let’s get an early start,” Nick said.
“You’re the boss. Give me a time and I’m there.”
“0715 in flight ops. That’ll give us time for breakfast.”
“Are you concerned about this trip, Captain?”
“No. I just don’t like surprises. Whatever this trip involves is above our pay grade, and I’m not comfortable with our lack of seat time in the C-45A. Cricket has made the ship available to us all day. We need to make the most of it.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
The two men walked casually across the tarmac toward the hangar that housed the C-45A for a visual inspection before heading off to the mess hall for dinner. Beechcraft made this plane and nicknamed it the Expediter. It was excellent for utility transport or photo surveys because of its size and performance. It was designed for a small payload of no more than eight passengers and two crew, considerably smaller than what Nick and Red were used to with the C-47 and about half its physical size. It had excellent climb rate, which made it useful in mountainous terrain. Both men sat for several minutes in their respective cockpit seats visually checking the instrument panel for differences. Basically, all the same gauges and dials were there, as with the C-47, just in different locations. Easy to figure out in normal flight, but could account for critical, split-second variations in response time during an emergency.
“This has always been one of my favorites,” Red said.
“Mine, too. Flew it on several charter flights for Northwest where the airport runways wouldn’t accommodate the larger ships. Always reliable.”
“My experience, exactly.”
Their confidence soared. The C-45A performed beautifully, adding to their enthusiasm with the upcoming assignment. Each looked forward to the morning and the break from their routine.
CHAPTER 20
Since his return from Moscow, Vladimir’s routine of ensuring that his new pilots were scheduled and adapting to their P-38 training had taken over most of his attention. His offer to teach Russian to some of the officers was considered, but it was ultimately refused by the base brass. They said an army officer fluent in Russian would be on base soon to do the honors. Vladimir was insulted to think that this person could even begin to match his skills with the two languages. Goddamn Americans always think they have the answer, he thought. It bothered him that he would have to mention this in his next report to Agent Sirak.
The war on the eastern front was brutal and the demand for planes and pilots grew constantly. It was Wednesday morning, December 10, and Vladimir was attending to the mountain of paperwork required by the U.S. Army for each pilot entering the States. The Russian officer responsible for shuttling the new pilots to Fairbanks and for delivering his communications from Sirak entered the small office the army provided Vladimir. “Hello,” Vladimir said, welcoming the man but wanting to keep his discussion brief. Years of being an agent taught him that a minimalist approach with other Russians was best. Stalin had taken the Lenin approach to eavesdropping and spying on each other to a new level. One could never be safe. After their exchange of new pilot dossiers and the locked ammo box, the officer and Vladimir continued briefly in his smoke-filled office with routine news of the war and his flight to Alaska.
“Good-bye,” the officer said, making no eye contact or other gesture of familiarity when parting even though the men had made numerous similar exchanges for almost two years.
“Have a good flight home, comrade,” Vladimir said, acknowledging his departure to Moscow in the morning.
Vladimir thought about how only he and Agent Sirak knew the combination to the ammo box, which led Vladimir to feel that his responsibility in this matter continued to be of the highest importance. He cleared his desk before spinning the dial to each of the combination locks. He was anxious. Even with his expertise in encryption, it took him a few minutes to perform the translation into Russian. He wrote it down to ensure absolute understanding and then burned both documents.
AGENT DUBISSKIY,
IT IS OF EXTREME IMPORTANCE TO FOCUS YOUR PLANNING ON THE RUSSIAN ESKIMO VILLAGE OF VENETIE FOR ADVERSE ACTIVITIES AFFECTING DESCENDANTS OF RUSSIA. ALL MOVEMENT SHOULD BE MONITORED FOR THOROUGHNESS. VISITORS ON 11.12.43 NEED CATALOGUED. POSSIBLE MOVEMENTS MUST BE DOCUMENTED. KEEP ME APPRISED OF ACTIVITIES BETWEEN PFC ROBERT ENDO AND WARRANT OFFICER MARTIN MASON, THE ONE THEY CALL CRICKET.
AGENT ANDREY SIRAK
Vladimir reflected for several minutes on the extent of Sirak’s knowledge. Clearly there is another Russian operative providing intelligence to Sirak, otherwise how could he know of activities taking place tomorrow? he thought. And the reference to Cricket—Vladimir was certain he had never mentioned Cricket to Sirak. It concerned Vladimir that another operative might be watching his movements. Be that as it may, Vladimir also knew that Sirak had no concerns about Russian descendants. It was his coded way of focusing attention on the Yukon Flats location. With December 11 being tomorrow, what visitors is he referring to? Vladimir easily recognized that the other operative or operatives had better intelligence than he did, and direct access to Sirak! He lit another cigarette and ignited the papers in a waste can with the same match. He noticed an involuntary increase in his own anxiety level as he did, typical when the target of a NKVD listening initiative was so close to home.
Fresh air would do some good, Vladimir thought as he donned his parka and opened the outside door. He needed to think. The sun was dow
n, and he found the walk refreshing in the comfortable twenty-degree weather. Winter hadn’t really set in as expected and the respite was welcome. Just then, around the corner from the commissary, came two pilots he recognized immediately, Captain Morgan and Co-pilot Johnson.
“Good morning,” Vladimir said as he walked past the men. “How’s Robert Endo? Haven’t seen him in weeks.” He knew better than to try to engage in an extended conversation, but he also knew that Robert may provide the answers he needed. If these men are on base, he thought, maybe Robert is here also. He hadn’t seen Robert since his rendezvous with Cricket.
“He’s been on furlough. You can ask him yourself if you want, though. He’s expected on base here tomorrow,” Nick replied. He always marveled at just how good Vladimir’s English was and meant to ask about it when he had the time.
“Thank you,” Vladimir said and moved on.
The next day, Vladimir cleared his work responsibilities early and went to find Robert. His instinct from years of eavesdropping assignments told him that something was about to happen and that Robert was his key. The mess hall was always the best place to connect without attracting attention, and besides, his clearance wouldn’t allow him to just roam the base in search of someone. He arrived early, sat at a corner table, and busied himself by reviewing dossiers of his new pilots. He saw Robert enter the chow line about 1215 and quickly positioned himself in a parallel line in order to exit at the same time.
Robert took a table by himself at the window without noticing Vladimir. Vladimir approached within minutes, before the seat could be taken, asking, “You’ve been away, yes?” He sat down, placing his food tray across from Robert’s. “Is everything alright? Vladimir expected to feel awkward around Robert now that he knew his sexual proclivity, but he didn’t. He certainly didn’t condone homosexuality, and he certainly would use it to manipulate Robert’s involvement if leverage was needed, but for now he was just another man trying to get through the war.
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