Fatal Incident

by Jim Proebstle

  Anchorage, Alaska

  December 9, 1943

  My Dear Martha,

  Red and I are heading out today on a trip Sounds like a boondoggle by some brass from New Mexico. Pretty hush-hush, though. 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

  “Does this happen often?” Bud asked Martha.

  “Not like this one.”

  “Everything sent is censored,” Nick added, “but this is very unusual.” He went through Martha’s file and showed Helen and Bud other postcards where the various flight locations and happenings along the way had not been blackened out.

  “Someone had a hair up their butt on this one,” Nick said, not wanting to raise a red flag. He knew it was the Yukon Flats postcard, after all, he wrote it, but he didn’t want to concern Martha about the “classified” nature of the mission. “Thank goodness they’re not all like this, or Martha would get a new boyfriend.”

  They all laughed.

  Bud proposed a toast. “To a special Christmas we’ll all remember.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Within the week of Agent Sirak’s receipt of Vladimir’s report, Vladimir was back in the air headed toward the Russian Naval Base at Vladivostok. His mission would not become clear until his meeting with Agent Sirak at the base. Vladimir was glad for the shorter flight but wasn’t sure if the location was one of convenience or strategy. He landed at 2200 and was taken directly to quarters, where he was kept under secure guard. He was told his meeting was scheduled at 0600, immediately upon Agent Sirak’s arrival, which was odd, because a flight from Moscow meant the agent would arrive via a long red-eye crossing over many time zones.

  Vladimir waited in the sparse military office the next morning only fifteen minutes. None of the hospitality of a solid breakfast was offered, as before in Moscow.

  “I am glad you are here, comrade,” Sirak said upon entering the room.

  Vladimir snapped to attention. “Good morning, sir.” It was obvious to Vladimir that Agent Sirak had come directly from his flight. He was unshaven, and he looked exhausted. Something is really important, Vladimir thought.

  “Our need to understand the progress of the bomb by our allies in the United States, as well as that of our enemies in Japan, has reached critical proportions. Your note obtained by PFC Endo was very valuable, more so than I’m sure you realize. I’ll fill you in on its meaning before we’re done. In the meantime, the reported acceleration by the Japanese of a similar project has reached our attention. Needless to say, General Secretary Stalin is rapidly realizing that Germany, the United States, and now Japan are outstripping our advancements on the development of this bomb. This has caused considerable repercussions. First Lightening has become a strategic priority that the general is ready to act on.”

  “It would help if I knew more about the note,” Vladimir said. “Can you give me some clue, sir?”

  “Just a little, enough to answer only the important questions. The note you received came from a deeply entrenched agent. It tells us the United States is nearing a testing phase in their development of an atom bomb. No other country is that far along.”

  “What’s the significance of Yukon Flats?”

  “We’ve always believed that the United States would choose an area in the Southwest as a test site, but the efforts by these men indicate that an alternate site in Alaska is being considered. Ultimately, this puts the bomb within easy striking distance of our Pacific Fleet here in Vladivostok.”

  Vladimir nodded with raised eyebrows as if to say, holy shit. “What do you want from me, sir?”

  “Japan also surprised us with their advancements. As you know, the consequences there would be much more severe. Our intelligence needs to be confirmed. I have you scheduled to go there tomorrow. You will meet up with a Japanese mole we trust and make an exchange. The documents he claims to have will tell us what we need to know. Your language skills continue to serve you well, Agent Dubisskiy.”

  “And for those documents I am exchanging …”

  “Money, enough for him to disappear and lead a very happy life.”

  “But that’s not the end of it, is it?” Vladimir asked, recognizing an old NKVD pattern of negotiation.

  “Correct. Once you have confirmed the documents are as promised … eliminate him.”

  “And if they are not?”

  “Eliminate him, just the same, and bring the money back. Our country cannot be connected with these documents now or in the future. The Emperor would not tolerate such a transgression, and Russia is not ready for another military action.”

  For Agent Sirak to be directly ordering the death of a valued operative indicated a very high-value mission. Not one I can afford to mess up either, Vladimir thought.

  “You’ll get your instructions at sea. You’re leaving in two hours. Get a good breakfast. It will be a hard trip.”

  The men stood and shook hands in preparation to depart. Vladimir turned to leave when Agent Sirak stopped him and said almost as a question, “You’ve not asked your destination.”

  “I am confident that it will be disclosed on board.”

  “You have learned well. I will do you the favor of telling you now that it is Shimoda.” The agent saw a subtle flush across Vladimir’s face. “I have come to trust your judgment, Agent Dubisskiy, and I know that agents do not live by serving their country alone. You’ll have very little extra time, but enough, I suspect, for your purposes. Just remember that Japan is at war and security is very tight.”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much, sir.”

  “Don’t thank me, Agent Dubisskiy,” he said with a complete lack of expression. “I also wanted you to know that we have access to Okimi, and her family, if something should go wrong. Good luck, comrade.”

  The first leg of his trip was by air. By noon Vladimir’s pilot was on landing approach to a carrier southeast of the Kuril Islands in the North Pacific, two hundred kilometers off the coast of Hokkaido, the northernmost island of Japan. Seas were rough, and if it weren’t for the safety cable, their landing would have terminated in the ocean. Within an hour Vladimir was transferred onto the C-54 submarine, and for the next three days they headed south while traveling deep in the ocean trenches along the Kuril Islands and Japan.

  His briefing was short. It was a simple plan. On their third day Vladimir was to meet his contact at 2350 on the east side of the peninsula protecting Shimoda’s fishing harbor. The contact and his wife both worked as operatives. They must be well trusted, thought Vladimir, and indicated the rare need for backup should the plan fail. Vladimir was familiar with the coastline. There was a small beach nestled between the rocks, which was perfect cover for his landing. He would be escorted by his contact to a safe house outside Shimoda and would be permitted to use that house the following day and night. The following day he would travel north under cover to Yoshida, a small farming town just off the coast. There he would meet the new operative, make the exchange, and eliminate the loose end. He would be picked up by the same sub at 0400 on the third day, at a predetermined spot on a beach near Yoshida. Timing was of the essence, and there would be no radio contact. His small pack contained his work papers indicating his status as a sailor from a ship currently in Shimoda’s harbor, a map, a change of clothes, money, a knife, a high-beam flashlight, and a Nagant 7.62 mm caliber double-action military revolver with a dozen rounds.

  CHAPTER 28

  At 2300 on the third day of traveling, the C-54 sub rose to periscope depth while eight hundred meters offshore in order to establish a surveillance position. The good news for
Vladimir was that the weather was relatively mild at two degrees centigrade with winds at just five knots. The new moon provided the perfect cover for the short boat ride to shore. They waited.

  At exactly 2330 the contact coordinator reported seeing three bursts of light coming from the shore. In just a few minutes the sub surfaced, responded with three bursts from its own spotlight on deck, and launched the rubber skiff carrying Vladimir and his handler. The sub was back under the water in fifteen minutes. The plan and execution were flawless, and by 2355 Vladimir was on the beach, shoving the skiff back into the water for his handler’s return trip.

  His contact approached immediately.

  “Jasmine, comrade.” Vladimir said the code word in a muffled tone more out of habit than the need to be quiet. The beach was deserted and the ocean sounds drowned out any noises the men made. Regardless, his hand was on his revolver until he received the necessary confirmation.

  “New moon, comrade,” the man replied.

  Both men eased a bit, having followed through with the protocol of coded recognition.

  “Follow me quickly.” The man pointed to a narrow path between the rocks, leading away from the beach. Despite the darkness, their heightened senses allowed them to move with confidence. Vladimir assumed that this operative was being well compensated for taking such a risk, and was relieved that he would not be connected with the documents. Vladimir was always straightforward in following orders, but killing another man never came easy.

  They circumvented Shimoda, which was about a mile away, and made it to the safe house—a barn on the south edge of town situated next to the operative’s home. Bedding was available in a rear tack room of the barn and soon Vladimir was sound asleep, confident that all was in order.

  The mooing of a small herd of cows waiting to be milked awakened him early. The night sky had given way to a sunrise that revealed a small farm with a house, the barn he was in, and a few corrals for animals. He groaned as he stretched, trying to loosen up from a night of sleeping on the hard, clay ground. The land was adjacent to a high bluff overlooking the ocean. Pine and deciduous trees lined the bluff, breaking the harsh winds off the Pacific. The pasture abutted the bluffs, and off to the right, separate from the pasture, was a small vineyard with barren grapevines. Beyond the bluff was an expansive view of ocean and sun. As Vladimir gazed at the vista, for the first time ever he had a feeling of insignificance. He watched the first sliver of sun breach the horizon, painting the night sky various shades of deep purple, and within minutes the morning sky burst forth with bright orange exploding just above the horizon in the east. The land of the rising sun, he thought, unbelievable. A woman approached indicating with hand gestures that he was to head for the house. “How long have you lived here?” Vladimir asked as they walked toward the house.

  Surprised by his facility with the language, she answered, “Thirty years.”

  By the time they reached the farmhouse, the man was exiting the barn. He waived to them, indicating that he would join them momentarily.

  As they stood waiting for the man, Vladimir reflected on the required impersonal aspects of their meeting, particularly that of not exchanging names. It’s what was expected between operatives, however, as neither wanted an informality that could hinder the execution of responsibilities. In this case, a man’s wife was involved, as well. They must be trusted, indeed, he thought, as this case was very rare. Only necessary pleasantries were exchanged during the morning meal, with Vladimir returning to the tack room afterwards.

  Around 1100, he could stand it no longer. He informed his host that he would be gone for a while and began what turned out to be a short walk to town. He followed a worn trail through a series of pastures that led him to the harbor. A foreigner would usually stand out, but since it was winter he was able to hide under his authentic clothes. His adept understanding of body language and movement, coupled with his understanding of the language, allowed him to blend in among the dockhands, appearing to be a common sailor temporarily in port.

  The winter day was agreeable, and the normal, mid-day activities of the small fishing village provided a lively pace. He positioned himself out of view across the street from the Nakamura Flower Shop of Okimi’s father. He had not remembered that a greenhouse was situated behind the store. Not unusual, however, as without it the business of a florist would have surely died out during the winter.

  It wasn’t long before his wait was rewarded. He felt his heart skip and involuntarily held his breath as Okimi emerged from the front door. It had been sixteen years since he last saw her. Then, she was eighteen, and her face was like a palate of naturally arranged colors on a canvas of perfectly proportioned features. From this distance, however, he could see that she had matured, yet the years had protected her beauty. Her gray smock and matching, loose-fitting pants obscured the exquisiteness of the body he remembered from so long ago. She remained only a moment, until a horse-drawn cart arrived and was loaded. She gave the driver some brief instructions and returned to the store.

  Vladimir retreated casually, blending in with the noonday traffic of tradesmen and vendors heading toward the harbor. He did not want to attract attention and wanted to avoid contact with the local Tokkō on duty. Often referred to as the “thought police,” the Tokkō were like the NKVD in his country. Vladimir had become an expert at blending in while in plain view.

  Once back at the farm he sought out his host. “I’d like to get this message to a young woman,” he said.

  “That can be very dangerous if it is discovered.”

  “It cannot wait,” Vladimir replied, handing the man the note. “Do you know Okimi at the Nakamura Flower Shop?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait for a reply and return immediately.”

  The man looked at the note to confirm he understood its purpose. Prepare a very special arrangement of jasmine for an honored warrior. Will pick up at appointed time and place. VD

  “Are you sure this will be understood?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  Okimi’s eyes glistened when she read the note given her by the farmer she recognized. It had been years since she had had contact with Vladimir, but the promise he made was finally to be fulfilled. She struggled to remain calm as she turned her back to the farmer and composed her reply. She placed the folded note at the bottom of a clay pot so the man could see. She then potted a small geranium from the greenhouse as if everything was normal. “I hope your wife will enjoy this,” she said.

  “She will nurture it as her own child.” The farmer knew that her response was only meant for one person. “Thank you,” he said, departing the shop.

  It was mid-afternoon when Vladimir’s host presented him with the plant. When Vladimir had removed the note, the man went to the house to give the plant to his wife before retreating to the barn to attend to chores.

  Vladimir’s breath was short with expectation as he unfolded the paper and shook off the dirt. His life had been in the service of Russia, doing things he did not always agree with and, at times, hurting others. He knew deep down that he would have been a different person if the obligations of state did not govern his every act. He knew of only a handful of agents who had wives. Much like his host, they were a team. Horror stories existed, however, over the circumstances of torture inflicted when their cover was exposed. The outcome was never good. Most agents avoided this compromise and were content with the temporary relationships developed along the way. Maybe Vladimir was more traditional or more sentimental, but he longed for a loving relationship of substance. He hadn’t thought any further than meeting with Okimi, but he knew she was that perfect person for him when he read the note:

  The friendship of a warrior would be welcome at 2100. Please enter quietly at the open door of the greenhouse behind the shop.

  The note was signed off with a simple drawing of a jasmine flower with five petals.

  Vladimir pondered the possibilities of that evening with both anxiety and great expe
ctation. Finally, he could stand his anticipations no more. He needed something to do. “Do you need help with anything?” he asked his host.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Anything,” he said. “I’m just not accustomed to sitting all day like this. Doing some physical work would be nice.”

  “Are you a farmer?” his host asked.

  “Not for many years.”

  “Then all I have is dirt labor.”

  “All the better,” Vladimir responded, not knowing that he was about to spend the remainder of the afternoon mucking the barn and feeding the livestock. The hours in the barn helped him overcome the knot in his stomach.

  After dinner the woman pulled her husband aside and whispered something to him, just out of Vladimir’s hearing. He would leave soon and hoped that nothing had gone wrong—it was 1900.

  “Your help was appreciated today. You grew up on a farm?” his host asked.

  “Yes, but only until I was eight.”

  “It is hard work. Makes a man sweat hard—the purification of a warrior.”

  “It is true to one’s spirit,” Vladimir added.

  “My wife thinks that the spirit of a warrior causes the warrior to smell.” His wife was avoiding eye contact at this point and the man chose his words carefully. “Maybe the warrior would like a bath before his appointment?”

  “Oh, now I understand,” Vladimir said, smiling. With a quick smell under his arms and a wave of his hand in front of his nose he confirmed what the thoughtful woman was trying to say. Too many days in the sub combined with sleeping and working in the barn had left its mark. The man had obviously mentioned to his wife the nature of his appointment, and she was kind enough to do her part to ensure its success.