Pale Blue

by Mike Jenne

4:30 p.m.

  Federov tugged the canvas hood from Yohzin’s head as the Lada creaked to a stop. Blinking, Yohzin struggled to orient himself to his surroundings. The rain had subsided completely. A light wind blew from the north as the sun periodically peeked through breaking clouds. A burly GRU sergeant exited a small brick building, which Yohzin recognized as the GRU’s field office; he saluted Federov before handing him a note. The sergeant swung open the door, pulled Yohzin out of the sedan, and then escorted him into the building.

  Federov perused the dispatch, and then said, “Wonderful! Your fate is now more clear, Comrade General. The Aquarium beckons for your presence. You’ll be detained here until an aircraft is dispatched to fly you to Khodinka.”

  Picturing what was in store, Yohzin swallowed deeply.

  “But while we’re waiting,” said Federov. “I want you to watch a movie with me.”

  “A movie?”

  “Da,” answered Federov, directing Yohzin to a chair facing a movie screen. “Since you had been so fastidious in servicing your message drop, I was curious whether you knew who was picking up your messages and how they left here. So, did you know who was plucking your delicate little pellets out of your dog’s crap?”

  Yohzin glumly shook his head.

  Federov chuckled. “There’s no need to lie. At this point, it makes no difference, since the people who assisted you with passing your messages will not be harmed.”

  “You don’t intend to arrest them?” asked Yohzin incredulously.

  “Nyet. Well, truthfully, we won’t arrest them until you’re of no further value to us,” said Federov, threading film into a projector. “And that day, when you are of no further value to us, is swiftly approaching. When that time comes, and it will, we’ll snatch up those people forthwith, and you can rest assured that they will answer mightily for their sins. So, I will ask you again, Comrade General, do you have any notion who it was that passed your messages from here?”

  Even though he honestly did not know, Yohzin felt as if the GRU officer was trying to lure him into a trap. “Honestly, I have no idea,” he answered. “I felt that it was prudent that I not be too curious.”

  “Words to live by,” noted Federov. “In any event, it doesn’t matter, but I do want to show you the kind of people who will suffer as the result of your shenanigans. I can assure you that they had no earthly idea of what they were passing, not that it matters.”

  Federov turned to Yohzin, grinned, switched off the lights, started the projector, and said, “Watch this. Here’s your James Bond, but she’s probably not the double-naught secret agent you might have imagined. I doubt that she has ever been granted a license to kill, but she obviously has been issued a license to scrub.”

  The old projector clattered as the movie played. The film depicted the commons area between the apartment buildings in the complex where his family lived.

  Yohzin’s heart sank as he recognized the kindly old woman who cleaned apartments of the higher ranking officers. She entered the commons from the east, took a seat on a concrete bench for several minutes, pitched crumbs to doves, then stood up, smoothed out her threadbare woolen coat, and walked exactly twenty-three steps to the south. She paused for a moment and then knelt down as she pretended to extract a miniscule pebble from her shoe. Then she slowly stood up and departed the commons to the southwest, apparently toward the next apartment on her route.

  “And that, Comrade General,” gloated Federov, switching on the lights, “is how we came to find your little gray capsules.

  “Comrade General, I’ve been observing you for quite some time. Just so you’re aware, we interdicted five of your gray capsules between the time your dog passed them and the old maid picked them up. We took the capsules apart, removed and copied your messages, reassembled the capsules, and then put them back in the dead drop.

  “Now, I must confess that we have yet to crack the transcription code for the messages, but it’s just a brief matter of time until we do, and then we’ll know exactly what you’ve told the Americans over the course of the past five weeks. With that said, I can assure you that the remainder of your life will be considerably less miserable if you’re forthcoming with the information that we will eventually discover, whether you choose to cooperate or not.”

  Although he was nearly exhausted, Yohzin had a flash of insight. He was so weary and disoriented that he almost missed it. Federov just made a significant blunder. In so doing, the otherwise wily GRU officer had inadvertently given him a reference point in time. Yohzin had only started using the gray capsules this past Thursday, after exhausting his stock of brown capsules. The supposedly all-knowing Federov was bluffing! Most importantly, although Thursday’s message requested that the escape plan be executed, it did not specify the details of the plan, but just a code name, along with a code word and recommended timeframe. So, even if they were capable of cracking the transcription code, the location and details of his family’s escape would still be unknown to them.

  “Tell me about your family,” said Federov. “I actually met your wife briefly this morning, but was not aware that she was making ready to go on a journey.”

  “They are,” said Yohzin. “She is taking my sons to visit her parents. My father-in-law is frail from his war injuries and is not expected to live very much longer, so she wanted to take my sons to see him before he passed. She has the appropriate travel documents, signed by General Abdirov and approved by the KGB.”

  “I know that she has the correct papers,” said Federov. He patted his breast pocket. “I have copies as well. Your family is supposed to return in about two weeks’ time?”

  “Da.”

  “Just as well, I suppose,” said Federov. “I’ve dispatched some of my people to fetch them, so they can accompany you to the Aquarium. Of course, in the time it takes my men to muddle through the KGB’s paperwork, it’s highly likely that your family will have returned on their own.”

  “Perhaps,” said Yohzin. He was very cognizant of the poor relationship between the GRU and the KGB; the two bureaucracies routinely fought pitched battles over perceived turf. “The boys do have to go back to school. Luba will not let them miss that.”

  “Well, I do hope that they make it back to school,” said Federov menacingly. “But that depends upon you, Comrade General, and your willingness to cooperate with us.”

  Yohzin swallowed deeply. “Please don’t harm my family,” he mumbled, staring at the concrete floor. His hands trembled, his lower lip quivered, and tears trickled from his eyes. “They had nothing to do with this. They know absolutely nothing, I swear.”

  “I don’t doubt your sincerity, but you’re not exactly in a position to negotiate, Comrade General,” replied Federov. “With that said, let me assure you: what happens to your wife and children is entirely up to you. If you cooperate with us, then they will not be harmed. We might even let you say goodbye to them before it’s all over. But if you refuse to cooperate, then I won’t have the slightest qualm with sawing them to pieces right before your eyes, if that’s the motivation it takes to alleviate your reluctance. Understood?”

  “Da,” said Yohzin meekly.

  “Excellent,” noted Federov. “Now, I think we have a much better understanding.”

  6:40 p.m.

  Yohzin heard a resounding roar and felt his cell’s concrete floor tremble. He instinctively glanced for his wristwatch, but then realized that Federov had taken it from him. It had to be Gogol’s departure. He closed his eyes and wished to hear an explosion, the sound of the R-7 detonating before it even left the pad, but heard instead the unmistakable sounds of the rocket climbing in the air. Almost deafening at first, the roar gradually diminished as the rocket accelerated and climbed to the northeast. In time, the sound was gone altogether.

  And there goes Gogol with his code, he thought. Now it’s just a matter of time before the world ends. He hoped that Smith would follow through on the plan to extricate his family to safety, but now he realized
that there soon might not be any safe place left on this planet.

  If only he had some way to convince Federov of Abdirov’s plan, and then maybe he could halt this nightmarish scenario. He looked up; his eyes met Federov’s. The GRU colonel sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, gazing into the cell like an explorer studying a prized predatory big cat captured out on the African veldt. Yohzin was certain that Federov looked forward to triumphantly parading him into the Aquarium, leading him to the basement, and delivering him to his waiting inquisitors.

  The eight digits of Bogrov’s secret code kept appearing in his thoughts, as if they were the magic key to unlocking this dilemma, in much the same manner that they disabled the interlock. And then it came to him: Bogrov’s code was the key to stopping Gogol and Abdirov.

  “Colonel Federov,” he said. “I have something important to tell you.”

  “Important?” asked Federov. “If I can make a suggestion, Comrade General, you might concentrate on getting some rest now, while you can, because you will have plenty of important things to share with your interrogators.”

  “No, honestly, I need to talk with you. It’s about General Abdirov and that secret code.”

  “The secret code?” sneered Federov. “You’re still pursuing that angle, huh?”

  “I can prove the existence of the code,” declared Yohzin.

  Federov stood up from his chair, stretched, and then walked over to Yohzin’s cell. “How?” he asked.

  “Write this down,” said Yohzin. “Seven, Six, Eight, One, Zero, Seven, Two, Three.”

  Federov took out his pocket notebook and jotted down the eight numbers. “So what?” he asked. “What am I supposed to do with this? Confront General Abdirov with it? Do you think that this piece of information will somehow compel him to fall to his knees and confess?”

  “Listen,” said Yohzin. “Those eight numbers are the secret code for Perimetr. As I told you, that code is used to bypass the Perimetr interlock, so it is available only to the Perimetr engineers.”

  “I still think you’re trying to lull me into a wild goose chase.”

  “It’s real,” replied Yohzin. “Go find a Perimetr engineer named Bogrov. I stole that code from him.” Yohzin related how he had employed a powerful laxative to gain access to the secret code written in Bogrov’s notebook.

  Grinning, Federov shook his head. “It’s a shame you missed your true calling, Comrade General,” he said. “If all that’s valid, you could have worked for us.”

  “It’s true,” said Yohzin. “Find Bogrov and you’ll find the truth. I gave the code to General Abdirov, and he gave it to Gogol. If Gogol makes it aboard the Krepost, then he’ll use it to drop the Egg. Simple as that.”

  Federov tore the page from his notebook, folded the paper in half, and tucked it into his breast pocket. “I’ll check this out,” he said. “But hear me, Comrade General, if this is all a ploy meant to delay your ultimate fate, then you will soon regret it. I swear that I will skin your sons alive while you watch.”

  Federov turned and left with one of the sergeants. Surprisingly, Yohzin felt as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He spread out on his uncomfortable cot, pulled the blanket over him, and promptly fell asleep.

  9:02 p.m., Monday, October 23, 1972

  Awakened by the sound of keys clinking together, Yohzin looked up to see Federov unlocking his cell. “I found Bogrov,” he said solemnly, removing his straw fedora. “And he corroborated your story about the code. To be honest, I knew immediately that you had told me the truth, because I have never seen anyone so frightened as when I read the numbers to him. He shook like a newborn kitten lying on the snow.”

  “And General Abdirov?” asked Yohzin.

  “I placed him under arrest. Presently, he is in his quarters under guard and will go to the Aquarium tomorrow.”

  “Listen, I take no joy in this situation,” said Yohzin.

  “Of that, I’m certain,” replied Federov. “Get up.”

  “The plane has arrived?” To take me to Khodinka?”

  “Nyet,” answered Federov. “No need for you to be so hasty. You’re still destined to go there, but not now. Don’t think that you’ve received a reprieve, but there’s been an interesting turn of events.”

  “How so?”

  “As it turns out, the High Command is not anxious to lose their investment in this damned Krepost of yours. Since it seems that you have such extensive knowledge of it, as well as the Perimetr systems, they’ve come to believe that you can salvage it. As I said, considering the fact that you’re under arrest for treason and other high crimes, this is a rather unusual turn of events.”

  “This is a joke?” asked Yohzin. “You’re pulling my leg?”

  “Nyet. Get up and get dressed. I’ll have the sergeant fix you some tea, and then we’ll head to your office.”

  Yohzin threw his blanket aside and stood up, then realized that his coveralls were still damp.

  “I’ll loan you an overcoat,” said Federov. “But I will expect it back before you go to the Aquarium.”

  14

  EXPEDITED

  Krepost Station, On Orbit

  20:46 p.m. GMT, Monday, October 23, 1972

  GET: 39 Days 20 Hours 1 Minutes, REV # 637

  Vasilyev studied the luminous second hand marking time on his wristwatch and then switched the radios on for another contact window, this time with Control.

  He had been busy with the radios. He had been talking with the Americans for several hours now, but was confident that Control was not aware of his extracurricular communications. In his weakened state, he had to remain very cautious to remember who was on the other side of the line. Even the slightest slip of the tongue could yield drastic consequences.

  He was amazed that he had survived this long, given the horrendous conditions. After all, it was really just a short time ago that he was so distraught that he was ready to give up altogether. But all that was due to change; Gogol was on his way and should arrive in less than an hour. The only question that remained was how Vasilyev should handle the awkward situation, because as much he feared Gogol, and was petrified of what would ensue once the repulsive cosmonaut was aboard, the long-awaited Soyuz was Vasilyev’s ride home.

  Running the air scrubbers had helped his circumstances immensely, since he no longer constantly felt on the verge of suffocating, but cleansing the air of carbon dioxide also came with a price. Even though the solar panels were operating at capacity, electrical power was still very much at a premium. As much as he yearned to switch on the heaters, if but for just a few minutes, he had to be cautious to reserve plenty of battery power for the docking mechanism.

  He heard General Yohzin’s voice again: “Krepost, this is Control. I have some specific instructions for you, but I will keep this as brief as possible to conserve your battery power.

  “Soyuz Kochevnik will rendezvous with you at roughly 2100 GMT.” Confused at first, Vasilyev remembered that Kochevnik—“Nomad”—was Gogol’s operational codename.

  “Krepost, your fundamental mission has not changed,” stated Yohzin. “You will occupy the Soyuz and wait for a freighter to arrive. Once it does, we will instruct you on how to scuttle the damaged freighter. When another crew arrives, you will assist them in restoring the Krepost to full operation, and then you will return home. Do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  “There have been some very disturbing developments. You should be aware that the Perimetr interlock has been compromised, and that we have learned that Gogol intends to exploit this compromise.”

  That explained Gogol’s insistence that they would drop the Egg.

  “In order to restore Perimetr, the system must be shut down and recycled. We will explain how to accomplish this later, but until the interlock is recycled, you should not operate or even touch its controls. Understood?”

  “I understand that I am not to operate or touch the Perimetr interlock,” replied Vasilyev.<
br />
  “Because he knows how to bypass the interlock, Gogol is extremely dangerous. We want his Soyuz to dock so that you’ll have a way to return home in an emergency, but under no circumstances do we want him to physically enter the Krepost. Is that clear?”

  “You don’t want him to come aboard the Krepost?” asked Vasilyev. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to discourage him from doing that. Do you want me to incapacitate him?”

  “Incapacitate is a nice word, but it is also a little vague,” replied Yohzin. “I don’t want you to incapacitate Gogol. I want you to kill him. Is that clear enough?”

  “Understood,” answered Vasilyev. “I will not allow him to enter the Krepost.”

  “Good,” said Yohzin. “Gogol will have a tool that resembles a screwdriver. It has a yellow handle and a special tip that can loosen the fasteners on the Egg’s control station. After you take care of Gogol, you need to find that tool. During the next contact window, the Perimetr engineers will explain how to gain access to the Egg’s controls, so you can reset the power breakers for the Perimetr gear.

  “I know that some of this matter may sound drastic,” said Yohzin, “but as I said, your basic mission will remain effectively the same. You’ll occupy the Soyuz until we send the next freighter up, and then you’ll receive your relief crew about two weeks later. Understood?”

  “I understand and will comply,” replied Vasilyev. Seconds later, he heard a warbling sound in his headset, and knew that he was out of radio range.

  He removed the headset, pulled his sleeping bag over his head, and massaged his throbbing temples. The updates from Control were largely what he expected: with the minor exception of being ordered to commit homicide, his mission requirements had barely changed. But thankfully, the nuances of Control’s plans were now starting to align with his own, since he had already contemplated the potential difficulties with subduing Gogol. But although General Yohzin and Control now seemed more inclined to let him peek behind the curtain, they obviously weren’t ready to reveal why he had been fed a steady diet of falsified intelligence reports.