by Lee Jackson
Murin turned on a television. “This report might interest you.”
Drygin nodded absently as the screen blinked on. Two reporters faced into the camera. Drygin read the English subscripts.
“Our guest this evening is Tony Collins, investigative reporter for the Washington Herald.” The female news anchor turned to face Collins. “You scooped us all. That was quite a headline.” She held up a copy of the current edition. “MAJOR SHAKEUP IN SOVIET UNION.”
“This article is incredible. You talk of purging key figures, including the commanding general of the KGB Border Troops and the ambassador to Cuba. Even the Soviet Army’s top commander was replaced by…” She looked at her notes. “…Colonel General Kutuzov, and he will be promoted to the highest rank.” She stopped and looked at him. “How did you get this story?”
Collins leaned back with a wan smile. “We have good people.”
The news anchor pressed on. “A few days ago, your articles about Rasputin seemed like human-interest stories, so their appearance on the front pages of Soviet newspapers caused a sensation. Did they have anything to do with today’s news?”
Collins grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Ah, Rasputin. Who knew what chaos an obscure Siberian mystic would unleash on humanity?” His grin disappeared. “Lucky for us, tough people risk life and limb to keep the rest of us safe.” He looked steadily into the camera. “We owe you our thanks.”
The news anchor picked up again. “In other Soviet news, Russian Orthodox Church leaders celebrated Mr. Gorbachev’s loosening of religious freedoms; and Moscow hailed the goodwill flight across Europe of its new Antonov 225 Mriya heavy-lift cargo jet as a success. All that amidst rumors of a nuclear scare. Stay tuned.”
Murin turned off the television. “What did you think of that?”
Drygin swirled his drink while taking time to formulate a response. “It’s difficult to know what to think. What did you think?”
Murin peered at him over his glasses. “You’re always an enigma,” he said. He swirled his drink. “As a dry run, the entire exercise was worthwhile. We learned many lessons.”
“A dry run?” Drygin’s face showed rare astonishment.
Murin nodded. “The old days are gone. A coup in today’s Soviet Union requires a dress rehearsal. It’s such a complex operation. Friends and foes have to be identified, authorities compromised, nuclear protocols tested, world reaction gauged…”
“Do you mean that Yermolov—”
Murin scoffed. “He was never in the cards. Who was going to listen to a man who claimed joint ancestry of both the last tsar and that pop star mystic?” His disdain showed. “To run a superpower? Besides, he lived outside the country all those years. Who could trust him? I needed you here to arrest him when he tried to execute the coup.”
Drygin hid his astonishment. “And then who would have been the general secretary?”
Murin smiled inscrutably. “I guess we’ll never know.”
Drygin swirled his drink slowly as he contemplated. “What about the nuclear device? How did Yermolov get it? If Atcho had not had that NukeX—”
“Ah, Atcho,” Murin muttered. “We keep underestimating that man. He gave Yermolov a run for his money, and he nearly cost us an airplane.” He scanned Drygin’s puzzled face. “We don’t know how Yermolov got the bomb.”
Drygin stared. “We don’t know? Do we have any idea at all?”
Murin shook his head. “No,” he said grimly. “That’s an open question and maybe an open danger. We’re still working on it.”
“What was Yermolov going to do with it?”
“Blackmail, I’m sure. As the Americans say, it was his ace in the hole against me. I have to admit, I didn’t see it coming.”
“What about the ancestry documents. Were they real?”
Murin shrugged. “He always had them. I don’t know where he got them. He left them for me to deliver if he ever needed to escape.”
Drygin contemplated that. “So, is it possible that they were real?”
“I suppose anything is possible.”
Drygin let that sink in, and then asked his next question cautiously. “Will Gorbachev retaliate against you?”
Murin arched his eyebrows. “I’m sure he received reports that I was involved,” he said dryly. “He has no way to confirm them. The fact that he didn’t inform me that Yermolov was on the Mriya with the bomb is significant. Fierko gave a full confession without implicating anyone above himself. He knows he would be better off dead than giving me up. Besides, he expects me to rescue him. Jeloudov too.
“If Gorbachev comes after me, his precious election will be out the window.” He squinted at Drygin. “Never rule out the unthinkable, that he knew about the conspiracy from the start. What better way to lure a megalomaniac into a trap than open the doors for his ambition?”
Drygin’s expression showed atypical puzzlement. “Are we still talking about Gorbachev?”
Murin chuckled. He studied Drygin’s discomfiture. “The real benefit was identifying Yermolov’s support. Otherwise, we could have taken him in Cuba.
“In any event, elevating Kutuzov to command the army will insulate both of us. No one will take on both the KGB and the Soviet military at the same time. Gorbachev was weakened by the situation, and won’t dare question Kutuzov. And, the Politburo affirmed my innocence. Having friends on the inside always helps.” He took another swallow of his drink. “But, you can never know for sure what the future holds.” His tone was one of finality, as if shelving the subject. He smiled broadly and held up an outstretched hand.
Drygin kept his seat. “Sir, just two more questions?”
Murin looked impatient, but retracted his hand. “Just two.”
“What about my men? What will happen to them?”
Murin stared at him without expression. “Ah, yes. Your men.” He swirled his drink. “They were very loyal to you, weren’t they?” Without waiting for an answer, he sniffed and replied, “No worries about them. They will be disbanded and returned to regular units. What’s your other question?”
Drygin chose not to press the issue, and changed to his last subject. “Would Yermolov’s tenets work: restoring military strength, clamping down on political dissent, and loosening economic freedom?”
To Drygin’s surprise, Murin threw his head back and laughed, almost uncontrollably. “Ha, ha! That was the funniest part of the whole episode.” He took a breath to control his mirth. “Yermolov and I dreamed those up in a bar one night when we were both drunk.” Still red-faced from laughing, he faced Drygin. “No one in his right mind would believe those ‘tenets.’” He spat out the word. “Only a certain kind of man could make them work.” He lifted his glass in the air. “We’d need another Rasputin!”
Drygin took in Murin’s response without emotion. Then he rose, and the two men shook hands. “Now, General,” Murin said, “it’s time for you to come out of deep cover.”
Drygin looked at him sharply. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know very well what I mean. You’ve operated in the shadows long enough. As of this moment, you will take on your own name, Comrade Vladimir Putin.”
Epilogue
December 1991 – A village outside of Paris, France
Collins studied the man sitting across from him. He seemed eerily familiar, but Collins was sure they had never met before. The man was small and nervous, and he eyed the reporter with a sheepish countenance mixed with guilt. Then, he looked around at his companions, who bore similar expressions. They concentrated their worried stares on Collins.
“This is dangerous for us,” the man said. “We could still be killed.”
“Don’t be afraid of me,” Collins replied. “It’s been three years since all that happened. No one knows I’m here. I want to understand why you produced that bomb? What did you hope to accomplish?”
Collins had spent many months investigating gaps in the Atcho/Rasputin episode. Sources were sometimes willing, sometimes
reluctant to cooperate, but with cajoling, patience, and being an irreverent pest, he extracted the entire story. This was the last unknown detail.
He had returned to Paris months ago and sought out the tavern where the unfortunate CIA officer had first spotted Yermolov. With much patience, he identified and met the Rasputin followers that had been there with him that fateful night—all except the one who made and delivered the bomb.
After many evenings and pitchers of beer, he gained their trust and learned the name of the bomb-maker. After many more nights and more beer, he convinced them to bring him to the tavern.
Obviously reluctant to speak, the man sat quietly. The heavy smell of fish soup hung in the air. “You’re familiar with the legend of Rasputin and the beginning of the Soviet empire?” he asked at last.
Collins nodded. “I’ve learned a lot in the past three years.”
“You know my background? I am a retired nuclear physicist.”
“Your friends told me. They said that at first you refused to make the bomb. What made you change your mind?”
The man nodded. “I was a refugee in this country, as were my companions.” He took a draught of his beer and looked around at his circle of friends in the booth. “We all came from Russia, and most of our parents knew Rasputin in Moscow. Our families fled during the Russian Revolution.” He seemed to hesitate before going on. “My family went to the Ukraine. My parents were executed right in front of me during Stalin’s purges. Shot through the head. I escaped and came here as a boy.”
The pain of remembrance was plain on the man’s face. As Collins watched him, he again sensed that strange familiarity. “Were you seeking revenge?”
The man smiled wanly. “I suppose that’s partly true, but keep in mind that I could have built the bomb at any time. The request came from General Yermolov.” He scanned the anxious faces of his friends. “We are not ignorant peasants seeking the return of a legend,” he said abruptly, and leaned forward. “Did you ever meet the general?”
Collins nodded. “A few times, many years ago while he was living in the United States. I interviewed him, and of course I’ve seen many photos of him.”
“Then look at me.”
Startled, Collins stared at the man. “Excuse me?”
“Look at me.” When Collins returned only a bewildered gaze, the man went on. “Rasputin’s sexual escapades were well known. He left children behind.”
Understanding dawned. Collins peered closer—and saw in a flash an older, altered version of General Paul Clary’s face, of Borya Yermolov’s face. Now he peered intently at the man. “Are you saying that you are descended from Rasputin, and so is Yermolov? That you’re cousins?”
The man nodded. “Distant cousins. I guess it’s to my shame that I built the bomb.” He burned rebellious eyes into Collins. “I’ll tell you honestly, I hoped for him to succeed. I even hoped he might blow up the Kremlin.” He glared in defiance. “I don’t apologize for that hope. The bomb, maybe; but not the hope.” He sank back in his seat.
They sat there a while longer, staring into their beers, Collins and this group of Rasputin followers, including their nuclear bomb-maker. Then, they stirred as if to depart. The retired physicist started to rise.
“One more question, if you don’t mind,” Collins said.
The man settled back again into his seat. “Go ahead.”
“Where did you get the materials to make the bomb?”
The old man smiled slightly, and raised tired eyes to meet Collins’. “Maybe another time.” With that, he rose to his feet, and left the tavern.
Author’s Note
The story you have just read is historical fiction based on some actual events. What follows below is fact.
Mikhail Gorbachev, General Secretary of the Soviet Union, left Moscow to enjoy a vacation at his dacha on the Black Sea in Crimea on August 4, 1991. At the time, he faced increasing opposition from hardline communist leaders to his policies of glasnost and perestroika. He claimed that those policies would bring about political and economic restructuring, and greater transparency and accountability in government.
Gorbachev had signed an agreement with Soviet republics that decentralized national government and allowed them more autonomy. Hardliners feared that the agreement would lead to the dissolution of the Soviet Union. The chairman of the KGB formed a “Gang of Eight” consisting of highly placed Soviet officials, and on August 17, he flew to Crimea to meet with Gorbachev.
The KGB chairman’s objective was to require the general secretary to either sign documents establishing a state of emergency during which “order” would be restored, or to resign. When Gorbachev refused both alternatives, he was placed under house arrest. The KGB cut his communication lines, the state press reported that he was sick, and an emergency government was announced.
Gorbachev defeated the coup attempt, but it so weakened the Soviet government that on Christmas Day 1991, Gorbachev resigned as general secretary. The next day, the Soviet Union was voted out of existence. Another casualty of those events was the KGB itself, which officially ceased to exist.
DECLASSIFIED TOP SECRET PROFILE OF ATCHO
7 November 1986 – White House Memo from Chief of Staff
Army Intelligence shipped the DECLASSIFIED file below over to the Secret Service today. More coming from the CIA. Ronald Reagan wants Atcho thoroughly vetted. Please pay special attention to the last paragraph and its date.
November 21, 1960
To: Distribution
(U) The situation in Cuba worsens. After seizing power last New Year’s Eve, Castro continues to solidify power throughout the island. He has already set up neighborhood watch programs with militant followers that report any activity that could be construed as hostile to his government, and he is aggressively seizing weapons to disarm the population. Historically, such actions have preceded imposition of a tyrannical regime.
(C) Of concern are escalating tensions between Castro’s government and the US government. He appears to be frantically grasping at continuing inflows of foreign currency while taking actions that appear to lead to nationalization of private industry, including American interests.
(U) Already, the wealthy and well educated of the country are fleeing Cuba in large numbers as they see Castro poised to seize private homes, farms, ranches, sugar plantations, etc.
(S) Some elements of the population are determined to fight, and have approached US military and intelligence resources requesting assistance. The strongly held belief among the intelligentsia is that Castro lies about his political beliefs, that he is in fact a Communist, and that, once solidifying power, he will impose a communistic system on Cuba, and align with the Soviet Union.
(TS) Camaguey is a key province in Cuba. It is where the country’s wealthy families moved to escape pirate raids during the 1700s, and much of the national culture developed and flourished there through current times. As a result, it is a center of resistance against Castro, and leadership and money in support of the resistance will undoubtedly flow from that region.
(TS) A family to watch in Camaguey is (last name): Xiquez. Both father and son are West Point graduates and fierce Cuban patriots. (See attached profiles—the father is believed to be deceased.)
(C) The Soviets are already agitating for a more influential role in Cuba. We can expect that they will attempt to secure rights there to build military bases capable of striking the US.
(TS) Profile on Eduardo Xiquez Rodriguez de Arciniega
Believed to be Code-Named: Atcho
(TS) Eduardo Xiquez is the son of Arturo Xiquez (thought to be deceased). Eduardo is also reportedly dead, but a leader of the resistance is emerging in Camaguey who uses the name Atcho. Already, he is known to the milicianos (the Cuban police, reorganized under Castro to enforce his policies), and he is feared for his cunning and his skill. The name “Atcho” is itself the reason for associating the code-name with the individual.
The Father
(U) T
he senior Xiquez (Arturo) was the owner and CEO of one of the largest sugar-plantations in Camaguey and in the country, including very large sugar mills. In addition, he owned tobacco fields and cigar plants in Pinar del Rio. He descended from a family that emigrated from the Basque country on the Spanish side, and was the patriarch of the third generation of his family in Cuba.
(U) He is believed to be dead because the main buildings of the family plantation were burned to the ground, including the mansion, stables, and outbuildings. Almost the entire family, including Mr. Xiquez and his wife and son, were believed to be in the house at the time of the fire, and did not escape. A baby granddaughter (Eduardo’s daughter) was staying with her aunt at the time of the fire, and thus survived. Her aunt is raising the little girl now.
(U) Arturo Xiquez served in the US Army during WWII, a not uncommon occurrence for Cubans. He was a rare service member, however, in that he had graduated from West Point under a foreign exchange program set up by the Army. His peers and subordinates had difficulty pronouncing his first name correctly, and hence “Arturo” morphed to “Atcho.” Although he received an Honorable Discharge and returned home to Cuba shortly after the war, he maintained contact with his Army comrades in the US, and helped his son, Eduardo secure an appointment and enter the Academy. From all reports, both father and son were exemplary cadets.
(U) Arturo openly opposed Castro’s regime. He had been no friend to Batista, but foresaw that conditions would likely worsen under Castro. As Castro moved to seize private property, Arturo became even more vocal. The fire that destroyed his house is believed to have been set by rampaging Castro supporters.
The Son
(TS) Eduardo was roughly 22 years old at the time of the fire. His father had taken intimate concern for his upbringing and education. As a result, he was an excellent student all the way through school and was a superbly trained athlete, excelling in soccer and horseback riding. When they were not otherwise engaged in work or studies, father and son were inseparable—so close, in fact, that people that knew them well remarked that they were best friends. Eduardo often called his father by the army nickname, Atcho. The name is otherwise not known to be used by anyone else in the area.