Gerasimov held up a file. “Colonel Vatutin, I have read the report of your ongoing investigation. Excellent work. Can you bring me up to date?”
“Yes, Comrade Chairman. We are currently looking for one Eduard Vassilyevich Altunin. He is an attendant in the Sandunovski Baths. Interrogation of the dry-cleaner revealed to us that he is the next step in the courier chain. Unfortunately he disappeared thirty-six hours ago, but we should have him by the end of the week.”
“I’ve gone to the baths myself,” Gerasimov noted with irony. Vatutin added his own.
“I still do, Comrade Chairman. I have myself seen this young man. I recognized the photograph in the file we’re putting together. He was a corporal in an ordnance company in Afghanistan. His Army file shows that he objected to certain weapons being used there—the ones we use to discourage the civilians from helping the bandits.” Vatutin referred to the bombs that were disguised as toys and designed to be picked up by children. “His unit political officer wrote up a report, but the first verbal warning shut him up, and he finished his tour of duty without further incident. The report was enough to deny him a factory job, and he’s floated from one menial assignment to another. Co-workers describe him as ordinary but fairly quiet. Exactly what a spy should be, of course. He has never once referred to his ‘troubles’ in Afghanistan, even when drinking. His flat is under surveillance, as are all of his family members and friends. If we don’t have him very quickly, we’ll know he’s a spy. But we’ll get him, and I will talk to him myself.”
Gerasimov nodded thoughtfully. “I see you used the new interrogation technique on this Vaneyeva woman. What do you think of it?”
“Interesting. Certainly it worked in this case, but I must say that I have misgivings about placing her back on the street.”
“That was my decision, in case no one told you,” Gerasimov said offhandedly. “Given the sensitivity of this case, and the doctor’s recommendation, I think that the gamble is one worth taking for the moment. Do you agree that we shouldn’t call too much attention to the case? Charges against her remain open.”
Oh, and you can use it against her father, can’t you? Her disgrace is his also, and what father would want to see his only child in the GULAG? Nothing like a little blackmail, is there, Comrade Chairman? “The case is certainly sensitive, and is likely to get more so,” Vatutin replied carefully.
“Go on.”
“The one time I saw this Altunin fellow, he was standing beside Colonel Mikhail Semyonovich Filitov.”
“Misha Filitov, Yazov’s aide?”
“The same, Comrade Chairman. I reviewed his file this morning.”
“And?” This question came from Vatutin’s boss.
“Nothing at all that I can point to. I hadn’t known of his involvement in the Penkovskiy case . . .” Vatutin stopped, and for once his face showed something.
“Something is troubling you, Colonel,” Gerasimov observed. “What is it?”
“Filitov’s involvement in the Penkovskiy matter came soon after the death of his second son and his wife.” Vatutin shrugged after a moment. “An odd coincidence.”
“Wasn’t Filitov the first witness against him?” asked the head of the Second Directorate. He’d actually worked on the fringes of the case.
Vatutin nodded. “That’s right, but it was after we already had the spy under surveillance.” He stopped for another moment. “As I said, an odd coincidence. We are now after a suspected courier who was running defense data. I saw him standing next to a senior Defense Ministry official, who was involved in another similar case almost thirty years ago. On the other hand, Filitov was the man who first reported Penkovskiy, and he is a distinguished war hero . . . who lost his family under unfortunate circumstances . . .” It was the first time he had strung all his thoughts together.
“Has there ever been a hint of suspicion against Filitov?” the Chairman asked.
“No. His career could scarcely be more impressive. Filitov was the only aide who stayed with the late Minister Ustinov throughout his career, and he’s hung on there ever since. He functions as a personal inspector-general for the Minister.”
“I know,” Gerasimov said. “I have here a request over Yazov’s signature for our file on American SDI efforts. When I called about it, the Minister told me that colonels Filitov and Bondarenko are assembling data for a full report to the Politburo. The code word on that photographic frame you recovered was Bright Star, was it not?”
“Yes, Comrade Chairman.”
“Vatutin, we now have three coincidences,” Gerasimov observed. “Your recommendation?”
That was simple enough: “We should place Filitov under surveillance. Probably this Bondarenko fellow also.”
“Very carefully, but with the utmost thoroughness.” Gerasimov closed the file. “This is a fine report, and it would seem that your investigative instincts are as sharp as ever, Colonel. You will keep me posted on this case. I expect to see you three times a week from now until its conclusion. General,” he said to the head of “Two,” “this man will get all the support he needs. You may requisition resources from any part of the Committee. If you run into objections, please refer them to me. We may be certain that there is a leak at the highest level of the Defense Ministry. Next: this case is classified to my eyes and yours. No one—I repeat, no one will know of this. Who can say where the Americans have managed to place their agents? Vatutin, run this one to earth and you will have general’s stars by summer. But”—he held up a finger—”I think you should cease drinking until you are finished with this one. We need your head clear.”
“Yes, Comrade Chairman.”
The corridor was nearly empty outside the Chairman’s office when Vatutin and his boss left. “What about Vaneyeva?” the Colonel asked sotto voce.
“It’s her father, of course. General Secretary Narmonov will announce his election to the Politburo next week,” the General replied in a neutral, quiet voice.
And it won’t hurt to have another friend of the KGB at court, Vatutin thought to himself. Might Gerasimov be making some sort of move?
“Remember what he said about drinking,” the General said next. “I’ve heard that you’re hitting the bottle very hard of late. That’s one area of agreement between the Chairman and the General Secretary, in case no one ever told you.”
“Yes, Comrade General,” Vatutin replied. Of course, it’s probably the only area of agreement. Like any good Russian, Vatutin thought that vodka was as much a part of life as air. It occurred to him to note that his hangover had encouraged him to take steam that morning and notice the crucial coincidence, but he refrained from pointing out the irony involved. Back at his desk a few minutes later, Vatutin took out a pad and began planning the surveillance on two colonels of the Soviet Army.
Gregory took usual commercial flights home, changing planes at Kansas City after a two-hour layover. He slept through most of the transit and walked straight into the terminal without having to chase after any baggage. His fiancée was waiting for him.
“How was Washington?” she asked after the usual welcome-home kiss.
“Never changes. They ran me all over the place. I guess they figure scientific types don’t ever sleep.” He took her hand for the walk out to the car.
“So what happened?” she asked when they were outside.
“The Russians ran a big test.” He stopped to look around. This was a technical violation of security—but Candi was part of the team, wasn’t she? “They slagged down a satellite with the ground-based lasers at Dushanbe. What’s left looks like a plastic model that got put in the oven.”
“That’s bad,” Dr. Long observed.
“Sure is,” Dr. Gregory agreed. “But they have optical problems. Blooming and jitter both. It’s for sure they don’t have anybody like you over there to build mirrors. They must have some good folks on the laser end, though.”
“How good?”
“Good enough that they’re doing something we haven’t figured out yet,” Al grumped as they reached his Chevy. “You drive, I’m still a little dopey.”
“Will we figure it out?” Candi asked as she unlocked the door.
“Sooner or later.” He couldn’t go any further than that, fiancée or not.
Candi got in and reached to unlock the right-side door. As soon as Al was seated and strapped in, he opened the glove compartment and extracted a Twinkie. He always had a stash. It was a little stale, but he didn’t mind. Sometimes Candi wondered if his love for her resulted from the fact that her nickname reminded him of junk food.
“How’s work on the new mirror going?” he asked after snapping down half of the Twinkie.
“Marv has a new idea that we’re modeling out. He thinks we should thin out the coating instead of thickening it. We’re going to try it next week.”