Code Name Antares

Epilogue

After four days of near spring-like temperatures, the weather had taken a downturn, dropping well below freezing. Rain overnight left slick patches of ice on roads and sidewalks. Traffic had remained heavy, constant, but by noon, the sun broke through the cloud layer, melting most of the hazardous ice.

He sat in the car with the engine running, continually wiping a gloved hand in a circle against the windshield, waiting for the defrosters to kick in. An open window wasn’t helping much.

Gradually, the fogged windshield cleared. He backed out of the parking space, then shifted into first, slowly driving around the circle.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, he noticed the building’s yellow facade, mimicking gold bricks. Lubyanka. Headquarters of the KGB, with its notorious prison in the basement.

Where he’d just been, who he’d spoken with, and what was offered to him, left Nicolai Kalinin astounded. Director Mikhail Antolov, at the recommendation of Defense Minister Troski and Ambassador Vazov, told him he was to report in two days for training at the USSR KGB Krasnoznamennyi Institute (KI). Upon graduation, he’d take part in countering foreign intelligence services and conduct operational and combat activities. As honored as he was, learning he wouldn’t be returning to the U.S. left him disappointed. But he understood the reason. Agencies would be on the lookout for him… again.

He turned his attention to finding his way through Moscow. It was like his first trip navigating through Washington, D.C. Except here he was surprised by the heavy traffic, and the number of private citizens who owned vehicles. Most were very used and beat up models, unlike Americans with their love of fancy cars. It was a far cry from what he pictured all those years growing up.

Crossing over the ring road, he started south on the M2 highway. As traffic thinned, he finally had a moment to think about the American. Grant Stevens, his nemesis. Grant Stevens, his… friend? Was it even possible? Perhaps that was part of his disappointment, not getting to learn more about him. Then again, one day soon he’d have access to KGB files, and probably files with more collected intelligence. A sound of a blaring car horn brought him back to the present.

He calculated the drive would take nearly seven hours, and tomorrow he’d repeat it on the way back to Moscow.

But today, Nicolai Kalinin was going to Kursk. He was finally going home.