In the Shadow of Mordor

Chapter 14

The continuity with a glorious past that Lisitsyn represented inspired Solntsev as much today as thirty years ago. The general had generously shared his skills with the young KGB officer and others as he molded them into his own image. His legacy was to pass to the orphaned children of perestroika the iron spirit of the true Chekist.

“If you don’t know what to do, talk to a veteran.” Gleb followed this rule from the beginning. Davydych was just such a starik, having formally retired long ago he remained vigorous and worked in the Lubyanka archives where he planned to die on the job. He simply could not live without these walls.

It did him no harm when a former student was named to head the newly formed FSB, and even less when that same person became President of Russia. Certain tasks were entrusted to the FSB that would never have been shared with the SVR. One these assignments fell on the general’s shoulders.

“Nikolay Davydovich, how’re things,” said Gleb, still in the doorway.

Davydych greeted Gleb with a warm smile, but spotted the concern on his protégé’s face.

“So far, so good. But there’s still a loose end. We had a chat with Illarionov’s editor. At first he professed complete innocence, but finally admitted that Illarionov’s son has the prison recording. He also said the little bastard was going to look up Zhuravlev, one of the people who wrote the original Ryazan report. That rat Tretyakov gave the name to Illarionov.”

“Surely this Zhuravlev doesn’t have any proof.”

“We can’t know for certain. He’s dead,” was the General’s dry response. “Our boys went to his apartment for a chat, but the idiot threw himself from an eleventh floor balcony. No one expected that. It was all very unpleasant. They searched his apartment and found nothing. The possibility that he passed something to Illarionov’s son seems small, but…”

“Illarionov’s son will have to be taken care of,” said Solntsev, his voice low, as though he feared someone might overhear. “Otherwise, we’ll never hear the end of it, especially now that he has that recording.”

Lisitsyn shook his head, “I don’t like it. Imagine the suspicions the boy’s death on the heels of his father’s would raise. We need to find out what materials he has before deciding. For time being, the public won’t make a connection between the deaths of Illarionov, Tretyakov, and Zhuravlev. But you’re right. We can’t wait too long.

“Now why don’t you tell me what brings you here?”

Solntsev told him about the conversation with Pasha and the boys.

“And what do you think?” asked Lisitsyn.

“She’s too smart not to have understood the consequences of telling me about Illarionov. I think we can trust her discretion. But Pasha does have a point. She knows the son.”

Lisitsyn folded his arms and waited like a patient uncle listening to a nephew’s problems.

Solntsev shook his head. “I don’t want anything to happen to her. She’s truly talented and has served us well.”

The general pulled at his chin as if arriving at a decision. “I may have a way out,” he said softly. “At the beginning of this year the Ministry of Foreign Affairs requested a secret meeting with us that resulted in an interesting decision. They want to strengthen our disinformation and influence operations in the West. They finally realized that more needs to be done than buying politicians. The idea is to create organizations to attract the children of Russian emigrants and their American friends. In the old days we got them right out of the cradle, Oktyabryata, Pioneers, Komsomol.” He closed his eyes in nostalgic recollection, but caught himself quickly.

“It’s not a bad idea, but we didn’t show much enthusiasm. What intelligence officer wants to spend resources and send highly qualified professionals for youth propaganda work? Of course, there are some elements of espionage involved, such as spotting candidates for recruitment or keeping an eye on what dissidents and other traitors are up to — simple surveillance operations.”

Gleb perked up as he caught Lisitsyn’s drift. “Of course. Such work would not appeal to ambitious young officers. They wouldn’t see it as a winning career track. It would take years to produce results. They all see themselves recruiting a brilliant source after a couple of years and getting some more stars on their epaulets.”

Lisitsyn agreed. “This would have been an ideal assignment for the Komsomol, but there no longer is a Komsomol. I’ve been thinking about your kids and planned to call you. It’s a job more for external intelligence than us, but you know who the Kremlin trusts more.”

“So what you’re saying is that we could give Olga a few months’ training and send her abroad, maybe to the States?” Solntsev saw a double benefit. Olga would be far away from Moscow and more importantly, far away from Illarionov’s son, and she would be doing a job for which she was ideally suited.

Lisitsyn cocked his head and grimaced slightly at Gleb’s enthusiasm. “You don’t think sending her to the States entails a risk?”

“Her handlers will pay careful attention to her. On the plus side, Olga already has three years’ experience with “Svoi,” speaks excellent English and works well with young people. She’s good at public speaking. It doesn’t hurt that she’s attractive, either. She’s proven she can handle the tough jobs. And she’ll get better with proper training.”