In the Shadow of Mordor

Chapter 26

Derrick Williams poked his head into Johnson’s office. “You summoned me, oh Prince of Darkness?”

The Chief of Station acknowledged the sobriquet with a wry smile. “Ah, Derrick, if you only knew the half of it I’d have to kill you.”

It was an old joke, but it always elicited a laugh, sometimes a nervous laugh.

Johnson stood and walked around his desk. “Guess where we’re going.”

Williams groaned and trudged after the COS to the S.C.I.F.

“Derrick,” began Johnson, “I’m going to share something with you that I shouldn’t. In fact, I’m breaking a cardinal rule. And if you’re not careful with the information, I really will shoot you.”

Williams’ eyebrows shot to his hairline. Like most of the uninitiated, he harbored a secret envy of the spooks. “Oh, yeah?”

A long, tired sigh escaped Johnson before he spoke. “I have it on reliable authority that the FSB is sending an assassination team after Vladislav Illarionov in Ukraine, and I want you to do something about it.”

Williams features froze in shock. He might secretly envy the spooks, but he certainly had no yearning to be involved in their business. “Me?” he squeaked.

“Now, don’t go all girlyman on me. I don’t expect you to charge in with guns blazing. It should actually be quite simple. How soon can you travel to Kiev?”

“Kiev?”

“Stop giving me monosyllabic answers. I just want you to go to the Embassy in Kiev and talk to your counterpart there. The rest will be up to him if you’re convincing enough.”

That didn’t sound too daunting, but Williams was leery. “Why don’t you go to Kiev and talk to your counterpart?”

Johnson ignored him. “This is simple, not in the least risky, and I’m not suggesting you do anything out of the ordinary. We talked about this before — your guy needs to find Illarionov pronto and help him get out of Ukraine. I thought you were on board with this.”

Williams was immediately abashed as he recalled their previous conversation. Johnson’s idea might just work. “You’re sure they’re going to try to kill him?”

“Scouts’ honor.” Johnson held up three fingers.

“Maybe we could set up a study grant in the States for him.”

“That’s the spirit. Now get some travel orders and get your ass on a plane. I don’t know how much time we have.”

Back in his office, Johnson brewed a fresh pot of coffee as he considered his options. Half-way through the first cup, he made his decision. He lifted the handset of his secure telephone and dialed the number for his counterpart in Kiev.

Jack Kelly’s voice, processed through some very sophisticated encryption technology, was clear but slightly distorted and accompanied by whistling and hisses. “Hi, Vance, how’re things in the heart of evil?”

“Still evil and becoming more so with each passing day. Listen, Jack, I’m going to share something with you that Headquarters has not disseminated yet, so this call is off the record. Is that OK with you?”

“Hell, yes. We’re here, and Langley is thousands of miles away, and they usually don’t know what they’re talking about anyway.”

That’s my boy, Jack. The response was what he expected. Jack Kelly was young and had a healthy disrespect for authority. This was not a trait normally admired in intelligence officers, but Johnson could use it to his advantage.

“Jack, I just learned that the FSB is dispatching an assassination team to Ukraine. Their target is a Russian dissident writer who is now in Kharkov. His name is Vladislav Illarionov. By coincidence our Press Attaché, Derrick Williams is on his way to Kiev to help arrange a study grant in the US for Illarionov. You should have nothing to do with those arrangements unless our help is absolutely required. But I thought you might have a chat with your local counter-intel boys and give them an informal heads-up that a Russian snuff squad might be operating on their turf.”

“I don’t know, Vance. The SBU is riddled with Russian penetrations.”

“But I’ll bet there are a couple of guys you can trust.”

“I think so.”

“Good. Tell them the goons will come from the West, not through the battle lines. Capisci? Or they might have a team already in place for contingencies. God knows, they’re well-practiced at infiltrating Ukraine.”

“I get it. No need to tell Headquarters about this, right?”

“I always figured you for a smart fellow, Jack. And, by the way, keep an eye out there for Derrick Williams, our press attaché.”

Derrick Williams was no James Bond, but he wasn’t a slouch either. He was pretty sure that Johnson and he were on the same side, but then again you just never knew what games the spooks might be playing. He’d heard stories.

So the first thing he did after making reservations to fly to Kiev was visit Golovina. He’d not risked visiting her often following the confrontation with the “Svoi” thugs, but now he was compelled to do so by the sense of urgency thrust upon him by the Chief of Station.

The plight of dissidents in Putin’s Russia went largely without notice in the wide world, where so many terrible things were happening. While the West was distracted by terrorists, the Chinese, and insane North Koreans and Iranians, the Kremlin was left free to wield a large club without too much kickback. Ukraine had damaged Russia’s international standing and sparked repercussions, but Williams doubted if anyone on main street America even was aware, let alone cared, that a bloody war still raged there.

Today’s dissidents went unrecognized except for a few people who cared, and Williams was one of those people. He admired and sympathized with brave souls like Golovina, a woman whose persecution spanned two historic eras but who still maintained the struggle. If there was anything he could do to promote and support their cause, Williams was determined to do it.

Across the rough plank surface of the table that served her as a desk Golovina cocked her head to one side as she listened.

“Marya Fedorovna, I can’t tell you everything, but I’ve got to warn you that young Illarionov is in very real danger, even in Ukraine.”

“They’re going after him, aren’t they?” Sadness and weariness washed over her face, and she suddenly became the old lady she was, a Russian babushka worried about her family. The young people she attracted and guided were indeed her only remaining family, and Vladislav Illarionov was one of her favorites.

“I can’t say more,” said Williams, “but I’m going to Kiev this afternoon, and I’m going to try to find a way to get him to the States.”

She stretched a bony arm across the table and clasped his hand. “God bless you, Derrick. You may be his last hope.”

“I was hoping you might be able to get word to him somehow. There may not be a lot of time.” Williams did not know the extent of Golovina’s network and never asked. You never knew who might be listening. But he hoped she had resources to call upon.

She nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll get word to him, and he’ll be waiting to hear from you. How can he contact you in Ukraine?”

Williams wished Johnson would suggest some safe, secret mode of contact. The best he could come up with on his own was to tell Illarionov to contact him at the American Embassy. He wrote the phone number on a scrap of paper and gave it to Golovina. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can do right now. This is happening so fast.”

Golovina was a veteran of a thousand conspiratorial meetings, but she was more than grateful for anything Williams might do. In all the world there was no one people like her could count on but the Americans, and although they could occasionally find some NGO money to keep them going, she missed the old days when Western leaders regularly and loudly denounced the Kremlin’s repression.

“Thank you again, Derrick, and good luck. Now I must get to work if we are to be successful.”

Williams left her there in her “office,” a thoughtful expression on her face as she puzzled out her next move. He emerged from the basement door into the afternoon sunlight and scanned the area carefully in all directions to see if he could spot anyone watching. He didn’t, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to see them even if they were there.