The Falstaff Enigma (20 page)

"My friend turned around and, once they were out of sight of the guards, ordered the driver to stop. He suffers from extreme curiosity – he is a KGB professional – and he knew something was wrong. He hiked through the woods in the direction of the camp. Before he saw any tents or clearings,
he came across a group of men. He approached very carefully and got close enough to see a few men digging a small pit. The men were wearing standard uniforms but their weapons had large suppressors attached to their muzzles. Fifteen minutes later, more of these men arrived, carrying four blood-covered bodies over to the pit's edge. They tossed them in. My friend could not see the faces of the bodies, but he was sure of one thing: he saw the uniform of a marshal. Of course, he got out of there as fast as he could. He told no one other than myself. The only condition he named was that I tell him what I find out and never mention his name or story. You two are the first to hear it with the exception of the two who brought you here.

"The next morning I received a call from an officer in the Lubyanka telling me that the marshal had died of a heart attack during the flight to Moscow and that this information was to remain secret until further notice. Obviously, I knew then that my imagination was under-active, if anything."

Borskov relaxed. It was a relaxation that came from sharing a great burden with another. Yet, as he relaxed, Austin and David stiffened noticeably. Despite all the hypothesis and conjecture that told them to expect this, the first solid evidence that they were right was still shocking. The gravity of the situation could not be exaggerated. The Soviet Union had seen many military purges since the Revolution of 1917, almost all minor enough to escape the scrutiny of Western historians and major enough to be expunged from official Soviet archives. Austin thought about the purge that accompanied the fall of Khrushchev after his failure in Cuba. But this was different. These men were being executed for a reason that remained unidentifiable. True, there were clear Soviet failures – Poland, Afghanistan – that demanded scapegoats, but these men were not connected to them. More ominously, these men – Timenko, Vazhnevsky, Poltovsky, Zhuran – were heroes and very respected, all close friends of the political elite in Moscow.
Why?

This was a purge unseen since Stalin's great purge decimated his officer corps. And like that annihilation, this could precede a w
orld war, because this purge had the power to send the superstructure of the world's largest military machine into chaotic disarray.

"What happened next?"
Austin asked after the pair had digested what they were just told.

Borskov placed the cup of coffee he had been
sipping back on the table. "It took me less than an hour to realize that I had been an early victim of this purge and only a minute more to decide that I would be targeted for death sooner or later. At that point, I did not want to be alone nor did I desire to simply wait around until a killer put a bullet in my brain.

"That night I called in my two most trusted associates – yes, the men who brought you here. We came to some conclusions, one of which was that this purge is being carried out by a very conservative, hard-line faction of the military and KGB and the targets are those of significance who advocate accommodation with the West and economic liberalization. Also, we are positive that this is being done without the knowledge of the Supreme Soviet. Before you ask, it’s possible. Those generals were all favorites of both Andropov and Chernenko and I don't see any official hard line toward the West coming from the Politburo that would coincide with this purge if they were directing it."

"Assuming you are right, what happens when the premier and his men find out?" broke in David.

"That's just it, nothing. Nothing will happen because there is no force in this nation that can challenge the Army and the KGB combined. The Politburo will have to play the tune of this group, who will push for more military spending and an end to conciliation with the West. So you see, gentlemen, if this group is successful it will mean, at the least, strained relations for years with the West. At worst, it could lead to war."

Austin realized his mouth was opened slightly and closed it. The KGB colonel made sense and no matter what the analyst told himself, he came to the conclusion that Borskov was right. But regardless of everything the colonel had revealed to the two men, Austin couldn't escape the feeling that they were being used. Perhaps to claim that the Americans and Israelis were behind the deaths of these Soviet generals?

I will not be caught off guard again.
"Where do we fit in?" Austin asked.

"After the killing of Timenko and Zhuran
, we began thinking of what we could do to stop this purge and we came to the conclusion that we had to make sure Western intelligence knew about this. We had to use a messenger who would be beyond suspicion. We checked the list of scheduled Jewish emigrants and found Govenin's name on a list to depart in a couple of days. A little investigation turned up the link with Vladimir Ustinov, much to our delight. I know Ustinov. I know his politics. He wants to move the nation forward, not to re-live the days of Stalin.

"I visited Ustinov one night after I had arranged for my two men to be assigned to follow him for the day. I told him what happened to Vazhnevsky and told him to tell this to Govenin. We guessed that Govenin would tell Mossad and then agents would try to make contact with Ustinov to confirm the story. I never thought the old physicist would use what he knew to get his family out. The international intelligence units of the KGB arranged the exchange with the CIA. I found out only because we had listening devices on the wife's phone and apartment. Obviously, others found out as well. I wasn't surprised when we heard that Govenin had been killed; the people we are dealing with are certainly not stupid.

"We were not sure whether the old man had given you Ustinov's name before he died, but we kept up our surveillance and here you are."

"Now that we are here and we know what's going on, what happens to us?" asked David.

"Now you have a choice, gentlemen. I will provide you both with a way out of the country or I will provide you with complete KGB identification and backgrounds so you can help me stop this. Either way you decide, you must let me know within the hour." Borskov rose to leave the room.

"Before you go, tell me one thing," Austin
said. "How do you know that Alexandrevich or Sorovin, or whatever his name is, commanded a team of KGB men in the attack on the embassy?"

"After the April 30 visit of my friend,
” Borskov continued, “it was clear that there had to be an elite assassination team behind these killings. It was also clear that Timenko must have been killed by a member of that team two weeks before. Who else would come to rescue a captured member of an elite team but the commander? Sorovin's credentials to lead such a group are impeccable.

"Then we heard of Govenin's death and we knew that this team had to be responsible. We tried to get Sorovin's home address but we had no luck at all. His records have been expunged. Then came the shock of
Poltovsky's defection. Our guess was that Sorovin's team would try to kill Poltovsky while he was in Turkey. I sent one of my two men to Ankara to watch the embassy. He saw Sorovin drive up and park the car that carried the explosives."

Borskov walked to the large hallway. He paused, debating whether or not to speak. "None of us had any idea that Sorovin would do something so ludicrous. The only hope I have is that we can correct these injustices before they light the fire that ends our world." He walked out of the living room. He had meant every word.

Austin and David talked in hushed English for five minutes. It was not hard for each man to convince the other.

The Mossad agent traced Borskov's footsteps into the hallway and called him back into the living room.

"We are staying."

The soft light of the Moscow morning edged onto David’s face. His eyes scanned the ceiling. Sleep had come all too infrequently during the night. The questions could not be forgotten. Were they being set up by a master spy? Were they helping to bring about the wrong end? Why should they risk their lives for the internal politics of a country that was the nemesis of each man?

Unanswerable, except by time.

But David was certain he had heard the truth from Anatoly Borskov. Either that or Borskov was the best actor he had ever seen, and Russians were not noted for their acting abilities, especially career KGB officers.

"Good morning." David's eyes immediately focused on the bedroom door. The voice was soft and unassuming, taking the Mossad agent back to a woman who now seemed so far in the past.

"Breakfast will be served in thirty minutes," continued the woman at the door, her eyes meeting David's. Her hair was black and shoulder length, cascading downward in flowing waves, filtered sunlight shimmering off the apex of each wave. Her eyes were green and wide. Her face was attractive, appearing younger than her thirty-eight years. David understood why Svetlana Borskov was not a faithful wife. He could not picture this woman with the KGB officer who had both saved and recruited them the night before.

As she closed the door, David thought he saw a smile. "Robert, get up." Austin had pulled the comforter over his head, hoping for another hour of sleep. "Forget it. They let us sleep until nine and now we've got things to do."

Austin felt his lip. The fake moustache had been shaved off the night before, along with the growth of real whiskers that had been filling in underneath the fake whiskers. He had to conform to KGB norms.

"It's called '
okroshka.’ It's a summer soup," said Svetlana, talking to David and ignoring the American across from her.

"What time did your husband leave this morning?" David
asked.

"Same time as always," she said sarcastically, indicating that she didn't wish to be
interrogated. "Seven-thirty. He leaves sharply at seven-thirty. Probably the only Muscovite to leave for work before nine."

"But today is Sunday," commented the Mossad agent.

"He works every Sunday and he worked yesterday too. This is what he does. He works."

David buttered his brown bread. “Did he tell you who we are?” He took a bite of the bread.

"He said you were both business associates, which means you are KGB agents. Beyond that he wouldn't say. Was he right?"

"He was right, we are business associates."

Austin watched this flirtation carefully, unable to decide who was manipulating whom. The thought suddenly occurred to him that it was very possible that Borskov used his wife to glean information – and compromise his opponents.

"My husband also asked me to tell you both to stay inside all day and that he will be home as early as possible."

"Which will probably be when?" asked Austin, not wanting to be completely left out.

“My guess is eighteen hundred. But don’t worry, it’s not going to be a good day outside. I’m sure it’s going to rain.”

"How can you be so sure?" David asked.

"Because the local weatherman is quite good," Svetlana
replied.

David glanced down in embarrassmen
t as Austin suppressed a smile. Both men gained some respect for this woman.

"There is a chess set in the l
iving room," Svetlana commented as an afterthought.

“Oh, that’s just what I need,”
Austin replied as he stood and took his plate to the kitchen sink. “I’ll stick to reading. Do you have Pravda?”

"Izvestia is in the living room." She returned her gaze to David, a little more intense than before.

"He's not the best chess player," David said as Austin stepped into the kitchen.

"But you are?"

"Well, I enjoy it far more than he does."

"Would you like to play?"

"Very much so."

"Good. Your name
is Mikhail, yes?"

"Yes, and you?"

"Svetlana.”

"I hope you're good."
David said it with a smile on his face.

"We will see."

Both stood and walked to the chessboard, leaving their plates behind.

By three in the afternoon they were into only the forty-second move of the second game. The first game had lasted until noon, ending in a draw after the fiftieth move when Svetlana lured David's remaining knight into a pawn trap, leaving each player without an effective offense. She was very good, the best David had played against since being defeated in the second round of a chess tournament in Tel Aviv almost two years before. Unfortunately, he had found little time since then to play. He cursed himself now, for he sorely needed the added experience.

"You play a very American style. Very much like Bobby Fischer," Svetlana said with a mix of admiration and youthfulness in her voice. "Always on the offensive. Playing out several attacking strategies at the same time, attempting to get your opponent to concentrate on the obvious line of advance while you position your men for the real attack. But as Mr. Kasparov would tell you, the major flaw with this method is an almost complete neglect of your defenses." She moved her queen. "Check.”

"You are very perceptive
, and to a large extent I must agree with your analysis. In fact, the key to beating a player with my method, as Mr. Kasparov would no doubt attest, is first to establish a rock solid defense and then to think about offense only as the opportunities present themselves. Forgetting your defensive base is always fatal for the very reason that I am working constantly on so many angles of attack, and one of the angles is always ready to strike." David reached out and moved his remaining bishop diagonally back two spaces from its forward position. The move blocked her queen's path to his king and accomplished more. "Checkmate."

Svetlana examined the board carefully, mentally moving several pieces, unwilling to accept defeat. But he
r opponent had not missed anything. "Are you this good at everything you do?" she asked.

David shifted uncomfortably, not expecting this sudden sexual innuendo and very suspicious of her motives. "I think your husband will be back soon," he said as he stood and took his cup into the kitchen for more tea.

Svetlana smiled and shook her head.