The Man from Leningrad Read online

  Despite the KGB’s secretive methods, Darya always knew when she was being watched. She rarely experienced a moment where she didn’t fear that someone was making note of her conversations and reporting it to a KGB officer somewhere. Enjoying such freedom was a privilege she could scarcely imagine but longed to experience one day.

  After her meeting with Alexsandr in the prison, Darya returned home and waited until midnight before peeking outside the window from the third floor of her apartment building. Just beyond the glow of the street lamp, she noticed the silhouette of a man casually smoking, his back against the wall of a building on the opposite side of the street. She was convinced he was waiting for her, hoping to catch her sneaking outside and following her wherever she went. It was the only plausible reason why the KGB would allow her to visit her brother. And as much as she wanted to wait, she knew she couldn’t. The urgency in Alexsandr’s voice was almost palpable.

  At 1:00 a.m., she peeked again and noticed the man was still there smoking. She would have to be discreet and exit through the back alley. Alexsandr’s apartment was only a few blocks away and was likely being watched too. But she’d snuck in the back entrance enough times to know how to avoid being seen. Avoiding an initial tail was the biggest challenge.

  Darya stuffed her curly brown locks up into a fedora that Alexsandr had left at her apartment once and threw on a trench coat. She had one pair of pants and flat-bottomed shoes that she also donned for the occasion. While the plan wasn’t foolproof, she hoped to look enough like a man in the shadows that the KGB agent wouldn’t follow her. Satisfied that her silhouette could pass as a man’s, she practiced walking, trying to appear more masculine. After a few minutes, she was convinced she could pull off the ruse and headed downstairs before exiting into the alley.

  Keeping her head down, she walked the streets and stole a few glances over her shoulder. If anyone was following her, she couldn’t tell.

  Slipping into a back entrance, she climbed the stairs to the fifth floor where her brother’s apartment was. She felt on top of the doorjamb for the hidden key and used it to unlock the door. Once inside, she maneuvered to the kitchen where Alexsandr kept his flashlight for when the power blacked out like it frequently did for no discernible reason. Illuminating the room, she saw the KGB had already made an attempt to recover damning evidence. The fact that Alexsandr was allowed to speak with her meant that the KGB hadn’t found it.

  She went over to the bookshelf, which had been tossed as well. Kneeling down, she began sifting through the books until she found the book her brother had mentioned, A Hero for Our Time. She smiled as she thought about how appropriate that title was for Alexsandr. He was indeed up to something, though she wasn’t sure what.

  When she picked up the book, it felt oddly weighted. Holding her flashlight steady with one hand, she opened the cover to discover that the inside had been hollowed out. Inside were folded documents stuffed tightly into the compartment.

  With wide eyes, she opened several of the papers and started reading. Her jaw went slack after a few seconds. Satisfied that she understood the nature of what her brother had unearthed, she reorganized the papers and returned them to the book. She pondered what to do with it—stash it somewhere else in the apartment and risk having them find it upon a more thorough search or take the evidence home with her and place it in a more secure spot. She opted for the latter.

  After tucking the book inside the pocket of her coat, she returned the flashlight to its normal location and then exited the apartment. Careful to put the key back in its proper hiding spot after locking the door, she eased down the back stairwell and out of the building. She scoped out the area and was convinced that no one had followed her or was watching Alexsandr’s apartment.

  With a sigh of relief, she began her short walk home.

  However, she had gone no more than a block before she rounded a corner and ran into a man smoking a cigarette. The collision startled Darya, and she staggered backward before tumbling to the ground. As she did, her trench coat fell open, and the book fell out.

  The man knelt and picked up the book, ignoring Darya’s spill.

  “Hello, Ms. Zhirkov,” he said, his eyes fixated on the book.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Do I know you?”

  He waved at her dismissively before stamping out his cigarette. Picking up the book, he flipped it open and then smiled.“What have we here?”

  Chapter VI

  MADDUX STRUGGLED TO REMAIN calm as his father didn’t need more than twenty moves to claim the victory. The sound thrashing shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise to Maddux. He had suffered similar defeats his whole life growing up playing the man seated across the board known as John Hambrick. But there was still a slight sting for Maddux, reminding him that he still wasn’t capable of winning against his chess mentor.

  “Check mate,” Hambrick said as he put his hands on his hips and grinned. “I was really hoping you would’ve given me a better game, but apparently, that isn’t possible.”

  “Perhaps you need more challenging competition,” Maddux said.

  Hambrick shrugged.“It was probably just my day.”

  He stood and excused himself, announcing that he needed to visit the restroom before playing another match.

  Maddux claimed that he also needed to take a trip to the men’s room before continuing and followed Hambrick through the maze of tables and chairs until they reached the corridor. After stopping to get water from a drinking fountain, Maddux slowed his pace before easing inside and then claiming the urinal next to Hambrick.

  “In all my wildest dreams. . .” Maddux began before halting his thought.

  Hambrick held his right index finger tightly against his lips.

  Once the two men finished, they both flushed. Maddux then zipped up his pants before sliding in front of Hambrick’s path.

  “I never thought I’d see you again,” Maddux whispered before hugging his father.

  Hambrick reciprocated with a quick hug, slapping his son on the back a couple of times before withdrawing.“You don’t know how many times I wanted to let you know what had happened,” Hambrick said. “It’s just that—”

  “Why didn’t you? Mom knew, something I recently learned. And ever since, I’ve been trying to track you down.”

  “I know,” Hambrick said. “People told me what you were doing, which made things even more difficult for me. I wanted you to know too, but I just couldn’t tell you. If you knew what really happened, I knew that you would . . .”

  Hambrick paused before taking a deep breath and scanning the restroom.

  “You knew that I’d what?” Maddux asked. “Come looking for you? Well, congratulations. Whether I knew what was happening or not, you should’ve assumed that I would try to find you. You think I would just let something like this go?”

  Hambrick closed his eyes and sighed before responding. “I know you won’t like this, but I didn’t really have a choice. This mission was too important for me to risk you hunting me down in the middle of Russia.”

  “Yet here I am,” Maddux said, his eyes locked on his father.

  Hambrick looked down at his feet, scuffing at the floor.“I love you—and that’s why I did what I did. Right now that might be difficult to comprehend, but this wasn’t some kneejerk reaction to what was going on at the time. I was approached by someone at the agency, and they made a compelling pitch. And I never would’ve gone without your mother’s permission. You were out of the house, and I just thought—”

  “You thought what? That I wouldn’t care? That I wouldn’t wonder? That I wouldn’t stop thinking about why you supposedly jumped off that bridge?”

  “Look, Eddie, don’t be like that. You don’t understand what’s going on here.”

  Maddux narrowed his eyes.“Was it really worth everything you sacrificed?”

  Hambrick shrugged.“That remains to be seen. But I did it because I love you and your mother. Everything I’ve done is for the
people I care about—and the countless others who want to enjoy a lifetime of the freedom. Without people willing to make great sacrifices, we would still be living beneath an oppressive regime. It’s engrained in the fabric of our nation’s birth.”

  “I just would’ve wanted to know the truth instead of spending the rest of my life wondering if I could’ve done something or said something different. That’s all.”

  “I know, son. I wanted to tell you for so long. I begged my handlers to let me send you a letter, but they warned against it, reasoning that I had come too far to blow the true nature of my defection on a letter to my son.”

  Maddux sighed and shook his head, dismayed at his father’s response.“It would’ve meant the world to me.”

  Hambrick nodded.“I know it would have, but it also could’ve been the death of my operation—and quite possibly my own death as well. I should’ve persisted more, but sometimes you just accept an explanation and move on.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter because here I am.”

  “I know—and now I have to leave or else people will come looking for me and we’ll both be caught. Just be careful and know that I’ve always had your best interest at heart.”

  “But there’s so much I want to tell you.”

  Hambrick patted Maddux firmly on his bicep.

  “Another time, son,” Hambrick said as he strode toward the door. Then he stopped and spun around. “Keep working on your chess game.”

  And after a coy wink, Hambrick yanked on the doorknob and exited the restroom.

  Maddux hustled over to the door when he overheard several men approaching his father in the hallway. Easing near the door, Maddux eavesdropped on the conversation.

  “We intercepted some documents that Zhirkov’s sister retrieved from her brother’s apartment,” one of the Russians said.

  “Are you sure?” Hambrick asked. “Zhirkov always seemed trustworthy to me.”

  “You can never be sure in this age,” another Russian said.

  “How are we to proceed?” Hambrick asked.

  “General Sokolov is moving up the launch date,” another man said.

  “He can’t do that,” Hambrick protested. “We’re not ready. What if there’s retaliation?”

  “That will be your problem, especially since he’s ordered you to return to headquarters in Moscow to get everything operational.”

  “Where is Zhirkov’s sister?” Hambrick asked.

  “Darya was detained by the KGB and is being held in the women’s wing at the Kresty Prison.”

  “And she knows all about these plans?”

  “We think so.”

  “But did she tell anyone about them?” Hambrick asked.

  “It’s believed that she didn’t tell anyone about them.” The man paused before continuing. “Why are you so interested in Zhirkov’s sister?”

  “I just want to be able to make my case to General Sokolov,” Hambrick said. “I need more time. And if she didn’t tell anyone and is being held at Kresty, there’s no reason to expedite the timetable.”

  Maddux put his shoulder into the bathroom door, pushing it open and stumbling into the middle of the conversation. Everyone stopped and stared at him.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please, carry on.”

  He caught his father casting a sideways glance, maintaining the ruse that he held the outsider suspect.

  But Maddux knew it was all an act. Even his father’s final line of questioning was for informational purposes. Straight from the horse’s mouth, Maddux learned who he needed to talk to and where she was being held.

  Maddux looked over his shoulder one final time as he strode down the hallway—and everyone was still eyeing him suspiciously.

  Thanks, Dad. Thank you very much.

  Chapter VII

  WITH ZHIRKOV’S WHEREABOUTS unknown, Maddux had nowhere to begin when it came to determining what was happening. The conversation Maddux overheard his father having with several other Soviet officials—a conversation Maddux knew was held just outside the door for his benefit—created a tenuous lead. But given his current situation, Maddux wasn’t complaining. He needed to know what the Soviets were planning if he wanted to give the U.S. a chance to stop it. Apparently, Zhirkov’s sister provided that fledgling opportunity. However, Maddux knew nothing about Kresty Prison or if breaking in was even possible.

  Using backchannels to communicate with Bonn, Maddux sent a message to Pritchett that he needed to arrange a meeting with a trustworthy CIA asset in Leningrad. Maddux was scheduled to return home in three days and needed to work quickly to uncover any information.

  Early the next morning, Maddux awoke to a phone call containing a coded message about the arranged meeting. Once he decoded everything, Maddux stared at the note: 8:00 a.m. on the westbound platform at the Dostoevskaya stop on the Leningrad Metro. Maddux’s contact would be wearing a red pocket square and would conduct a brush pass, revealing a meeting place with an asset later that day.

  Maddux rushed into the shower to prepare and pondered how the rest of his day would play out. The espionage machine sometimes moved painfully slow for his liking—and this was one of those moments. Instead of wasting valuable time getting messages, Maddux wanted to take action. While listening to the conversation between his father and the other Soviets, Maddux learned the impending attack was going to escalate the Cold War, if not ending it altogether and igniting an actual conflict. Preventing such an attack and subsequently a clash between the world’s two superpowers was one of the primary reasons the CIA existed. And Maddux felt the weight of such responsibility. From here on out, every move was critical—and there was no room for error.

  A half hour later, Maddux smoothed his tie along the front of his chest before donning his fedora. With his briefcase in one hand, he pulled his hotel door shut with the other and then locked it. He walked along the bustling streets of Leningrad, falling in line with the steady stream of workers plodding along to their daily jobs. Fighting against the urge to run, Maddux tried to remain calm and composed as he headed toward the Dostoevskaya station.

  Once he paid his fare and passed through the turnstiles, the pace inside was a little more frenetic, much to Maddux’s delight. A quickened gait didn’t attract any unwanted attention like it would have on the street. Weaving his way through the people jockeying for position to board the next train, Maddux found a spot against the wall where he could survey the chaos and search for the man with the red pocket square.

  Maddux checked his watch and scanned the scores of people gliding along in search of an opening to board the train. Still nothing.

  At one minute before 8:00 a.m., a train came to a halt inside the station. The brakes hissed as the doors slid open. Passengers attempting to exit were faced with the daunting task of swimming against the incoming tide of workers fighting to claim a small space to stand on board. While large men bulled their way through to emerge from the cluster at the door, smaller people struggled to escape.

  The man with the red pocket square didn’t ram his way through nor did he squeeze out. Maddux noted how the approaching flood of people seemed to willingly part in front of the man, allowing him to emerge unruffled. As soon as he was identified as the target, Maddux strolled toward him, making only brief eye contact. The glance should have been enough to identify himself to the man, but Maddux wasn’t sure. He never was when it came to making a brush pass. Maddux had a recurring nightmare that a brush pass eroded into a tug of war over a briefcase and an accusation of theft. It was an unfounded fear, yet one he couldn’t shake.

  Maddux remained stoic, shielding his eyes by keeping his head tilted down. With a quick look up, he realized he was only three steps away from making the swap.

  Deep breath, Ed.

  He relaxed his grip on the handle of his briefcase and aligned it with the same height as the approaching man’s.

  The exchange was flawless. Maddux continued walking with his new briefcase. He sau
ntered down the platform and found a group of passengers forming to await the opening of the doors for the next scheduled train. Nearly a half a minute passed before Maddux spun around to survey the area. When he did, he noticed two men leaning up against the wall and studying the crowd over the tops of their newspapers. But the man with the red pocket square was nowhere to be seen.

  Moments later, the next train stormed into the station. Maddux boarded it and headed to his morning meeting at Protek.

  * * *

  MADDUX CHECKED the address on the note he received from the man with the red pocket square one final time before crossing the street into Spetsialnoe, the vodka den located along one of Leningrad’s scenic canals downtown. After checking his hat and coat, he settled onto a seat at the bar and then scoped out the room.

  In the far corner, a pot-bellied man poured another shot from the nearly empty bottle of vodka on his table. His eyes were glazed over, and he tottered as he attempted to put down his glass. Directly across from him were a woman and a man who appeared to be on a date, both staring at one another longingly over a candlelit table. While the bar was lined was disinterested men well on their way to drowning away their misery, there remained only one other man of note who was seated against the far wall. He wore a suit and tie and read the newspaper. However, Maddux noticed that he would look up frequently, scanning the rest of the establishment before glancing back down.

  Gotta keep an eye on that guy.

  Five minutes after Maddux took a seat, a man approached him and asked if he could have a seat on the adjacent empty stool. Maddux nodded and gestured for the man to sit down.

  “Are we clear?” the man asked in Russian.

  Maddux nodded and poured a shot into his glass.