The Soviet Comeback by Jamie Smith (best ereader for academics TXT) 📕

be in direct contravention of the Brezhnev Doctrine’s principle of ‘Never Letting Go’, it is unlikely that they would seek to undo so much of the progress we have made in cordial relations with the Politburo. However, the SE department is seeing increased activity through the East-European satellite states, particularly in Czechoslovakia, Hungary and Lithuania. We request the aid of the Soviet Counter-intelligence Branch in investigating mercenary activity from hard-line Soviet communists.

One figure, identity unknown, was seen in Odessa, Texas on the day of the death of Secretary of Defense Simon Conlan. Although identity is unknown, it is an individual we know to have links to the KGB and is a suspected rogue KGB agent. It is suspected that he may either be, or at least has links to the assassin, code name The White Russian.

 

REPORT COMPILED BY SOVIET-EAST DIVISION.

ZB.

Nikita turned the page over and saw that the second page was a grainy A4 photo. It was black and white and the numbers in the corner combined with the low quality of the image suggested that it was a freeze frame from closed circuit television footage. The image was taken on a dark street with which he was unfamiliar, but the figure at the centre of the image was unmistakable — the handsome face with high cheekbones and mouth curled in a perpetual half smile laced with contempt. Agent Taras Brishnov. On the back of the photo had been scrawled, ‘Captured in central Odessa, Texas. March 21, 1987.’

He turned to the next page and saw that it was another photo. This one was of better quality and looked to have been taken with a long lens camera. It showed Brishnov, this time much more clearly and several years younger, dressed in the KGB uniform of the long grey coat belted in gold at the waist, and a matching grey ushanka. Long black leather boots disappeared up underneath the long coat, while his hands were hidden under black leather gloves. He was shaking hands with the imposing form of former Soviet General Secretary Leonid Brezhnev with his hunched shoulders and thick, slug-like eyebrows. Alongside them stood Viktor Yerin, looking no younger and no less serious, but somehow less disapproving. Behind them the crimson flag fluttered boldly, the golden star, hammer and sickle clearly visible in what must have been a stiff breeze.

Nikita let out a low hiss, put the photo down and closed the folder. He then opened it and inspected it all once more. He looked at the face of his fellow KGB agent from the dark hair, taking in the scar and the straight nose down to the firm jaw, to the dead eyes. He absorbed everything about the man who he despised but who had saved his life. The man he must now burn.

It was incredible that a man who had been operating within the KGB since the days of Brezhnev (replaced back in 1982 following his death) and had completed countless missions both foreign and domestic, had kept his identity completely unknown until now. For that, Nikita had to admire him. After being a fully-fledged KGB agent for little more than a year, a trail of breadcrumbs already led to his existence as an agent even if his identity remained hidden. Yet Brishnov had remained under the radar of even the CIA agents embedded within both Brishnov and Petrenko’s inner circles, a feat for which he commanded respect.

Surveying the report once more, his eyes landed on the letters at the bottom of the document. ZB.

Were they the initials of the other high-level Soviet asset operating within the CIA? If he was going to be liaising with him, why had Klitchkov been so cagey about the identity of other operatives? Perhaps they were not initials, but a departmental acronym unfamiliar to him.

He picked up the file and walked over to Chang, cursing that it was her that had been assigned the role of researcher on the case of the White Russian. She was gazing intently at her screen on which were microfilms of newspaper cuttings that he could not see clearly from where he stood. Behind the computer was a large cork board on which were pinned more newspaper clippings and photos of people that were hauntingly familiar to him. It represented a photo album of his US assassinations and it felt uncomfortable seeing it so brazenly in front of him.

He averted his gaze and threw himself down in the chair next to her.

She looked up and smiled awkwardly.

“How’s the head?” he asked, smiling.

She looked around nervously. “Not too bad. Everything OK? You never come over to my desk.”

“Well for some reason I thought today maybe the rules had changed a little,” he replied coyly.

She frowned at him and whispered angrily, “Why are you talking like this in the office?”

“OK, chill out,” he said, holding his hands up defensively, which only seemed to serve to agitate her further. He lifted the file in front of her. “I may have something that could bring us a little closer to the White Russian.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh really?” she said in a voice dripping with cynicism. She waved a hand at the photos and clippings on the board. “Because if you can see anything in these deaths to link us to a Soviet assassin, you’re a far better analyst than me.”

I can’t take too much credit, but the guys over at SE seem to have a theory.”

“The SE are coming to us with a theory?” she said disbelievingly.

“More than a theory actually, there’s a solid lead to pursue here. I guess they’re pretty swamped with all the activity in the Eastern Bloc at the moment. I hear Hungary is on the verge of another revolution.”

She grabbed the file from his hand and skimmed across the report before looking at the two images.

“It’s tenuous. Barely a