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

that he would deal in hypotheticals. A serious man with a serious face and a serious history covering everything from US naval aviator to director of the CIA and on to the vice presidency, he dealt only in fact. Humour was for those with something to hide.

“I advise we keep it at the Capitol,” said Ed. “It will be a good reminder of the great work you’ve done as vice president in these last two terms of office. You should be able to ride the goodwill people have for Callahan all the way to the Oval Office.”

“That’s President Callahan, Ed. He deserves our respect, as does the office.” He reprimanded his campaign manager, but he knew that Ed Sheen had not enjoyed the rapid rise he had by being respectful or nice. He was a master of the dark arts, and the vice president knew he would need all of those tricks if he was to secure the Republican nomination, let alone the presidency. He was not so naïve as to think he could get there on good faith and honesty; politics was a dirty world, and he had no qualms about playing dirty to meet his ambitions.

“Ah yes, of course, Mr Vice President. No offence intended,” said Ed with thinly disguised impatience.

“None taken, young man. I agree, the Capitol reminds people that I am their vice president, a man they can trust to lead. We will only irritate reporters if we move the goalposts now, and we don’t want to start off the campaign with irritating the very people we need on our side.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s keep going; there’s a lot more we need to plan and prepare still.”

Ed clapped his hands. “You heard the VP, let’s crack on. Terry, I need to know your recommended press campaign schedule by the end of today,” he barked. “What have you got so far?”

There was a lot of scrambling around for papers and cursing, and Gerald Phillips stepped out of the room once more. He hoped the Oval Office was quiet.

***

Across town, KGB Agent Taras Brishnov was ready. Nothing had been left to chance; it would be so easy. Tingles of excitement were running through his body as he looked out over Capitol Hill. This would be his pièce de résistance; after years lurking in the shadows, he would be thrust into the spotlight and be the most celebrated KGB agent the USSR had ever known. Finally, he would get the adulation his years of service deserved; finally, there would be true fear in the heart of the capitalist west.

***

Nikita twiddled his thumbs before leaning forwards on his desk and resting his head in his hands. He wasn’t used to being caught in indecision, a state that he had been trained to avoid, a state that got spies killed.

This was a turn of events that he had not foreseen.

On the desk in front of him sat the telegram that had just been delivered from one of his few remaining legitimate US spies in the USSR.

YERIN REMOVED. COL KLITCHKOV NEW KGB HEAD. HIS CURRENT LOCATION UNKNOWN.

Not for the first time, Nikita wondered who the CIA agent in the Soviet Union was. Despite Yerin’s systematic removal of almost every single agent they had behind the iron curtain, a few still remained, providing valuable intelligence. Not being trusted with the identity of those remaining agents was something Nikita was grateful for as it meant he was supplied solid intelligence without being questioned on how he had obtained it, and meant that he would have no further blood on his hands.

Since Yerin’s dismantling of the CIA spy network, the identity of any remaining had been kept highly classified and a closely guarded secret known only to the very highest echelons of the agency. So far, the CIA continued to believe their spies had been caught due to intercepted communications and it had barely been floated as an idea that there might be a mole in their ranks. Whoever ZB was, he had done astonishing work.

With Yerin gone, he considered what it might mean for the agency and his own position. His greatest fear was that his own identity would be revealed by a Russian defector, and with Yerin ousted he might be tempted to leak state secrets.

Then he thought of Chairman Klitchkov and realised that he would never allow Yerin or his cronies to live. The Kremlin had no room for an opposition.

He picked up the telegram and walked over to Sykes’ office. Knocking on the door, he heard the chief’s voice say, “Enter.”

Sykes was sitting at his desk on the phone, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and his eyes looking more bloodshot than ever. He looked up and waved Nikita into the chair opposite him.

“… Still looking into it. Yes, Mr Secretary, as soon as there is any more information, you’ll be the first to know,” he said and rolled his eyes at Nikita. “Of course, sir, you have my word,” he said again before putting the phone down heavily. “The secretary of state is all over my ass since the FBI told him about the White Russian — blames us for letting him go to the president with it without any facts.”

“Never mind that, sir, this is bigger, and this is fact,” said Nikita and thrust the telegram onto the desk in front of his boss.

The chief took a drag on his cigarette, picked up the telegram and immediately began coughing and spluttering fitfully. He put a tissue to his mouth and after some time the coughing abated.

“Jesus, Marshall, give me some warning before you give me news like that. Yerin gone? I thought he was infallible. God knows he did a good enough job killing all of our agents. Do you know any more?”

“Nothing yet, sir — this just came in from