Blood Covenent, page 4
Rachel examined the dour structure. It seemed old and dusty like much of Russia. It was one of the first buildings built in 1946 after Stalin decided to embark on a nuclear weapon program. After thirty years in a harsh climate and no real maintenance besides the forest attempting to reclaim as much as possible of the town, Building 70 seemed to lean to one side. The reinforced wood frame had never been properly set on frost footings for the harsh winter. Time and gravity were steadily pulling it down.
“Comrade Major, one last question,” she said as she stepped into the brisk wind.
“Yes,” he asked, his eyes going cold again. Was there no decency in this man?
“What do you get out of this?” she waved her hands at the building.
He stared at her for a moment, then asked quietly, “Why am I bringing a Jewess to see her brother? Isn’t that the real question?”
“Yes.”
“You may find this difficult to believe, but even the KGB has a sense of honor. David earned this perk. He has supplied us with a weapon to cause the West to rethink any aggressive actions. The perfect weapon.”
“What kind of weapon?”
Yevgeny wagged his finger at her. “That would be telling.”
“But you don’t let any of us leave the country,” she protested.
“For your own protection.”
“Of course,” she demurred and followed him inside the building. Chivalry had not made it to the ranks of the KGB. They rode the elevator to the second floor and David’s lab.
Yevgeny did not exit the elevator. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow after lunch. Enjoy your time.” The elevator door rumbled shut.
It was difficult to determine if the corridor she was standing in was colder than the outside. The wind whistled through gaps in the wooden sideboards, and there was evidence of frost on the slats. The paint flaked off the interior walls and an ancient radiator rattled at the far end. It was cold to the touch.
David emerged from his lab and found a woman examining his corridor. Her back was to him and there was something vaguely familiar about the way she held herself. He squinted and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Yes?”
Rachel turned to find a stooped, graying man standing just outside a door. His hands were planted on his hips. At first, she thought it was her father, Joseph, and then she realized it was David. The brown haired, wiry boy of her youth was lost only to memory and fading photographs. A sunken and aged man stooped before her, his skin yellow, his eyes watery, and his posture wavering. Her brother was an old man!
He squinted harder and slowly the identity of the woman standing before him occurred to him. How? Here in this place where the unthinkable was constantly reengineered, and the unbelievable made to happen—even here, how could Rachel be here?
“Rachel?” he whispered. He searched his memory and decided the last time he had seen her was in the summer of ‘60 or ’61.
She bobbed her head. “David. You remember me?”
He took a step forward opening his arms. “Can it really be you?”
She stepped forward into his arms and pulled him close. It came to her they were strangers. Her big brother was gone. She clung to a man with a life unknown to her.
“They came and got me two days ago,” she explained.
“Just like that?” he queried.
“Just like that.”
* * * *
Yevgeny stepped into a windowless room. Two KGB soldiers barred the door. The interior was a treasure trove of cameras, monitors, and listening devices. Arzamas-16 was monitored from space by American satellites, but KGB officers watched it from the ground.
Andre Sakarov, the father of the Soviet hydrogen bomb, taught them a difficult lesson. The development of an offensive weapon’s capacity for the express purpose of devastating a civilian population was not something rational human beings could contemplate for their entire lives. After exploding a fifty-megaton weapon in 1961, Sakarov began to move away from the goal of nuclear superiority. The cities were closed. The Soviets feared both the internal problems associated with the work and the external problems related to their enemies.
There were no working cameras in David’s lab. He had used spray paint to destroy all photo lenses. They relied on microphones built into the walls. David’s microphones burned out at an exceptionally high rate. TheJew knew they listened, and he had developed some sort of frequency bomb to cook the receivers every so often. So far, they had been unsuccessful in finding what he was using. Too many things in the lab were beyond the comprehension of the watchers. Many were afraid to disrupt his experiments.
Yevgeny listened for a while to the banal banter between brother and sister. TheJew was an enigma to Yevgeny. The bomb’s design was revolutionary in its simplicity. The bomb’s yield efficiency was substantially higher than the expected .1 kiloton. The firmware written to the PROM was a complex code set written in machine language using an assembler for the 8080 microprocessor.
Itbothered the KGB Chairman in his third floor office at Dzerzhinsky Square
that no one understood David’s code. Whatbothered the chairman ultimatelyterrified Yevgeny, but for vastly different reasons. Yevgeny knew he would have to carefully evaluate any report he proffered from this encounter.
The entire project to develop a man portable nuclear weapon was officially run through the KGB’s First Chief Directorate responsible for foreign operations. Everything connected to the project went directly to the Chairman’s Office. It was questionable whether the Strategic Rocket Forces even knew such a series of devices had been manufactured.
* * * *
Yevgeny remembered the night he explained: “They have no idea what theJew wrote. They sat around the table grunting like pigs afraid to admit theJew knows more than they do.”
Iurii I. Andropov, Chairman of the KGB, member of the Politburo and someday General Secretary of the Communist Party, rose up from behind his desk smashing a fist down on the blotter. “Are you telling me, Major, we have taken receipt of 125 nuclear weapons and we aren’t sure how they work?”
Yevgeny snapped crisply to attention. The Deputy Chairman in charge of the First Chief Directorate examined the officer with some amusement. Usually the soft-spoken chairman and possibly the third most powerful man in the Soviet Empire tempered his anger. Tonight, when he had secretly storedhis weapons in five separate storage depots, he did not wish to hear about theJew who knew more than his White Russian scientists.
“They don’t understand the code,” explained Yevgeny. “But the test explosions were fantastic. His yield is somewhere over two kilotons. A two-thousand-percent gain over expectations.” When in doubt, always quote statistics. Russian’s seemed to love numbers and these numbers even meant something.
In a few short years, Andropov would succeed Brezhnev, as General Secretary of the Communist Party, and de facto leader of the Soviet Union. The inner workings of the Politburo remained a mystery to Western intelligence, and many believed Andropov would use his voluminous files to bully his way to the top. Soviets did not fear blackmail; it was a weapon to be used against the West. Russians feared raw, naked power. One hundred twenty-five nuclear weapons made Andropov a superpower within a superpower.
He walked across the room to the window and stared into the snowflakes blowing through the night air. Never turning from the natural fury of a Moscow winter night, Andropov ordered: “Major, I want to know what yourJew knows. Someday we’ll need to use those weapons.” He could see the spires from St. Basil’s Cathedral behind Red Square. To his right the spires of the Kremlin itself. Russians had been ruled by kings of one sort or another for eight hundred years, Andropov intended to be thenext one .
He turned back towards his audience and was pleased to see the sweat spots forming under Yevgeny’s armpits. “I want no surprises, Major. I want to be sure thisJew has done exactly what we believe he has done.”
Yevgeny snapped his heels together and saluted.
* * * *
Six weeks later, he lit cigarette after cigarette listening to two Jews catch up on fifteen years of neglect. If David had something to hide, every psychological profile indicated he would tell his sister. He glanced over to the watch officer. “The mobile units are ready?”
“Yes, comrade Major.”
Yevgeny took another drag on his cigarette and waited impatiently.
* * * *
David looked past Rachel and around his lab. He pulled one of his notebooks towards him and wrote: THE WALLS HAVE EARS. He spun the notebook around for Rachel to read. Her eyes widened with shock, then understanding. Everything had ears in the Soviet Union. The KGB alone had over seven hundred thousand uniformed border and security guards. The number of informants ran well into the millions.
“Come, let me take you to my flat. It’s much more comfortable there.” He considered frying Yevgeny’s microphones, but thought better of the idea when he saw Rachel pulling her thin coat on.
“Would you like a new coat—something from Sweden or America?” he asked.
“Who wouldn’t?” she quipped.
“Let’s go get you one,” he offered.
Rachel laughed. “David, I have no idea where we are, but there aren’t any commissaries here.”
David wagged a finger as he pulled his leather jacket on. “That’s where you’re wrong, little sister. We have everything. Stereo systems with direct drive turntables and hundred-watt speakers, wide screen color televisions, and all the Western music you could possibly want.” He never mentioned there was nothing to watch on television besides the state sponsored lies.
“I’ve never really used it for much, and I know there is a great deal of money sitting in my account. Besides, I’ve done great things for them. They’ll deny me nothing,” he boasted publicly for Yevgeny to hear. Privately, he considered what they wanted to hear. Someone must suspect trickery regardingSAMSON . They expected him to tell Rachel something—a fairy tale perhaps.
They shuffled through the door and down the steps. “What do they call this place, David?”
He pursed his lips and waited until they broke through the doorway into the chilled afternoon sun. He saw the gray van parked a block away. Were they so stupid as to believe he would not recognize a mobile listening post? Abruptly, they turned from the van and walked away from his apartment and the commissary.
They took another sharp turn before he replied quietly: “Arzamas-16.”
“What?”
“This place is called Arzamas-16.” He had a few minutes before the jailers realized what he was doing. A few precious minutes to tell Rachel something.
“Rachel,” he rasped. They turned down the backside of a building weaving through a snow-strewn alley.
“Yes.”
“Someday, you must leave Russia.”
She shook her head. “It’s not possible—”
He grabbed her arm tightly as they kept walking. His tone left the lighthearted banter behind and responded chillingly. “You must find a way to leave—forever!” he said harshly.
Rachel continued walking. Some sense of their nights with Joseph at the dinner table, and her innate understanding about David told her to keep walking. “They sent you here in hopes I would tell you something.”
Rachel nodded numbly, “Yes.”
“They want to know aboutSAMSON ,” he continued.
“Samson?” What did that story have to do with this hurried walk through the cold?
“I builtSAMSON . It’s a bomb. Do you understand the kind of things we build here at Arzamas-16?”
“No, David.” She shook her head.
They turned again. The gray listening van was nowhere in sight.
* * * *
“What do you mean you lost him?” snapped Yevgeny.
“Comrade, he turned the wrong way. By the time we got ourselves righted he was gone,” explained the crackling voice.
Yevgeny ground out a cigarette and said heatedly, “If you don’t wish to be guarding the Arctic Circle against Polar Bears, you’d better find them fast!”
Deep inside Yevgeny realized theJew knew something. Andropov’s concerns were genuine. What game had theJew embarked on?
* * * *
David turned again, his breath coming in heavy clouds. His entire body shivered in the cold. Five years ago, the cloudy April day would have not bothered him. He ignored his discomfort.
“We build weapons designed to kill thousands or millions of people. That’s what I do. That’s the deal I’ve made with them. In exchange, they make sure you, your family, and our parents live in some comfort.”
“Hostages?” she muttered. Joseph’s lectures rang true again.
“Yes, hostages for my good behavior. Now listen carefully. Never repeat this to anyone until you leave Russia for good.”
“And where would we go?”
“Israel,” he replied. The only place for Jews to go was Israel.
“A dream, David.”
He tightened his grip and shook his head simultaneously. “SAMSONwill die some day, and when it dies it will kill many Russians. We will have our revenge. But you must leave.”
“What are you saying?”
“In death,Samson killed more than in life!” he whispered harshly. “I’ve made it a long fuse. Longer than these chess mad Russians would ever guess. You’ve got twenty years to get out.”
Rachel shook her head again. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course,” he said quickly. “It’s better you never understand, but rememberSAMSON andDAGON . Never forget!SAMSON andDAGON !” His hand trembled on her elbow.
“All right.” She was unsure what she knew.
They emerged onto the street behind the gray van and David pointed towards the Bell Tower in the distance.
* * * *
Yarovitsin stared at the speaker. TheJew was giving his sister a history lesson on the Russian Orthodox Monastery in the old part of town. Who cared about the Mordovian Forests or the Sarov Hermitage? TheJew knew something! He looked at the wall clock. They had been out of contact for six minutes. He shook his head. What could theJew possibly tell an untrained librarian about man portable nuclear weapons in six minutes? The best brains in the Soviet Union did not understand his weapon, but could this woman of thirty-eight and mother of two possibly understand?
CHAPTER 4
Kremlin, Moscow, USSR
September 3, 1983
General Secretary Andropov snapped off the television beaming images from CNN. Three days ago, General Anatoly Kornukov, commander of Sakalin Island’s Air Defense Base, ordered the shooting down of Korean Airlines Flight 007 over the Kamchatka Peninsula. Andropov was not overly concerned about 269 people spiraling towards the ocean for twelve minutes on the mortally wounded Boeing 747 jumbo jet, nor did the presence of an American Congressman on the passenger manifest disturb him. He had served as KGB Chairman orchestrating a violent and vicious repression euphemistically referred to asstate security .
On his desk was the progress report from a source inside the White Sands Missile Range concerning the Pershing II Missile. It described the Pershing II as the most accurate ground-to-ground missile ever developed by the United States Army. The old enemy was invigorated by a Hollywood actor playing president. They might have prevented Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan from continuing with the deployment of the Pershing II in Western Europe, but KAL 007 changed everything.
The Pershing II was a counterforce weapon to the SS-20 missiles spread across forty-eight bases in western Russia. The SS-20 was an intermediate range weapon designed to launch on warning, and it was capable of devastating the battlefield between east and west. Andropov truly feared the Pershing II. It was an extremely accurate weapon using America’s evolving chip technology and radar enhanced terrain-guidance maps to fly to their targets.
Instead of retreating into their isolationist shell, Reagan shook off the Iranian hostage crisis and produced an instant success in his first days as President. The easy days of dealing with a myopic Carter were gone. No matter how they spread disinformation regarding Reagan’s positions, he did not slide from one position to another as so many American politicians. He continued to state categorically his basic message. He believed the Soviet Union would end up on the ash heap of history.
KAL 007 shattered the carefully nurtured nuclear freeze movement. The real problem was understanding what this cowboy from the American movies would do. His anger was palpable, but would he go to war over some unfortunate Koreans? Andropov was convinced nothing would deter Reagan from deploying the Pershing II across Europe. KAL 007 made that an uncomfortable reality.
It did not matter that he had opposed the Afghan misadventure and the Polish crackdown. Soviet troops were committed to an ever-widening morass in Afghanistan, and any goodwill engendered through grain deals was washed away with the 747’s debris. Freeze-frame photos of bloated bodies bobbing on international waters, and the western aversion to violence against children destroyed Andropov’s carefully crafted image of reasonableness.
The door to his study opened and closed. He turned to examine the Major standing in the foyer of his office suite. Night fell again on Moscow. Darkness was better for this sort of work.
“Major Yarovitsin, it’s good to see you again.” He walked across the room and waved to a sofa and chairs.
Major Yevgeny Yarovitsin walked crisply across the room. He stood in the center of Soviet power. He wondered what brought about this audience.
Andropov poured tea into two glasses and asked: “Sugar?”
“Please.”
They settled into a pair of chairs. Yevgeny waited expectantly for some explanation.
Andropov sipped his tea and pushed a button on the arm of his chair. The television snapped on. CNN’s European channel came into focus after a few seconds. The story concerning Korean relatives visiting the wreckage was playing.
“Do you know what happened here?”
Yevgeny looked from the set to Andropov. “We shot down a civilian airliner.”
