Page 87 of Cry Havoc (Tom Reece #1)

GRU Headquarters

Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic

MIKHAIL LAVRINENKO SAT IN silence. His caviar and spoon untouched before him on his desk.

Penkovsky was in his usual chair, waiting for the cue from his superior that it was appropriate to begin discussions.

Lavrinenko knew when to rely on wiser subordinates. It was one of the things that differentiated him from others in Moscow, those who surrounded themselves with intellectually inferior staff and executives as a way to protect their territory. That fact alone made Lavrinenko exceedingly dangerous.

“You were right, Anatoly, Major Dvornikov should have stayed in Hanoi where he belonged.”

“No, Director, he needed to meet with his asset, though perhaps he should have done so in Paris.”

Lavrinenko grunted in response.

“His capture puts us in a perilous situation,” Lavrinenko continued.

“I do not assess him as someone who will remain silent under pressure. And who knows what mind-altering substances the CIA will administer. The sooner we get him back, the better. We can then ascertain the depth of the breach. Do you have a list detailing the information and projects he could potentially compromise?”

“I do,” Penkovsky said, handing the director a file.

Lavrinenko set it on his desk, unopened.

“And at the top of that list is the POW program?”

“That is correct, Director. We must assume that Major Dvornikov has, or will, reveal it to the CIA. We must also assume that our network of assets in Saigon has been exposed.”

“They will, of course, propose a trade; Dvornikov for the American POWs.”

“That is probable,” Penkovsky said.

“If we admit to having them, it poses difficulties not just for Soviet-U.S. relations, but also for us here at the GRU.”

Lavrinenko did not need to state the obvious—that the Politburo might decide to sacrifice, and even disappear, GRU leadership responsible for the failure.

“I think there is a way out of this, Director.”

“Yes?”

“We deny the existence of the POW program. We tell the Americans it is the crazy rantings of a GRU officer willing to say anything to save himself.”

“We still need him back.”

“Yes. And to get him, we give the Americans something they desperately need.”

“And what is that?”

“An end to the Pueblo incident.”

A slight smile crept to the corner of Lavrinenko’s mouth as his deputy offered him a lifeline.

“Continue.”

“We propose a trade. The crew of the USS Pueblo for Major Dvornikov. The Pueblo’s crew has been captive for over six months.

I have been reading the interrogation reports from Korea.

The captain and his crew have outlived their usefulness to us and the DPRK.

We have successfully reverse engineered their cipher machines and are using them to collect what the Americans believe are secure communications across the globe.

And the Koreans have wrung them dry for internal propaganda purposes.

They have all signed coerced confessions. The timing could not be better.”

Lavrinenko rolled his fat knuckles across his desk, thinking through potential fallout.

“We also have two sources of keying material from Desmond and Walker in the United States,” Penkovsky reported. “We shift the focus off Major Dvornikov’s information regarding U.S. POWs in Siberia and redirect with promises of solving their most pressing international dilemma—that of the Pueblo.”

“And timing?”

“That is where we demand stipulations. The Americans release Major Dvornikov now, and then in a few months the Koreans release the Pueblo crew. There cannot be a repeat of the public negotiations that took place with the Gary Powers and Rudolf Abel exchange in ’62.

No press. No media. We get Dvornikov now quietly.

Then, before the end of the year, the Pueblo crew is released with great fanfare framed as a victory of international diplomacy. ”

“And why would the Americans release Major Dvornikov before they have the crew of the Pueblo?”

“For a variety of reasons, Director, not the least of which is they need the crew of the Pueblo more than we need Major Dvornikov. They can’t afford not to take the gamble.

One man in exchange for even the possibility of getting all eighty-two men from the Pueblo back?

The Pueblo crisis has been a disaster for the administration.

They will jump at the opportunity for a trade, especially one that is kept from the public.

If the crew is released and it is not tied to a prisoner exchange, it is a diplomatic win for the Johnson administration.

A public trade negates that win and at the very least makes it look like a draw.

They will go for the foreign policy success. Trust me. I know the Americans.”

“It would save us great embarrassment,” Lavrinenko said.

Penkovsky knew there was no need to affirm the director’s statement.

“When I give up this chair to you, Anatoly, you will be a more than worthy successor. My hope is that we will then see greater cooperation between this agency and the KGB.”

“I give you my word, Director.”

“I have calls to make,” Lavrinenko said. “And, for something of this magnitude, I will be spending time at the Kremlin to garner the necessary support.”

“Of course, Director,” Penkovsky said, getting to his feet. “Is there anything else?”

“I understand there is a new opera premiering soon.”

“Yes, Director. This Friday. Khovanshchina by Mussorgsky.”

Lavrinenko leaned back in his chair.

“What draws you to the opera, Comrade? I could never quite stomach it myself.”

“My wife loved it.”

“Ah, that is where we differ. Had one of my wives loved opera, it would have guaranteed that I would hate it.”

Penkovsky laughed.

“Khovanshchina is about the death of a Tsar, is it not?” Lavrinenko asked.

“It is. Though I am surprised. You have never mentioned an interest.”

“An unfortunate by-product of working my way through the ranks, Comrade. ‘Akh, ty Rodnaya, Matushka Rus,’” he said, stating the opera’s premise from its first act. Woe to thee, native, Mother Russia.

“Impressive, Director.”

“Remind me, what does that imply?”

“That the state is not dying from actions of a foreign adversary, but from the treasonous intent of those within.”

“I remember now. There are three factions, each one believing they are in the right; each one thinking that they alone represent the true Russia.”

“Exactly, sir.”

“Enjoy it, Comrade,” Lavrinenko said, reaching for his phone in dismissal. “It is imperative for men at our level to have an outlet.”

Penkovsky made his way to the door, wondering if what he had proposed had any chance of success. As he stepped into the outer office, he found himself even more perplexed by Director Lavrinenko’s understanding of Khovanshchina.