Welcome to the Real World, Comrade!

WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD, COMRADE!

A spy story

By George J Perham

Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2010 by George J Perham

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work. It is after all the author’s only livelihood.

WARNING MAO (Contains: Violence/Sex/Murder/Gore)

Fiction

The story that follows is a work of fiction. While real geographical locations have been used the characters, scenes, conversations and events are purely the product of the author’s imagination. The story does not in any way relate to any real people living or dead, past or present.

WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD, COMRADE!

CHAPTER 1

I had been ordered to Moscow immediately.

It was a KGB HQ Directive and could not be refused.

The Directive had come to me via Major Zhukov, K Division Director, Counter Intelligence, KGB. My immediate superior.

I had been working in K Division for nearly ten years as a KGB Signals and Telephone Intercepts Analysis Officer stationed at the Australian Desk. I had been given the Australian Desk in K Division because of my ability to fully understand, read, write and speak the English language reasonably well.

In fact I had been taught English by Australian lecturers at Murdoch University, Perth, Western Australia upon winning a three year Exchange Student Study Visa.

The scheme had been promoted at the time by an Australian Federal Labor Party government initiative for better international relations with Russia.

I had won the English language, political science and social studies exchange scholarship out of several hundred other Russian student finalists fair and square and not just because my father (now deceased) was General Uri Kharachev. A highly decorated and much respected Russian Hero of World War Two. It had been implied by some parents of disgruntled students who had missed out on this fully paid trip to the West that my father had somehow influenced the outcome. However, I had already been involved with studies of the English language at high school intending to use it as one of my credit units towards entry for a university law degree. So it was logical that someone that already had a fair understanding of, and who could actually speak basic English, would be chosen over those who couldn’t. The only involvement my father could be accused of in the whole affair was he had earlier pushed me in that direction as he felt the future would reward those who could speak English as their second language.

When I look back now on those very enjoyable years spent in Australia, I can’t help a small laugh at the irony. If the Australian Government only knew just what I was using that exchange scholarship for now!

When Major Zhukov had called me into his office he had also emphasised the urgency of the Directive and that I should waste no time at all in reporting to a General Chellenko at KGB HQ, Moscow. General Chellenko was waiting for me and he wasn’t the sort of person who liked to be kept waiting. I have yet to meet a KGB superior officer who does.

Transport to Moscow by air had been quickly arranged by my Director. I was to be taken by vehicle to a small airfield a few kilometres outside of Valeria, the township where I am stationed.

Valeria is a small one time agricultural rail-head township near the Hungarian border. Our KGB office in Valeria is really just a converted large, ugly and intimidating three story grey concrete building. It was previously used by the local Party Directorate in the days when agriculture in this area flourished. Salinity from over-fertilisation in trying desperately to please government officials on output had seen an end to that. Now it was a desert ghost town as far as agricultural industry goes. The ground had been cleared for miles in every direction for crops and now there was hardly a tree or blade of grass right to the horizon. It was supposed to be a secret that the KGB had taken over the township and its abandoned houses, but anyone still persisting in living anywhere near the district knew this building and abandoned houses were now being used by the KGB. A massive octopus style signals receiving grid had been erected covering several hectares of previous agricultural land just behind our office building. Also the heavy vetting of all visitors and necessary cartage contractors to the town by armed guards at entry points also implied on its own the town was more than just a quasi-secret area.

On arrival at the airfield I was to board a converted double seated MIG 29 Fighter Jet used now as a Trainer. Then on my arrival at Lenin Airfield, Moscow, another vehicle would be standing by to take me directly to KGB HQ. Just a street away from Red Square.

It all seemed to me to be rather rushed and therefore ominous?

I had been to KGB HQ before about ten years ago along with other KGB recruits after our initial training for final briefing lectures before postings to various KGB localities. These lectures were mostly further indoctrination and a reinforcing of what rotten skullduggery the West was up to in the World. Then I was finally posted to Valeria to start my career. I had been glad to get away from HQ. Every officer there was of very high rank, with a lot of General officers about and all looked as if they would have you shot if you even looked the wrong way. The stern scowling faces they always presented seemed as if they had all come from the same mould and had then been issued to them along with their epaulette stars.

Naturally, I was highly nervous. The Directive causing me some apprehension, as very few KGB officers who had been called back to KGB HQ in such haste were ever seen again! Some high ranking KGB officers had been recently identified as working as double agents for the West. They had given up some of our very best well placed spy’s in the West as well as their KGB ‘handlers’ abroad. Some intercepts from SIGINT Units (Signals Intelligence and Telecommunications Interception) had revealed code names that had been given to these traitors by their Western handlers. Then after intense cryptography work most of these secret cipher code names had been given a suspected identity. Then, further circumstances of work environment, movements, places and times had led to confirmation of just who these KGB officers actually were. Those of them who hadn’t already defected were arrested immediately and summarily executed after very fast guilty convictions by a Military Tribunal. Arrested this morning—executed by lunch time in the basement dungeons of KGB HQ! This was to show all KGB officers the seriousness of their position and that there would be no mercy whatsoever for traitors.

During my flight to Moscow, even the friendly chatter with the pilot and the real thrill of it being my very first time in a MIG Fighter Jet travelling at almost twice the speed of sound, couldn’t over-ride the continuous urgent searching of my memory on just what it was I may have done wrong?

I couldn’t think of a single thing and that worried me even more as I wouldn’t have time to think up any reasonable defense against any charges if I needed to. I hoped if I had done something seriously wrong my father’s name might influence whatever the outcome in this instance? The only relieving factor: I hadn’t been arrested as yet! However, that didn’t cancel out that I might still be arrested officially once I had landed in Moscow?

A big concern was—I had been privy to many Top Secret intercept documents sourced from SIGINT Units that had, after cryptographers had broken the cipher codes and made them somewhat readable, come over my desk for my further analysis, conceptual observations, extensions and any considered further recommendations.

Maybe I hadn’t analysed something thoroughly enough that had been sent to me and the situation has caused a big problem somewhere? It can happen and those involved are not looked upon kindly if such top secret items have been past their eyes and treated as relatively unimportant. We are supposed to be very alert and infallible!

My K Division Director, Major Zhukov, had not let on earlier if this was the case. However, he may also have been under strict orders not to?

My main duties on the Australian Desk had been to write a Report to my Director on those conceptual observations, along with at times any suggested extensions where the intercept was only partially decoded and my knowledge of English sometimes helping to give me the general gist of the message and what the missing, unable to be decoded words might be with regard to their importance. My recommendations, if any, for further action would also be attached. All this was in light of my understanding, not only of English and its many idioms, but my continuously growing and extensive knowledge now of the Australian political scene, covering Federal, State and International aspirations.

Copies of my analysis Report would go to various other concerned KGB Divisions in the building via my K Division Director if he thought it pertinent, or if I had strongly recommended it. When this did occur, the other various KGB Divisions receiving same would then further action the Report in ways they thought prudent.

Sometimes a copy would be passed on to Division C. Our KGB Intelligence Liaison Division. Who would in turn pass this decoded Intelligence on to various other friendly Intelligence organisations throughout the World.

A lot of these Australian intercepts, in this final form were of late given to the Indonesian Intelligence Services for their action. We knew Australia was going out of their way to get in good with Indonesia. So we would especially and purposely send these decoded intercepts on with glee whenever our observations of them had shown at times the real intentions of the Australian Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade towards Indonesia were really quite devious and totally one-sided in our considered opinion. This sharing of Intelligence and supposed friendship also had the added benefit of giving our Russian Foreign Office a much easier pathway to top Indonesian Ministers’ ears. This meant a lot in the areas of Arm’s Sales and Trade.

The Australians and Americans were trying hard to corner the market for themselves.

If the Australian government had known just what we had passed on so far to the Indonesians from our SIGINT Units intercepts, there would have been very many red faces within the Australian Parliament. The Australian Foreign Affairs and Trade Ministers who had thought they were being feted like Royalty by the Indonesian Officials on their visits and therefore thought all was going over extremely well for the West—was in fact all an act and they were being laughed at behind their backs by those same Indonesian officials feting them. When a visiting Australian Minister cracked a joke with his Indonesian hosts, to show Australians were really good fellows, the excess laughter that was tactfully and diplomatically extended on such occasions had a lot more behind it than the joke-tellers realised.

Most, but not all of the Australian signals and telephone intercepts I had handled lately, had come from a SIGINT Unit operating undercover as a fishing fleet mother ship. This ship, literally bristling with the latest in electronic listening gear, was at anchor just below the Great Australian Bite and in waters recognised everywhere else around the World, other than Australia, as being International Antarctic Waters. It was a very handy locality close to Australia with little to no obstruction and very clean air electronically compared to Europe. All helping greatly in the purposes of gathering Australian Intelligence.

It had been a really big joke among the KGB personnel when the Australian Federal Government, knowing of the presence of what they thought was a fishing fleet mother ship, had tried to complain at the UN that we were in the area poaching Patagonian Toothfish from an area they claimed as being within their Economic Zone! The only thing we had been poaching were, top secret signals and telecommunications out of, ASIS; Australian Secret Intelligence Service, ASIO; Australian Security Intelligence Organisation, DSD; Defence Signals Directorate, JIO; Joint Intelligence Organisation, and their Foreign Affairs and Trade offices.

We did at times also receive intercepts from the same floating SIGINT Unit coming out of a top secret Australian/American installation known as Pine Gap.

These intercepts were mostly from American personnel stationed there with their own ciphers and codes and our American Desk handled those after cipher code breaking by cryptographers.

This SIGINT Unit sent all intercepts to us at Valeria via Satellite in their ‘raw form’. This didn’t cause any alarm at all within Australia’s own SIGINT type Intelligence Units, as it would have been considered normal noise of their own signals being sent if intercepted by them. These raw form intercepts were then received by the massive octopus receiving grid at the rear of our building for actioning.

‘We’ll be landing in a couple of minutes,’ the pilot’s voice had suddenly crackled over the intercom.

I didn’t answer. In reaction to his voice I had stupidly nodded my head in reply to the rear of his seat without thinking. My mind was still working overtime.

When I did answer it was too late. The pilot had already switched from internal voice only to outside broadcast and was now in the process of procedural chatter, identifying us, our position and getting permission to land.

The MIG suddenly banked in a long falling turn as we approached our designated runway at Lenin Airfield. From this sudden angle I could now see the street lights of Moscow starting to blink on below us as nightfall started to creep over the city. Then as our nose dropped on the final approach, our designated runway lights suddenly came alive as two sparkling lines with a black centre all tapering off till they appeared almost to come to a point in the distance.

A slight bump and squeal of tyres confirmed we had touched down. Then came the loud roar from the MIG’s powerful jet engines as air brakes were applied. It wasn’t long then before the aircraft slowed to taxi speed and the pilot steered the MIG off the runway and onto one of a number of smaller intersecting bitumen roadways then on to another that headed towards some buildings situated away from the main airfield complex.

From floodlights that had suddenly come on around the buildings as we approached I could make out a black BMW parked nearby and obviously it was a KGB car waiting for me.

Finally the pilot swivelled the MIG’s nose back to face the way we had come and then he brought the aircraft to a complete standstill just 20 metres away from the car.

Ground crew had appeared and moved forward with a step ladder and placed it against the side of the MIG’s cockpit for me to use to alight. A hydraulic hiss and the cockpit canopy over my head swung up away and slightly backwards. I unbuckled my safety belt and stood up breathing in the warm Moscow air.

One of the two ground crew now up on the ladder to assist asked politely, ‘Good flight, Sir?’

I nodded and replied, ‘Absolutely fantastic!’

The ground crew member smiled broadly at that and then his hands were suddenly helping me over the leading edge of the cockpit and on to the ladder. As soon as I was on the ground and clear the driver of my transport came up to me and guided me back to an open car door. As I walked across the bitumen with him to the car I felt a very slight trembling in my legs. It may have been just a reaction to the fast flight in the MIG, but it was more likely from nerves as I could feel my stomach getting a little acidic from trepidation of the unknown.

The driver they had sent to pick me up looked like he could stop a train in its tracks. He was huge, totally bald and quite ugly. The black serge suit he had on looked stretched across the shoulders and overall too small for his bulk. His flat nosed features looked like those of a wrestler whose face had hit the mat too many times. It was pretty obvious that when this fellow was sent to pick you up, he did the job!

I tried to start up a conversation with him as we headed out of the airfield towards a side entry road and through an open barrier gateway. Armed guards on the gate had looked closely at us, however, had made no attempt at all to stop us. Then we were away from the airfield and onto the highway towards Moscow and KGB HQ.

My driver’s response to my attempted chatter had been a few rude grunts in reply that implied he was not too inclined to any small talk. Maybe he knew my fate and didn’t want to waste time with me? Then again, I had previously found this same gruff type response when I was last at KGB HQ. I wondered if I had been wearing my official uniform instead of mufti and showing I was a KGB officer with the rank of Captain, if he would have treated me with a little more respect. Probably not.

The KGB is different to our international counterparts like MI6, CIA and in Australia, ASIS, as well as a lot of other Intelligence Agencies around the World in that we use army rankings for our officers instead of public service grades for rates of pay and promotion. However, we hardly ever wore our issued uniforms while working unless it was a very rare occasion of some ‘big brass’ visiting our complex and that was only for their sake so they didn’t make the embarrassing error of being friendly to ranks who were far below them. A lot of KGB work is done in civilian clothing (mufti) so as not to alert anyone just who we are in the field. At KGB HQ it is a completely different situation with uniforms everywhere as there is no need to hide one’s identity.

The main KGB building is even on the tourist itinerary.

And over here we have the KGB HQ building.

Why they show it off to tourists I have no idea as the building is not noted for its architectural magnificence. Like a lot of huge drab blocky buildings around Moscow away from Red Square it was rather plain, dirty and overweight in that regard and like most official buildings it exudes its own unmistakable foreboding. The only brightness comes from our Russian Flag fluttering on an angled flagpole stationed just above the massive alcove front entrance.

The same KGB building and its large rear complex suddenly loomed up in front of us and my driver pulled up right out front.

There were two impeccably dressed guards in full dress uniform standing each side of the heavy oaken double doors. The guards stood very stiffly to attention while holding their AK47’s in the presentation stance and angled across their chests.

These guards were not KGB and came from the Kremlin Guard, a Ceremonial Battalion whose duties covered guarding all important Moscow buildings and often used for VIP welcomes when impressions were to be made at the airport or when other important ceremonies were performed. They were also very famous as photographic models for tourists. Similar to the notoriety of the English guards at Buckingham Palace in their red uniforms and huge bear skin helmets, however, we thought our Kremlin Guards in their grey dress uniforms and sharp red banded dress caps were much more immaculate looking overall.

I got out of the car and had expected to proceed by myself inside the building, but my driver was suddenly next to me making it plain his duty didn’t finish till I was in front of General Chellenko.

There had been no attempt by the armed guards stationed on the door to tell my driver to shift the vehicle from the front entrance area so I guessed they had seen him many times before doing this type of duty.

The driver nodded his head at the entrance in an unspoken directive to me that we should proceed inside now.

I had never been through this front entry to KGB HQ before. When I was here last for our two day briefing lectures we had never entered this main building or even been asked to. We had come and then left again by vehicle from a different street and through another guarded iron-gated opening at the rear of the high brick wall that extended from the rear sides of the main building to form a large oblong shaped enclosed compound. Inside this compound were several separated smaller boarding school style buildings. They were complete with their own lecture rooms, mess halls, kitchen, ablution blocks and dormitories. There were some other smaller buildings near the rear entrance that served as garages and housed the KGB staff cars. All these buildings opened out onto to a large central concrete slab parade ground where our Russian Flag was raised and lowered each day at Reveille and Retreat by the Kremlin guards in dress uniform. It had been quite a sight to watch with all its austere pomp and ceremony performed by these very well trained guards. As KGB recruits we had all been made to go outside and stand to attention twice a day at the front of our assigned building during these spectaculars.

At the driver’s urging I walked across the footpath and up two steps and on in under the alcove towards the guards and with the driver right on my heels. When we reached the massive oak doors I had expected one of the guards to step forward and open one, however the guards stayed in their positions and my driver went forward and opened a smaller door within one of the main doors on one side. We both went on through and he closed the door behind us.

We were now within a reception hall area and it totally belied the building’s drab exterior. It was nothing at all like the horrid green interiors and dark wooden floors of the barracks I had stayed in before in the rear complex. This was a lot more brightly lit with white painted walls, large hung oil paintings, that mostly portrayed Russian battle scenes and very bright neon lights hung from a high ceiling. On the reception floor different coloured polished marble had been tastefully laid with a large centralised inlaid circular KGB insignia with the red Russian Battle Star at its centre. Very similar to what I had seen in pictures of the circular American CIA insignia on the reception floor at CIA HQ Langley, U.S.A. At the rear of the reception hall a long polished granite-fronted reception desk had modern glassed offices just behind it and there were two large bronze statues of Russian, World War Two soldiers in poses of courage holding our Flag aloft in what suggested to be a very strong wind. These statues were positioned out of the general foot traffic area near the two side walls.

I could see only one lonely security guard on duty behind the reception desk and he also obviously recognised my driver and just looked up at us without saying a word, much like the exterior guards had done.

My driver spoke for the first time since his grunts to me in the car and it was still not much of an improvement.

‘Follow me,’ he said gruffly.

He walked towards one end of the reception desk and on towards an archway that was an entrance to a long corridor. I followed along dutifully as requested.

The nice white paint along with the marbled floors had suddenly disappeared now we were in the corridor. It was back to the horrid green walls and dark wooden floors again that I remembered, although the floors were highly polished in this area.

After following my driver through several corridors and past a number of interrogation and computer work offices, we were finally there.

My driver knocked on the glass partitioned office door and an equally gruff voice within that was a good match for the driver’s, said, ‘Enter!’

The driver and I entered General Chellenko’s office and stood in front of his desk. Myself coming to attention.

I noted out of the corner of my eye that the driver had also taken the same pose, so he did respect someone at least.

General Chellenko, seated behind his desk in a plush brown leather swivel chair, closed a thick file in front him that he had obviously been perusing and looked up at us both.

Then he fixed his steely grey eyes directly on me.

He made a sudden hand gesture to the driver without actually looking at him that signified he was no longer required for the moment.

The driver turned, left the office and quietly shut the door behind him.

The General was still staring fixedly at me and I was waiting for him to say something. I knew it wouldn’t be an invite to sit down as his was the only chair in the office. Outside of a filing cabinet there was no other furniture in the windowless room. The walls were the same green colour as the corridor walls and the single shaded ceiling light in the room reflected down in a large circle covering his desk and some of the floor in front of it. It was all very cold and spartan.

General Chellenko’s stare was becoming a little embarrassing. To keep my composure I looked back evenly at him, trying my best not to appear confrontational.

I noted his stern face didn’t in any way change my opinion at all of all high ranking KGB officers. They mostly had features of scowling peasants with the typical slab jowls in a square flat face. He was cap-less, the light showing he was going bald fast. I judged his age at around 60. He had four Stars on his red epaulettes. One less than my father had before he retired. But my father was a soldier not a KGB officer.

Finally the jowls trembled and the stern face spoke.

‘Kharachev....Isn’t it?’

The voice had been coarse and guttural with a sharp tone that comes about from giving orders.

‘Yes Sir!’ I replied, wondering why he’d asked for affirmation of my name when he had sent for me in the first place and obviously already knew what my name was.

‘Knew your father. Good man. Do you think you will ever fill his shoes?’

He had glared at me as he spoke, his expression showed he didn’t think so.

‘I’m trying my best to, Sir!’ Relieved just a little now at the familiarity.

He nodded, but his facial expression still showed he wasn’t convinced.

‘We’ll see....We’ll see!’ He now remarked.

He then pressed a buzzer on his desk and almost immediately the driver came back into the room. He must have been waiting in an office close by.

General Chellenko shifted his gaze from me at last and looked at the driver.

‘You know what has to be done!’

The tone of the words to the driver were more an order than a question. The driver didn’t answer verbally but gave a curt nod.

‘Take Kharachev with you. Then report back here when it’s done.’

Another hand gesture waved us away in a silent instruction for us to get out of his office.

As we left the office my feet felt like I was walking in warm porridge.

The General’s order; You know what has to be done! Flashed through my mind over and over.

Did that apply to me in any way?

Nothing so far had been said or any accusations made. But with the KGB you never know. Even though I worked for the KGB, I had still heard stories. They weren’t too pleasant.

I looked closely at the driver for a hint as we made our way towards a yellow painted fire exit door at the end of the corridor. I could tell nothing from his demeanour. Surely if there was something afoot concerning me there would have been some armed guards at least, although the driver looked capable enough to do the job on his own. I had been asked if I thought I could fill my father’s shoes so my worries seemed a bit of a contradiction in light of that. Common sense told me it had to be something else. I remembered the General further ordering; Report back to me when it’s done. He must have meant both of us?

The driver pushed open the yellow fire exit door and it led to a concrete stairwell with steps going up to higher levels and also down to lower levels from where we had entered. We headed down.

After several floors down we came to the final basement floor. The driver pushed open the fire exit door on that level and my heart suddenly sank a little! It had opened into a corridor that was plainly full of prison cells on both sides behind a heavily barred locked entry. These were obviously the KGB dungeons I had heard of.

The driver walked across to a side wall just in front of the barred entry and pushed a black button. An armed guard carrying a AK47 suddenly appeared from out of a room at the other end of the corridor.

I felt panic rising as I had no idea of just what was going on, but again common sense prevailed and I fought it down. Surely if I was to be incarcerated in a cell down here the driver would at least be holding on to me? I decided I would just have to play it as it came.

The guard arrived and the driver spoke in his normal gruff tone.

‘We’re here for prisoner Villisich!’

That information at least made me feel a lot easier. Whatever was going to happen it didn’t appear now to concern me personally. I had never heard that name before. So whoever this Villisich was there was no connection.

The guard, a middle aged fellow with very bad acne on his pale face, probably from years of working inside, nodded as if he was expecting our visit. He took a set of keys from a clip on his belt then let us in though a central barred door locking it again behind him.

We then followed him till he stopped outside one of the cells.

The driver growled again.

‘Has Villisich been given his copy of the Executive Order!’

The guard nodded. ‘Yes. He was given the Executive Order by General Chellenko this morning.’

‘OK. Give me your weapon and open up the cell!’ The driver now ordered.

The guard did as he was told immediately in handing over his AK47 to the driver and then opening the cell door.

It became obvious to me then that this driver held some sort of pretty high rank about the place to have the guard hand over his weapon as easy as that without even a peep of resistance.

I suspected this prisoner Villisich must be pretty dangerous if we needed an AK47 to keep him under control when we entered his cell. I wondered then what my part in this was. Maybe he spoke English and I was to help question him?

The driver gave a sideways nod and we both entered the cell.

The cell was windowless and it was a little hard to see inside at first till my eyes started to adjust to the dim light. Then I made out a figure of a man standing in a far rear corner.

I was a little shocked then to realise he was completely naked!

As my eyes got more used to light I could see his hair was dishevelled and his face was very puffy with bloody bruises on his cheek bones. His eyes were just slits and his nose had skin missing from the bridge and looked like it had been recently broken. Closer inspection of him then revealed what looked like cigarette burns on his stomach and more large black and blue bruises virtually all over his body suggesting he’d been floored and kicked very hard.

I involuntarily sucked in my breath when my eyes travelled down to his genitals. His penis showed blistering burns and his testes were very red and swollen. How he could even stand up with all these injuries I had no idea.

I was about to protest to the driver about his shocking condition when the driver suddenly and loudly yelled