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spoke
in a near-whisper to avoid detection by ubiquitous KGB listening devices. “You
are being entrusted with a great honor,” he began. “A patriotic duty. You are
being given the opportunity to perform a service to your country far beyond any
you may previously have imagined possible.”
    Aleksander
remained silent and Mikhail removed an innocent-looking envelope from his suit
coat. He held it up for Aleksander’s inspection, but kept it close to his body,
hoping to conceal it as much as possible from view of surveillance cameras.
“You are to leave immediately—we will provide you with a change of clothes for
your overnight stay in the GDR. You will be driven straight to Tushino Airfield
and fly via private plane to Berlin, where you will pass this envelope along to
an operative at the location specified in your paperwork. Please note the
envelope has been sealed in wax with my personal insignia, and its contents are
classified Top Secret, not for your eyes or anyone else’s except its intended
recipient. The consequences of opening it would be severe and immediate. Do you
understand, comrade?”
    Aleksander nodded
slowly. Mikhail could see that he understood. Severe consequences in Russia
meant only one thing.
    “How will I
recognize the envelope’s recipient?” Aleksander asked.
    “I am told he
suffered facial disfigurement in an automobile accident years ago. A long scar
on his right cheek. But you needn’t worry, I have passed your description along
and your contact will be watching for you. He will address you as ‘Dolph’ and
you will respond, ‘Hello, Henrik.’”
    The secretary
continued. “After delivering the envelope to your contact, your mission will be
complete. You may enjoy the rest of your evening in East Berlin and then fly
home tomorrow. Simple, yes?”
    Mikhail knew
Aleksander wanted to question him. Hell, he could see the man wanted to refuse
the assignment. But he also knew he would do as asked. His place was not to
question. He was a bureaucrat and had been given an assignment by the most
powerful man in the USSR. What else could he do?
    Aleksander reached
out reluctantly and took the envelope. “Remember,” Mikhail said. “No one is to
open this letter.”
    “What if…”
Aleksander’s voice trailed off.
    “What?” Mikhail
asked, annoyed. The lack of sleep was catching up to him and he still had a
long day ahead.
    “Well, what if I
am challenged, you know, by the authorities?”
    Mikhail reached
into his pocket and removed a pen and a small pad of paper. He jotted something
down and handed it to Aleksander. “The authorities would have no reason to
challenge you, but if you encounter any difficulties, this is my personal
telephone number. Anyone wishing to question you can call me, any time, day or
night, and I will be happy to explain the situation.”
    It was clear to
Mikhail that Aleksander was not pleased, but that did not matter. He placed the
envelope in the interior breast pocket of his suit coat and the men began
walking toward the building. Mikhail knew he had just passed the point of no
return. He hoped Aleksander Petrovka was up to the challenge.
     
    ***
     
    The Kremlin, Moscow
    KGB monitoring station
    May 29, 1987, 10:30 a.m.
    Viktor Kovalenko squinted, his eyes
glued to a tiny black-and-white monitor. The screen was crammed into a metal
rack mounted on the wall next to his desk, alongside eleven similar monitors,
each transmitting a different view of the exterior of the Kremlin.
    The image was small,
but he could see enough to know something unusual was happening. General
Secretary Gorbachev was speaking with one of his assistants, something he did
regularly throughout the day. But normally the men would be surrounded by aides
and secretaries and assorted party apparatchiks. This meeting was being
conducted one-on-one, almost an unheard-of scenario with a low-level bureaucrat
like Aleksander Petrovka.
    The men were
engrossed in an intense conversation,