A Spy's Lonely Path

Being the first night of the new round of negotiations, the Russian Ambassador to Austria had arranged an informal dinner at his home for the senior members of the delegation. Several of them, like Golovin, had just returned from Moscow and Ambassador Tikhonov saw this as a good opportunity for him to learn of the most recent gossip back home. There was no assigned seating at the large and elegant dining table in the 18th century palace, which had served as the Russian ambassador’s residence in Vienna since 1945. By bad luck, Golovin wound up sitting next to Leonid Stepanov, the FSB security chief of the Embassy. Aside from his distaste for the man’s profession, Golovin also found Leonid to be one of the most unworldly and boring Russians he had ever met. That probably explained why he had risen so rapidly to his senior position in the FSB! “Alexander, how are you? How are things back in Moscow?” “Just fine. How have things been going here in Vienna while I was away? Have you been able to take a few days’ vacation and enjoy Austria?” “My wife has returned to Russia for the summer vacation, so at the present I’m here alone in Vienna. Coming to the office every day keeps my mind off of being alone.” “But there is so much history and beautiful buildings to be seen around this ancient capital. Hopefully, you have been taking advantage of your assignment here to see some of these things.” “Yes, yes. My wife and I took a full day’s excursion of the city when we arrived last year.” I’m surprised it took you an entire day to see all of the art, music and spectacular architecture that has been accumulating here for 500 years, thought Golovin, as he smiled and nodded at Leonid. Fortunately, an opening toast by the ambassador cut short their insipid conversation and immediately thereafter the food was served. “By the way, you remember that young American diplomat you met a few weeks back? You passed me his card.” “Vaguely. I meet so many people.” Golovin raised his eyebrows in a questioning, so what, manner. “I checked with the ‘cousins’ about him and they have him down as strongly suspect CIA.” “Cousins” was the slang term used between the FSB and the SVR to refer to each other. “I’ll remember that, if I ever meet him again. Do you want me let you know if I do?” Golovin wished to appear as cooperative as possible. “Just let me know if he really tries chatting you up or proposes that you have one-on-one meetings. No need to inform me if you just stumble across him at the conference and he says ‘hello’. I have enough reports to file as it is.” Towards the end of the dinner, after Leonid had consumed many glasses of wine and vodka, he leaned towards Golovin in a conspiratorial manner and asked, “Do you know Pavel Verchagin, a First Secretary at the Russian Embassy in Rome?” “No, I have really only gotten to know some of our diplomats who have been involved in these negotiations. Who is Pavel Verchagin?” “Strictly between us, mind you -- he had been serving for the last three years at our Embassy in Rome and had only returned to Moscow with his family last month. He was arrested last week for treason. I was speaking on the secure phone this morning with a friend back in Moscow, who told me confidentially that Verchagin has confessed to working for the Americans.” “Confessed? That was very quick,” observed Golovin. “We are very efficient in our interrogation techniques,” grinned Stepanov. Golovin pictured Stepanov down in some cellar at the time of the Bolshevik Revolution, “questioning” opponents of Lenin and quickly getting confessions from all who entered the room. “And what was it that Verchagin was doing for the Americans?” “I don’t know all the details, it must have been quite a lot as he had been promised that after just one year’s work in Moscow for the CIA that he would be moved to California and be given a big house and a pension.” “So he and his wife were going to run away to California?” “Not with his wife! Who the hell takes his old wife to California?” Stepanov started laughing so hard, he almost choked. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Later that night, Golovin lay in his bed staring at the ceiling and smoking a cigarette, thinking of Elizaveta. A smile came to his face. Thank you Leonid Stepanov. You have been most helpful. He stubbed out his cigarette and drifted off to sleep. Three days later, Golovin saw young Mr. Hall having a cup of the wonderful Viennese coffee by himself in one of the smaller lounge areas of the Schoenberg Palace conference hall. Golovin paused some 30 feet away, as if carefully studying the day’s schedule posted on a stand, until several other diplomats had passed by. He then moved forward in a slow, ambling manner -- as if he was simply a man killing a little time and with nowhere else to go. “Mr. Hall, how are you?” Hall was pleased to note that Golovin had come to remember his name at least. Having been chastised by his COS after his last brief encounter with Golovin for not having elicited some trivial details that could have gone into an intelligence report, Hall immediately inquired of Golovin’s personal views on the progress of the negotiations. Golovin decided to open with a strong opening right down the middle, similar to the bold King’s Indian Offense gambit of chess and completely ignored the American’s question. “Mr. Hall, am I correct that you are a member of the CIA?” He then sat there in silence, staring directly into the eyes of the young diplomat from Iowa.