CLOAK & CORKSCREW: 27) ASTONISHMENT
My Saturday Evening Post: A Serial Novel of Intrigue & Lunacy
54.
When word first arrived to TZM—through an anonymous police tip—that Josh Penner had seemingly been sprung in a special deal with the U.S. Justice Department, Brooke Holden went nuts. Twice, Penner had vented his terrible rage and physically beat on TZM’s videographer—the second incident on a commercial airliner. Were they intimidated by Penner’s celebrity? Could he be bribing anyone? No and no. Things just didn’t work like that any more. So what kind of special immunity did Penner possess? Only when he calmed down did Holden suddenly recall what the Dataveillant had said: Penner is working for the CIA.
He picked up the phone.
“Told you so,” the Dataveillant confirmed. “Penner is no longer in Boston. And from what I see in databases, no legal proceedings of any kind are underway.”
“Tell me more about your CIA theory,” said Holden.
I thought it didn’t fit? “It all adds up,” said the Dataveillant. “The company he was with, the man in Geneva he met…
“What if the CIA were just using him?”
“You mean unwittingly? No, he’s too deeply entrenched. I see a pattern here. My analysis suggests that Penner is what’s known in spook jargon as an access agent. He gives CIA access to places and leaders they only ever dream of. Example: Cuba and Venezuela. It’s actually quite ingenious, using Hollywood stars to gain access to the world’s most vile dictators.”
“So, you’re telling me Josh Penner is a… hero?”
“I’m just analyzing data and making an assessment.”
“Where is Penner now?” snapped Holden.
“He’s gone dark.”
“Dark?”
“All I know is, he’s not in Boston. And not using his own credit card for getting elsewhere.”
“Find him,” said Holden. “Let’s nail it down.”
“I’ll tell you something else interesting,” said the Dataveillant. “Tom Richardson, the rogue spy Penner met? He’s gone dark too. Off the radar screen. Completely.”
“What does that mean to you?”
“I don’t have all the pieces, but this situado gets more mysterious with each new development.”
Holden’s next call was to his PI, Jeremy Katz, who had arrived back in LA and was busy writing a detailed report.
Katz was astounded to learn, having himself witnessed the attack, that the movie star had been released. Why, his footage had been broadcast on TZM. If that wasn’t evidence enough.
Holden explained that the Dataveillant was on it, that Katz should be ready to hop a plane the moment they knew the movie star’s whereabouts.
55.
The Russian Rezidentura in Paris did not expect any visitors from Moscow Central, so he was surprised when the newly promoted Colonel Igor Kuntevich turned up on his embassy doorstep. Deep consultations were necessary, whispered Kunty, devoid of the usual pleasantries.
The Rezidentura led his surprise guest to the vaulted room, after a secretary provided both with mugs of strong coffee. The Rezidentura, a wizened old spy who’d seen it all, and for whom a tour in Paris was the swan song of a long, distinguished career, studied this hotshot officer who wore his long hair in a ponytail.
He listened with weary ears as Kuntevich told him only what he needed to know so that he, the director-general’s special emissary, could properly execute his assignment.
The Rezidentura frowned as he listened, in disbelief, to the extraordinary measures Moscow Central had sanctioned. Were they certain of their facts?
Kunty’s intended action would abruptly end Paris Station’s most important operation. Moreover, it would most certainly result in the Rezidentura’s expulsion from France if the slightest thing went wrong. And he quite enjoyed his sophisticated lifestyle in the City of Light.
Kuntevich’s plan for dealing with a French two-timer: Polonium 210.
Hadn’t the SVR learned anything from the fiasco caused in the UK after poisoning Alexandre Litvinenko—and contaminating parts of central London with radiation?
Yes, came Kuntevich’s answer. They had learned to avoid overkill. The problem in London was that they had used fifty times the dose required to meet their objective: Litvinenko’s death by “mysterious illness.”
These methods had since been refined.
Kuntevich carried with him an object made to look like a pen. Inside, an airtight capsule of Polonium 210. All he had to do was click the push button to break the seal and, in place of a ballpoint, a minuscule droplet.
Death by poisoning had been around forever, famously utilized by the Borgias of Florence, and, when not heavy-handed, worked better than almost anything for a wet job. Short of pushing someone off a building, this was the most efficient way to terminate without prejudice.
“And now another matter,” said Kuntevich, clearly enjoying his new-found authority over the legendary Rezidentura. He conveyed his orders from on high to exfiltrate a certain FSB officer from Paris to Moscow, which he intended to do right after poisoning the French double-agent.
The Rezidentura sighed. “And you have, of course, validated your intelligence from a number of sources, ruled out duplicate sourcing and identified your source’s sources?”
Kuntevich bristled. “Of course.”
The Rezidentura waited for more. But Kuntevich allowed silence to prevail, unwilling to discuss how Moscow Station had reached its decision. Need to know. Kunty demanded the Paris chief’s cooperation, not his counsel.
“The FSB officer who runs the French double-agent is the one you plan to exfiltrate. Coincidence?” asked the Rezidentura.
Kuntevich nodded, grinning. “It makes this cleaner.”
And so a plan was hatched: At the Rezidentura’s request, the FSB officer would request an emergency meeting with the French double-agent. Kuntevich would be introduced at that meeting—and complete his mission. Next, the FSB officer would be invited to Moscow for “damage control” and promise of the Order of Lenin for distinguished service to the Motherland. Of course, what would actually await him was interrogation, prosecution, imprisonment and execution.
If, after being asked to return to Moscow with Kuntevich, the FSB officer balked or behaved as if he might flee, he would be chloroformed and brought to the embassy, where arrangements would be made to transport him on a Russian plane under the guise of diplomatic cargo.