Six months later, the monotonous life in the army barracks came to an end. Private Dmitriy Klimov, accompanied by a group of partially intoxicated former soldiers, walked out of the gates of the army base. Instead of the cumbersome uniform, he now donned a windbreaker. Instead of a suitcase filled with photo albums, he carried a half-empty sports bag containing his military ID and a document called a Military Transportation Order, granting him a free railway ticket. Dima had chosen Vladivostok, a distant city on the Pacific coast, as his destination.
FMD and SMD
The most important and prestigious section of the KGB is, of course, the First Chief Directorate FCD (intelligence). This is the dream of young romantics whose heartfelt wish is to join the Komitet. Bitter disappointment awaits many of them. Upon returning from various foreign assignments, they will discover they are being watched, their phones tapped, and their careers will come to a halt. They spend long hours with their heads in their hands, trying to recall where and when they had aroused suspicion. Which of their comrades could be the source of the denunciation? The trouble, however, is that there may not have been any denunciation at all. The colleague has returned from beyond the ideological front, and who knows, who knows?
Members of the Second Chief Directorate SCD (counterintelligence) almost never go on operational trips abroad, and because of this, their careers are more predictable. Life and service are simpler. For example, they are not required to live undercover neighbors and friends could know that so-and-so works in the KGB. For every FCD officer, however, a cover story was arranged. Usually, for friends and neighbors he was supposed to be an engineer at a secret defense facility. Most employees of the FCU of the KGB of the USSR never used an official ID a plastic card without a photo and without a name was used to enter the huge complex at Yasenevo on the outskirts of Moscow, and it never occurred to anyone to flash a brown folding ID with the embossed letters KGB to anyone without serious cause. Any way you look at it, life in the SCD was simpler.
The senior operations officer of Department T of the SCD, Major Valov, left the Detskiy Mir (Childrens World) store. In his right hand was a slim diplomatic briefcase while in his left, like a conjurer, he held two ice cream bars. Squinting at the sun and glancing at his watch, he ate both and discarded the sticks in an overflowing trash can, crossed the street, and disappeared into Building No. 2 on Dzerzhinskiy Street, the former Bolshaya Lubyanka. Here, on the fourth floor with a window overlooking the dreaded Inner Prison where the employee cafeteria is now located, was his office.
But it was not easy to find Valov there. More often, he could be found in one of the unmarked rooms in the main building of international airport Sheremetyevo-2, right behind the Deputy Hall. Or in the basement of the airport behind a steel door with the inscription Civil Defense. Or in the departure hall where he walked around with a detached look pretending to be a passenger. Often, he would sit at the bar with his habitual double-scoop of ice cream. Of course, the staff knew who he was, no secret about that. Among themselves, they called him our curator from the KGB or simply curator. In fact, the departure zone was his real workplace, a sort of battlefield where, like chess pieces on a board, his proxies and confidential informants were placed, special equipment was installed and concealed. Valov had sources among cleaners, customs officers, border guards, and even pilots.
It is not that the average Soviet citizen was naturally secretive and close-mouthed, but having been caught in a petty theft, a bribe, immorality, or any offense that entailed a trial and dismissal, he became extremely talkative and provided mountains of information, sometimes unexpected and sometimes unrelated to the work of the KGB. He would be investigated and asked to sign a document obligating him to voluntarily cooperate with the authorities, a pseudonym was selected, a schedule for secret meetings was agreed upon.
The major despised initiators those who voluntarily sought contact and offered information. There were a large number of them, but, all employees at Sheremetyevo were not averse to snitching to the KGB. However, Valov, being an experienced operative, understood that these volunteers all wanted to use him, Major Valov. Some wanted to settle a score through him, some wanted to advance in their jobs, and others, anticipating future problems, wanted to get into his favor as an excuse or to receive special treatment.
Major Valov never refused to listen but mainly trusted his own tested informants, recruited based on solid evidence, indebted to him, and deeply involved in their own informant activities. In official documents, this is referred to as an informant network, and through this network, streams of foreigners flowed day and night. They would drink too much, eat, and buy souvenirs, speculating that the cashier or a cheerful bartender might have some connection with the kay-gee-bee (KGB). However, these were the rules of the game during the height of the Cold War.
The network provided a vast amount of information, often of a criminal nature, or as it was termed in the KGB, police related info. It was meticulously documented but never directly shared with the police to protect the anonymity of the sources. However, it would be incorrect to say that this data was not utilized it was often used to recruit new KGB informants.
Foreigners, as a category, rarely interested Valov. This was the domain and concern of the prestigious First Chief Directorate of the KGB of the USSR. Instead, Valov focused on Soviet citizens actively seeking contact with foreigners. Providing a tip about such individuals could earn an informant a cash bonus, exemption from legal troubles, and, in some cases, a State award. These awards were granted by a secret order of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR. Recipients were prohibited from wearing or boasting about them to neighbors or relatives. However, Valov had never had such informants in his network. The majority of individuals in Valovs network were ordinary people who had found themselves in some sort of trouble, which had been documented in intelligence reports that landed on Valovs desk.
Major opened steel safe and pulled out two folders one thin folder labeled Personal and the other thick folder with the words Operational written on the cover, along with the bold inscription Confidential Informant LARIN in felt-tip pen. Glancing at his watch once more, Valov picked up both folders and headed to meet his boss.
The head of Department T, responsible for counterintelligence operations at transportation facilities, occupied a bright and spacious office on the third floor. This General had formerly been a high-ranking member of the Partys Central Committee, but during the campaign to strengthen intelligence, he was transferred to the KGB. Despite lacking experience as an intelligence officer and never holding a military rank, he was promoted to the rank of General overnight a common practice aimed at imposing Party control over law enforcement. In the USSR, ideology always took precedence over professionalism. The Dzerzhinsky Red Banner Univercity of the KGB even had a special faculty to train those transferred Party and Komsomol workers for leadership positions within the KGB.
The former Party boss held a certain appreciation for Valovs superior operational skills but also harbored a slight fear due to the absence of compromising information on him. Consequently, their interactions were infrequent. Although the major had a direct superior, that person had recently gone on vacation, leaving Valov in charge. After explaining his request, the General leaned over to read the contents of the personal file.
Valov had made a peculiar request to seek approval for hiring the nephew of the informant named Larin as a porter. Larin, whose real name is Vlad Klimov, himself worked as a bartender in the departure zone of Sheremetyevo-2 and implored Valov not to obstruct his nephews employment. Larin had already handled all the necessary paperwork with the airport management using his connections, and the only remaining step was to secure the Committees approval.
I dont quite understand why he wants a relative to work there. And I understand even less why we need him, the General emphasized the word we.
Theres nothing illogical about it, the major responded quietly. There isnt a single shift change at the bar without shortages. The porters typically steal beer and cigarettes. They drink the beer and break the empty bottles so they can claim they were damaged in transit, and the cigarettes are simply smoked in the storage room, eliminating the need to carry them through the checkpoint. Sometimes they loosen the caps of the cognac bottles and extract ten or twenty grams. Currently, theyre short of a porter. All the shift bartenders have to come in an hour early and transport the goods themselves on carts they complain, but its better than shortages. A porter who doesnt drink and happens to be a relative of the senior bartender administrator is precisely what they need.
Well, what good is a teetotaling porter to us then? the General asked, once again emphasizing the word us.
None. But Larin wasnt rewarded at all for the mother-of-pearl icon case, the major replied.
Tsarevich Aleksey? the General became interested.
Yes, it all happened in his bar, and he was the one who provided the initial information, the major confirmed.
Right, but all the glory went to the Counter-smuggling team! He should be punished for this, the General exclaimed, laughing.
It had been a significant incident involving the wife of an African diplomat who had attempted to smuggle out an antique icon by strapping it between her legs and nearly strangling Officer Shubin from the Tenth Department (counter-smuggling) with his own tie. Many employees from the Tenth Department were rewarded, the woman was expelled from the country, and Sasha Shubin became the head of the department.
Well, I cant tell an informant that contraband isnt our job, that Department T and Department 10 are not the same, the major explained.
True, of course, the General agreed. But could he be revarded with money?
You clearly dont understand how much they make over there, Valov replied, daring to show a touch of insolence as he gazed out the window, his eyes filled with hatred. So let me tell you up to three hundred rubles a day! In just one day! And during the Olympics, that faggot managed to earn enough to buy a one-room cooperative apartment.
The general disliked Valovs tone and wanted to put him in his place, but Valov continued, The bartenders receive more tips in rubles and foreign currency in a five-day week than you and I together in a month. Theyre the ones who could motivate us with money.
Noticing the expression on the generals face, Valov fell silent.
Well, said the general, try to control your emotions and explain what you want from me. You could have approved the nephew yourself.
I cant. They are close relatives. The instruction states in special cases.
What instruction? the former Party member asked, immediately regretting his question.
Instruction Two Zero Sixty, the major replied in surprise.
Oh, youre a bitch, thought the general to himself. He was upset and changed the subject. Is he really a homo?
Yes. He was recruited in 1977 in an incident with his homosexual partner he was pulled out of the incarceration unit of the Zelenograd police department. Jealousy. Fight. Non-penetrating stab wound in the stomach.
I dont care for your attitude toward sources, pronounced the general in the officious tone of a former instructor of the Central Committee. But why so much hate? Why do you speak with such irritation about your own informant who has worked with you for years? Yes, sometimes they have a lot of money; yes, they are not awakened and called to report in the middle of the night as we sometimes are. They live materially better than us in some ways, but tell me honestly, would you change places with this Larin?
And again, the apparatchik realized he had blundered. After all, the informant was a homosexual. What a day!
NEPHEW AND UNCLE
Well, everything seems to be settled, said Vlad. You start work on Friday.
Dimas heart beat a tattoo what incredible luck! He had been living for four months in his uncles new cooperative apartment on Leningradskaya Street, a life he found quite pleasant. The apartment, although only one room, was quite large with a glassed-in balcony and a spacious kitchen.
Vlad had a custom-made sofa in the corner of the kitchen. One side of the sofa was wide, and the other side was narrow. This was where Dima slept and kept his clothes in large drawers. Vlad was rarely at home, and when he was, he usually played LPs on his expensive audio equipment and read Western magazines that foreign customers left at the bar.
After graduating with honors from the Moscow Institute for National Economics, Vlad quickly climbed the corporate ladder before becoming bored and requesting a transfer from the Moscow Food Production Center to manage a small café in the Moscow district of Izmailovo. His request was granted, and Vlad began to enjoy a life of freedom and good money.
Having been on the receiving end of fiscal reports for years, Vlad spent his evenings revising almost all his paperwork. An old accountant, Nina Ivanovna, had been asking for a pension for a long time, complaining of failing eyesight. Instead of a pension, the new manager started paying her a quarterly bonus and took over half of the accounts from her. The old lady could hardly believe her luck, and soon the enterprise began to function almost like a private business with neat reports and revenues just a little bit higher than those of the previous manager, while a significant portion was kept by Vlad.
The café didnt earn much, maybe a tenth of the culinary turnover, but by renting it out to the right people for weddings and birthday parties, the young manager made acquaintances. The food service also brought in a lot of money. Bones, for example, were a profitable commodity. Vlad received two small truckloads of bones per week from the meatpacking plant. He would bring his nephew, Dima, to the café to help and the two of them would trim the bones of cartilage and residual meat with special curved knives. These trimmings would then be used in meat pies and dumplings.
The unexpected arrival of his nephew pleased Vlad, not only because the boy was his only relative, but because Vlads own life had somehow stalled. Two years earlier, Vlad had experienced bouts of severe depression followed by some improvement, but the turbulent 1980 with the Moscow Olympics and the transition to work at Sheremetyevo, brought about a further improvement.