Red Sky at Night
Chapter 4
I heard from Jersey a few days later the joint investigation had been agreed to in principle, yet a memorandum of understanding hadn’t been signed between the parties. That would take several more days given the interminable pace of the paperwork working its way through the cumbersome, federal maze. That was because a number of U.S. agencies had to chop-off on the agreement before final approval. He guessed it would ultimately sail smoothly through bureaucracy and was delighted. Jersey was a wishful thinker, especially regarding his career, whose favorite heroine growing up was Pollyanna. I wasn’t as confident because I always saw things in shades of gray and glasses as half empty. Maybe we could meet halfway at some point in our mindsets. Sure, when pigs flew or I underwent a partial lobotomy to even up the IQ scores!
He never told me where I might be going on an all-expense paid, government junket. It was downright rude of him since he knew, as an unabashed clotheshorse, that I must pack clothes appropriate to the climate and my status as a very special agent. However, there was no doubt I’d bring along some of my finest leisure suits suitable for most any occasion. I really liked to dress to the nines, although I was often at sixes and sevens with Jersey, my erstwhile boss and sometimes friend. It was an arithmetic conundrum and just plain bullheadedness on both our parts which neither of us could resolve by the number. Simply put, we were always at odds with one another.
Jersey mentioned that spymaster Boris Venchkoff was right about Bhutar’s gaming of the oil markets. The Treasury Department had been watching price movements of crude oil and who was placing bets up or down. It finally connected the dots as Boris might say and saw patterns between terrorist events and their impact on world oil prices. It seemed Bhutar was a big player on this stage. So perhaps, just perhaps, the Russians weren’t fibbing after all. By the way, we never would say lying in the Diplomatic Corps, fearing Uncle Sam might take offense with our coarse language and wash out our mouths with a bar of strong lye soap.
So, Boris wasn’t a prevaricator, but maybe a provocateur instead. Time would tell on that point. But he was truthful about the Bhutaris cornering the oil markets and the fact that several Middle East nations had severed diplomatic relations with Bhutar over the claim it was supporting terrorism in the region. Only Vladimir Booskowsky’s role in this docudrama had yet to be fully vetted and proven beyond a doubt. That’s when I picked up his translated file and began to read.
The file was relatively thin for a KGB officer who’d served in the spy service for over twenty years. That wasn’t unexpected given the likelihood that much of the biographical information had been redacted for security purposes.
I had to be especially careful flipping through the pages. Even the smallest pricks of an errant staple or paper cut could send you straight to the closest emergency room for treatment. And there was no shortage of them in the State Department. Pricks I meant. One simply didn’t know what or who might be going around the building at any given time.
Vladimir Sergey Booskowsky, born in Odessa in 1956, the file started out at the very top of the page. That was followed by the facts that he was married and had one child, a boy. Nothing was mentioned about his wife and son, even if they were still alive. He entered the Soviet Union army at age 18 and served as an infantryman for three years with a one year tour in Afghanistan in the late 1970s.
Following completion of his regular military duty, he applied to join the Spetsnaz, an elite Special Forces unit that took on bloody paramilitary operations and the occasional piece of wet-work for the Kremlin. There he rose to the rank of sergeant, commanding a squad of highly trained soldiers, thugs and sometimes assassins. The file went on to talk about his proficiency with a variety of weapons and listed training courses he attended and medals awarded. All-in-all, his experience and training in the dark arts of killing were impressive. He ended his Spetsnaz assignment on a high-note with an appointment to a command staff college in St. Petersburg, earning the equivalent of a bachelor’s degree in political science. He appeared to have been recruited by the KGB while in his senior year at school. It looked to me that Vlad was being groomed for bigger and better things. Obviously, his one year stint with the Afghans hadn’t dogged his reputation or career one bit.
I found his KGB credentials to be interesting, but light on detail and specifics. He graduated 4th in his class from the KGB’s training academy. He was then assigned to its Lubyanka headquarters in Moscow. There he worked in Directorate S, the office responsible for placing illegal spies abroad. It appeared he was involved in training efforts for their future roles as ordinary citizens of the countries where they would reside while carrying out their spy duties for the motherland.
I knew the so-called illegals were the crème de la crème of all spy agencies. The KGB was no different and prized them for their dangerous roles, along with their dedication and perseverance to the cause. Illegal meant they didn’t work under diplomatic cover with its protective umbrella that shielded them from arrest and prosecution. Those were the legals in the spy biz working at the embassies. The worst that could happen if they were caught spying was to be kicked out of the country, declared persona non grata as the saying goes. So, the illegals always had to look over their shoulder and worry about their safety. It was a very stressful occupation to say the least, but at least I’ll say it.
The illegal spies were the best prepped and trained for their assignments. In the SVR, they were the prima donnas of the service. They underwent a lengthy, arduous training regimen often lasting several years before being sent abroad. Anyone speaking in Russian in their sleep would be immediately eliminated from the program. That’s how serious they were about creating a plausible cover story or legend as it’s called in the trade. Their assignments would last years and sometimes decades before they were called home.
There was no mention of Vladimir serving as an illegal himself. I doubted it because I believed he offered other talents to his masters involving coldblooded killing.
The most famous case of an illegal caught in the United States was that of Rudolf Abel, one of many pseudonyms used during his seven years in America. He was born in the United Kingdom to parents that had emigrated from Russia. After the revolution, his family returned to their homeland and Rudolf eventually became involved with radio communications and how they could be deployed for purposes of disinformation. During World War II, he put his talents to work for the Soviet military and successfully carried out a number of operations directed against German communications networks. He joined the KGB after the war and given his fluency in several languages, especially English, he was selected for an assignment to the U.S. as an illegal operative.
He took up residence in New York City and served as a facilitator of things to support the Atomic Spies network working on the Manhattan Project. His duties primarily involved the receipt and payment of monies to the conspirators and transmitting secret information to the KGB. There was no information to suggest he recruited any spies himself.
By the way, in the espionage business, officer or case officer or agent handler is the correct term for professionals employed by a government’s intelligence service, not agent. An agent is someone recruited and controlled by the officer. U.S. federal law enforcement and security agencies typically use the title of special agent, hence part of the confusion.
Abel was betrayed in 1957 by an associate, another illegal working for him in New York. It didn’t take the FBI long to confirm his spying activities and arrest him for espionage and related charges. While he never confessed, a search of his apartment revealed the tricks of his trade: code pads, microfilm, a photo of the Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, hollowed-out pencils and other objects used for dead-drops or signaling and the like. It was all damning evidence of his profession’s tradecraft and guilt.
He was convicted and sentenced to 30 years in a federal prison, although he only served four years of the sentence. In 1961, he was swapped for Francis Gary Powers whose U-2 photo recon aircraft was shot down over the Soviet Union.
I continued reading Vlad’s file and it reflected two diplomatic postings; one to Turkey as a military attaché and the other to Moldova in the same capacity. My guess he was a trainer to the host governments paramilitary forces. It thought it a logical assumption given his military experience and credentials. The remainders of his assignments were unremarkable desk jobs in KGB headquarters until he retired or so it seemed on the face of it. I suspected his extracurricular activities as Kremlin assassin and wet-work specialist weren’t documented in his file. I was reading a highly sanitized version of his career, just a piece of pap the Russian’s threw our way to show their sincerity and cooperation and little more. If Boris’s off-the-record depiction of Vlad was accurate, we were dealing with one ruthless, very bad boy. And that fact certainly didn’t show up in his dossier since it was all pure vanilla.
Stapled to the back cover was a large black and white photo of Vlad, likely taken many years ago He was wearing a KGB uniform with the rank of Lt. Colonel. His physical stats were listed on the backside of the picture and I had to convert kilos and centimeters into English. There was no reference whatsoever to his macabre nickname or how he might have earned it. I’d have to find out elsewhere because it piqued my interest. I wanted to understand the depths of his depravity.