The Orchestration

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

The clouds changed rapidly from light to dark gray, almost as if they were in a blender, and if the winds were any indication, the weather was about to change for the worse.

The man who moved slowly along the walk in front of the Vietnam Memorial seemed to be engrossed in his own thoughts, but if anyone looked closely at him, the smile he displayed probably would have seemed out of place for such a solemn site. Whenever he took this stroll, the irony of the situation always struck him as amusing.

He didn’t know for sure, but he felt certain he was directly responsible for at least 100 of the names being incised into the polished marble panels. Indirectly, at least ten times that many because of the courses he taught the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong troops. He was quite proud of the testament the monument made to his prowess as a combat warrior.

Although he used many routes in his job, he liked this particular one best because whether on a mission or not, it kept anyone who followed him trying to guess his true purpose.

It didn’t take long for him to reach his goal, a park bench along the dirt and gravel walkway on the north side of The Mall beside the Reflecting Pool near the Lincoln Memorial. The location was ideal for his purpose, because he could either appear or disappear via the Arlington National Cemetery Metro Station. The walk to and from the station involved crossing the Arlington Memorial Bridge, which was an ideal location to conduct counter surveillance measures to identify anyone who might be displaying interest in his activities.

The man’s unhurried and seemingly innocent presence did not seem to attract any attention from passersby, but the people who were interested in the man’s actions were continually amazed by his cool demeanor in what can only be described as a stressful activity. He was so calm, it was often difficult for them to determine when he was operational, and when he was just out for a stroll. The problem was easily resolved since they had been told to treat anything the man was observed doing as an operational matter.

The man now seated on the bench by the Reflecting Pool was Colonel Vladimir Kostchenko, the head of several KGB operatives working in the District of Columbia whose seemingly innocuous jobs allowed them to conduct clandestine activities on behalf of Russia. He was listed as a minor official with the Russian Office of Fisheries in Washington, D.C., which was ironic because he never liked the taste of fish.

His official duties required him to occasionally issue press releases concerning such topics as the dwindling number of sturgeons in Russian waters, and what great strides could be made to correct the situation if the generous people of the United States would send money to help fund the project to reverse this trend.

Except for a broken nose, a reminder of a training accident kept as a kind of badge of honor, he was a rather nondescript individual who could fit into any situation. He spoke English better than most Americans, and he was quite familiar with the customs and history of the United States; the place he had learned to refer to as his ‘target country’. He was in his late 50s and, like most intelligence officers, he missed the days of the Cold War when there were more ongoing activities.

Still, with the fall of the Berlin Wall and the breakup of the Soviet Union, tensions between the U.S. and Russia had relaxed, at least on the surface and in public statements. Expressions of friendship between the two countries were now commonplace, and since travel restrictions inside the U.S. had been lifted, his job had become a lot easier.

Because of his efforts and successes over the years, he was one of the best agent handlers within the KGB, and that was the reason he was currently in the United States. The network necessary to support his activities had been in place for many years, and it was relatively easy to infiltrate highly trained personnel into the country when necessary. Under the guise of students, business executives, media personnel, medical technicians, and Kostchenko’s personal favorite, members of the clergy, these adjunct operatives had few problems carrying out their assigned duties before returning to Russia.

Without a doubt, he liked operating in the U.S., and with few exceptions, things seemed to be going better than he had hoped. He did not consider the FBI to be much of a problem because it was easy to create situations that diverted their attention, and he realized that most police departments were not trained to recognize or handle national level activities.

While he sat on the bench, he sipped a cup of coffee and read a newspaper, but furtively glanced around the area from time to time. His movements were natural and unhurried; a skill developed from the many hours he practiced conducting this activity.

Once satisfied that he was not being observed, he acted quickly.

While he took a sip of coffee from the cup in his left hand, his right hand moved almost imperceptibly around the end of the bench where he attached a small, magnetized container to a metal band on the bottom of the seat.

“Kostchenko seems to be getting a bit careless,” said one of the men watching the KGB agent. “I think he’s becoming a bit overconfident about his capabilities, and it’s about time; I was beginning to think he’d never make a mistake.”

“What happened?” asked the man’s companion.

All his associates knew the ‘watcher’ as Yoda, and his companion was a younger agent on what was supposed to be a training exercise. The two of them sat in the rear of a surveillance van parked along 22nd Street, and they had observed and video-taped every move Kostchenko made.

“Keep focused on him; I’ll explain everything to you in a couple of minutes,” said Yoda.

As the two of them watched, their target arose from the bench and walked toward the Lincoln Memorial, but stopped at a tree before continuing toward the bridge.

“What was that all about?” asked the younger man.

“Those, my young friend, were the actions of a person who is up to no good,” remarked Yoda.

Yoda was Darque’s Chief of Surveillance, and he currently headed the surveillance team assigned to monitor Kostchenko’s movements.

“All he did was sit on a bench, drink a cup of coffee, read a newspaper, and then leave”.

“Did you see him appear to grab the right side of the bench with his hand?” asked Yoda.

“Yes, but that was probably just to balance himself while he shifted his position on the bench”.

“I’m pretty sure that wasn’t his purpose, but we should know shortly,” said Yoda. “I believe the bench will soon have another visitor, and that individual will also, as you put it, balance himself with a movement of his right hand. Be sure you get that movement, and the person who made it, on tape.”

“Will that stand up in court as evidence?”

“We’re not looking for evidence that will stand up in a court of law; we’re looking for indications of activities that might warrant further investigation. If we can identify those, and further investigation is warranted, that will be the time to start looking for evidence that will aid in determining how the matter will be resolved. A court battle is not necessarily the best way for situations involving representatives of foreign governments to be handled, and that is especially true for KGB agents.”

“Did I miss anything else?”

“Probably. Did you notice that he quickened his pace once he stood up and started to walk away from where he had been seated?”

“Yes, but so what?”

“People who carry out clandestine activities often move away from the points of their incriminating actions more quickly than they move towards them. It may have something to do with the knowledge that they have just done something for which they could be arrested, but since they seemed to get away with it unchallenged, staying in the area would only draw more attention and increase the possibility of being caught. It may just be a psychological quirk, but its result is a clue that something is not right, and with enough clues, a puzzle can be solved.”

“So, what do you think happened?”

“I think he loaded a dead drop, and I suspect someone will show up pretty soon to retrieve whatever was left behind.”

“Shouldn’t you have told some of the team to follow him?”

“A couple of people will stay with him to make sure he stays out of trouble, but we know who he is, and we can find him just about whenever we want to, but there’s a good chance the person who shows up to get whatever Kostchenko left behind is an unknown player, and we'll need to determine who that individual is. Our priority has switched from Kostchenko to whomever shows up as his replacement on the bench.”

“Anything you want me to do right now?”

“Yes. I want you to walk by the tree where Kostchenko hesitated, and see if you notice anything unusual, but be very casual about it.”

The younger agent checked all the one-way glass in the van for anyone who might be showing interest in the vehicle, and left quietly out the side door of the van when he saw nothing suspicious. After his departure, Yoda relocked the side door because it was embarrassing to be interrupted by prospective car thieves and casual passersby while conducting surreptitious activities.

It wasn’t long before the man returned to the van, and Yoda unlocked the side door to let him reenter the rear compartment.

“Did you find anything out of the ordinary?” Yoda asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“What did you find?”

“There was a thumbtack sticking in the tree at about waist level, but it may have been there for quite a while.”

“I doubt it,” said Yoda. “I suspect that’s the load sign. Whoever is going to service the drop will pass close enough to the tree to see the tack, and that will be the signal for him to retrieve whatever Kostchenko left at the bench. He will already know where the drop is located, and was probably the one who initially identified it.”

Yoda sat silently as he watched each person who walked past the bench, and looked for any sign that might indicate who the KGB agent’s intended recipient might be; the identity of that person would be the payoff for many hours of boring inactivity. Catching a bad guy in the act was the five-second adrenalin rush that made all the discomforts endured during a surveillance worthwhile; it was finding the needle in the haystack, and the reward was satisfaction for having done a tedious job well.

Yoda looked at his watch and broke the silence.

“I have a feeling the person we’re interested in has already seen the tack, and is probably in the vicinity waiting for just the right moment to approach the bench.”

Having said that, Yoda reached for the mike and issued his instructions to the other members of his team, because it was important to get surveillants out of their vehicles and on foot so they could more closely observe the activities of anyone who approached the drop site.

“Send out your legs and be ready to move and pick them up when and where they direct. Concentrate on the target and his means of transportation once both are identified.”

As the drivers in each of the vehicles replied, acknowledging receipt of his order, he knew he didn’t have to say anything else.

Foot surveillants had departed the vehicles in which they had been riding, and they now took up positions where they could remain unobtrusive, but closely watch the spot where Kostchenko had been seated. From whatever locations they had chosen, they would hopefully be able to follow whoever retrieved whatever the KGB agent had left behind.

Their goal was to get a good visual, physical description of the person, as well as photos and video, and then follow the person to whatever conveyance he would use to exit the area so the person and vehicle could be identified as soon as possible.

Communications between Yoda and all other team members was accomplished through the use of ‘body comms’ that were worn by each team member. The gear was wireless and consisted of a transmitter about the size of a pack of cigarettes, a microphone about the size of a shirt button, and a receiver about the size of the end of a cotton tipped swab which was inserted into an ear canal.

Knowing that the foot and vehicle portions of the surveillance were in place and ready to act, Yoda relaxed. He focused his video camera on the bench where Kostchenko had been seated, but nothing had changed.

A couple of people had been seated on the bench, but neither of them had made any attempt to reach under the bench. A child had climbed up on the bench and stomped back and forth leaving dusty footprints on the seat, but then decided to jump to the ground and move on to pester some pigeons that pecked at a piece of bread, possibly left behind by a well-meaning tourist since local office workers seldom do anything to encourage the presence of the ‘lawn vultures’.

A male’s voice suddenly came through Yoda’s ear piece.

“Possible target. Male Caucasian, 35-40, 5’10-6’1,” 175-185, dark hair, light blue coat, gray shirt, dark blue trousers, black shoes. He walked past the drop site twice, looked toward it both times, and occasionally looked over his right shoulder to check behind himself. He just turned around and is now headed back toward the drop.”

Yoda knew that every member of the team would scan the area for the person who fit the description that had just been broadcast, and it didn’t take any of them long to locate the individual. The mistakes being made by the man as he approached the drop site drew the immediate attention of those who watched.

Yoda focused the camera on the man as soon as the individual approached the bench where Kostchenko had been seated, and it became rather obvious that this was the person they had all been waiting for to show up.

The man tried to appear calm, and except for his darting glances at passers-by, the unidentified target acted out his ruse pretty well. As he assumed the same position the KGB agent had used earlier, the man removed the object left by Kostchenko from beneath the seat and put it in his coat pocket, but remained seated for a few seconds until he convinced himself that his actions had not been witnessed. With a smug look on his face, the man arose from the bench, and quickly walked away from the area in an almost direct route toward his vehicle, which was parked near George Washington University. The surveillance team followed the man without any problems, and watched as he entered a vehicle and drove out of the area.

As soon as the man had entered his vehicle, a description of it was relayed by one of the team to the other members who were still in their vehicles, and it wasn’t difficult for them to take up a pursuit once the target entered the flow of traffic.

Unlike Kostchenko, who was classified as a ‘hard target’, his contact proved to be rather easy to follow as he drove directly to what turned out to be his residence; a small, nondescript house in a residential neighborhood of other small, nondescript houses, all of which appeared, with minor variations and colors, to have come from the same drawing board.

A DMV check of the license plate on the car he drove disclosed that the vehicle was registered to an Albert C. Michaels, and a quick search through a local phone registry indicated that the residence he had just entered was listed in his name, so the team now had a name for its target as it settled in to wait for the man’s next move.

Yoda was pleased with the way the mission had gone so far, and after reviewing in his mind the actions that the man had taken, he wrote one word under the physical description of the man that he had jotted down earlier: overconfident.

After he entered the house, Michaels walked through the living room to the kitchen, and removed the small container he had retrieved at the drop site from his pants pocket. When he opened the tin, he found a key, similar to the kind used to open lockers at transportation hubs, with the number 263 inscribed on it, along with a piece of paper that had ‘Union Station’ written on it. He put the key in his pocket, dropped the container into a cabinet drawer, and set the piece of paper on fire before washing the ashes down the kitchen sink.

He grabbed something to eat from the refrigerator, because he knew he had to wait for a few hours for the avalanche of workers to depart the train station before he retrieved whatever had been left for him in the locker. Even though he didn’t know what he was supposed to pick up, he knew it was what he needed to deliver to Germany to complete his assignment, and even though his role in the overall plan was minor, he was sure of one thing: the world needed a change, and once the plan came to fruition, that would most certainly happen.

His greatest fear was that somehow the plot would be discovered and foiled, but if that were the case, he had the comfort of knowing that it would not be his fault, because he had been very careful, and besides, he knew there was no turning back.