The Games They Play

By Jack Kassinger

Convinced that the other’s evil intentions persist, they are embroiled in a game of high-stakes espionage; white against black and black against white. They move furtively, often like pawns on a chessboard, seeking to control the game. Not since the days of the “cold war” have the two sides relied so heavily on the organs of its intelligence apparatus to keep the balance of power in check.

The American government has learned of a new stealth technology developed for Russia’s submarine fleet, a technology that has given the Russians a significant military advantage in terms of naval warfare. The CIA directs operative Mike Shocklee to abduct the Russian scientist who developed the technology, but he can’t do it without the help of other CIA assets. In a daring and successful exfiltration operation, abetted by a Moscow Station asset, Nina Lubikov, Shocklee’s team nabs the scientist and clandestinely takes him to the CIA’s covert medical facility located in Southern Virginia for interrogation.

Russian president, Alexander Medvedev, after being briefed about the abduction by his director for internal security, General Alexander Terorsov, is outraged. He orders the FSB to find out where the Americans have taken Dr. Mauldin and to bring him back home or see that he is neutralized and unable to help the Americans; he also wants the traitorous TV reporter who helped the Americans, buried on American soil or brought back to spend the rest of her life in a Siberian prison.

The Rezidentura, Russia’s intelligence station in Washington, D.C., is given the task of locating Mauldin and Lubikov, dubbed the ML operation. After months of trying, the station is unable to locate them. The Rezident, Anatoly Smolinsky, the equivalent of CIA’s chief of station, requests the assignment of a counterintelligence security specialist from Moscow to help with the operation. General Terorsov, is convinced by his deputy, Grigori Popov, to send Colonel Alexander Kasikov, the FSB officer who failed to stop the abduction operation to Washington. Kasikov arrives and takes the lead, but has little success ultimately employing the assistance of two illegals who become instrumental in the hunt for Mauldin and Lubikov.

The CIA becomes aware of Colonel Kasikov’s assignment. What follows is detailed and intricate maneuvering by both intelligence organizations–one determined to silence the scientist, and the other tirelessly working to rehabilitate a demented and unstable mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brighton Publishing LLC
• Release date: Nov 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781621835134

Jack Kassinger

In terms of spy genre, Jack Kassinger, as an author, is one of the best there is. His novels include: Noble Cause: A CIA Spy Thriller, Storms Over Zimbabwe, and The Hunt for Njonjo and each provides the reader suspense and drama based on real life experiences. PURSUED is his fourth novel to be published, and is a continuation of his masterful writing.As a former United States Marine and CIA veteran, Jack Kassinger spent his formative years growing up in the small rural town of Livermore, Kentucky. After high school, he joined the Marine Corps and served in Viet Nam. He was wounded in action on Memorial Day 1969. Following his tour with the Marines he joined the Central Intelligence Agency and served overseas in various locations. He retired from the CIA in 1995 as a Senior Intelligence Officer.During his service with the CIA, he received numerous awards for valor and heroism. His awards include the Intelligence Medal of Merit, twice awarded, the Intelligence Star for Valor, and certificates of appreciation from the Joint Special Operations Command.He currently resides in Fair Oaks Ranch, Texas with his wife Cherie. They have two married children.

Book preview

PART 1

( f3 d6)

Chapter One

How in the hell could something like this have happened? Nikolai Terorsov asked himself. A team of American operatives, he was sure they were Americans, had slipped into Saint Petersburg, Russia, and abducted an important MINOBROVY, Department of Defense, scientist. Officials at the department were pissed at him and at his office for their failure to prevent the abduction. His men should have been able to stop them, but they hadn’t. It bugged the shit out of him. The Americans were good, but not that damn good. They should have been caught. Instead of finding their asses behind bars somewhere, they were probably making their way to the closest border crossing.

He shouldn’t have to be worrying about something like this. The president would have to be briefed, no doubt, and he fretted about such a meeting. The successful abduction of the scientist by the Americans represented a major screwup on the part of his people. Someone’s head would be on the proverbial chopping block, most likely his, if they weren’t caught before they could escape to the safety of a neighboring country.

As director of the FSB, Terorsov was once a lower-ranking general who headed up the Federal Counterintelligence Service within the KGB, a predecessor organization. He was only recently appointed to his position–a reward for the outspoken public support he had given Alexander Medvedev during his campaign to become president.

Terorsov knew the president was on a hastily arranged diplomatic trip to Damascus. The Syrian government was under political attack by Western governments demanding a regime change due to the ongoing civil strife within the country. Russia, by virtue of strong support within the Duma, was one of the few countries still backing the Assad government. The president was scheduled to return late evening, and Terorsov thought how best to proceed with regards to a briefing. He could keep the information from the president while his men worked to stop the Americans and crow about preventing a national security disaster later, or brief him now and accept his wrath for failing to prevent the abduction. The president was a callous politician, a well-connected oligarch who had little time for people who played him for a fool. Knowing this, Terorsov decided the risk was greater than a potential reward and placed a call to the Kremlin.

An aide answered the phone. She put the general on hold while checking the president’s schedule. Terorsov thought about how the Americans had managed to infiltrate the country and kidnap a scientist who possessed top-secret information on the military’s submarine stealth technology program. He hoped his personnel in Saint Petersburg or the border guard would have the American operatives in custody by the time he was to meet with the president.

The aide came back on the line.

Eight tomorrow morning, General Terorsov, is the earliest I can get you in to see him. Will that work for you, or should I look for another time?

Deciding to accept the briefing time, Terorsov thanked the aide and hung up the phone. He sat alone in his office thinking about the tenuous situation he found himself in. The briefing was now going to be much sooner than he had anticipated and, consequently, shortened the amount of time his men would have to catch the Americans before they could get away. He stayed in the office late expecting to get good news, but as each hour passed, he became more despondent without any word on the Americans. He finally left the office at nine and headed home.

***

President Medvedev stood looking out the tenth-floor window of his Kremlin working residence waiting for the arrival of his chief intelligence officer for internal affairs. He gazed in the direction of the US Embassy located just a mile and a half away. On a clear summer day one could see their embassy, but that wasn’t the case today. The Americans, with their insistence that something had to be done about the Assad regime, were proving to be a political thorn in his side.

He heard the door open and turned to see General Terorsov entering the room. He didn’t know what to expect from the meeting, his schedule simply reflected that he was to receive a briefing by the FSB chief.

The abduction had taken place on Friday afternoon. It was now Sunday morning, nearly two days later, and the matter of the kidnapped scientist was still unresolved when Nikolai walked into the room.

Welcome back home, Mr. President, he said with a forced smile.

The president was wearing a robe and holding a cup. He looked as if he hadn’t had much sleep. His response was a bit groggy.

Good morning, Nikolai. There’s hot tea on the table. Help yourself.

Nikolai walked over to the table and reached to pour a cup while thinking how best to commence the briefing.

What is so important we must meet like this on a Sunday morning, and only hours after I have returned home, Nikolai? The president took a sip of tea and waited for the response.

Red-faced, as much from his embarrassment as the cold outside, Nikolai related the details of the incident, including the distraction operation the CIA ran in Moscow while others ran the abduction operation in Saint Petersburg.

I regret to inform you, Mr. President, there has been an incident with the potential to impact the success of the navy’s submarine stealth technology program. A few days ago, an unidentified team of operatives, perhaps British but evidence suggests they were Americans, kidnapped an important MINOBROVY scientist from the SAHPSTIN mental institute in Saint Petersburg. His name is Dr. Dimitry Mauldin. He was the lead scientist on the program and possesses classified information regarding program developments. I’m told his scientific achievements made the program such a success. He became ill and mentally unstable while working on the program. On the recommendation of our doctors, he was committed to the institute for observation and treatment. The MINOBROVY is very concerned that Dr. Mauldin may still remember many details of the program, but acknowledges there had been no improvement in his mental condition during the year he was confined to the institute.

Nikolai ended the briefing, leaving the president with a modicum of hope that the abduction team could be caught.

It’s my guess, Mr. President, they will try to get him out of the country by escaping overland to a neighboring country. I believe we still have time to catch them and return Dr. Mauldin to the institute before they can make their getaway.

It appeared, at first blush, that Medvedev was not upset with what he had been told, but then he tore into Terorsov as if he was a young inexperienced officer and not someone with years of service within the disparate elements of Russia’s intelligence apparatus.

You let the Americans slip into our backyard and kidnap an important military scientist! How in the hell could that have happened, Nikolai? How long did it take you to figure out the CIA was running a distraction operation here in Moscow while the real operation was going down in Saint Petersburg? The CENTER was played for a fool, and you’ll be without a job if they aren’t caught and the scientist brought back to the institute. Do not let them get out of the country. Do I make myself clear?

Yes, Mr. President, abundantly clear.

Nikolai left the president and headed back to Lubyanka, to the CENTER, where Grigori Popov, his deputy, was waiting.

How did it go? Grigori asked, following Nikolai into his office.

I’ll be standing in a bread line with my hand out if we don’t catch the sons of bitches.

It was an old cliché, but the deputy director got the message. As the director sat down, Grigori took a seat across from his desk. He heard the desperation in the director’s voice.

Has there been any word from Kasikov or from the border guard?

I’m afraid not, Nikolai. Colonel Kasikov and his FSB team have been using every resource they have to try and locate them, but nothing. As for the guard, nothing from them either. It’s been snowing unbelievably in portions of the Western Military District, and there hasn’t been a vehicle to cross any of the border checkpoints since we put out the alert. The guard has been running patrols in some of the passable areas along the border, but so far, they haven’t seen any sign of the Americans. I think they are hunkered down somewhere waiting for the weather to clear.

Yeah, what you’re telling me, Grigori, is we don’t have a clue where they are with Dr. Mauldin, do we?

No, sir, we don’t, but I’m pretty sure we would have caught them by now if it hadn’t started snowing.

And if your aunt had balls, she’d be your uncle. If I go down, I’m not going down by myself, others around here will have to pay, including Kasikov and the guard commander.

Nikolai took a lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette he had taken from a freshly opened pack. He inhaled deeply, swallowed, then blew smoke toward Grigori.

What’s the weather report look like down there? When is the storm projected to subside?

Grigori waved the smoke away.

Sometime late today or early Monday morning.

OK, keep me posted on the guards’ search activities. Also, what about the asshole Americans we had under surveillance here Friday?

We took care of them, and the CIA station chief is going to be pissed. The police detained two of their drivers as the result of separate vehicle accidents. The others were allowed to return to the embassy.

Good, make sure we keep them locked up until the ambassador comes begging for their release.

***

The 146th Foot Regiment Commander received an alert notice late Friday evening from the FSB’s Operations Control Center on the unlawful American team operating in the Western Military District–followed by an order to commence operations to locate and apprehend them. The Americans had to be stopped at all cost; failure to capture them was not an option. The order directed the commander to focus his search effort on the area around Pskov, near the Latvian border. NATO was conducting a joint military training exercise with the Latvians that included a substantial number of American military personnel. The CENTER was certain that’s where the kidnapping team would be heading.

The commander considered the CENTER’s order but felt there were border areas much closer where the Americans could cross. The command barracks was located at Kingisepp, a city located closer to Narva, Estonia, than the Latvian border station at Pskov. With that in mind, the commander decided to send some of his men to Ivangorod, the border station near Narva, to patrol areas along the border there as well. He didn’t want to take any chances. The CENTER wasn’t always right. He knew what it meant for him if his men failed to capture the Americans.

Chapter Two

The abduction of Dimitry Mauldin was not a typical cloak-and-dagger operation conducted by the CIA. Team operatives were not required to run the backstreets of Saint Petersburg late at night to meet with some high-ranking Russian spy, or anyone else, but the adrenaline rush they felt was just the same. After being clandestinely moved from their infiltration point to Saint Petersburg, they worked from an old warehouse in Kirovskiy District to implement the operation. It was a well-defined, well-thought-out paramilitary operation requiring a lot of internal support utilizing deep-cover CIA personnel and trustworthy assets who had been on the CIA’s payroll for several years. However, the operation was on the verge of being canceled when the cover for one of the assets was nearly blown by her boss–a nosy television producer.

At two in the afternoon on Friday, the team successfully entered the institute grounds and abducted the old scientist. They snatched him from a bench situated along a garden pathway where he had been walking with an attendant–a daily exercise routine factored into their planning. As they were preparing to leave, the team was surprised by advancing security personnel. The team leader was shot and wounded, but they managed to escape with Dr. Mauldin.

A high-speed police chase ensued as the team sped away in a large van. The sound of sirens grew louder as the police closed in on them. The SEAL driving the escape vehicle managed to avoid being cornered, thanks to some fancy vehicle blocking maneuvers provided by the supporting assets pre-positioned along their escape route. They crossed the Liteyniy Bridge and the Neva River that flowed below while heading back to the warehouse.

The team changed ops vehicles upon arrival at the warehouse and later left, hunkered down in the back of a canvas-covered lorry heading in a southwestwardly direction toward Latvia. The team leader laid in the back of the truck, up next to the cab. The bandage applied during their hasty getaway from the institute was just a temporary fix to stop the bleeding–there hadn’t been time to adequately treat the wound during their rush to get out of the city. The team medic pressed a syringe into the team leader’s side and pumped in a shot of morphine. He waited a few minutes before removing the bandage to stitch up the wound.

Although safe for the moment, team members knew the FSB and the Russian Border Guard would have been notified after the high-speed chase by the police failed to stop them from getting away. Higher authorities would subsequently have been informed about the abduction and perhaps even the president. For the time being they were all safe, and the CIA’s hand in the operation was still unknown to Russian authorities.

They covered themselves with blankets to keep warm, and some attempted to sleep during the three-hour ride to Checkpoint Charlie. It was a cold, heart-pounding ride that didn’t end soon enough for the team leader. It had begun to snow as the SEAL driving the truck turned onto a logging road.

The jolting movement was enough to awaken the team leader. He sat up as the vehicle suddenly stopped in a lurching motion. Two SEALs from the front cab got out and hustled to the back to unstrap the tarp. Dr. Mauldin was taken inside the cabin and later given another shot, a sedative manufactured at the DEPOT by CIA’s doctors to keep him quiet. The team had prepared for the worse and they were fortunate, by some accounts, to be safely back at Checkpoint Charlie. Now they could rest for a spell before having to move on to the next checkpoint.

The hunting cabin they occupied was surrounded by dense forest. It was located eight miles south of Ivangorod and five miles from the Estonian border. It continued to snow throughout the night, with periodic lulls, followed by heavy bouts of falling snowflakes the size of quarters. Fortunately, everything was going as planned except for the weather, the team leader’s bullet wound, and the unfortunate incident involving Nina Lubikov, the principal supporting asset whose cover had nearly been blown. They weren’t due at the final exfiltration point until midnight Sunday, but in order to avoid the border guard, they would have to walk several miles to get to their next checkpoint located on the other side of the border.

It was still snowing as they rested throughout the day on Saturday, which gave the team leader time to regain his strength. The bullet had passed through his side and didn’t cause a lot of damage, but it was enough to impair his mobility. He was thankful for the extra day they had to rest; it, too, had been factored into their planning.

On Sunday morning, hours before the chief of the FSB was to brief the president, they gathered for an update. The team leader told them of the radio call he had received during the night from HAMMERHEAD. They were all glad to hear approval had been granted to bring out the Russian-born asset who had shot and killed her boss in an attempt to keep the operation from being blown. A few clapped about the news, even the demented scientist. He had been untied and was free to move about the cabin, under watchful eyes, in preparation for the arduous foot march to the Estonian border. He needed to be ambulatory for a few hours to mitigate the effects of the drug he had been given. Dr. Mauldin had no idea what was taking place, but he seemed to accept his surroundings and the people around him, particularly the young Russian woman who always seemed to be at his side.

A few hours later, they left the safety of the cabin and headed toward the border. Dredging through the snow was difficult for everyone, especially for the team leader and the sixty-year-old scientist who was in poor physical condition. It was late afternoon when they reached a small clearing where they planned to cross the border into Estonia. They stopped to rest. Mauldin needed a break, and the stitches the team medic had sown into Mike Shocklee’s side had busted loose. They needed to be repaired. The rear guard radioed he was just a few hundred yards back with no one in apparent pursuit, meaning the medic had time to treat Shocklee before they had to move on.

It had finally stopped snowing. The air was fresh and clear as the team rested. The medic had just finished treating Shocklee’s wound when suddenly the noise of shots rang out. As bullets soared over their heads, they looked around and saw two Russians in white snowsuits advancing on them from different angles. With orders to drop their weapons, they complied, just as the approaching SEAL, the rear guard, made his presence known.

After hearing the sound of a weapon being fired, the rear guard hurried to close in on the team. He had taken a kneeling position behind a small bush to scan the area. He saw them standing with their hands up in the air. A man, a border guard, was pointing a rifle at