Red Fortress ob der Tauber

By Mike Kennedy

Red Fortress ob der Tauber is a Mark Springfield espionage/thriller.   While CIA operative, Ramous Bohdan is on assignment in Russia, he’s approached by a long retired KGB agent.  Ramous soon learns the special tie the agent had with President John F. Kennedy and how it changed the course of American history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: author
• Release date: Feb 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532332982

Book preview

PROLOGUE

November 7, 2005

Germany

Rothenburg ob der Tauber

H e stood on the sidewalk and watched a small crowd gather at the side of the road. Peering through their legs, he saw a body sprawled out across the small cobblestone road. Its right arm had been lying so it was draped over the sidewalk. He could see the fingers sticking into a small wooden cutout that had been made for a planter.

He heard someone crying and looked to his left. There was a woman kneeling on the ground. She was visibly shaken. She was holding a small boy close to her chest, his shoe clutched tight in her grip, his shirt and pants torn.

Still in a daze and only hearing muffled sounds, he had easily walked through the crowd. He could hear the wail of sirens in the distance.

He looked to his left and then to his right. He felt detached from everyone. But somehow he felt connected to the crumpled man who was lying before him. As if in a dream, he found himself standing back on the sidewalk, as if he had never left.

Written on the side of what looked like an old-style ambulance was Johanniter-Unfall-Hilfe e. V. He quickly translated it to St. John’s Ambulance. Germany, I’m in Germany, he thought. He watched the crowd part as the ambulance drew near. It lurched to a stop. Why am I in Germany? Several police had arrived, and they quickly backed the crowd away from the scene.

He needed to be someplace but wasn’t quite sure where. He watched as the attendants knelt over the body. For several long minutes, they worked over the figure. The attendants stood. They both slowly shook their heads. They turned and pulled the cart from the rear doors. They positioned it next to the body. The attendants methodically lifted the lifeless form. They strapped it onto a thin mattress covered with a white sheet. In a single motion, the men lifted the bed up to waist level. One of the attendants depressed a lever, and the wheels fell from under the gurney with a metallic clank. They swung the gurney around so his head was facing the rear doors. He finally got a good look at the person he seemed so attached to. It was himself. Everyone had been staring at him. Mumbling to himself, he asked, But how? He still did not understand. Then with some recognition, he noticed a tall man standing alone across the street. The man folded his arms across his chest. A wide smile crossed the outsider’s lips when he moved closer to get a better look at the person on the gurney. He watched as the person backed away. The tall man slipped out of view, disappearing behind a building.

He looked down at the ground in deep thought, then over at the woman who was now talking to the police. He glanced back in the direction of the man who had been standing on the corner. He had not returned. The sound of metal drew his attention back to the ambulance. The wheels had been retracted, and the gurney had been slid through the rear doors.

He was confused but still felt a strange attachment to the body on the gurney and stared at the man who resembled him. He had started to feel warm and somewhat drawn. Mark Springfield started to remember. The movie before him played in reverse. It played as if someone had been stopping and starting a projector.

-From his peripheral, he had seen a small delivery van almost on top of him. He stumbled and tried to regain his balance and straightened himself in the street.

-He was reaching for the boy while sliding across the back of the parked car.

-Scraping his left shoulder across the metal, he gathered the boy’s red-striped shirt in his fist. Mark had stumbled a few feet. With the strength he had left, he flung the boy to his right onto the curb. The black-and-white ball the child had been chasing continued to roll down the street.

The reel of tape in his mind’s eye played on.

He dodged a car while crossing the street. Mark lost sight of the small boy as the child ran between the parked cars.

He knew it normally freezes people in place, so yelling was out. He had no choice.The child stood no chance against the oncoming small white delivery van. Cursing under his breath, he ran toward the boy at full stride.

He refocused his attention down the street. In a horrifying instant, he realized what was about to happen.

He came from behind a small shop, walking at a quickened pace.

That was it. The reel of tape had gone blank. He had staggered a bit, then his world had gone dark.

In a rush of noise, smell, and confusion, he awoke in the ambulance. He tried to move, but the straps held him tightly to the bed. He pulled up against the straps and looked at the attendants, willing himself to understand. The two men returned blank stares. They spoke to each other in startled voices. Mark lay back, trying to rationalize what had just happened. He had watched the attendants load his body into the ambulance and the crowd that had gathered. Quietly, he had said his name repeatedly. To the attendants, Mark appeared to be incoherent.

Mark Springfield had had an out-of-body experience. The survivor’s euphoria he had started to feel had been overpowering. For some reason, he was back.

He lay in the ambulance, trying to get a grip on what was happening. He had no idea why he was in Germany or why he had focused on the tall man. He had felt in a hurry while on the street, but did not know why. All he knew was that he had a nagging feeling there was something seriously wrong with his friend and fellow agent, Ramous Bohdan.

1

April 12, 2005

Seven months earlier

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

I don’t like it. Mark Springfield sat back down, his thick frame filling his chair. He tapped his pencil on his notepad as he frowned at Ramous. He leaned back, holding Ramous in a viselike stare. Mark had just turned forty-eight, and with his close-cropped slightly graying hair and squarely set jaw, he exuded a sense of confidence. To his enemies, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Ramous sat across the desk from Mark, returning his friend’s stare. Mark glared back. Ramous narrowed his eyes. They stared each other down until finally, Ramous inwardly chuckled and thought, Jesus, I’m glad we’re on the same side. Ramous had just gotten a taste of what it must feel like sitting in an interrogation room with Mark Springfield on the other side of the table.

The conference room was full. However, it felt like it had been just the two of them. They were planning what would be one of their most dangerous assignments.

Ramous Bohdan was two years older than Mark and stood three inches shorter than his friend’s 5’11" frame. His brown eyes, thin light brown hair, and pale complexion made him the spitting image of his ancestor, Ivan Bohdan. Ramous’s claim to fame was that Ivan had sailed with Captain John Smith to the Jamestown colonies in 1608. Ivan was the first-known Ukrainian to set foot on the

new world. Ramous had used that fact to his advantage. He would often joke with Mark and fellow agents. He would remind them that he was more American since his family had arrived before theirs. Ramous had joined the CIA three years after graduating college. He had worked for a defense contractor and was responsible for both their computer system upgrades and security. His job did not give him the satisfaction he had needed. Instead, it had left him restless and unfulfilled. He had applied for the CIA after they had specifically targeted him with a computer recruitment drive. Ramous answered their ad, and the follow-up interviews had left him wanting more. With his education and practical knowledge of computer security, he was a natural fit. Ramous was also fluent in Russian, a quality the agency liked.

Ramous held Mark’s gaze for what seemed like minutes before he spoke. When he did, he turned to the rest of the group. Mark would worry if we sent Rambo in, he quickly said, trying to get a laugh out of his friend. Mark stayed steadfast but softened his gaze. He could not really say why he had been worried.

Time and place, Mark thought.They were sitting in a room full of managers and operatives discussing the intelligence they had received from Australia. It wasn’t the time or place to talk family. He would wait.

He had been called back to Langley along with other key agents. Their assignment was to capitalize on the new intelligence leaked out of the Ukraine. Through his handler, one of the Russian agents working for the CIA had reported a change to the Russian submarines’ communication codes. If it were true, it was an opportunity of a lifetime. There were small windows of time when codes were vulnerable. To get the information in advance gave the United States a chance to compromise communications with, of all things, Russian ballistic missile submarines.

2

March 7, 2005

One month earlier

Sevastopol, Ukraine

T he CIA had turned Russian Junior Lieutenant Karl Azarov into an asset four years earlier. He had been paid a small stipend to pass observations of the Black Sea Fleet. He had been stationed in Sevastopol, the second largest port in the Ukraine and one that the Ukrainian government leased out to Russia. The Port housed a large operational strategic submarine unit. It operated in both the Black and Mediterranean Seas. Lieutenant Azarov was responsible for the maintenance of their most secretive communications equipment throughout the base.

Karl was married with two children. His Russian pay was hardly enough, if he had been paid at all. When an operative with the CIA approached him, he had been easily turned. For the past four years, he had provided useful information regarding ship movements in and out of the port.

Lieutenant Azarov had sent one of his men to sick call. He knew there was maintenance still to perform, and having extra time, he had filled in. He was working in one of the secure spaces preparing to clean a copier that processed classified documents. He disassembled the lower mechanism and then raised the lid of the copier to remove the glass tray. Karl was not normally exposed to the encrypted traffic, but what lay less than one foot in front of him caused his vision to narrow. Written across the top and bottom and down the sides in bold capital letters were the words CEKPETHO TOP SECRET. Lying next to the original encryption was the deciphered version. It had been marked the same way, easily readable to the lieutenant. Karl took a step back. He thought he was being tested. However, remembering how Captain First Rank Belousov had smelled when he had passed him in the hall, he knew what had happened.

Moments Earlier

Captain First Rank Yuri Belousov was a dark-skinned rotund officer with a potted face. In the center was planted a bulbous red nose. He was one of five officers responsible for collecting, decrypting, coding, copying, and sending secure messages. All five felt they were better than their fellow officers. They were known for getting together quite often to share a woman and a bottle or two of vodka. Last night had been no different. He had once again drunk until the early hours of the morning.

Belousov had arrived early to work the communications. He was in a stupor.

Belousov leaned against the copier and idly hit start.

As the Top Secret documents were scanned and printed,

he started to doze. He startled himself awake when he slid across the copier and bumped into the wall. He let out a profanity and then laughed to himself. He thought of the woman they had had a few hours ago. He grabbed the copies from the tray. He had completely forgotten the originals covered under the lid of the copier and had finally made a grievous mistake.

Karl stood in the empty room. He looked around, expecting to see someone. He was alone. The room was quiet and empty. He knew what he should do. However, when Karl looked back at the documents, he saw freedom. Because of the low morale in the Russian Navy, he had never been searched entering or exiting his workspaces. He stooped down and quickly reassembled the copier’s lower mechanism. He closed the lid and pressed Test Copy. Spitting out the other end were sheets of colored bar graphs. Then he pressed Calibrate, and the machine realigned the bar graphs to the right, left, and then center. It had given Karl the handful of papers he had needed to conceal what he did next. He pressed Copy. The copier once again came to life. Karl’s ears pounded. He rubbed his right hand in a circular motion around his chest. It felt as if his heart would shatter his breastplate. The Top Secret document along with the cipher had appeared, falling into the tray as if he had just printed a school project for one of his kids. He quickly shuffled them into the small stack of papers. He folded it and tossed it into his large maintenance briefcase.

Karl had a life-changing document for his American friends. He not only had information regarding the submarine codes, but any code breaker could match the original encryption and the deciphered version and understand how Russia encrypted their messages. He also knew if he were caught, he would be executed.

Karl knelt down and, for an instant, stared at the lower copier unit as if he had been having second thoughts. He inhaled and exhaled several shaky breaths. Then with the decision made, he disassembled the lower unit, stood, and yelled, Captain Belousov!

3

September 24, 2005

Murmansk, Russia

R amous sat on the seat in the small wooden boat vigorously rubbing his hands together. They were numb. He tried to restore the feeling in his fingers. He had been out in the September cold on the Kola Bay for hours. He quietly laughed at the thought of Mark trying to talk him out of the assignment months ago. Now, he sat in the boat breathing very slowly through the thirty-degree air, trying not to freeze his sinuses.

Ramous slowly rocked his boat. He watched the waves he had created ripple out from the hull and disappear in the low fog. Ramous chuckled. Mark’s insistence didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

He had been moved to Murmansk due to a last-minute change of plans. Their source had suddenly changed the location. Something he was all too familiar with working for the CIA. His cover was working as an English teacher in the town of Murmansk southwest of Severomorsk, headquarters for the Russian Northern Fleet. He had been in place for months before the code was to have been delivered. In order for the cover to work, he had needed to be in place several months before he received the code from their source. He was trying to fit in with the locals, being very careful not to draw any undue attention. Russia encouraged tourism but silently watched their guests, and they never allowed them to get near any of their closed towns. Only those individuals who were approved by the Russian government were admitted into a closed town. Ramous had been originally approved to work in Severomorsk. However, there was another change with the Russian government, and he was moved to Murmansk, where he now sits in the old wooden boat.

His agency had decided to send Ramous in as an English teacher. It was the language Russian students craved. With his new identification, he had been set up with an international organization that places Westerners in countries to work with the intent of them experiencing different cultures. They were given room and board and paid a stipend to teach English. Ramous did his best to blend in. He had sat in the boat fishing in the Kola Bay many times over the last few months, being seen by the locals in the near-freezing weather. He knew that’s what it would take to blend in.

The plan was that he would meet a Russian officer and photograph the top secret documents there on the boat. He would dispose of the camera and keep just the media. It was arranged on the open water so Ramous would be able to see anyone who approached. Only today, he was just trying to fish and stay warm.

4

April 12, 2005

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

M ariah Littleton had nodded to her assistant, and the six fifty-two-inch monitors had gone blank. She had felt the team had been there long enough. Mariah was the division chief who had been running the meeting. Her twenty-two years of dedicated service with the agency had earned her the respect of her fellow agents. Mariah had just turned forty-six. Her straight blond hair fell around a smooth square face. Her clear brown eyes were what people noticed first. She was small in stature, a handsome woman more than she was pretty.

They had just spent the last five hours poring over satellite imagery of Russia. The information available to the agents was overwhelming. They were using information from the Spy satellite Gecko, one that could do what other spy satellites could not. It could zigzag across the sky, occasionally shadowing orbiting objects. It was a one-of-a- kind tool that had been built specifically to target Russia, and it had been in operation for four years. It could randomly photograph the Russian Federation while going undetected, covertly transmitting images of Russia while its sensors sniff for radiation. This allowed the United States to look for any unauthorized nuclear test.

Their Russian contact had information coming from a source already providing the movements of the Black Sea Fleet. With the agreement of one of their best analysts, the intelligence had seemed credible. The problem was getting an operative close to the Ukrainian base undetected. Ramous had been called in for that reason. He spoke flawless Russian and was of Ukrainian descent. He had been a dedicated agent who had never backed away from an assignment.

Mike Hollister closed his leather satchel. He turned and gave Mark a deliberate look. Their meeting had concluded with a regroup scheduled for the following morning. Towering just over six feet and with short thick black hair, smooth complexion, and stocky build, Mike looked like the classic CIA agent. He had joined the agency two years before Mark Springfield and used that seniority with the bureau to harass his friend. Holding a master’s in computer programming, he had been highly sought after by the agency. He quietly swore his allegiance to the United States with six other Clandestine Service Trainees after a recruitment drive had left him needing more.

He knew why his friend had spent most of the meeting agitated. Ramous had a family. He was volunteering to retrieve coded information from a Russian base in the Ukraine. He also knew that, unlike a foreign power spying in the United States, Ramous would be killed if he were caught by the Russians. Mark gathered his notes and returned Mike’s gaze. He was in no mood to banter with his friend.

Mark turned and addressed Ramous, who was sitting across the table from them. We need to talk.

The group exited the conference room, walking in small groups back to their offices. Mark lightly grabbed Ramous on the sleeve and slowed him down. Mike watched the interaction. He knew to give Mark some room, but he still threw in a quick comment.Mr. Springfield, please come see me when you’re done.

Mark barely acknowledged Mike but instead redirected Ramous to one of the smaller empty conference rooms. He guided him into a chair. Mark slid half his backside on the edge of the table. He looked down at Ramous and spoke very deliberately. I don’t like it.

I know, at least that’s what I hear, Ramous said with a wide toothy grin. He tried to keep the mood light. He and Mark had become close over the past few years. Mark had joined him and his family for dinner on many occasions. He had even made it to a few of his son’s basketball games. Ramous had considered Mark a good friend. He knew why they were there.

Ramous sat back in his chair and looked up at Mark. In flawless Russian, he said, Вот почему я совершенный человек, чтобы идти. Я говорю безупречной русский, я слышу, я из Украины и лучше выглядит, чем вы, which meant This is why I am the perfect person to go. I speak flawless Russian, I hear I’m from the Ukraine, and I am better looking than you.

Don’t be a smart-ass. This is dangerous, Mark spat out. You’ll be out of communication for long periods in a hostile country. It will drive your wife nuts not hearing from you. Speaking of your wife, what if something happens to you? We can send in one of the younger agents. Deep down, Mark was conflicted. Ramous was perfect for the job. Now he hated that he had a family.

Mark, she’s used to it. My wife will think I’m simply working abroad. Ramous waved his hand nonchalantly and continued. Anyhow, a few trips here and there, and she’ll never know I’m in the Ukraine. Ramous’s tone became firm. There’s no way I’m not going. Let’s figure out how to get me in there and quit this nonsense. Mark, it’s their submarine codes, for Christ sake. When will this opportunity ever happen again?

Mark