A Warsaw Pact

By William Wresch

On the eve of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, Catherine Johnson is working undercover in Russia’s Warsaw embassy. A US Army major, she completes her twenty, moves to Russia, adopts a Russian girl, and marries a Russian general. Obviously she is an American spy. The Russians know she is a spy. Everyone knows she is a spy. No one cares. Their concern is the planned invasion.
Besides taking her seven year old daughter to ballet practice and running the embassy in Warsaw, Catherine digs deep into the Ryniak family. The men are politically connected. The wife, Marta, runs a social media company heavily into anti-Russian propaganda. Catherine and Marta become close. They travel together to the Russian city of Kaliningrad for reasons only known to the Ryniaks. A week later, Catherine is taken to the annual retreat of a fringe political party. Held captive in an ancient Austrian hunting lodge, she must protect herself and her daughter – while watching a family play out its political ambitions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Wresch
• Release date: May 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005594190

William Wresch

I have three sets of books here. The first is an alternative history of the US, envisioning how things might have gone had the French prevailed in the French and Indian War. That series comes from some personal experiences. I have canoed sections of the Fox, and driven along its banks. I have followed the voyageur route from the Sault to Quebec and traveled from Green Bay to New Orleans by car and by boat. My wife and I have spent many happy days on Mackinac Island and in Door County. The Jessica Thorpe series is very different. It takes place in the tiny town of Amberg, Wisconsin, a place where I used to live. I wanted to describe that town and its troubles. Initially the novel involved a militia take over of the town, and it was called "Two Angry Men." But both men were predictable and boring. I had decided to have the story narrated by the town bartender - Jessica - and I soon realized she was the most interesting character in the book. She became the lead in the Jessica Thorpe series. I restarted the series with a fight over a proposed water plant with Jessica balancing environmental rights and business rights. I put Jessica right in the middle of a real problem we are experiencing here in Wisconsin (and most other places). How badly does a tiny town need jobs? How much environmental damage should we accept? The third series changes the lead character. Catherine Johnson solves mysteries. She also travels. It took her to many places I have been. The last several books take place in Russia. I admit I have no idea what is motivating the current madness there. Catherine looks, she tries to help, she struggles. What else can any of us do?

Book preview

Chapter 1

Lana

I am an American citizen, and I demand to speak to the ambassador.

Hello, Svetlana. How was school today?

My name is Lana.

Sorry. Hello, Lana.

They looked silly standing together at the entrance to the American embassy. The girl was small for her age. She stood about the same height as the Marine guard’s belt buckle, but she stood feet apart, arms at sides, hands formed into fists. Her head was held high and she stared directly at the guard. Rodriguez had to keep himself from laughing. She stood just like a drill instructor he remembered.

Well? Her face was now extended out past her shoulders. He was waiting for her to tell him to drop and give her twenty.

I’m pretty sure the ambassador is busy. Mrs. Dumbroski called your mother when she saw you come in. She should be here very soon. She will take you home.

My mother is American. Can she talk to the ambassador?

Your mother used to be American. Now she is Russian.

My grandmother is American. Julie Johnson. She lives at 314 Oak Street, Madison, Wisconsin. My grandfather is also American. Mr. Johnson. I just called him Grandpa. But I am sure he has an American first name.

She appeared humbled for just a moment when she didn’t remember her grandfather’s first name, but then the fight in her returned. Head up. Proud. She was American. She had American grandparents, and an American address. And an American phone number.

And I know their phone number. You can call them. They will tell you. I am their granddaughter. Just call them and ask.

Their complete address and phone number. That’s a lot for a seven year old to memorize. Good for you. The Marine smiled. He was tempted to pat her head, but he suspected that wouldn’t go well.

I’m ten.

You’re seven.

Seven and a half.

Lana, I have some IDs to check. Could you just sit over there until your mother comes?

He pointed to a row of cheap plastic chairs farther along the tunnel that limited access to the American embassy.

And don’t run off. It will get you and your mother in a lot of trouble.

Lana had last been to the embassy several weeks ago. When directed to the chairs, she had run through security to the embassy building itself. Security had put the embassy on lock down. Rodriguez had been on duty then too. The breech had cost him liberty for two weeks. She chose not to do that to him again.

Lana took the chair closest to Rodriguez. She didn’t really fit. Her feet didn’t reach the floor, so she squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position. She took off her backpack, played a bit with the skirt of her school uniform, and pulled some hair back behind an ear. Her eyes never left Rodriguez. She waited until he had checked IDs on several people.

You should tell me I’m pretty.

Okay, you are pretty.

Not really, but that’s what you are supposed to say to kids. You tell girls they are pretty, and boys they are strong, or big.

It’s just grownups trying to be nice.

Eleven years from now, would you take me on a date?

Eleven years from now, I will be back in Oklahoma.

And you will have a Polish wife. They are desperate to marry an American and get out of here before the Russians take over.

Who have you been talking to? He moved a step closer to Lana.

That’s all the fifth grade girls talk about at recess. Some want a German husband, but the others say Germany will be next. America is safest.

What does your father say?

I will tell you what my father says if you let me talk to the ambassador.

Rodriguez had to laugh at himself. Outwitted by a seven year old.

Sorry, Lana.

He went back to checking IDs, and Lana went back to squirming on the plastic chair. Several minutes later her mother arrived.

I am very sorry Private Rodriguez. She stepped around the line at the door and took Lana’s hand.

Mrs. Dumbroski would like to talk with you. And please, follow the normal screening procedures.

Lana he liked. Not her mother. He had learned her history and objected to all of it. U.S. Army major now married to a Russian general? How did that happen? Twenty years in the service. Drawing military retirement pay from the U.S. while married to a Russian and living in Russian embassy housing. That didn’t seem right. He pointed her to the back of the line and made sure her bag was carefully scanned. He searched through every page of her passport. Catherine Orlov. Husband, Sergei Orlov. General Sergei Orlov. A Russian passport. Russian. He looked over at Lana and felt sorry for her.

Ms. Dombroski came out of a tiny office farther along the security tunnel and motioned Catherine and Lana in.

This can’t keep happening, Mrs. Orlov. Last time Lana caused a security breech. She may be a little girl, but she is a Russian little girl.

I’m American. Lana stepped forward, not quite shouting.

They hadn’t been invited to sit at the two chairs in the office. Lana and her mother stood on one side of a cheap metal desk, Ms. Dombroksi stood opposite. Lana set both her hands on the edge of the desk and pulled herself to her tiptoes. She would be seen. And heard. She made sure of that.

Hush, Lana. Catherine gripped one of her hands.

My grandmother is Julie Johnson. She lives at…

Enough, Lana.

Lana quieted. The two adults stared at each other. Obviously Ms. Dumbroski shared Private Rodriguez’ opinion of Catherine.

I have a visitation record for you to sign. You will sign it, and then you will take Lana home. Please do not let her return.

She pointed to a form on her tiny desk. Catherine picked up the pen lying next to the form, bent over, and signed. Four different names. All Polish. All important. She slapped down the pen, scowled at Ms. Dombroski, and pulled Lana from the room.

Lana smiled at Private Rodriguez as they walked past. She even attempted a bit of a curtsey, and mouthed eleven years. He laughed and waved as she left the tunnel and returned to the street.

Don’t do this again, Lana. It is very embarrassing. Your father is going to be very angry.

I told Rodriguez the Russians will be taking over Poland.

You shouldn’t say things like that.

Is it true?

Tell me about your spelling test.

I got a hundred on the English words, and zero on the Russian words. My teacher thinks I am stupid. She smiled and skipped alongside her mother as she said that.

Teachers aren’t stupid. They know what you are trying to do.

I want you to take me out of the Russian school and put me in the International school.

All embassy children attend the Russian school. You will attend the Russian school. You are a Russian girl. Some day you will be a Russian wife and mother.

I told Private Rodriguez I would marry him.

You will attend Moscow State University and meet your husband there.

Catherine took Lana’s hand. She wondered how much longer that would be permitted. The girl was already as independent as some teenagers. The teen years looked to be awful. They needed to be back in Moscow by then. She would be easier to control.

You went to the University of Wisconsin.

Yes.

I want to go there. I can live with my grandparents.

You will attend Moscow State University.

Catherine tightened her grip on Lana’s hand. She knew she was saying exactly what Lana didn’t want to hear. But she knew it was exactly what Sergei would do. He had lost his daughter to drugs. He would not lose his granddaughter. She would be kept under tight supervision. And she would be kept in Russia. Their time in Poland was coming to an end. Maybe another year. No more.

Home was south of the American embassy, north of the Russian embassy. The walk was not inviting. Warsaw had been destroyed by the Nazis, down to the last bricks. The city had been rebuilt, but by communists. So, Soviet architecture. Shoddy houses, endless rows of rectangles. And it was late March. An ugly month anywhere in the northern hemisphere. Catherine walked along the edge of Ujazdowski Park wondering when the snow drifts would finish melting.

Was there anything good about this day? Yes. Four names. Passed invisibly. Passed because of an unruly daughter. A very bright, unruly daughter. Pretty in her own way. Tough. Independent. She was already a handful. A young spirit. Catherine wanted to pick her up, hug her, carry her, hold her. But she had to pretend some anger. Over a little girl who wanted a return to Wisconsin. A return that would never happen. Lana wanted all the right things. Catherine couldn’t give them to her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Lana shook her hand free the instant they got home. Off to her room. Off to her music. Her books. Her videos. Catherine didn’t get her hug. She did get to see a bundle of energy run up the stairs. A little girl already asserting herself. A little girl she was proud of.

Catherine climbed to her own room and changed into something nicer for the evening. Sergei would want an explanation of yet another visit to the American embassy. A bit of makeup and a bit of skirt would not help much, but it would help.

Chapter 2

Life with Sergei

There had been no flare up at dinner. Nothing said to Lana about the embassy. Sergei made a point of calling her Svetlana, and she did not object. He asked about school. He told her how proud he was of how well she had learned Polish. He smiled. He talked about a film they might see on the weekend. Later, when she was ready for bed, he sat on her bed and read a book to her as he had years earlier. She had moved on from picture books. Now he read chapter books. One chapter a night. The books were Russian. The characters were young people who hunted wolves or looked for woolly mammoth bones. Something interesting. Something young people did in Russia.

Catherine also gave Lana a good night hug and kiss, and then both adults moved to the living room. And silence.

In their two years of marriage they had worked out a routine. They sat together in the evening. Even on a night like this when an argument seemed near, they sat close on a couch. Catherine pulled her feet up under her, a book waiting for her review. Sergei sat back, a phone in his lap. Texting to do. There was maybe a foot of space between them.

Catherine lifted her skirts and slid closer. Also part of the routine. She moved to him. She loved him. She was to show it. After two years of hatred and fear, she had come to him. The man she had hated most in the world. The one man she had feared. She had come to him. Held him. Loved him. She had come to him then. She came to him now. She brought her legs up against his and leaned against his shoulder.

Sergei was a huge man. Maybe one of the largest in the Russian army. Thick arms, chest, and thighs. In their early days of conflict, Catherine had punched him in the chest. It had no effect. She was aware that he could hurt her very badly if he chose. But she did not fear that now. She feared the loss of his love. An odd marriage coming at an odd time in their lives. He had been kind to her when she needed kindness. He had helped her when she needed help. He did not need to marry her. Trapped in Russia, she would have happily lived as his mistress. But he asked her to marry. To be his wife. What he asked in return was her love. She gave it gladly.

She slid her hand down the inside of his thigh. She began stroking him there as she also kissed the side of his face. There was a space, just below his ear, he seemed to especially like. She pulled a bit at her skirt, now sliding some of it over his legs. Her hand now hidden, she worked harder.

Sergei, I know you are upset with me. Do what you need to do, and say what you need to say. All I ask is you fuck me first.

He put down his phone and looked toward her. She kissed him and pulled him toward their bedroom.

Another part of their routine. She usually undressed him. First, he was to unzip her from whatever she was wearing. The speed at which he pulled the zipper told her worlds about his mood. Dress off, she found a nightgown he would like, and slowly pulled it on while looking at him. Maybe face to face, maybe over a shoulder, but she always looked. He was to know she wanted him watching.

Dressed now in something short and shiny, she worked on him. It was not easy, pulling his shirt over his huge shoulders. She struggled, pushing herself tight against him as she did it. She got his shirt off. Then his pants. Sometimes she did that from her knees. This night she stayed standing, her chest pressed against his. Her arms went around his neck. She kissed him and pushed her hips against him. Every motion said the same thing – I want you.

His turn. He took a strip of cloth and bound her wrists behind her back. She leaned into him as he did it. She kissed his neck.

Please, Sergei. Fuck me.

He backed her against the wall, his knees pushing between hers. One hand slid under her ass and lifted her. The other hand grabbed her hair and held her head. He lifted her and slid her down onto his penis. Then he stopped. Her feet were off the ground, her legs spread, her wrists bound, his chest pressing her back against the wall. She was pinned as if she were a butterfly being pinned to a cardboard frame. She could not move. She did not want to. She loved being right where she was. Pinned by her huge man. Her husband.

Usually he made her wait. He looked into her eyes and watched. He wanted her, but he also wanted to see how badly she wanted him. And she did want him. He would kiss her as his hand worked her ass. He would pull her tight against him. He waited for her to say it. And she did. Always.

I love you Sergei. I want you. Please. Don’t make me wait. Fuck me.

Once she had said the words, he would begin to push into her. As he did, she was expected to show appreciation. And she did. Moans, gasps, kisses on his neck, sometimes even bites. It was never an act. She did love him, and she did desire him. And she did love having him in her. He was sometimes rough, slamming her back into the wall, but she ignored that. She wanted to be held. She wanted that huge arm across her back. She wanted that hand on her ass as he rocked into her. She told him that. She talked through the whole thing. Sometimes in whispers, sometimes in shouts, sometimes in groans. She never made herself a mystery. She wanted him. She knew it. He knew it. She said it.

This time he made her wait.

She was hot. She was desperate. She was about as excited as she had ever been. She wanted him to move in her. Instead, he pressed her tighter against the wall and took the back of her head in his hand. He tightened his fingers and moved her face against his. But he didn’t kiss her, and he wouldn’t let her kiss him.

Sergei, you are driving me crazy. Please. Fuck me.

Lana went to the American embassy again.

I will take care of it. Catherine looked up into his dark eyes. The room was dark. It did not matter. She could still see those dark eyes.

There is a boarding school in Moscow that accepts eight year olds.

Don’t you dare. Catherine struggled, but her feet were up off the ground, her hands bound, his hand tight around her hair. She squirmed, but he just tightened his grip on her ass and immobilized her.

"If I send her there, she will go.

You won’t do that. You promised. Back when we married. We had a plan. We would watch her grow. Watch her marry. Enjoy our grandchildren. We promised each other thirty years together with Lana. You shouldn’t threaten to send her away. You want her with us as much as I do.

Control her. Walk her to and from school.

I do. But some days she sneaks out early. We have a very clever daughter.

Yes. We do.

He smiled for a moment. A hint of pride. Then a grimace.

They laughed at me today. The assistant ambassador. ‘Your daughter has run off to America again.’

He’s an ass.

Yes. He is. Most of them are. Some days I think we are alone in the embassy.

Sergei. Forget about them. Think about me. I am here. You are here. Need I ask again? Please Sergei. Fuck me.

He smiled and made her wait. Maybe five seconds. He loosened his hand in her hair. She kissed him. He tightened his hand on her ass and began moving in her. She closed her eyes, leaned against his shoulder and told him just what he was doing to her. Sometimes in words. Sometimes in moans.

He left her bound all night. Catherine didn’t care about being bound. She cared about being close. He carried her to bed, and she pressed tight against him. She needed to feel his arms around her, his warmth against her. She needed him. She wanted him. He had once been the one man in the world she feared. Now he was the one man she wanted. He kept an arm around her. Also part of their routine. She came to him. He held her. Always an arm pulling her close. They slept, their heads sharing the same pillow.

He left for an early morning meeting. She lay where he left her, her wrists still bound. Only when she heard the front door close did she begin to slide around the bed. She had a pair of scissors in a table by her bed. She had used it before. She had just taken a step toward the table when she saw Lana at her door.

Daddy does that?

Yes.

Does it hurt?

No. It is just a game we play.

Do you tie him?

No.

Lana got to the table before Catherine and found the scissors.

Will my husband do that?

I don’t know.

Lana put the scissors down and left the room. Catherine cut herself free. Freed from the cloth. Not free from the man.

Chapter 3

Sergei’s Problem

Sergei hated Warsaw. Just the name was enough to set his teeth. Warsaw. Once the first word in Warsaw Pact. An alliance. Eastern European nations allied to protect themselves and protect Mother Russia from NATO aggressors. Then the Polish Pope, the strike at Gdansk (workers striking against a worker’s government in the worker’s state!!), and finally the betrayal at the border and all of East Germany pouring into West Germany like escapees. Within a year all the Warsaw Pact countries were lining up to join NATO. NATO!! The biggest betrayal in history. Military installations built with Russian money and Russian advisors now turning their cannons east. And it all started in Poland.

Ugly city. Ungrateful city. The Nazis had destroyed it in 1945. They didn’t just defeat the Polish uprising, they finished by blowing up every building in Warsaw. No two bricks left standing. Who had come to liberate the city? The Soviet Army. Who had rebuilt the city? The Soviet people. Every main street should be named after a Soviet hero. Every corner should have a statue of a Soviet leader. Russian heroes. Russian leaders. And were they? No. Ungrateful bastards.

Two years he had been forced to live in this, the least interesting, least grateful city in Europe. Probably one more year to go. Maybe two.

He and Catherine and Lana.

Lana. Even he called her Lana rather than the more Russian Svetlana. He had threatened Catherine about Lana’s behavior. About her American fixation. But he was the person most responsible. He knew that to be true.

The plan had been perfect. Researched and developed over months by two of the leading psychologists in Moscow. The timing was clear. His actions carefully defined. All he had to do was follow simple instructions.

The foundation was already there. Catherine loved Lana. Enormous good luck there. Lana was wasting away in an orphanage. Sergei needed to get his granddaughter out. But put her where? With his ailing wife? It turned out he and Yelena were terrible parents. They had lost their only child to drugs. Valery. Lana’s mother. They just had one daughter, and they couldn’t keep her off drugs. Could they possibly raise their granddaughter and hope for better results? At his age? With Yelena’s illnesses and bitterness?

He had grabbed Catherine in the Moscow airport. Back under his control. He could do anything with her. She would never leave Russia again. She told him she was the mouse, and he was the cat. Nothing was ever more true. His to do with – and dispose of – whenever he cared to. And an idea was born. Let the mouse raise the cat’s granddaughter.

She was a fabulous mother. Lana immediately received her love, her attention, her protection. Sergei noticed, and approved, and understood he had yet another hold on Catherine. She would do anything for him as long as he let her keep Lana.

And that’s where the problem started. He saw Lana and Catherine together. And he loved both of them. The granddaughter he had never known, and the woman he had considered a future mistress. Christmas. He had brought them matching dresses. They had danced. The three of them. He had held them in his arms. They had smiled at him. Real affection. Lana had taken a nap. Catherine had taken him to her bed. No coercion. No fear. She had taken him. And it had been very good.

The plan called for them to marry. As his wife, she would be at the right occasions. The right tables to hear the words they wanted her to hear – and pass on to her FBI and NSA colleagues. They assumed she was a spy. Assumed she would collect and pass on information. They would ensure she passed on information they wanted her to pass on. A direct channel of misinformation to the NSA.

They would marry when Yelena died. She was terminal. Too much drinking. Constant smoking. Bad liver, bad heart, bad lungs. Dead within a year. But why wait? They would move her to a private clinic. Make her invisible. Allow her a comfortable death, but date the death certificate early. Send Catherine back to the U.S. now. Allow her to re-establish her FBI and NSA links. Wait precisely one week, then come for her, marry her in front of her parents, then get her to Poland. Away from her family. Away from any old friends. Away from any U.S. influences. Get her to Poland, put her in a gown, seat her at embassy dinners, and let her start hearing what they wanted her to hear.

A great plan. A perfect plan. Except for the execution. They had given him a calendar. Actions to take each day. He needed to check the planner in the morning and do what it said. When to travel