Out of Darkness: The Last Russian Revolution

By Chris Adams

Out of Darkness delves into the continuous history of the turbulence within Russian leadership which has more recently resulted into the unprovoked attack and destruction of Ukraine, once a part of the Soviet Union, and has been independent since the end of the Cold War. In describing the plight of Russia, Chris Adams, once again, relies upon hi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Spyking
• Release date: Jul 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960546937

Chris Adams

Chris Adams is IIS Program Manager for Microsoft. Chris spends his time building and reviewing technical content for IIS, working with IIS Most Valuable Professionals (MVP), and spear-heading programs to best reach customers for the IIS team. Chris was formally a Microsoft Product Support Services (PSS) engineer, technical lead, and supportability lead for the IIS product and has deep, technical experience in the usage and functionality of IIS 4.0, 5.0, 5.1, 6.0, and 7.0. Chris is currently Microsoft certified as a MCP, MCSA, and MCSE.

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Books by Chris Adams

NON FICTION

INSIDE THE COLD WAR

A Cold Warrior’s Reflections

IDEOLOGIES IN CONFLICT

A Cold War Docu-Story

FICTION

RED EAGLE

A Story Of Cold War Espionage

PROFILES IN BETRAYAL

The Enemy Within

THE BETRAYAL MOSAIC

A Cold War Spy Story

ISBN 978-1-960546-91-3 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-960546-92-0 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-960546-93-7 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Chris Adams

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

SPYKING

10911 Crown Colony,

Austin, Texas 78747

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Acknowledgements

The Situation

Glossary

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Author’s Note

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It takes the abiding support and counsel of family, friends and the shared knowledge and intellect of many valued colleagues to create a good story. Accordingly, I wish to express my sincere thanks to each, especially my wife, who humored me through the process. Special appreciation and praise goes to some very special friends who graciously participated in the arduous task of reading and critiquing the manuscript—Richard (Dick) Dutnell, U.S. Air Force (Ret), for his particular knowledge and expert analysis; Alyce Joyce James, writer and published author in her own right, for providing me a comprehensive and rigorous appraisal; Helen Bevers for her patient and questioning examination and finally B.J. (Bette) Salter for her meticulous review of my syntax and narration, and to whom I dedicate this book. B.J. diligently critiqued this and my last two novels, and died suddenly during the process of this publication. We will miss her cheery and positive approach to life. Special thanks also to Colonel Lacy Breckenridge, USAF (Ret), for sharing some of his fighter pilot lore and the use of his name in assisting with that portion of the scenario.

I wish also to thank the others who loaned me their names to attach to characters in the tale including many who befriended me during my Russia travels. I hope I have not offended, but honored each of you in the process. My personal gratitude to all!

CSA

THE SITUATION

Although this story is written in the style of fiction, many of the situations and scenarios depicted are drawn from actual or similar events that took place during the Cold War era. This is the fourth novel in a series centering on the culture, military and intelligence/spying activities during the protracted ideological conflict between the Soviet Union and the United States.

Spying and counter-spying by both sides became industries unto themselves. The Soviets excelled in the trade by creating the largest and most complex intelligence gathering systems in history, the KGB (Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti), Committee for State Security and the GRU (Glavnoye Razvedyvatelnoye Upravlenie), which served as the Chief Intelligence Directorate for the Soviet Army General Staff. The latter was created as a foreign intelligence collection and exploitation agency targeting western military technology. Not unlike their counterpart, the KGB, the GRU also operated world-wide under numerous covers—trade commissions, news media offices and cultural exchanges in their efforts to infiltrate and collect intelligence. GRU agents were generally better educated and more sophisticated than those of the KGB. The main spy training school for GRU agents was located at Khodinka Field or the Centre, which encompassed a small airfield located in the heart of Moscow. The airdrome was fully operational and surrounded by a network of interconnected tall buildings. The buildings with controlled entry and exit portals served as a security shield for The Centre as well as for offices and living quarters. The runway provided a secure means to import and export people and equipment.

The KGB, in addition to its foreign intelligence and spying charter was also without contradiction, the world’s largest police agency and exerted unlimited control over Soviet citizens within Russia and the republics. Murder, kidnapping and intimidation were often the tools of the trade and modus operandi of the KGB—outside the Soviet Union as well as within. KGB agents frequently extracted pleasure through inflicting violence on its own Soviet citizens for the most trivial of infractions.

From the outset of the evolution of the Soviet Union, the KGB and GRU became natural enemies; as described by John Erickson, a leading analyst of Soviet military-political history: "The army (GRU) and the secret police (KGB) were fatally entangled and fearfully taken up in a protracted struggle the one against the other. It was to become a struggle to the death."

Viktor Aleksandrovich Katsanov, a highly trained and exceptionally skilled GRU agent, continues in this story as the central character. "Sasha", the Russian nickname for Aleksandr, the son of a Red Army Aviation officer and his aristocratic wife, was indoctrinated early in the customary communist youth training schools under the close supervision of his father who sought to have his son follow in his military footsteps. Sasha’s mother, on the other hand, was not as devoted to the communist cause. Her own father had been arrested and murdered by the Bolsheviks shortly after the Revolution. Accordingly, much of her indifference to communist ideology and the movement’s repression of the Russian people had its lingering influence on Sasha.

The first book in this series, RED EAGLE, traced Sasha’s life through his early childhood, schooling, recruiting by the GRU and his training to become a spy. The KGB and the GRU, each ever vigilant for candidates, selected him out of Volgograd Aviation Academy and placed in agent training at Khodinka Centre. This abrupt change in his career plans was by no means of his choosing—he had hoped to become a Soviet Air Force pilot like his father.

The young Russian possessed the GRU’s desired intelligence and physical attributes. He was over six feet tall and muscular; his features reflected his father’s Mid-East Asian blood lines—dark hair, light olive complexion and piercing brown eyes. His countenance and demeanor were generally quiet and placid. However, when his awareness became excited, he reacted with an unusual spirit passed on to him by his mother; it ignited quickly and beamed with managed animation and intuitive intelligence. Inherent wisdom, judgment and prudence became the young Soviet spy’s predominant instincts as he matured and faced the challenges set before him.

Following intensive agent-spy training and Americanizing, the KGB had assisted the GRU in orchestrating Sasha’s covert entry into the United States and eventually secured his entrance into the United States Air Force. He became an officer and, in time, a bomber pilot; all the while conducting spying activities for the GRU and the Soviet Government. Sasha eventually hatched a bold plan to hijack a Strategic Air Command B-52 bomber which he executed successfully and attempted to fly the coveted aircraft back to Russia. His scheme was foiled, however, by jealous KGB operatives who had the bomber shot down before it reached its destination. The young agent survived the crash of the ill-fated bomber and went on to further excel in serving his government and his spy tradecraft.

Subsequent novels traced the continuation of this Soviet spy’s extraordinary life as a covert agent and his exploits against the arch enemy, the United States. The tale herein is once again filled with suspense, mystery and intrigue as the spy voyeur grows older, wiser and more erudite and disillusioned with his government’s dogma, character and behavior in their quest for world dominance.

As in the previous novels, I have provided a Glossary for Russian language words sprinkled throughout the text as well as a few other uncommon words and terms with which the reader may not be familiar. It is hoped these make for both interesting reading and better understanding.

Enjoy!

CSA

GLOSSARY

Phonetically Expressed Russian Words and Terms:

Other Terms and Explanations:

PROLOGUE

He was back in his apartment at Khodinka Centre which served as the Headquarters for the GRU. What began as an evening of pleasant anticipation had ended in an unbelievable disaster. He moved around the living area pensive and chilled, both from the outside cold and the horrific calamity; finally collapsing into the security of the overstuffed chair in the corner of the sitting room. His head throbbed with the roar of a train engine. His mind was a collage of bewildered thoughts. He expected someone to pound on his door at any moment. It was a little after twelve midnight. So much had happened so fast. He tried to put all of the events into chronological order, but the evening’s nightmarish finale continued to crash through and overshadow his thinking processes like dark clashes of thunder.

What now? he brooded. How soon will they come and dispatch me quickly with a bullet to the head or beat me senseless beforehand? They have their ways.

He could call no one in GRU. He had to wait.

I should call my father. The thought flashed through his mind. No! I can’t do that to him, he quickly concluded. It would take far too long to explain everything and then it would be impossible for him to grasp any of it. I could easily kill him by telling him what has happened.

His surroundings were deadly quiet except for the imaginary cyclone raging in his head.

Why don’t they come! he shouted out loud to break the silence within the room. That was stupid, he murmured half smiling. They’ll come once they put it all together. I can wait them out. I have no choice, nowhere to run.

Unable to relax, he finally gathered his strength and rose with difficulty from the confines of the oversized chair and moved unsteadily into the bedroom and began to lay out his personal effects on the bed. There wasn’t much, a few hundred rubles, the Bulova wristwatch he had brought back from the United States along with a few books that he had enjoyed over the years, including Alexis de Toqueville’s Democracy In America.

I can’t stand the French, he sighed to himself. But somehow this guy had it together. He acquired an understanding for the American cultural and political process perhaps even better than they did.

This is it, he shrugged as he perused the few things laid out on the bed. After all the years of service to my government, I lost my beloved Katiya to the filthy bastards that control the inner sanctum of this country and only my fragile father continues to be a part of my life. No material possessions, only memories of recent places and events…some very good and many very bad. What of Tatyana? How I wish she were here! But undoubtedly, she is gone with all the good memories. The end for me has come in this dingy apartment here at Khodinka where it all began.

He had an urgent impulse and picked up the phone. He had to hurry. Anything could happen at any moment. Instinctively, he also knew that any calls he made would likely be monitored. He took a chance. They may be asleep at the switch at this time of the night, he mused. Who cares anyway?

National Hotel…Please ring the Assistant Manager, Galina Pakilov.

It is very late, Comrade, I am sure the Assistant Manager has departed for the evening. May I direct your call to the Night Manager?

It seems always to be the Russian way, he mused to himself. Put you off with an excuse even though they knew the answer to your question.

Attempting to remain even tempered, he responded, "Dah, dah, I know it is late. No, I wish only to speak with Madame Pakilov at once. It is very important!"

Comrade Sir, I am sorry, the operator replied wearily. "Dah, I will attempt to locate Madame Pakilov. Whom shall I say is calling?"

Patient no longer, he barked, Who am I? I am General Katsanov, GRU! If Madame Pakilov is in the hotel, put me through NOW!

"Dah, Sir, forgive me, Comrade General," the nervous operator responded.

I will locate Madame.

He waited for what seemed an eternity. There were no discernable clicks or other indications that the phone line was being tapped. They are generally clumsy when they do that as well, he smirked to himself.

Finally, the voice of the operator returned. Comrade General, I am afraid I cannot locate Madame Pakilov. Sir, as you may be aware; there is a great deal of police activity here in the hotel…even at this moment. We have had a terrible tragedy and if the Assistant Manager is still here, she is likely involved with the authorities. I am sorry, Sir.

He slammed down the telephone hand piece without responding.

With a growing feeling of frustration and hopeless depression he continued to pace around the apartment. It finally dawned on him that his clothes were stiff with dried muck from his night’s horrendous confrontation. He began to remove his hopelessly ruined silk suit, white shirt and necktie; tossed them into the back corner of his closet and changed into a wool utility uniform.

When they come, I want to be in uniform, he scoffed.

Brooding, he again collapsed into the large chair and reflected on the evening before. He had been driven to the National Hotel by his driver, Petr.

What a waste, he sneered. Those filthy bastards will needlessly destroy any innocent human being to get at their target…last night it was me. When they murdered Katiya, it was also me they were intent on killing. He slammed his fist on the amply stuffed arm of the chair and spat out loud…Well at least a few of the rotten scums won’t cause harm to anyone else!

He had had a pleasant reunion with Galina Pakilov, whom he had known since he was a student here at Khodinka. She had been a hostess in the Centre dining room. He had taken an instant liking to the tall willowy girl in her late teens or early twenties. She was youthful, spirited and strikingly attractive with blond hair and blue eyes. He had worked up his courage to ask her for a date after several weeks of brief casual chats when he visited the dining room. But his pursuit of the young beauty was not to be. His handler, Vladimir, intervened and Galina was promptly transferred away from Khodinka. It was not until several years later, and by an extraordinary coincidence, Sasha again came in contact with Galina in of all places, the United States. She had matured into a beautiful woman, becoming a Russian exchange student at a small college in Georgia. Meanwhile Sasha was undercover attending U.S. Air Force pilot training at a base nearby. Though their reunion was unique it had also been very brief. But neither forgot the other as the intervening years passed by.

Much had happened since that last meeting in the United States. He had been dispatched there on two additional undercover assignments over the years—harassed by the KGB, several near-death experiences in the process and now he was again back in Moscow.

Galina’s career had progressed very well, and she was now Assistant Manager of Moscow’s prestigious National Hotel. The ornate and comfortable old hotel was a favorite of foreign visitors. It was also a notorious KGB lair where they frequently lodged and duped unsuspecting targeted guests.

Sasha had received a surprise telephone call from Galina earlier the day before. He was pleasantly shocked by the sudden reentry of the attractive girl into his life. He had eagerly looked forward to meeting her at the hotel for dinner that evening.

His driver, Petr, had driven him to the National where he met Galina—seeing her for the first time in several years. They had enjoyed a pleasant reunion and dinner, recalling old times and their respective present situations. They bade each other goodnight with promises to meet again soon.

As he approached his waiting staff car, he noticed that Petr, his driver, was sitting in an odd position behind the wheel of the vehicle. As he opened the right rear door of the vehicle, he heard footsteps and grinding gravel behind him…and then the dull thud of a bullet slug as it impacted the door, barely missing him. He dropped to the pavement, quickly withdrew his Drotik revolver from his inside jacket holster and, spotting the shooter in the dim shadows, fired a single shot. A sharp yelp and groan indicated that the mystery perpetrator had been hit.

He edged around the staff car to the driver’s door, opened it and discovered that his driver was either dead or critically wounded—as he rolled out of the car and onto Sasha. Another shooter fired a shot, hitting the door window, shattering it and spewing glass over him. He waited until a shadow revealed a human form and again fired a single round, hitting his target.

His recall was fuzzy regarding why and how he decided to react after the two attempts on his life in the parking lot…But he remembered clearly returning to the hotel lobby and coming face to face with the infamous KGB despot, General Oleg Petrov. Instinctively, he knew who was behind the attackers who had tried to kill him a few moments earlier. He had not waited for Petrov, or the agents accompanying him, to react to their mutual surprise encounter. His pistol still in hand, he had fired a shot into the rotund old spy master as he was slipping his hand into the pocket of his tunic. The onlookers, including Petrov’s own people, had not moved. They stood in awe of the unfolding tragedy before them.

He had kept a wary eye on all those around him and the groaning and sputtering hulk lying before him who was struggling to raise himself up with one arm. As he observed the spectacle before him, he quickly glanced about, looked back at the fallen KGB icon, raised his pistol and fired a single shot into his forehead. He vaguely remembered the words he gritted to Petrov… The first was for the murder of General Tushenskiy and this one is for my beloved Katiya.

He had departed the hotel and no one moved to stop him. Taking the opportunity for one last coup de grace, he paused at the doorway and smashed his revolver against the jaw of one of the fallen KGB leader’s agents standing near the exit.

Revenge taken, he had driven the staff car with the body of his driver, Petr, back to Khodinka. Pulling into the infirmary Emergency Entrance, he instructed the attendants to take the body, and then drove the bullet-ridden staff car, that Petr had taken meticulous care of, to the motor pool and returned to his apartment.

It was now nearing daylight; he had dozed in and out of flashes of recall of the night before. It was like an ugly dream that continued to jar his thoughts. His mouth was pasty dry and bitter.

Groggy from the short nap and fatigue, he impulsively rose from the chair, attempted to stretch to ease the stiffness in his body and walked unsteadily to the closet. Searching the inside pocket holster of his mud-coated jacket, he found his Drotik revolver. Instinctively, he sniffed the barrel for the tell-tale acrid odor of burnt gun powder. It was clearly there. He checked the magazine and four rounds were missing. It had not been a dream.

He tossed the pistol on the bed with the other personal items he had placed there, shrugged, and undressed to take a shower. As he let the steamy warm spray run over his body, he began to feel some relief from his fatigue. Reaching for the soap in the dish, he picked up a small fragment of slimy substance—the remnant of a once whole bar. Why on earth can’t we do better in this country? he grumbled to himself. There is never a whole bar of soap anywhere! Don’t we make bars of soap in Russia! Just another reality of coming home. He shrugged to himself and used the small piece of soap to his best advantage.

Following the shower, he still felt the ravages of the night before and the fitful dozing in the chair. He boiled water and made a strong cup of tea. The waiting was interminable and his frustration mounted.

What th’ hell is going on? he urged from within. They know it was me. What’s keeping the bastards from crashing in here?

The phone rang, startling him from his thoughts. Hesitating at first, he picked up the hand piece. "Dah, Katsanov," he responded.

"Do’broye’ oo’tro, Comrade General, this is Lt. Colonel Lamborokov, the pleasant soft female voice greeted. General Sokolov is in his office and wishes to see you when you are ready, sir."

Sasha was taken aback. He was not expecting the shocking introduction to the day. He collected his wits and responded. "Dah, Colonel, spasee’ba. Dah, I will be dressed very shortly and report to the Director General."

Puzzled by this sudden turn of unexpected events, he quickly changed into a dress uniform.

CHAPTER 1

"D o’bro ye oo’tro , General, the tall, slender dark-haired female officer greeted him with a pleasant smile. I am Lt. Colonel Lamborokov, the Director General’s executive officer. General Sokolov is ready to see you."

"Do’broye oo’tro, Colonel, Sasha replied, smiling in response to the very attractive and smartly uniformed officer. Extending his hand, I am very pleased to meet you."

She shook hands with Sasha; gesturing with a nod toward the door to Sokolov’s office. She maneuvered deftly ahead of him, rapped softly on the door and opened it for Sasha to enter.

Sasha! So good to see you, Comrade, General Sergiy Sokolov greeted his protégé from years past. Come in! Come in! Please, Sokolov beckoned with an exuberant broad smile, extending his hand as he motioned Sasha toward a large leather chair.

Sasha, saluted, bowed slightly and shook hands with the affable Director General.

"Do’broye oo’tro, General, it is good to see you, Sir, he acknowledged with a meek nod, still puzzled by what was happening. It is good to be home," he said guardedly.

General Sergiy Vasilevich Sokolov, Deputy Chief of the General Staff for Intelligence, (GRU), had first met Sasha when he participated in recruiting the young cadet out of the Volgograd Aviation Academy and brought him to Khodinka for intelligence agent training. Sokolov, a colonel at the time, was now in his early 60’s and had become the head of the GRU following the assassination of General Dimitriy Tushenskiy by an unknown assailant in Moscow. Sokolov, was very much of the same demeanor as his predecessor, tough and firmly positioned on the inside, but projected a kinder, almost disarming kinder and gentler outward appearance. He had mentored Sasha through his early agency training and in more recent years had quickly dispatched his protégé to the United States for his own protection following the tragic death of his wife, Katiya.

The unfolding meeting was all too surreal. He moved uneasily toward the chair as Sokolov, visibly in good spirits and beaming cheerfully, sat down in an adjacent matching chair.

Colonel Lamborokov had followed Sasha into Sokolov’s office and quietly poured tea from an ornate gold inlaid pot for the two men. Will that be all, General, she asked, smiling.

"Dah, Elena, spasee’ba. And then quickly, he asked, Sasha, did you meet Elena?"

"Dah, Sir, I did," he replied with a fleeting smile as she bowed slightly and departed the office.

Elena is a first-class officer, Sokolov commented after she had departed. I am very fortunate to have her to manage my office, although she has had a very difficult time in her personal life, he said. I will fill you in later.

Tell me, Sasha, how are you? Sokolov asked beaming. Here, help yourself to the tea…or, has your time in America converted you to coffee? he chortled.

I should have asked first.

Thank you, Sir, Sasha replied tentatively. The tea is fine, Sir. I am well, thank you. I am beginning to get my bearings back here at home.

Sokolov still looked very fit. He was tall and striking with a full head of slightly graying brown hair. He maintained the same engaging smile that Sasha remembered.

Sasha, how long has it been since you first came to Khodinka? Sokolov asked. Was it in the early fifties?

Yes Sir, it was, he replied. I was recruited out of the Volgograd Aviation Academy.

Oh yes! I remember that well, Sokolov said. I accompanied the Director General…our revered Dmitriy Tushenskiy, to Volgograd and brought you back with us. That was twenty-five or so years ago! How time and events, both happy and sad, move on so rapidly. He paused and sighed, General Tushenskiy was a man above men. We never tracked down his assassin nor determined the motive for the treacherous act.

Yes sir, Sasha acknowledged. The Director General was respected and venerated by all of us. His murder was a tragic loss to our great nation. Sir, we are all very pleased you were chosen to succeed him.

Yes, his death was a tragedy. Eventually his murderer will be found. Thank you for your kind words, he smiled. Sasha, I regret I was not here in Moscow when you returned, but this job keeps me moving around the country…more than I wish. He shrugged his shoulders, grinning and continued. I was sadly disappointed when Yurasov advised me that he must have you leave the United States and return to Moscow. I deeply regret that. We desperately need someone with your experience and skills to serve us in the west. Did you feel threatened while you were there?

Threatened? Well, perhaps more directly by some of our own people more so than by the enemy state, Sasha replied. For that matter, I was directed to leave so quickly that I did not receive a full explanation…except General Yurasov did tell me there were strong indications that the American authorities had information concerning my past deeds and were about to close in. Perhaps, Sir, you know the story better than I?

He was still puzzled by this casual conversation in light of the traumatic events of the night before. What’s going on? he thought. Are we playing a game before the guillotine is dropped?

Sasha, I regret the aggressive actions directed toward you by some of our zealous KGB friends, but with regard to the Americans, neither can we be too careful, Sokolov said. Comrade Yurasov could not risk the potential embarrassment, or worse, if the Americans had information in their possession which could expose you or some of our important activities. He reported to me that you had apparently come face to face with an American military officer whom you had known in your previous assignment in the U.S. He said there were strong indications that the American intelligence authorities had begun to place you with previous times and events and he considered it far too risky to keep you there any longer. He also deeply regretted the loss of your service. I had to agree with his judgment. But beyond that, Comrade, I want to commend you for your extraordinary skill and bravery in discovering and revealing the reprehensible deeds of our two corrupt agents, Zinoviev and Zotov. I am ashamed we have the likes of such traitors among our so-called trusted comrades. You are to be commended.

Thank you, General, Sasha replied, still wondering where the congenial conversation and praise was headed. Both events were very distressing, he said. It was difficult for me to believe when I first discovered we had collaborators among our senior officer agents.

Sasha quickly added. Sir, forgive me. I have not personally thanked you for my promotion. You were very generous. And Sir, I must again beg forgiveness for my irrational behavior before I departed for the U.S. following my wife’s death. You should not have let me off so easily.

Sasha, Sasha…You acted as anyone of us would have under the traumatic circumstances. There is no forgiveness to be asked, Sokolov responded. And Comrade, you earned the recognition and the promotion, which by the way, I have taken action to make your promotion to brevet major general, permanent. That star on your epaulets becomes you. I am delighted to have you back home and I have an assignment for you here in the GRU Headquarters.

Thank you, Sir, Sasha responded with controlled exuberance, letting his inner doubts about the consequences of the hellish night before to slowly fade. I will be pleased to serve wherever you wish.

Sasha, Sokolov quickly shifted his pleasant manner, his brow furrowed, and he continued in a somber tone. Sasha, I am sure you must think I am toying with you this morning; believe me, Comrade, I am not.

Here it