17 September 1945
Union Station, Los Angeles, California
Roiling clouds hung low over Union Station. The thermometer had hit 101 in the early afternoon, and although it had dropped to 97 by 4:55 p.m., the temperature seemed no cooler to Colin Blinde. An oppressive humidity strangled the mission-style building, and an eerie electricity in the air was unsettling to Blinde as he awaited his contact. This must be what they call earthquake weather.
Completed in 1939, Union Station was one of the most modern on the nationwide passenger rail system. Outside were courtyards with lush tropical plants and trees. Broad green lawns surrounded tiled fountains accented by flowerbeds. The grand waiting room inside had Spanish tile floors and a beamed ceiling that invited the senses of old California and mission life. Plush back-to-back seats and benches were comfortably arranged throughout.
Blinde scanned left and right, but his man was nowhere in sight. The damned fool is ten minutes late.
Blinde had begun to rise when a voice jabbed at him from the bench directly behind. “No need to get up, Comrade. I’m here.”
“Wha-what?” Blinde stammered, “How the hell—”
“It’s my trade. I’ve been watching you for ten minutes. You are as you should be: alone. Nobody watching. Now, please sit.”
Blinde resumed his seat, his back once again inches from that of the man behind him.
“Where are we, Mr. Blinde?”
Blinde shot back, “Union Station, Los Angeles, California.”
“Very funny. Where is the doctor, and what are the arrangements?”
“You are booked into the Los Angeles Orthopedic Hospital under the name Brent Wilson. Your doctor is Walter Sorella, an orthopedic surgeon who is highly acclaimed by the AMA.”
“American Medical Association. Among other things, they validate doctors, clinics, hospitals, and medical procedures.” Blinde couldn’t resist a dig. “Didn’t they tell you about the AMA at Bykovo?”
There was a long silence. “From popcorn to apple pie, I learned a lot at Bykovo. But then we had this little skirmish with the Germans that had to be settled first. So they cut my studies short, leaving out tidbits about the AMA. What else?”
“Your preparation is scheduled to begin tomorrow. Fittings begin day after tomorrow, Wednesday.”
“Very good. And my clothes?”
“In the suitcase next to you.”
The locks snapped open and Dezhnev rummaged through the suitcase. “All right. That should do. But where is the money?”
“Sewn into the liner in the top.”
“Very good. Now, about this Doctor . . . Doctor . . .”
“Sorella. He helps us from time to time. He examined your x-rays and tells us he can fix things with a new prosthetic that will give you almost normal mobility. You’ll be able to walk at a very fast pace, even run, after you strengthen your leg muscles.”
Dezhnev exhaled. “Yes, I do believe there is some atrophy there. I expect he can recommend a regimen.”
“He will, if you cooperate.”
“Yes. I . . . I need this badly.”
“Don’t worry. Dr. Sorella is one of the best in the nation. He’ll have you walking like an Olympian. In ten days you’ll be on your way back to Vancouver and Mother Russia.”
“The Rodina.”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t trifle with me, Mr. Blinde.”
“Sorry. Look . . . there’s an envelope in the suitcase with directions to Los Angeles Orthopedic Hospital and some expense money. You can best reach the hospital by walking out that entrance and hailing a cab.”
“How far is it?”
“About five miles directly south. You can’t miss it, just east of Figueroa Street on Flower.”
“Pardon?”
“Just tell the cab driver. He’ll understand.”
“All right. A thorough job. Thank you. Tell me. Todd Ingram lives around here, doesn’t he?”
“Well, in San Pedro actually. In Los Angeles Harbor, about thirty miles south of here.”
Five soldiers walked by singing, duffels slung over their shoulders. One sounded drunk.
Blinde said, “You’re not thinking of going down there?”
Dezhnev cracked his knuckles. “I would love to see him again.”
“Because if you do and get caught, it would look bad for us all, especially for me and my department. Besides that . . .”
“Yes?”
“I have orders to kill him.”
“You do?” Dezhnev was surprised. He hadn’t passed on Kulibin’s order. And now, someone had gone around him. “How did—?”
“They came to me separately. They’re afraid Boring talked to him, which he did.”
“But you have the pictures and the diaries?”
Blinde sighed. “Yes. It’s not that. If someone intractable like Ingram lets on about the decision to hide the discovery, it would be a great embarrassment to the United States and the Soviet Union if it gets out that you are trying to steal it or may already have it.”
“Let me see if I have this right,” said Dezhnev. “You say Ingram knows everything?”
“Yes, it’s like I said. Boring spilled the beans to Ingram. Everything.”
Dezhnev changed the tack with, “B-E-A-N-S; that’s straight from Bykovo. How do I sound?”
“Like Leo Gorcey.”
“Who?”
“A movie star who plays dead-end thugs.”
“Gangsters?”
“You should have learned about him at Bykovo. Everybody knows about Leo Gorcey and the Bowery Boys.”
“So, a gangster.”
“Sort of a good-guy gangster. But yes. It would be embarrassing if Ingram spilled the beans. Embarrassing to both of us.”
“What if he doesn’t know?”
Blinde said, “He does. After leaving Sakhalin, we had an inquiry at Okinawa. He told us he knew. He even signed a statement.”
“Well, if he knows, then everybody else does.”
“Only at the highest levels. And they’re shutting up. Why didn’t you kill him at Toro? You had the chance.”
“You would have died in the crash as well.”
“I would have expected to have been taken off the plane if you were going to do it.”
“Easier said than done. So I had them shoot wide. I honestly thought the damned plane was going to crash into those half-tracks.”
“We were lucky.” Blinde ran a finger around his collar as he recalled Radcliff and his hotshot takeoff.
“Plus we needed instructions from Dzerzhinsky Square.”
That meant Beria, their ultimate boss. In spite of the heat and humidity Blinde felt a cold draft. “Well, we now have instructions.”
“Indeed.” Dezhnev said, “But don’t forget that Ingram is almost a national hero. He has two Navy Crosses along with many other decorations. We’re taking a big chance. How do you plan to do it?”
“They’re sending an asset.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You’ll let me know?”
No answer.
“Mr. Blinde?”
“Yes, all right. I’ll let you know.”
“Don’t be too long.” Dezhnev paused. “Rain is coming? A thunderstorm?”
“This is Southern California.”
“Meaning?”
“Unlike San Francisco, it’s not cold and you don’t need an umbrella. Just a roof to duck under for a few minutes until the rain stops.”
Dezhnev sighed. “I think I see. Now, speaking of Leo Gorcey, do any movie stars live near the Orthopedic Hospital?”