I joined the agency two days after I graduated from college. I was heavily recruited for the position having been what my university called a scholar-athlete. What that meant was that I had very high grades in a rigorous academic program while participating in team sports. My 4.0 average in international studies with a minor in linguistics got me noticed by the recruiter. My fit body and athleticism practically made the guy foam at the mouth. Not that I was pro quality or anything, but I did contribute to the football team winning our conference twice and making three bowl appearances. Not everyone can make second team all-American. I also ran track.
I had blown the recruiter off when he first approached me. I was planning to go to graduate school, maybe even get a law degree. I wanted to be a diplomat and maybe even president someday. I wouldn't even entertain the idea of spying for my country, especially for some super secret agency that I hadn't heard of before my junior year. But this fucking recruiter was relentless. He simply refused to take no for an answer. In the end he convinced me that I could do more good at the agency then in the diplomatic core. The job paid better also and I would be able to pursue graduate studies in my downtime. What he didn't say was that there was damn little downtime in the spy business.
I breezed through boot camp with a group of Marines that summer and went directly to the agency's secret training facility under a mountain out west. I was already fluent in six languages and easily picked up several more during the year I was there learning spy craft. Two months short of my twenty-fifth birthday I arrived at our embassy in Moscow. I had entered the country under a false diplomatic passport that identified me as some low level diplomat assigned clerical duties. I remained sequestered in the embassy for several weeks.
During that time I grew a beard and studied the details of my new identity. I was amazed how easily the agency had been able to create a bullet-proof Russian persona for me. Even the old KGB would have been hard pressed to disprove the falsified background of Dmitri Vachlav Dombrovski. At least that is what I hoped since my life depended on my identity being believed. A week after I arrived in Moscow another agency employee used my entry documents to leave the country. Once I left the embassy I would have no way out and only limited contact with my compatriots.
A month after I walked into the embassy, one of the ambassador's limos pulled out of the main gate. I was secreted in the trunk. Even in the old Soviet Union no one would dare search the trunk of the United States ambassador. While the ambassador enjoyed a luncheon near the Kremlin, I was snuck out of the limo in a Moscow alley with only the rats as witnesses. As I watched the large American automobile drive off from behind a pile of rotting trash in a very real way I was watching my country desert me in a foreign land. It was made clear to us in training that our personal safety ranked far below the importance of the mission. Though it was not explicitly stated I knew that they would kill me before they let me compromise anything about the agency.
As I slipped into the bustling life of downtown Moscow, I wasn't sure how I was going to manage my mission. I was sure however that what I had to do was important. The agency knew that Russian arms were moving into the Middle East and in some cases killing our soldiers in Afghanistan. We also knew that these arms were being stock piled in other countries creating an even greater threat. We even knew the identity of some of the arms merchants. What the agency needed me to do was infiltrate the arms cartel and learn about the mechanics of the transactions and the routes the shipments were taking.
My first step was to gain the trust of an agency contact inside the Russian Defense Ministry. Though he had helped the agency for years he was a cautious man that was more fearful of the arms merchants than he was of his government. He wasn't involved in the sale of weapons but he knew some of the inside men who were. I needed an introduction and we hoped Mikhail Pevzner would be my connection. However, I had some more immediate issues. They had found me an apartment which I was sharing with a construction worker named Sergey Gudilov. I made him for an agency plant instantly, but of course neither of us could acknowledge our connection. I supposed he was there to watch me.
It was going to be days if not weeks before I would get to meet Mikhail. My cover was that I was a recent graduate of Novgorod State University. I had grown up in the country and was in Moscow to find work. I spent my days visiting offices in Moscow pretending that I was seeking a job and my nights with a very sullen roommate. I couldn't tell if Sergey was a native that had been turned or an American like me. However, I quickly learned that his cover was real. Instead of job hunting on my third morning I practiced my spy craft by secretly following him. I tailed him to a site where a new office building was going up. I stayed long enough to be sure he was actually working on the project. My observations made me wonder if I was correct about him being a part of the agency.
After a week and a half of pounding the pavement and enduring Sergey's disinterest, I was beginning to rethink my decision to join the agency. Being a spy definitely wasn't the thrilling life portrayed in movies and television. I might well have tried to walk back into the embassy if things had not changed soon. Happily, I received a contact that afternoon. As I was returning to my apartment from the metro station, a man bumped into me practically knocking me to the ground. He dropped the papers he was carrying and as I helped him gather them he pressed a note into my hand. I was to meet Mikhail at a bar the following evening.
My heart raced as I destroyed the note detailing my first meeting as a spy. I was so anxious I could not sleep that night. Job hunting the next day was impossible. I was simply too focused on my meeting to think clearly enough to answer questions. Unfortunately, I knew that I would have to control these reactions if I was to be successful. I told myself that I was allowed only one day like that. By evening I felt I had my emotions under control. I sat at the bar waiting for my contact. Since I had been shown pictures of Mikhail I knew I would easily recognize him but had no idea how he would know me.
When he sat down next to me at the bar, I acknowledged him per my instructions as I would any stranger that sat next to me at a bar. We exchanged pleasantries and he ordered a drink. After another minute he started a conversation about a recent hockey game. One of the things I had studied in preparation for my roll was Russian hockey. The conversation felt eerily similar to one I might have in an American bar about football. Of course we were speaking in Russian about a sport that only a few years earlier had been almost unknown to me. At some point he passed me another note with instructions for another chance meeting.
After five such meetings over the course of two weeks, a friend of his took me to an apartment in an upscale part of the city. The apartment belonged to yet another person who I never met. I waited alone for Mikhail for an hour hoping I hadn't been set up. My contact came in the service entrance and surprised me with his stealth arrival. After apologizing he joined me on the sofa. Oddly the scene felt more like a date than a meeting between spies. I had already concluded that Mikhail was either gay or using the appearance of being gay to cover his activities. Even though I was a confirmed heterosexual in my mind, I was prepared to go as far as I had to for the mission.
We had been taught that sex was a powerful weapon in the covert arsenal. During training I had assumed they were referring to traditional male female interaction. With Mikhail staring into my eyes I wasn't so sure of that assumption anymore. His eyes were quite stunning. They were blue, almost the color of sapphires. For the first time I saw the kindness in his eyes. I had already felt the gentleness of his spirit. It was a puzzlement to me how a man so clearly kind and docile could be involved in our work.
"Dmitri, we are safe here. The owner is away for an extended time. His son was once my lover and I have been known to visit him here."
I was surprised at his openness regarding his sexuality. I wondered if it was a test. I also wondered if the man that had escorted me to the apartment was the former lover. Almost as if he had read my thoughts Mikhail explained that my escort was the man's friend and the cover for his bringing me here was to have sex with me. In an odd twist he asked if that bothered me.
"No, why should it? If it helps for others to think that I am homosexual, then I will happily portray myself that way."
"It is a shame that you're not," He sighed. "You are attractive and interest me."
He spoke in English for the first time. Though I was a bit startled by his use of English and the perfection of his accent, I continued in Russian as if he had spoken only in Russian.
"We do not have to pretend here, D...I am sorry I do not know your name," He said in English.
"I think it best you know me as Dmitri," I replied in Russian.
"As you wish. What is it you want of me?" He asked reverting to Russian.
"Introductions to certain people."
"What people?"
"We know the names of two, there may be others, Yevgeny Moiseyev and Vasily Kolesov."
"Why not ask for an introduction to Vladimir Putin while you are at it?" He shot back making me think that I had lost him.
All I could say in response was the truth.
"Because he is not of any use to my current needs."
I was relieved when Mikhail began chuckling.
"You are a bold one, my friend, but these men you wish to meet are very dangerous."
