Page 176 of Cry Havoc
“I have calls to make,” Lavrinenko said. “And, for something of this magnitude, I will be spending time at the Kremlin to garner the necessary support.”
“Of course, Director,” Penkovsky said, getting to his feet. “Is there anything else?”
“I understand there is a new opera premiering soon.”
“Yes, Director. This Friday.Khovanshchinaby Mussorgsky.”
Lavrinenko leaned back in his chair.
“What draws you to the opera, Comrade? I could never quite stomach it myself.”
“My wife loved it.”
“Ah, that is where we differ. Had one of my wives loved opera, it would have guaranteed that I would hate it.”
Penkovsky laughed.
“Khovanshchinais about the death of a Tsar, is it not?” Lavrinenko asked.
“It is. Though I am surprised. You have never mentioned an interest.”
“An unfortunate by-product of working my way through the ranks, Comrade.‘Akh, ty Rodnaya, Matushka Rus,’” he said, stating the opera’s premise from its first act.Woe to thee, native, Mother Russia.
“Impressive, Director.”
“Remind me, what does that imply?”
“That the state is not dying from actions of a foreign adversary, but from the treasonous intent of those within.”
“I remember now. There are three factions, each one believing they are in the right; each one thinking that they alone represent the true Russia.”
“Exactly, sir.”
“Enjoy it, Comrade,” Lavrinenko said, reaching for his phone in dismissal. “It is imperative for men at our level to have an outlet.”
Penkovsky made his way to the door, wondering if what he had proposed had any chance of success. As he stepped into the outer office, he found himself even more perplexed by Director Lavrinenko’s understanding ofKhovanshchina.
CHAPTER 65
CIA Annex
Saigon, Vietnam
August 1968
“I WANTED YOU TOhear it from me first,” Nick Serrano said.
Tom sat in the CIA man’s office on Rue Pasteur in Saigon just off the courtyard where they had first met. Since the events in Bangkok, Tom had been staying at the Pittman Apartments on 22 Gia Long Street, a building where the CIA and other government agencies housed employees. It was just northeast of the U.S. Embassy and not far from the CIA annex. Serrano had offered Tom the Continental Palace hotel, but he had opted against it. Too many memories.
A fan rotating on a stand whirled in the corner, its low hum ensuring that the office was never entirely silent. Every time it breezed past the desk, it ruffled the edges of papers held down by East German binoculars that had once been issued to an NVA soldier. A slower-moving fan turned on the ceiling. Neither did much to combat the heat. A Hermes portable typewriter was on a typing table in the corner. Behind Serrano was a filing cabinet topped with a stack of books that includedStreet Without Joy, The Centurions, andThe Golden Bough. Much like Colonel Backhaus’s hooch in Phu Bai, the walls were decorated with maps of Southeast Asia.
“I don’t love the sound of that,” Tom replied.
After taking the longtail boat farther downriver and rendezvousing with the CIA trawler as per their preplanned secondary extract, they had powered into the Gulf of Siam and then into the South China Sea, where they transferred to the USSAmerica, aKitty Hawk–class supercarrier. Major Kirill Dvornikov had been extremely cooperative. To his way of thinking, there was no reason, ideological or otherwise, for him to end up gutted like Sergeant Voronin.
Tom and Serrano had escorted Dvornikov to Manila aboard a Grumman C-2 Greyhound carrier onboard delivery aircraft, where they turned him over to interrogators from the CIA’s Directorate of Operations.
“Things have changed,” Serrano said.
