Part II

"Drop, drop
in our sleep, upon the heart
sorrow falls, memory's pain,
and to us, though against our very will,
even in our own despite,
comes wisdom
by the awful grace of God."
- Aeschylus

1973, Leningrad

Vladimir Retyunskikh was laughing; the Soviet Union had just crushed Sweden in the World Ice Hockey Championships, securing their place at the top of the podium yet again. He couldn't wait to talk to the guys about Boris Mikhailov's incredible game. He turned the door handle and swung the door in, his smile peeling away as he saw what lay beyond. He pulled his foot back, the tread sticking in blood.

Beyond the door were 14 KGB agents, each lying in a pool of blood. They had been brutally executed. "Oh fuck," Vladimir gasped, retching. He pulled the door closed again, wiping his mouth as he ran down the hallway the way he had come.

The Next Day, Minsk

The man who would later be appointed Northern and Southern Control leaned against a tree overlooking Minsk's waterfront. He was the ranking field agent currently located in Eastern Europe, and the KGB had called a very unusual meeting. The KGB and the Company kept careful tabs on each other, but they rarely interacted directly, undermining each other's efforts surreptitiously and leaving the direct negotiations to the diplomats. Control's steel gray eyes noticed a man striding toward him, and he trusted his backup was in place. This could go wrong very quickly.

Andrei Brish stopped inches from Control's face, snarling through clenched teeth. "I hope you know what the hell you are doing. Your side didn't need that information. If that file falls into the wrong hands . . . ." He stopped, a sneer curling his lip. "And I will take 14 of your lives to replace the ones you executed."

Control's mind was racing, trying to place any recent events in the context of what Andrei was saying. Nothing fit. "Andrei," he switched to Russian to try to calm the KGB agent down. "What are you talking about?"

Andrei searched Control's eyes for some recognition of what he was talking about. "Fourteen of my agents were executed yesterday morning in Leningrad." He didn't ask if Control knew anything about it - if he did, he wouldn't admit it. "A file was taken."

Control didn't move. He knew the KGB agent would also have others with their guns trained on them. He didn't want to make anyone with a finger near a trigger nervous. "What's in the file?"

Andrei searched Control's face again, to no avail. "It was a nuclear file. Everything was in it."

Control glanced at the surrounding waterfront. "What do you mean, everything?"

"I mean," Andrei tried to calm his nerves, "that there's only a few seats at the nuclear table right now. That file was the cookbook - it has all the technical expertise needed to add a few more seats to the table." The magnitude of what had just been stolen from the Soviets was unthinkable. It was enough to answer why the KGB had asked to meet with their mortal enemies. "And," Brish added, "there was a list of known third party suppliers, dealers."

Cautious of the unseen backup agents he knew Control would have planted nearby, Andrei slowly withdrew a photo from his breast pocket. It had been snapped at the murder scene. The fourteen men had been shot, and many of them had lived awhile after the initial shooting, it appeared. They had crawled around the room in their own blood after being shot in non-vital areas. They were then executed with head shots at close range. It appeared that two of them had been disemboweled alive before their final execution. While the two spy agencies dealt in deception, deceit, torture, and occasionally death, they were still gentleman's rules. One of them was that what they did was required for the sake of the country's interests. But these men hadn't been tortured for information - they had been tortured for fun. Brish and Control pondered the photo uncomfortably for a moment before Andrei added, "We know from the bullet casings that they were produced in the United States." He paused, reining in his anger and hatred. "We need assurance that the file is secured."

Control stared hard at Brish before answering. He was certain that if any Company assets had been used for such a mission, he would know about it. "Look," he tried to diffuse Andrei's defensiveness, "I can assure you our side did not take it, and we didn't kill your agents."

Andrei stiffened at the mention of the agents. "Our comrades' deaths will be avenged. When this news gets out to our network, I can't help what may happen. This was a brutal execution on our home soil over information you already have and certainly don't need."

Control ran a hand over his forehead, thinking quickly. This had all the makings of a major international incident if it wasn't cut off quickly. The US side would blame the USSR for potential nuclear proliferation, and the KGB's cadre of agents would go on the warpath over the brutal executions. There would be retaliation after retaliation, and the whole situation could escalate very quickly. There were many nations that would kill for the information the USSR had lost, but the US certainly didn't need to risk its assets for information it already had, nor would it kill KGB agents just to rile up the USSR. And although the KGB suspected the US of the assassinations, they apparently weren't sure - or they wouldn't be here talking. Most importantly, both countries needed to prevent nuclear proliferation. "What do you want from us?"

"Just secure the file and all its documents, and turn the assassin over to us. If you do, I can probably prevent the retaliation that I think will come from within our own ranks."

Control knew that this was the only way they could minimize the damage from the incident. He replied again in Russian, "There isn't much to go on."

Brish dug around his pocket for a moment, and Control waved off his backup from responding with gunfire. Finally, Brish pulled out a blood-smeared card. It was blank except for the drawing of a wolf. "We found this at the scene - a little calling card." He flipped it over and pointed out the publisher's mark - a Chicago company.

Control took the card, staring at it for a moment before handing it back. "We'll do what we can."

"You'd better," Brish warned, before stalking off.

After contacting the Company, Control had been authorized to locate the file. It was to be retrieved or destroyed, by whatever means necessary. He'd briefed the other agents working the regional office on the mission details. A day after the briefing, Robert McCall, had pulled him aside, a look of concern on his face. "I've been deep in the files all day," McCall had told him.

"Did you find something on the calling card?" Control asked, his face grim.

McCall nodded, "There is a mercenary that moved to the USSR a few years ago. He still has a US passport, and he was in Indiana less than 2 months ago. We've got a pretty thick file on him. He used to do some independent contractor work for us, but he was always a little unstable; and he hasn't been picked up for a job for us in years. He started to dabble in the darker side of executions and torture. He moved to Leningrad about five years ago, got married, and settled down. Now he has two kids - both boys. He's been doing some mind/brain research, and he has even been published in a few psychological journals, but he's still doing some covert jobs. Since he moved to the USSR, the Soviets have been using him almost exclusively, and they think they pretty much own him - that he's practically a KGB agent - but there's some evidence he still moonlights for other governments or private interests when the right offers come along."

"It sounds like a plausible profile."

"That's not all. He used to refer to himself as the Lone Wolf. It is marked on several pages on his file. He never handed out calling cards like this that we know of, but it certainly could be connected." McCall handed over the thick file.

Control flipped through it for a few minutes before responding, "I suppose he could have picked up a job for another country, but the Soviets should know all of this if he is in their backyard. Why wouldn't they have already checked him out already?"

McCall tapped the file, "It isn't clear the Soviets would have the information on the nickname. If he has settled down, maybe he isn't advertising his propensity not to be a loyal comrade. But that doesn't mean he isn't still taking advantage of extra cash where he can."

Control nodded, "All right, fly to Leningrad on the next flight and see what you can find on him. You'll be the primary on him, and I'll call Ben to set up round the clock surveillance on his house. He paused, "If you find anything definitive, you are cleared to turn it over immediately to the KGB." He gave McCall a note with the name and address of a Soviet contact Brish had given him. "Unless you or Ben find the file, handle this with a 10-foot pole. We don't want our assistance to be mistaken for involvement, and we don't need any cowboys charging in there playing hero."

McCall snorted, "I will bear it in mind." He fingered the note for a moment. "And if we find the file?"

"Retrieve it or destroy it. They wouldn't have been talking to us if there was anything other than what they said was in it. It's a minimal risk if its lost. It's a much bigger risk if it gets out."

McCall nodded his understanding.

Control closed the file and tucked it under his arm. The file was neatly labeled: Arthur Trent.