Shevetchenko was working on a basement fuse box one day when he happened to spy a roll of White TASS teletype paper in the trash bin. He read. And was thunderstruck. He had had no idea what was really happening out in the world, and the White TASS dispatches were like a revelation — a window on the world and his own country, unlike anything he'd ever seen. He returned night after night and pored through the dispatches. It was in the darkened Council of Ministers basement that he learned about the invasion of Czechoslovakia, about Afghanistan, about Solidarity, about Chernobyl, about how abysmally poor his country was compared to the West. For years he read, and his resolve to strike back at the state became more firm.
Finally, he decided it was time to establish contact with someone in the West. But who? And how?
As to the who, White TASS may have saved his life. Shevetchenko was appalled to read historical pieces on the British intelligence community, and how it was rife with spies like Kim Philby, Guy Burgess, Donald Maclean, and Anthony Blunt. And as for the Americans, he was particularly shocked to read how an unstable CIA recruit — one Edward Lee Howard — was given precious information on America's top "human intelligence" network in the Soviet Union and then turned traitor.
Because of these stories, Shevetchenko decided to avoid the
Americans and British directly. France and Italy were also out of the question. Their governments were crawling with Soviet sympathizers. So where to go? And how?
His answer came with his assignment to a work detail at the Australian embassy. Foreign embassies in Moscow have minimal custodial staffs and are forced to call on host-country support for things like plumbing and electrical repairs. While fixing a light switch in the office of the Australian trade charge, Shev-etchenko simply dropped a note in the man's in-basket outlining his intentions. Shortly thereafter, he was christened with the code name Lamplight and he had been spying ever since.
As fruitful as Lamplight's job in the Council of Ministers Building should have been, it wasn't. His access to sensitive documents was quite limited. Ministers and their staffs were usually arrogant members of the Party who refused to associate with a common workman. So when an opportunity came for a transfer to the Baikonur Cosmodrome, Lamplight leapt at it— ostensibly because the pay was better to compensate for the cosmodrome's remote location. For the last five years he'd been on a rotation routine of three months at Baikonur, one week in Moscow. On each return he was debriefed by his Australian case officer, and the information he provided proved invaluable. Nothing was better than a pair of eyes and ears inside Russia's largest launch facility.
"So what do you bring me this time, my friend?" asked the Australian.
The two men had known each other for some time. A tape recorder was on the table in plain view. It did, however, have a thermite self-destruct mechanism that would trigger itself automatically unless periodically reset.
"Something that may be extraordinary. I simply do not know." Lamplight consumed another gulp of vodka. "Four months ago the shuttle, it was called the Suslov, was in preparation for launch. As you know, I do not work on the rockets. I only repair the electrical equipment in the buildings. Even so, I could see it on the launching pad. A colossal thing. Anyway, a few days before the launch I was ordered to make a repair on a circuit panel in one of the warehouse hangar buildings, where security was unusually tight. I took notice of the increased security because it was just a warehouse hangar that was rarely guarded. A soldier took me to the utility room through an outside door. He told me to stay in the room and make the repairs, and not to go inside the hangar under any circumstances. He probably would have stayed with me, but it was time for a shift rotation and he wanted to leave."
"So you were left alone?" asked the case officer.
"Da. More vodka, please." The bottie of Stolichnaya was half gone, and Shevetchenko continued his story. "I thought another guard would appear, but apparendy I was misplaced in the shift change. I went ahead and completed the repairs, and then remained in the utility room until after midnight. I listened through the sheet-metal door, but I could not hear anything in the hangar. The door that opened into the hangar was padlocked on my side. I forced it open with my tools, trying not to make too much noise. I waited, but no one came, so I went inside. The hangar was dimly lit and deserted… and there it was."
The case officer cocked an eyebrow. "There was what?"
"The Suslov shutde, or what appeared to be the Suslov. Even the name was painted on the nose."
"What do you mean, 'appeared to be'?" queried the Australian.
Another drink.' 'It didn't look right to me somehow, so I took my stepladder — I usually carry one with me — and used it to climb up and inspect the rear engines and tail."
"And?" prompted the Australian.
"They were made of plastic."
"Plastic?"
"Da," said the Russian. "In fact, I could make the whole thing wobble slighdy just by rocking back and forth on the engine. I did not rock it too hard because I was afraid I might detach the engine — or what looked like an engine — from the body."
"You mean, you were looking at some sort of fake?"
"Da. It appeared so to me."
The case officer was incredulous. "I don't understand. Why would they make a plastic replica of this Suslov shutde?"
Lamplight shrugged. "I have no idea. AD I know is that shortly thereafter all support personnel — cooks, janitors, repairmen like me — were bussed into Tyuratam for a week. It is not unusual for us to be transported off the base, but ordinarily it is just for a launch. Our remaining away for a week is unusual. When we returned, the shuttle and booster were gone from the pad."
"Hmmm." The case officer's mind raced. "This sounds extraordinary. Did you see anything else?"
The Stolichnaya was almost all gone now. "Nothing. I replaced the padlock with a spare from my tool kit and was able to leave unnoticed. I never returned."
The case officer was a pro.' 'What if somebody tries to unlock that padlock and can't? Can it be traced to you?"
"No,'' said Lamplight with self-assurance.' 'Everyone mixes up keys. They will simply open it the way I did and replace it."
The case officer seemed satisfied. "Good. This may be hot. I'd better get it out fast. I'll contact you the usual way if we need to meet again before you return to Baikonur."
Lamplight nodded and tossed down the last of the vodka. He replaced his gloves and hat, and exited by a back door. The case officer watched him walk down the sidewalk with a heavy gait, then shook his head. If he himself had put away that much vodka inside of an hour it would've meant a trip to the hospital. These Russians must have pickled innards, he thought. As Lamplight disappeared around a corner he whispered, "Take care, mate.''
The case officer's title in the Australian embassy was that of assistant cultural attache. But in fact he was Moscow station chief for the Australian Secret Intelligence Service, a small but highly competent oiganization that was better known for its efforts in the Pacific Basin. It was also highly regarded for its ability to keep a secret.
He waited fifteen minutes before leaving after Lamplight. It was well after 2:00 a.m., and the freezing Russian wind cut through his coat like a well-honed blade. The Metro subway had already shut down for the evening, so he had a long, frigid walk back to the embassy. Additionally, he had to follow a mazelike route to make sure no one was behind him — with a source like Lamplight, you had to exercise extreme care. Finally, with frostbite approaching, he made it to the embassy gates and the welcoming shelter from the cold.