“Thank you, Captain,” Chernakov said sincerely. “Tell General Yang that we appreciated his intervention in this delicate matter. I look forward to seeing you again.”
They saluted and Chernakov, the technicians and Sukhanov boarded the turboprop for Moscow.
October 1968
The summer had passed quickly for Chernakov. Promoted to Lieutenant General, he spent a great deal of time on Party matters, meeting with the Ministry of Defense on several occasions and had been sent to Havana to hand carry a presidential communication to Prime Minister Castro. Returning home he received word that Sukhanov had received a promotion and that he would be sent to a command in Czechoslovakia.
He knew that Alexei’s loyalty was making it difficult to discuss the news. Finally, Chernakov called him into his office and said, “Congratulations on your promotion, Alexei, I know you will go far.”
“Yes, Sir, but…”
“No regrets, Alexei… you have been my good and trusted right arm and I shall miss you. But I take great delight in seeing you go ahead in your career; it is what you have worked so hard for. When do you leave?”
“As soon as possible, General; Major Sergei Trushenko will be your new aide and will be here day after tomorrow.” Clearing his throat he looked at Chernakov. “General, it has been a privilege to serve with you. I shall always remember.”
“Thank you, Major or I should say, Lieutenant Colonel; it has been a privilege for me as well. We must celebrate before you leave.” Chernakov said in a lighter vein. “Tonight we will drink to your future, yes?”
Trushenko had none of Sukhanov’s characteristics that the Chernakov had come to appreciate. The new aide was dour and recited Marxist-Leninist doctrines endlessly. Whenever Chernakov attempted to converse on a lighter note, Trushenko would turn every conversation to the Party line.
Even Karpov would have offered more intellectual relief, Chernakov thought; and then chided himself, “Am I really that desperate?”
Karpov, however, was spending much of his time in Paris ostensibly developing Communist cell groups. He had returned to Moscow in late August. After a meeting of the Politburo, Chernakov was amused when Karpov drew him aside to tell him about a new member of an artist cell group from South Vietnam. His eyes fairly danced in describing her intellect and devotion to the Party, but it was clear to Chernakov that something more had made a major impression on the KGB boss.
Chernakov deliberately baited Karpov suggesting in a serious tone, “It is clever of you, Comrade, to take an interest in gaining this Vietnamese peasant woman’s loyalty. They can be rather tiresome and I find most are generally unattractive, as I suppose this one likely is, but how very wise of you to capture her intellect,” he said seriously.
“Oh no, no, no, Comrade Chernakov,” Karpov protested, “she is not a peasant; her mother is Vietnamese, but her father is French; that is why she spends so much time in Paris; she was educated there and she has such contempt for the Capitalistic Americans. She is also not without beauty,” he mused in satisfaction.
“She has much to learn and is such a willing student,” he smirked. “And I will be her teacher,” he added with enthusiasm.
“I am certain she is in very capable hands, Comrade.” It was obvious that Karpov’s new ‘student’ had amply engaged his libidinous nature. Chernakov wondered how this student viewed Karpov as her mentor.
November 25, 1968
The unexpected summons from Karpov on November 15th to discuss his new assignment had puzzled Chernakov, especially since it was to take place over dinner. One really did not know what to expect from the GRU chief, “But at least I will have a good dinner,” Pyotr had thought.
It was now only five days before leaving on the assignment given by Karpov and the Central Committee to wrest the American equipment captured at the Laotian site from the hands of the Comrades in Hanoi.
Chernakov had spent hours in preparation. He pored over maps and examined the North Vietnamese and Soviet intelligence reports of the equipment being used at Site 85 learning all he could of the American TSQ radar technology.
As a former fighter pilot and knowing the weather conditions in Laos and Vietnam, Chernakov understood the intrinsic value of an all weather navigation system for bombing missions.
He studied the statistics of the bombing runs made by the Americans and then carefully noted that even in the most adverse weather conditions the bombs reached their targets. The information on the TSQ was known in various degrees, but the Americans had developed something new and better.
Chernakov was excited to have an assignment that offered a challenge; one that would allow him to take charge of and learn about the technology used so effectively by the American bombers.
The day before he was to depart, he met briefly with Karpov and members of the Defense Ministry receiving final instructions. Then he and Trushenko spent the afternoon clearing his desk and instructing his staff. He thought about the Americans in the embassy and wished he could somehow contact Harding or Jacobsen, but he knew it was impossible. Now there was just one more task to complete; tomorrow there would be a visit to the cemetery.
A cold wind whistled through alleys of the cemetery grave stones that stood in various shapes and sizes. As he trudged along the hard ground to Valeri’s grave, he noticed a workman dressed in heavy rough clothing and a coarse wool cap nearby watching him. He sighed in mild exasperation; even here in the cemetery he was watched. It was unusual; the workman seemed to be alone—the ever present dark sedan that followed him everywhere was not in sight.
He was startled when the man moved closer and addressed him in English, “Good morning, General.”
Chernakov stopped.
“It is very cold is it not?” The workman spoke again in English. “The weather was much warmer in September of 1967; perhaps you remember?”
Hesitating, Chernakov responded. “Yes, I recall that.”
Nodding the worker continued, “I am told that Southeast Asia has the warmest climate this time of year. In some cases it is almost perfect if you can make the right connections.”
“I have not seen you here before. Do you work here?” Chernakov asked cautiously.
“Not often,” the worker replied, “only when necessary.” Then taking his tools he disappeared behind a large stone and was gone.
Pytor spoke to Valeri’s grave, “It’s strange, my darling, but it seems I must be ready for the next step.”
The next morning Chernakov and Trushenko boarded the airplane bound for Nanning and the first stop on the mission to secure the much desired equipment.
The level of conversation with his aide was stiff and superficial, pertaining only to military matters. There was little discussion of Nanning or expectations at the camp.
Chernakov worked uninterrupted and made many notes of his assignment. He glanced at Trushenko now and then noting that his aide sat rigidly in his seat reading some policy document. The contrast between Sukhanov and Trushenko was remarkable. Alexei always appeared to be relaxed, generating Chernakov’s confidence. Sergei, on the other hand, was as taut as a tightly strung bow, ready to fire at any deviation from the Party line, no matter how small.
Chernakov thought of the visit to the cemetery and of the strange conversation with the workman. It carried an excitement for him and a sense of expectation. He now had a reason to believe the Americans were working to accomplish his escape and it was as if a prayer had been answered after all these months.