Henry Wood Perception (10 page)

“Yes, I read it this morning...nothing much there. Good background info, though. It may be handy if we need to use her."

“You think we should put someone in place now, get close to her?”

“Who are you thinking?” Gilbert said, knowing the answer.

“You know who. Jack is the man for the job. Say what you will about him, he never misses when it comes to women.”

“I'm sure if they got to know him…”

“It never comes to that, and you know it.”

“I’ve been thinking about Kiselev and Christyakov. If either of them had Robert killed, then that is as good as confirmation that the Russians are shopping. Robert's only function was to keep an eye on any acquisition attempt beyond their normal channels. If it was business as usual, even if they caught him poking his nose around, neither of them would have cared. They probably would have laughed at him wasting his time.”

Dewey lit a cigarette and started to walk about the room.

Gilbert pulled back the curtain to let in some light. It was up to him to decide what to do. “So, if you're right, their next move will be either to shut down entirely or try to hurry things up. I would suspect the latter. My guess is they would come here next to check out the operation. They would want to see if their plan was possible before pulling the plug. We're stretched pretty thin. I don’t know how we can put together teams to track them both.”

“We only need one team. They hate each other, and whichever one comes here is who we watch. It means the other isn’t involved. Their rivalry dates back to the battle at Leningrad.”

“To the best of my knowledge, we don’t have ears on either one of them. Nobody has gotten anywhere close to being able to listen in on their plans.”

“You just need to put a call into Langley and ask if either of them has dropped out of sight. We don’t need to know what their plans are because if they've gone missing, it means they're here.”

Dewey smiled. Gilbert was right. Both Russians were high enough up the ladder that protocol required they attend meetings with a frequency that made them visible whether in Leningrad or Moscow. The only excuse for missing a meeting was being on a mission. Dewey picked up the phone and made the call. A courier would bring the status reports for both men, and they would have their answer.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Henry hired a taxi to take them to 55 Sullivan Place. As he got out of the car with Luna, Celine, and Bobby, he could barely contain his excitement. The crowd near the main entrance buzzed with the talk of the year to come. Henry, holding Luna’s hand, said, “Welcome to the best place on earth. It opened on April 9, 1913 and was designed by architect Clarence Randall Van Buskirk. The current capacity is 32,000 people. It was built on a site which included ‘Pigtown,' a garbage dump where pigs would hang out and eat as much as they could.”

Luna giggled and looked at Celine, who was enjoying Henry’s excitement, too. “Why is it called Ebbet's Field?”

“That is an excellent question. It was built by owner Charlie Ebbets. In their first game, the Dodgers played the Philadelphia Phillies. The original stadium had fewer seats, only 25,000, but when they realized that the Dodgers were the greatest baseball team on the planet...”

“I thought the Yankees usually won the World Series,” Bobby said.

“I don’t recognize those wins,” Henry said. He appreciated the good-natured ribbing.

They found their way to their seats on the first base side. “These are great seats; how did you get them?”

Celine said, “I dated a guy who works in the ticket office.”

Henry looked at her. “I think you're due a promotion.”

Bobby, not sitting, said, “Let me get the first round of hot dogs.”

Henry said, “I won’t hear of it. The entire day is on me. Let’s go, it's a good idea.”

After they returned from the concession stand with the food, Henry took a few minutes to let the warmth of the sun wash over his face, as he watched the players warming up.

Jackie Robinson stretched while Gil Hodges and Duke Snyder talked to a few fans. All around, the boys of summer were getting ready for the start of the season. The grounds crew waited for the end of batting practice to do their last bit of tidying up before the first pitch. A man selling score cards walked past, and Henry bought four of them as souvenirs. There was an ease about the stadium as people filed in, found their seats, and greeted friends from seasons past.

Bobby showed Celine how to fill out the scorecard. “It's easy. You have the Dodgers on one side and the Pirates on the other. I'll read you the names, and you can write them down. Keeping score is fun and part of the tradition. You'll thank me later.”

Celine didn’t care much about baseball or the outcome, but the enthusiasm from both Bobby and Henry had, for this day, rubbed off on her. “Okay, who is first for the Pirates?”

“You just write down the last name and then their position. Batting first, or lead off, is Saffell and then write cf, which means center field. Next is Roberts. He plays second base, so put a 2B after his name.”

Henry and Luna were filling out their cards, too, as were most of the people around them. Bobby was doing such a good job of reading the names that those within ear shot were busily writing them down, too. When he finished with the Pirates, Bobby said, “And now for the Dodgers.”

Half a dozen people gave a cheer. He started to do an ‘announcer’ voice and said, “Leading off for the hometown Brooklyn Dodgers, playing second base, Jim Gilliam. At short stop, batting second, from Ekron, Kentucky, Pee Wee Reese.”

He paused as his following had grown. About twenty people cheered at the mention of their beloved short stop’s name. A little louder now, he continued, “Roaming center field, batting third, Duke Snyder. Last year he hit 42 home runs and today bats clean-up. Playing first base, Gil Hodges.”

Somebody yelled, “Hey, buddy, you should be in the announcer’s box.”

Now standing, he continued, “Playing left field and batting fifth, from Havana, Cuba, Sandy Amoros. At third base, batting sixth, Jackie Robinson. Playing right field, in the seventh spot from the right side of the plate, Carl Furillo.”

A few more people were now listening to Bobby announce the lineup. The cheers continued after each name. “My favorite player, Roy Campanella, catching and batting eighth. He had 32 home runs last year and one stolen base.”

This got a rise from the crowd and a hearty bit of laughter. Bobby had them in the palm of his hand. “Pitching and batting ninth, and in his seventh year, with an 18-15 record last season, Carl Erskine.” A final rousing cheer went up, and Bobby waved to those around them.

Luna gave Henry a smile and finished writing in Erskine’s name. Celine was clapping along with the others. The players had left the field, and the umpires were gathered behind home plate with the managers. Everyone talked about this being the year. Soon, it was time to stand and sing the national anthem. Then it began: the 1955 season.

The first inning ended without any runs and then the second and the third. The crowd, anxious for that first score, cheered every crack of the bat, every Pirate strike, and when every out was made. Finally, in the bottom of the sixth inning, the Dodgers took the lead one to nothing. In the top of the seventh, the Pirates tied it up, but then the Dodgers fans were rewarded with five more runs in the bottom of the inning. Henry, Bobby, Luna, and Celine all cheered, as did the rest of Brooklyn.

When the final out was recorded, the Dodgers had won six to one, out-hit the Pirates eleven to seven, and had two more strike outs. As Henry, Luna, Celine, and Bobby started to make their way to the exits, some of Bobby’s fans credited him with the win, saying his reading of the lineup got them off on the right foot. The strange little man from down the hall grinned from ear to ear. Henry was glad Celine had invited him.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Nikita Khrushchev and Alexander Shelepin sat alone in the Kremlin drinking tea while they discussed Ivan Serov. Serov had been the head of the KGB, since the death of Joseph Stalin, a little over one year ago. Khrushchev was beginning to have concerns about the progress of the Committee for State Security, though he did admit to several minor successes. Servo was a brutal leader, who organized the killing of over 22,000 members of the Polish Officer Corps. They both agreed he was a double-edged sword.

Khrushchev said, “If he starts to get ideas which are too grand, well, then, I may need you to take over.”

“If that day comes, then I'm ready, and it would be my privilege to do so.”

There was a knock at the door. Both men stood up as the secretary showed in Colonel Oleg Kiselev. The Colonel stood at attention until Khrushchev welcomed him and said, “Please, comrade, have a seat. We have much to discuss. Do you know Comrade Alexander Shelepin?”

“We met once, briefly, last year, at Nizhny,” Kiselev said, shaking his hand.

Shelepin said, “Ah, yes, at the reception. It is good to see you again. You have been busy.”

“Thank you, sir. I believe we have gathered much actionable intelligence. The next generation of attack subs will be the best in the world and far better than what the Americans are designing.” He opened his briefcase and removed a thick file, as the secretary brought him a cup of tea.

She looked at Khrushchev and said, “Colonel Chistyakov is on his way up now.”

He asked, “Shall I wait until the colonel arrives?”

Khrushchev nodded and said, “Yes, that would be best. I know how you two feel about one another, but it is time you are both read into the rest of the plan. This has been in the works for some time, and the work you and Colonel Chistyakov have done the last year has allowed us to move onto the next stage.”

The next few minutes were mostly spent in silence. Alexander Shelepin sat and watched the young colonel wear calm like a dinner jacket, but he knew that beneath the surface Kiselev was livid. It would be up to him to decide which man would lead from this evening forward, and he was still undecided. Alexander knew Pytor Chistyakov well as they had worked together for six months in 1951.

Pytor was a bear of a man. Large, imposing, with a thick beard and booming voice, Pytor Chistyakov inspired confidence in his men and always delivered.

Oleg Kiselev’s record was equally impressive. He was one of the first recipients of the Medal for Courage, after it was established October 17, 1938. He was at the Battle of Lake Khasan. Oleg stood six foot three, had black hair and dark brooding eyes, which seemed to hide a mind that was always racing. The ladies were fond of him.

Pytor Chistyakov strode through the door and said, “Mr. President, you look well. Nikita, how is the family?” He grabbed Kruschev's hand, shook it, turned toward Alexander, and said, “Comrade, so good to see you.”

Kiselev stood.

Pytor reached out a hand and greeted him, though without so much gusto. “I was not aware that Colonel Kiselev would be joining us tonight. It is good, though; he'll offer much insight.”

Khrushchev began, “You were each tasked with two important missions, one to find out how far along the U.S submarine program is with its newest model and to secretly perform the same investigation into our own Whiskey class submarines. You have both completed your tasks admirably. Alexander and I have reviewed your reports and find the conclusions to be encouraging. We have decided that our strengths in the design of the Whiskey class subs and our planned changes, combined with adding in the advancements the Americans have made with their gauges and materials, will give us a formidable naval vessel.”

Kiselev said, “It is true. There is one company who has been able to create improvements in dozens of internal parts that have much higher crush tolerances. These parts are better than ours. We are close to ten years behind them. I personally reviewed our facilities, and, sadly, their quality assessment is far too optimistic.”

Khrushchev said, “Yes, I'm not pleased with our progress, but that is a different conversation for another day. The reason you're both here, without the knowledge of Serov, is because we wish you to complete a deal with the American company that is creating these parts.”

Both the colonels looked at each other. Pytor said, “A deal? We are going to buy the parts?”

Shelepin lit his pipe then answered, “We have looked at the possibility of stealing the technology. That is an option, but, after reading your report, we are not confident that we can analyze and quickly copy the advancements. It is easier to simply buy them. “

The looks on the faces of the colonels spoke volumes. Shelepin continued, “I know this flies in the face of what our intuition tells us to do, but, bear with me, comrades, it will be best for Mother Russia and the entire republic. The greedy Americans will sell the parts to a corporation in Stockholm. They will then be funneled through multiple channels until they arrive here where we will install them in the newest Whisky class subs.”

Pytor asked, “Why would these Americans agree to this? How will we convince them?”

Shelepin answered, “While your teams have been gathering the intelligence we needed, we have had a third team, completely outside of the KGB, reporting directly to us. Two operatives, who have been in the US for many years, are in place to guarantee our success. Needless to say, this mission is well beyond anything ever attempted in the world of espionage. There are many moving parts, and we must be the puppet masters to make this a reality. It is important that all of this is done without leaving any fingerprints that lead back to the Kremlin. This group of greedy Americans will agree to it because we won’t tell them what they are doing until it is too late for them to back out. Right now, they think they are selling excess parts to a small company in Finland, technically breaking their contract with the Navy, but not rising to the level of treason.”