Shadow of the Condor by James Grady Read Free Book Online Page B

held firmly until he was retired via bullet sometime late in 1953. Western intelligence sources disagree on the exact date of Beria's retirement. Russian civilian intelligence organized as the KGB was created the year after Beria’s retirement, on March 13, 1954. Like all its predecessors, the KGB operates out of Lubianka, the massive Siamese-twin stone building, half prison, half KGB administrative headquarters.
    Ryzhov liked to walk to work early. He relished the freedom to choose his working hours, to walk where he wanted, when he wanted. Many of his predecessors had their walking days abruptly cut short, many others are told where, when and even how to walk by jailers. Ryzhov liked the crisp, clean, fresh, almost country like morning air. By midmorning traffic and factory smoke tinges the air with odors unpleasant to his peasant nose. Not as unpleasant as those of Los Angeles or other Western cities which he has visited, but unpleasant enough.
    That day Ryzhov didn't have time to dwell on his normal reveries.
    Unlike Malcolm, Ryzhov knew exactly what he wanted to know. He wanted to know that everything in his project was well, he wanted to know that beyond the slightest shadow of "practical doubt," the term Russian intelligence bureaucrats use to describe the limits of the unthinkable. But Ryzhov knew everything in that project was not well, just as he knew it would be up to him to make it well.
    The black limousine pulled slowly, respectfully to a stop in front of the toy store across the street from Lubianka and twenty feet from Ryzhov. The chauffeur bounded out to open the passenger door for Ryzhov, but the big man shook his head and instead motioned for the car's passenger to join him on the sidewalk. The short, slightly portly, middle-aged man who nervously emerged from the car was Vladimir Serov, like Ryzhov, a colonel in the KGB, although the smaller Serov is nowhere near Ryzhov in actual rank. Ryzhov commands the division, Serov merely runs one bureau in the division. True, it is an important bureau, the bureau which nominally oversaw Ryzhov's pet project, but it is only a bureau. Given the normal constrictions of KGB operation, Serov runs his bureau with a fair degree of independence, except when it came to Ryzhov's pet project, Gamayun. There Serov commanded in name only, taking orders directly from Krumin, the agent he supposedly commanded, or from Ryzhov, the division commander, who normally should not bother with individual projects. Serov did not like working between his agent, Krumin, and his commander, Ryzhov. He knew the relationship between the two men was complex, and he knew that both men considered him a mere tool in the -overall project. If anything were to go wrong, it probably would not be agent Krumin or Division Commander Ryzhov who would be blamed and punished. It would be Bureau Chief Vladimir Serov.
    "I am between a hammer and an anvil," he wanted to tell his wife, "between a hammer and an anvil. They use me to make what they want, and if they don't get what they want, if something goes wrong, they will crush me and discard me like a piece of scrap iron." But Serov tells his wife nothing of his work. He tells no one of his worries. One never knows where one's words go.
    "Good morning, Comrade Colonel Ryzhov," said Serov nervously, "how are you today?" Serov fell in step with his large superior. The two men walked -slowly. With the limousine and bodyguards following, flanking and preceding them, it looked as if a solemn procession crept through Moscow . The few Russian citizens who passed the parade knew better than to notice.
    "Things are not well," replied Ryzhov coldly, deliberately ignoring civilities, "things are not well at all."
    So it is to be bad news, thought Serov with some relief. The anxiety which had been mounting since the phone call pulled him from his bed now waned considerably. If it had been a catastrophe, Ryzhov would have had him shot or arrested at once or would have plied