Dick smiled and squeezed his wife’s hand. “Tomorrow we start getting ready. We must leave no clues behind. I’ll leave $400 with our realtor to take care of the remaining month on our lease. All our bills are paid. We can take only essentials and won’t leave a forwarding address. Pack whatever you need to take care of the kids for a few days. We will be traveling by car and moving fast. The KGB will be able to track us by the banks I visit to get our money.

“There are five banks I must visit in the next week. There will be long hours in the car. Where we can, I’ll leave you all in a motel, while I take what we need from the safety deposit boxes. When we have been to all the banks, we have to think through every move. The first six to eight months will be the most dangerous.

“You’re good at reading maps. When we pick up our escape car, you can start planning our routes. We’ll change cars in Minneapolis, and I’ll visit the bank and then on to Chicago.”

 

March 1975

 

Three days later, the Olsens pulled into the Minneapolis Airport in their three-year-old Dodge sedan early in the morning. This is the last of the Olsens, Dick thought. When we get back in the car, we will be a different family. We will be Frank and Alice Kincaid and children Jack and Christina. I don’t want to confuse Jack with constantly changing his name. Christina is too young to notice. Switching identities adds stress to all our lives. I’m looking forward to the time we can all be Brandons. In the next two years we’ll have to deal with identity changes and all its complications.

Dick let his wife and two children off at the departure gate for Northwest Airlines, so they would look like they were catching a leaving flight. Sue took the children through the interior of the airport then moved up to the arrival gate area where they would wait for Dick to pick them up and assume their new identities. Two weeks earlier Dick had parked a year-old Ford station wagon in the long-term lot. There was an empty space beside the station wagon, and Dick pulled the Dodge in the empty space. It took only a few minutes to transfer the baggage and do a final check of the Dodge’s interior for anything he might have missed earlier. The Ford station wagon started up despite its wait in the cold weather.

He pulled to the curb at the Northwest arrival gate and Sue, now Alice, who had been watching for the grey Ford wagon, came out with the still bundled-up children. Jack was lifted into the backseat and strapped into a child’s car seat. Alice held Christina on her lap. The chill of the car’s interior had given way to the powerful car heater. She leaned over and gave her husband a kiss.

“This is an improvement, Mr. Frank Kincaid. Much more space. If we had to we could sleep in the car.”

“I’ll try to do as well on the next change. The Ford dealer was happy to make a cash deal. This is a good car. Equipped with tires to handle bad weather. I think it is supposed to snow later today. I hope we are in Chicago before the roads get icy. You and the kids will have to stay in the car while I go in the bank here. I want to find street parking within a few blocks of the bank. It shouldn’t take me more than 30 minutes. As soon as I come out, we’ll leave for Chicago. We can have lunch at a McDonald’s. Okay?”

“Yes, and I can feed the baby while we’re waiting for you. I have crackers and chocolate milk for Jack. We’ll be okay. Go and make us rich. Never thought I would be married to a bank robber.”

“Hey, it’s our money. I’m just withdrawing it a bit early.”

“Somehow, I don’t think the KGB will accept that explanation.”

Their second child, a healthy little girl Sue named Christina, was now four months old. Old enough to travel. Dick felt the time was right and got the teenager next door to baby sit so he could take Sue out for dinner at a popular roadside café. The winter snow made the landscape look like Leningrad.

The Southern Italian food was excellent and, after the last course as they were finishing the bottle of Chianti, Dick cleared his throat. “I want to tell you something, and I want you to let me finish before you respond.”

His wife nodded, poured the last of the Chianti into her glass and said, “I’ll try. You know patience is not one of my best points.”

He took her hand and began. “I have been planning for years, my whole life really, to get out of Russia and come to America. I never told anyone this story. My grandmother was married to an American Army officer who was wounded in the fighting around Irkutsk in 1919. He was never able to get back to his country. He changed his name, learned Russian, and lived in Siberia with my grandmother and their two kids. Katrina, my grandmother, made the decision to move to Irkutsk from their isolated village. She believed they could blend in more safely in a large city. Their daughter was about three. My father would be born some months later in Irkutsk after grandmother had found a very good job with the city government. My grandfather, who was an excellent trapper, hunter, and all-around woodsman, was supposed to meet her in the Irkutsk train station. For months, my grandmother showed up at the meeting place, waiting for him. She knew, if he was alive and free, he would come. After several months, she gave him up for dead or imprisoned. Years later, she saved enough money to move her daughter and son, who her husband never got to meet, to St. Petersburg.

“She told me my grandfather always was looking for a way to escape with his family to America. He wanted his wife and children to live free in a free country. After hearing her stories, I grew up with the desire to move to America. Now I, we, have that chance because the KGB doesn’t know anything about my true heritage due to my grandmother’s excellent planning and ability to meld with the rest of Russian society. I have a very good plan. Will you join me?”

“I like it here. Everyone lives better here than people in Poland. I’m truly terrified of the KGB. The Polish secret police may not care too much but you know the KGB will never give up. My parents will suffer, but freedom for our family is worth fighting for. I always thought someday we would have to go back or be jailed by the Americans. Do you really believe we can get away?”

“Honestly, I’m not 100 percent sure, but I believe we have a better than 75 percent chance. We have money and I have new documents the KGB doesn’t know about. We will need some good luck and more importantly, no bad luck. But yes! If I didn’t think so, I could not expose you and the children to such a risk. The only two good things the KGB has done for me is selecting you to be my wife and giving us the opportunity to live free by sending us to America.”

“As they say here, count me in!”

With his network finally taken care of after nearly four years of travel across the country, Dick was able to spend time searching microfilm at the local library and visiting St. Cloud cemeteries looking for information about his American family, the Brandons. On the second day of his microfilm search, he found two Brandon obituaries from the early 1950s. A Mr. Paul Brandon and his wife Teresa Brandon were buried in the North Star Cemetery in St. Cloud. In the obituary, he read a son, John Brandon, was still listed as missing in action against the Communist Army in Siberia in 1919. Lt. Brandon had been a member of the Polar Bear Expeditionary Force sent to Russia.

Microfilm records only went back as far as 1965. Dick got up and found a librarian. “Excuse me, ma’am. Do you have copies of the newspapers extending back to World War I?”

“Yes, but they are in the basement and not very well stored. Almost no one ever uses them.”

“I’m doing some research for a book I plan to write, could you show me where they’re kept?”

“Sure. Hang around for ten more minutes. I’ll be on my lunch break and someone will be here to cover the library. Not many people come here during the day.”

Once downstairs, Dick went right to the stack marked 1918. Nearly every edition had an article about young men enlisting or being inducted into the armed forces. After an hour of scanning for articles about inductees from the St. Cloud area, he found an article and a picture of Lt. John Brandon. Using his pocket knife, he cut the picture and article out of the paper.

Sitting in the library parking lot and looking closely at the picture of Lt. Brandon in the clear light streaming through his windshield, he gasped at the similarity between the picture and his own image. Leaving the library, he drove directly to the North Star Cemetery. From the obituary information and the plot information from the cemetery, he found the Brandon family plot surrounded by mature pine trees. One granite marker was engraved “John M. Brandon, missing in action in Siberia 1919. A good son and fine soldier.”

He was nearly overwhelmed with feeling. His American ancestors lay before him. His grandfather’s body had never been found. Too bad he couldn’t be here to see me and his great-grandson. How strange that the grandson of John Brandon is standing here as a KGB officer, gathering information to reclaim his Brandon name as soon as he is free of the KGB.

Dick knelt beside the granite marker. “As soon as our next child is old enough to travel, I will tell my wife that we are going to run from the KGB and become Americans,” he said out loud to his grandfather. “We will never to return to the Soviet Union. We will restore the Brandon name to its American heritage. I promise.”

He stood up and dusted his pants off. He knew Sue’s family would suffer persecution for his defection, but it was a risk he was willing to take. He would not tell Sue the name of his American ancestors. If she ended up getting captured by the KGB, they would make her talk. He knew the principle was that people couldn’t tell what they did not know.

 

The next day, Dick and Sue Olsen contacted a real estate office and got a list of rental houses on the outskirts of St. Cloud. After a morning of driving around and looking at neighborhoods, they picked a two-bedroom, one-bath bungalow in Pantown. The house had a nice lot, a nearby park and easy commuting to St. Cloud State University. Neither of them had any experience in buying furniture so it took them a week to get enough furniture in the house and arranged to Sue’s satisfaction. Finally they moved in and Dick carried his bride over the threshold of their first house in America.

Sue took courses in English literature and European history. She attended church services at St. Mary’s Cathedral and began enjoying her life in America. She found freedom was real, something she could feel. It expanded her way of thinking. The load of fear of doing something the authorities could punish her for was replaced by the effort to take control of her life and build toward a future with many options, different even than Canada that was much closer to the European way of life.

Dick didn’t have the luxury of becoming a part-time student. He had a network of spies to manage. Running his network took up all of his time. He had to travel to meet each agent and give them directions. He used all of his KGB training in contacting his network. If the FBI caught him now, he would never be able to convince them that he was planning on escaping from his KGB masters. Even if he cooperated with the FBI or CIA, he would always be in their control and would never be able to live the dream passed down from his American grandfather.

At the end of their first full year in St. Cloud, 1972, Sue presented him with a baby boy they named Jack. She spent more time at home with the new baby, but Dick kept up his busy year by re-locating his entire network of six illegal agents to a city or town within 40 miles of Washington, D.C. He also gave each agent contact instructions and $200,000 to make the move and acquire housing. The contact instructions were all activated by a personal ad in the local paper.

During his travels throughout the year, Dick visited all five banks where the KGB had rented safety deposit boxes. The large boxes were full of money, gold, and diamonds. His best estimate was they collectively held in excess of ten million dollars. Each box also contained a handgun and two sets of identity documents, which included social security cards, driver’s licenses, credit cards, and lesser cards like library cards, club memberships, highway rescue services like AAA, proof of insurance, and even discharge cards from military service.

Dick knew none of these would help him. The KGB had good records and would look for him under all the aliases provided in these boxes. He had to get some new documents to support a few different identities on his own.

Sue was pregnant again in January 1974 and they started getting ready for a second child. Dick didn’t want to wait much longer and planned to make their break for freedom from the KGB when the baby was old enough to handle the fast travel required.

They would have to be on the run for at least a few years. The KGB would never give up the chase, but if he could fool them long enough to wipe out all the ways of picking up his trail, they would almost be home free. When they left St. Cloud no trail could be left. New identities, a different car, and changed covers. He would have to move fast. As soon as the baby was ready to travel, he would tell Sue she had to get used to yet another name.

All of Barry Kelly’s novels are available in print and digital formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or your local bookstore. Visit www.factsandfictions.com for more by the author.

The first thing Georgi did when they got in the wagon was to gather all their old identity papers and put them in a plastic bag. “That is the end of Marie and Georgi. I never liked that name.”

“I didn’t mind my name except Marie drank too much,” Marie said with a sigh.

“Are you going to stop?” Georgi looked at her and couldn’t help the hopeful tone in his voice.

“Of course,” Marie said, holding her head up. “Sue doesn’t drink. I feel we have a fresh start and for the first time in my life I feel free. In control of my life. In Canada, I felt we were always being watched by the KGB.”

“Well, we are now the Olsens, Richard and Susan.”

Susan took her new documents and looked them over. “Since Susan doesn’t drink, she is starving. Find her something to eat.”

“Richard sounds so formal. People with the name Richard often are called Dick. Until our next change, call me Dick. We’ll be Dick and Sue Olsen, the American couple from Chicago.”

“I like that, but Sue is hungry. Do something.”

“You’re on. Get ready for an American farm country breakfast.” Dick drove toward the downtown section of St. Cloud and pulled into an almost full parking lot of a diner serving breakfast.

After breakfast of poached eggs, biscuits, ham, and home fries with a carafe of strong black coffee, Sue said, “Okay, husband, I’ve been fed. Now where do we sleep?”

“We passed a row of cheap motels on the way in. When we leave here, you can pick one and we’ll get set up. Tomorrow we rent a house. Today after we rest I just want to cruise the town and read local papers. There will be a local Chamber of Commerce. We can pick up some information there, and I want to visit the local university.”

“Sounds good,” Sue said, settling back into the comfy booth and taking another sip of the coffee. “The future looks … hopeful.”

All of Barry Kelly’s novels are available in print and digital formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or your local bookstore. Visit www.factsandfictions.com for more by the author.

August 1971

 

Two weeks after the briefing, with all their permitted belongings crammed into three backpacks, Alex drove them down close to the border between Canada and Minnesota. Only the vast boundary waters separated the two nations. They had been well briefed. Alex’s role ended when he dropped them off beside a dark green Ford pickup truck towing a large canoe.

As soon as Georgi got their backpacks out of the trunk, Alex made a three-point turn and was gone. When he put the backpacks in the bed of the truck, Georgi noticed a man waiting there with his back against the cab.

The driver gave them no name and did not want to talk beyond giving them instructions. “In less than an hour, I will put the canoe in the water. You will put your backpacks in the canoe. My friend in the back will paddle the canoe. Do exactly what he says when he says it. He knows these waters. As the crow flies you will have only about six miles to your landing point across the border, but it will take several hours to Black Bay and another hour or so until you meet me again on Route 53 in the Rabetogama State Forest. I am going to give you a compass in case you need to be on foot after getting out of the canoe. When you reach the hard surface road, that will be Route 53. Wait on the edge of the forest until you hear my horn. I have legitimate papers to cross the border in this vehicle. Then come out quickly and get in the truck. I will drive you to the city of St. Cloud in Minnesota. Then I will leave and you will never see me again.” Georgi and Marie nodded.

The young man seated Georgi in the front and Marie in the center of the canoe. He told Marie to sit still and Georgi to paddle the canoe. “And no talking because there are park rangers as well as customs and immigration boats patrolling.”

He pushed off and nimbly jumped into the back. Georgi didn’t even think he got his foot wet. The sun had gone down and the light was fading fast. Their canoeist showed no hesitation. Only once he whispered for Georgi to stop paddling and they drifted silently for a number of minutes. Finally, Georgi heard slight engine sounds in the darkness ahead of them.

They both had passports and proper papers to use until they got to St. Cloud. Once there, Georgi had been told to destroy those papers and to use the second set in the waterproof packet in his backpack. From there on security would be his concern and he could expect no help.

After three hours of steady paddling, Georgi was told to stop paddling, and get ready to jump out and beach the canoe. “We all need to stretch and empty bladders. This small island never had any campers. You can talk in low tones and this is your last chance to ask any questions about meeting with the pickup truck on Route 53. It’s taking at least three or four hours longer because I want our arrival in Black Bay to look like we are coming from the American side.”

“It is so beautiful and quiet,” Marie said. “The water is clearer than I have ever seen. And what is that mournful sound?”

The transporter laughed softly. “That is a loon.”

Marie looked puzzled. “What is a loon?”

“It’s duck-like waterfowl that can be seen in the Boundary Waters. They are very territorial. Usually only one to a lake. Okay folks, let’s move on. I want to be in Black Bay just after first light. If you need a drink you can drink right out of the lake.”

While he was paddling Georgi thought, So far so good. Marie hasn’t even touched her scotch flask all day. The first time in months. I hope she can stop drinking. The odds are against us already. If I have to deal with her drinking, we won’t have a chance. She doesn’t know yet what’s in store for us.

 I’ll be glad to drop this dumb name. I don’t feel like a Georgi. Changing names frequently is hard psychologically, especially if the name doesn’t sit right. I can’t wait to take my old family name permanently as soon as we make a clean break. Thank God for Nana and her efforts to keep the Brandon name alive. I wish I had picture of my grandfather. He was a great warrior and my grandmother was incredibly tough. They must have made a formidable couple. I love the stories she told me about life in the Siberian tundra in the 1920s. It is really strange that the KGB is sending me first to the city my grandfather lived in before WWI. I’m sure some trace of the Brandons is still there. Probably even some gravesites.

Georgi’s musing was interrupted as the canoe reached the shore and they jumped out with their packs, leaving the canoeist behind without a word. The border crossing had gone just as the KGB planned. It was only a short hike from the canoe beaching to Route 53. Marie was strong and carried her share of the load. The driver was there waiting for them but never said a word on the trip to St. Cloud. On the outskirts of the city, he pulled up next to a dark green Ford station wagon with Illinois license plates and gave Georgi the keys. When they loaded their backpacks in the wagon, he drove off.

All of Barry Kelly’s novels are available in print and digital formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or your local bookstore. Visit www.factsandfictions.com for more by the author.

The two years in Canada passed uneventfully. They purchased a used Toyota, rented a nice home in the countryside, and looked to the neighbors as an immigrant couple that was fitting into the working-class life. Unfortunately, from the inside they were struggling. Marie grew increasingly resentful of their immigrant status in Canada. She missed Poland, the privileges granted to her family as members of the Communist Party, and most of all she resented her subservient role in the planning and carrying out of the mission. Georgi tried to get her to share his sense of adventure, but it was not enough and some strains began to replace what had been passion and enthusiasm.

Marie began to drink more than she should, and it caused many unpleasant arguments between them. The drinking gradually affected her ability to focus on their mission.

Marie was afraid KGB watchers would find out if she sought help for her drinking problem. She never told anyone about their illegal status and Georgi was sure she never would, but he hadn’t mentioned her drinking problem to the local KGB handler.

Georgi had known for years that if he ever got a chance to get out of the Soviet Union, he would never go back. His Nana, Katrina, despised the cruelty and arrogance of the Communist Party members and had instilled Georgi with the same feelings. She was certain that one day the Russian people would rise up against the regimes that one after the other had brought them hardship without hope. The threat of the camps and the omnipotence of the KGB sapped the courage of even the bravest and wrung the light and gaiety out of people wherever the Hammer and Sickle flew on its field of red.

Alex, their KGB handler, knew nothing of Georgi’s true feelings, and neither did Marie. Georgi was afraid to give Marie even a hint of his dream. He believed her dedication to her family and Poland wouldn’t allow her to take such a risk.

Georgi’s problem was how to get them into the United States and, once there, break away from KGB control, with or without Marie’s help. Once she saw that she could never return to Poland because of her role in his traitorous act, he hoped Marie would recognize that she had no real choice but to go along with his plan. He knew they could not stay in Canada. There were not enough places to hide or cities large enough to absorb a family on the run from the KGB.

At the next meeting, Alex said, “Get ready to move. The Center has decided to push up your timetable. Once in the U.S. your contact will be limited to infrequent clandestine radio contact. So if you’re unclear about anything, now is the time to ask.”

“No. I understand the mission and am ready to leave Canada.”

“Good. Now pay attention. No notes are allowed. Be ready to move within the next few weeks. I’ll give you new identity documents and infiltration information. You will find a rental place in St. Cloud, Minnesota. Both of you are expected to attend college and acquire a BA or BS to further your cover and improve your social mobility in America.

“You will cross the border into the U.S. with $200,000 in cash, nothing larger than a hundred-dollar bill. If the project works out, more KGB officers trained in the American and Canadian language, culture and history will be infiltrated into the United States. Perhaps even more importantly, several KGB careers will benefit from project ‘FALCON,’ including mine. Now you have to listen to my version of the mission in the United States.”

Georgi grinned and poured a fresh cup of strong black coffee as Alex began his required briefing. “The counter-intelligence forces in the U.S. are rapidly improving. Personal contacts between KGB controllers assigned to Soviet embassies and consulates, and illegals or deep-cover agents are becoming more and more dangerous. This old method of contact has to be changed.

“Many promising KGB cases have been compromised by Western counter-intelligence forces following suspect KGB officers from their Embassies or homes to meetings with illegals and foreign agents. KGB officers who will live as illegals must be the network controllers of the future. Communications between the illegal controllers like you and the Moscow Center will primarily be through short-and long-range clandestine radio links. Georgi, you are the first to be selected to test this concept. You have had all the training required.

“You will be given all the financial resources you need to keep your network viable. You will have ample funds to improve the social status of key members of your network, recruit American agents, and acquire real estate and other material assets required for the mission.”

While he was listening to Alex, Georgi thought about the capabilities and procedures of the KGB. They would never give up hunting for a turncoat who had brought disgrace upon the whole organization. Marie and I will be on the run for a year or more, until we find a place that could provide us with both sanctuary and an opportunity to live normal lives. We need money, a lot of it. The money will come from the ample funds Alex is talking about that is stored in safety deposit boxes in banks across America.

We can’t go to the Americans for help. Once we walk in as defectors or volunteers to any counter-intelligence organization, we wouldn’t be able to walk out. For the rest of our life we would be in their hands. They would never fully trust us nor allow us to live our lives by following our own choices. I don’t trust the Americans to keep us safe from a vengeful KGB.

While some people will keep their word, all governments break their word as soon as it is expedient to do so. From now on, I want to be in control of my life and to give my future children the opportunity to live their own lives.

He swore then and there that once he achieved security, he would try to protect the Americans from the KGB cancer that was growing within their wonderful but naïve country.

All of Barry Kelly’s novels are available in print and digital formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or your local bookstore. Visit www.factsandfictions.com for more by the author.

Spring of 1969

 

After a few weeks of processing, the Catholic Church helped them get settled in a small town near Ottawa. Much to her husband’s surprise, Marie had been fascinated by the Christian church and enjoyed the irony of acting out her cover role by attending church several times a week. Georgi occasionally went along but was never able to match her interest in religion.

All this time they had to hide their English language skills. There were a few Polish families in the general area, but the KGB had made it clear they were to avoid personal relationships with “other” Polish immigrants.

Marie’s dream was that someday they could return to Poland. She needed that dream and Georgi let her keep it. Her growing belief in Christianity was slowly eroding her zeal for Communism and the importance of the mission. He found work as a carpenter’s helper and, with the help of the church and Canadian social services, they lived modestly.

Georgi’s KGB mission was to make his way into the United States and eventually settle within thirty miles of Washington, D.C. He would be given control of an illegal network and a list of important Americans to neutralize just prior to the start of an attack on the U.S.

The intent was to confuse the American political and military chain of command prior to the initiation of a hot war. He would have a secondary mission of creating chaos in the civilian sector by spreading bacteriological agents, placing bombs in designated key areas, starting rumors, and sabotaging select targets. But first they had to establish themselves in Canada, improve their social and economic standing, and practice communicating with the KGB. It was a lifelong mission.

Georgi went to school nights and Anna attended a daytime English course run by the church, and within two years they had acquired an explanation for their ability to speak and read the English language. Of course, their teachers never knew that the only thing difficult about their study of English was the necessity to conceal their already proficient ability to read, write, and speak nearly native English. Marie especially got a kick out of pretending not to understand some people in everyday life. In the process of studying and living in Canada for two years, Georgi, and Marie to a lesser extent, acquired a slight Canadian accent that influenced their KGB handlers to make the Great Lakes area the couple’s first stopping point in the U.S. on the way to D.C.

All of Barry Kelly’s novels are available in print and digital formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or your local bookstore. Visit www.factsandfictions.com for more by the author.

Outfitted with new clothes made in Poland, new identity documents, quite a bit of Polish money, and emergency re-contact procedures in case he had any trouble before reaching Canada, Ivan Kalin – now Stephen Closki – made his way via Aeroflot to Warsaw. When his bride-to-be met him at the airport, Stephen was surprised. The KGB certainly has an eye for beautiful women, he thought. In American English this woman is a knockout. I’m already in love.

Marie Karmosi was tall, with hair that was almost black and contrasted strikingly with her fair skin. Her posture was erect and her full-figured body showed beneath the light trench coat. Stephen guessed they had both been instructed on how to act at this first meeting. Undoubtedly, both intelligence services were watching and recording the meeting.

Her father was a high-ranking Party official. The civil marriage service was elaborate and the following reception was large, featuring a huge sit-down dinner and flowing vodka. The noise and celebrations rose with the non-stop serving of vodka. Only the Catholic Church was missing. Marie whispered to her husband as they left the celebration to begin their honeymoon that she would have preferred a church wedding.

Armed with KGB-provided papers that gave them new Polish identities as Marie and Georgi Wasneski and with all the necessary documentation, including University student identity cards from Warsaw University, drivers’ licenses, a military status card for Georgi, medical records, and a collection of pocket litter that breathes authenticity into cover stories, they made their way across Poland and Czechoslovakia into Austria, where they joined with other refugees in the endless processing. Eventually, they got their Canadian immigrant visas and arrived in Canada. The journey was not hard. The KGB had planned well and was always watching in case they needed assistance. The papers were perfect.

Georgi had money for small bribes and telephone numbers committed to memory, so that he could initiate emergency meetings with KGB operatives along the way. The trip from Poland to Canada was the easiest part of the whole journey.

All of Barry Kelly’s novels are available in print and digital formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or your local bookstore. Visit www.factsandfictions.com for more by the author.