“The building was eleven stories high.”
“And I’m sure it provided a suitable lifestyle?”
Nikolai wanted to say, “But there was a price to be paid for extra luxuries like refrigerators. The KGB spied on everyone. There was no privacy.” But he held his tongue, remembering where he was, fighting for his career overseas.
But it wasn’t just the KGB officers who were scrutinized. The KGB, or the Committee for State Security, was established to penetrate every aspect of Soviet life. Still, with rare exceptions, every young man's dream was to be selected for its ranks. None more so than Nikolai Semenov, who was excelling in school and sports and was voted by his classmates as most likely to be allowed to join the KGB.
The interview next examined Nikolai’s Communist Party knowledge and beliefs. Three hours later, Barishsky looked up and smiled the smile of the Russian bear. “Lunchtime!”
After lunch was served in the meeting room—turkey sandwiches with the crust sliced off, and iced tea—Barishsky continued with his inquisition. “In 1938, you enrolled in the Gorky Suvorov Military School. Is that when you began to love the State?”
“The school was the best of the best,” said Nikolai without answering about his love for the State. “The Gorky Suvorov School was home to the best teachers and experienced military officers in the Red Army. I loved it because we performed in all the military parades on Red Square. I loved the uniforms, the spit and polish, the conformity that military life demanded. KGB officers spoke to us every week, and I always hated for it to end. Since I was quite young, I have worshipped the Soviet KGB.”
Barishsky plunged ahead. “You graduated from military school. That would have been 1947?”
“Correct. I was seventeen.”
“You then enrolled at the Russia School of International Relations in Moscow. It was known to be the path to the NKVD, so you resolved to excel there?”
“Again, only to become a Soviet intelligence officer. I didn’t go out drinking with friends; I had no girlfriend, I had no money, I had only my books and my goal.”
Barishsky stayed on course. “You studied Swedish and English and had one course in German?”
“If you can call it a course. We sat in a circle with our teacher and learned German, such as finding the bathroom or saying we were hungry. I remembered everything about English and nothing about Swedish when I graduated. I had become conversant in German. But in English, I was as good as any native speaker.” Only London makes sense, see? With his English skills already in place, it would be a strategic posting.
“Next came Soviet-Sino relations, which you devoured. Following that, you began a two-year study of Russian relations with Europe and America. You learned about the American government, the British government. How did they compare to the Soviet government?”
Nikolai spread his hands. “There was no comparison.” It could be taken either way.
“You studied the weaknesses of the American government. You learned Capitalism and all of its failings. You learned American geography, military service, weapons, and military bases. You learned how to infiltrate British and American intelligence agencies, CIA and MI5. Am I leaving something out?”
Nikolai shook his head. “Only to add, we learned how to assassinate presidents and prime ministers, how to target them, weapons of choice, the physical layout and traffic patterns around the White House and Ten Downing Street.”
“You would give up your life for a president or prime minister?”
“On a moment’s notice,” said Nikolai.
“You were moved back to Moscow in 1953. You were moved to a location known as The Hotel, where you stayed for months carrying out gorodskiye zanyatiya—city exercises. Did you enjoy being a Soviet spy in training?”
“I found the daily exercises out on city streets stimulating and exhausting.”
Stimulating like when they learned how to take a contact to dinner, discuss the menu, and suggest dishes to be ordered. The people they met and tried to recruit were all retired MGB (KGB predecessor) agents, men, and some women who found the junior lieutenants amusing as they bumbled and fumbled and started over again and again. They were turned loose in Moscow and told to look for operational sites—posting signals, meeting people, making brush-contacts, counter-surveillance, thrilling games of cat-and-mouse. Always working in pairs, one student acted as the surveillance target while his partner followed the surveillance to control it if the need arose. Professional teams from the MGB carried out the surveillance, and they would often drive in teams of three—one driver and two lookouts. Exercises lasted three hours, during which Nikolai would have some task to perform—meet an agent, post something in a dead-letter box, make a brush-contact. But the most critical requirement was to carry out proverka—dry-cleaning, a series of maneuvers to determine if you were followed or not, and, if so, to lose the surveillance. Proverka was pass or fail. The KGB lived by it.
“You reported for work in August 1954?
“Yes, I arrived early.” From the Metro, he walked to the MGB headquarters—now known as the KGB—known by all spies as the Center. He arrived at his appointment only to find his orders hadn’t yet arrived. So, he was free to experience Moscow nightlife for the first time.
“Then, you married? Daughter of KGB?”
“I met a young woman at an after-hours club through a fellow KGB agent, Maxim Moltoi. He brought his wife with him, Carolina, who had brought her younger sister. Her name was Yulia. She was nineteen, half Kazakhstani, half Russian, intelligent, bright-eyed, and laughed easily. She was training to be an English teacher.”
“Yes, her picture is here in your file. Flawless.”
Nikolai continued with a smile. “We started dating. Soon we exchanged commitments.”
“Go on.”
“Nothing much. I told her that I loved her, our engagement followed, then we married without hesitation on either side.”
“You were desperately in love with your new wife. She was likewise totally in love with you.”
“Yes.”
“What does she think about KGB?”
Nikolai spread his hands. “Well, her father was KGB. He’s retired, and all he talks about is serving the Party. She understands my job.”
“No problem with you being gone weeks at a time?”
“No.”
“She doesn’t tell you to be careful and not get yourself killed today?”
“She understands my job.”
Barishsky called for more coffee and reviewed the last several pages of Nikolai’s file. From where Nikolai sat, he could see they were close to the end.
“In 1956, you were deployed to Budapest during the Hungarian Revolution.”
“I was. I led a platoon of men.”
“And the fighting was heavy. “
“It was. I lost several men.”
“And killed many more.”
“Many more. More than I care to remember.”
Barishsky cocked his head to the side. “Oh? Does killing enemies of the State disturb you?”
“With all due respect, if the General has killed, he already knows my answer.”
“Please respond.”
“I have killed for the motherland. It will happen again when necessary.”