Longfellow wiped his face with yet another diaper as the ferry plunged powerfully on its journey across the water. Beyond was Helsinki, Finland, its lights like diamonds on a hill. He sat back and shut his eyes. Sue Ellen fed crackers to the children. He reached and squeezed her shoulder. “Just wow,” he whispered.
“I know,” she said. “It wasn’t your wife out there.”
The crossing took two hours. Then the ferry unloaded in reverse-order, level by level, and a line of vehicles formed at Finnish customs beyond the pier. Ever so slowly, the embassy vehicles crept along. At last, they approached the lowered gate and came to a halt.
Passports were requested. Longfellow and Sue Ellen supplied theirs. The Finnish officer slowly examined the passports, then handed them back and came out of the kiosk to raise the barrier. But his phone rang. So he went back inside and talked forever on the phone.
Longfellow sank lower and lower in his seat, his eyes glued to his rearview mirror. He had no doubt the Soviets were on the other end of the phone line and that Finnish border guards would soon appear brandishing their machine guns. He caught a glimpse of the guard inside the station, talking animatedly on the phone while staring directly at his car.
The guard returned minutes later, yawning, and said to Longfellow. "Wife wants a fish for dinner. I told her I'm sick of fish. You would be too after three straight nights. You're free to go. Enjoy Finland."
Danbury followed just after.
It was 9:50p.m. Moscow time, 8:50 in Finland.
Inside the trunk, Nikolai felt the Saab pick up speed and then reach full highway velocity. Losing all thought of time and place, he suddenly tried to stand and cry out with joy, banging his head on the trunk in the process. Western rock and roll music poured from the front of the car back into the trunk.
He was free. Tears came to his eyes, and he turned his face to his shoulder, sobbing. It was all he could do not to shrivel up and die from joy.
85
9:15 p.m. (Finnish Time) City Park, Helsinki
Twenty minutes later, the British and American diplomatic cars turned off the main thoroughfare, their headlights searching through the night. Ahead was the park. Longfellow’s headlights played across two rough-looking thugs he hadn’t expected, only to find out that he was viewing the Finnish SUPO officers, Koskinen and Virtanen. They were huge, and they were armed, ready for whatever came pulling up the road they guarded.
Longfellow parked, Danbury just behind. Longfellow ran back to the trunk, where he inserted the key and lifted the lid. The light came on. A dazed, sweat-soaked ex-Soviet spy met his gaze. “Good of you to let me out,” said Nikolai, closing his eyes and sinking back, exhausted.
Nikolai was helped out of the car by the SUPO officers. He stood to his feet, wobbly for a moment, then went and retrieved Sasha from the backseat, waking her up. He kissed both cheeks and held her aloft. “Welcome to the West,” he told her.
Emma Magnuson came over and held out her arms for the baby. As she took Sasha, her lips pecked Nikolai on both cheeks. He flushed. “There’s my angel. I’m back in the West, surely.”
Then Franklin Bolling came and hugged him, the last thing Nikolai ever expected out of the diminutive genius MI6 officer. Then the Brit backed off. “You’re home. Now you’re a subject of the Queen from this moment on.” He handed over two passports, one for Nikolai, one for Sasha.
“God save the spy.” Emma laughed.
Against everything he considered strong and manly, tears formed in Nikolai’s eyes as he realized what Bolling was saying was true. He was now a Brit. Even his new official passport, brought along by Bolling and Magnuson, said British.
Lucky leaped out, rawhide bone clamped purposefully in her teeth, and peed on a yellow pine tree.
Sue Ellen took Nikolai’s radioactive shoes, tied them in a plastic bag, and deposited them in a trash can. She outfitted him with a pair of shoes of his own, and Danbury handed him a change of clothes and helped Nikolai into the Bolling/Magnuson backseat. Emma gave him Sasha through the open door. He dug a finger inside her diaper. Poor Sasha had had no chance to go to the bathroom. “How long since she was changed?” he asked Sue Ellen.
“Why, is she wet?”
He smiled. “I’m shaking so bad, I can’t tell.”
Sue Ellen passed him a diaper bag. “Here. Change her for good luck. Just don’t stab the poor thing with those pins.”
The Longfellows came and hugged and told him how brave he was. Tears were shed. The Longfellows would be driving to downtown Helsinki where they would stay overnight and visit the lawyer tomorrow. Then they would take the ferry and go back to Moscow, where they would be arrested and expelled from the Soviet Union. Their job was finished. Now it was time to hear from the Soviets.
“Everyone in?” called Bolling from the driver’s seat. “We’re off!”
Five minutes later, Sasha said, “Waddo.” Time for water.
Nikolai dug through his new diaper bag and found it. He slid the sippy cup handle into her one hand and laid his head back, holding her free hand in his.
Sasha sipped water as the little car roared west, the American CIA’s Danbury close behind.
It was a leisurely drive to Turku. Bolling drove slowly, ensuring they weren’t pulled over for exceeding the speed limit. Nikolai and Sasha dozed in the backseat.
Shortly after midnight, they reached Turku. They would take the Turku ferry to Stockholm in the morning and then fly to London. It was time to find a hotel for the night.
No calls were placed to Washington that night or the next day until the Turku-Stockholm ferry docked in Sweden. The Finns were too closely allied with the Soviets, not out of choice but out of fear. So the President was made to wait for team TINKER to clear Finland.
86
October 22, 1962
9 p.m. Stockholm, Sweden
The ferry ride took all day, but it was a peaceful day with team TINKER wandering the decks, drinking tea and hot chocolate, eating a filling lunch, watching the ferry’s screws boil the water off the stern, and sleeping.
It was dark by the time the ferry groaned up to the dock in Stockholm.
CIA officer Daniel Danbury placed the call through the CIA’s Washington switchboard within minutes. It was only a short wait before President John F. Kennedy was on the phone in Washington.
"Mr. President, this is Nikolai Semenov calling from Stockholm. I know you wanted to hear from me. I hope I'm not too late."
"Thank you for calling, Colonel," said the President. "I have one question for you that only you can answer."
"I can only try, Mr. President. I'm all ears."
"Colonel, are the Soviets ready for nuclear war?"
Nikolai looked out of the booth, out across the petrol station parking lot, thinking. What about Khrushchev? Was Russia ready for nuclear war? He remembered his training: there was a war readiness plan for KGB officers when war was imminent. That readiness plan had not been activated.
"Mr. President, Khrushchev will not go to war. He will not launch his Luna missiles."
"Thank you, Colonel. I look forward to seeing you again one day. And thank you for your call."
Upon hanging up, President Kennedy blockaded the Russian fleet, refusing to allow it passage to Cuba. The date was October 22, 1962. The time was 3:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time.