Soft white snow falls onto the hard Red Square below, which is, by design, overshadowed by a drab government office building. The 1980 Moscow winter is beginning. A horse drawn sleigh is steered in the distance by a couple with long purple scarfs. In the building several stories above, the brawny General Chernyy Medved is overlooking the scene from Minister of Defense Kozel Cherem’s office with his aide-de-camp, Ilya. General Medved says to his slender assistant while pointing to the sleigh, “Major, two little raspberries.” Ilya nods respectfully to the ribbon adorned general who once had his nose broken in a championship wrestling match.

The office door swings open and Minister Cherem enters in his gray woolen suit and sits in the swivel chair behind his cluttered desk. He motions for Medved to sit. Cherem opens the file in front of him and confirms, “General are you sure about recommending Dr. Davyd Chaban for supervisor?”

Medved responds, “He has a doctorate in neurobiology and philosophy.”

Cherem replies, “But for the last five years he has been on sabbatical.” He motions to Ilya, “Bring Chaban in.”

Medved notes, “In the time away from research, he has published several books.”

Cherem acknowledges, “Yes. Poetry.”

As the bearded Chaban enters the office and overhears the conversation he submits, “Haiku to be precise.”

“That is not exactly relevant is it?” Cherem comments.

Chaban maintains, “Haiku can be looked at as basic three line algorithms. The first lines describe the beginning state and an action, five and seven syllables respectively, and the last line of five syllables is the non-trivial outcome. For example, Riding the troika, Kazachok is the steppe dance. Little snowberry.”

Medved interprets, “An abstract deduction of Dorogoi Dlinnoyu, Kazachok, and Kalinka.”

Chaban redirects, “I am also mapping electron oscillations confined in a periodic potential under constant force.”

Cherem pauses approvingly and asks Chaban, “Are you up to speed on why you are here?”

Chaban replies, “I believe so. You have an intelligence program that needs to be tested.”

Medved explains, “It is of the highest classified maskirovka operations. We would like to replace an American lower level military officer with one of ours that will work themselves through the ranks and harvest information we might never even know to seek out. I will be the operations supervisor and you, Chaban, will be the handler. We do not just want to fool the Americans with outward physical appearances but genetically as well. The replacement will need to pass all psychological and biological testing for their security clearances.”

“As you know I am aware of the DNA altering project you have developed,” Chaban adds.

Cherem interjects, “I am told the transformation will take seven years.”

Medved continues, “That is correct. The officer will need to be part of the American military during that time building a credible resume. The problem arises in that the switch cannot be observed.”

“Twelve hours is the estimated time frame to complete the exchange without the American’s suspecting the officer has gone missing,” Cherem adds.

Medved continued, “In that time the American has to be taken, our replacement rapidly identified, their DNA analyzed and manipulated, the American debriefed, and our replacement briefed and put into place without anyone knowing.” Ilya hands Medved a note. He reads it and says, “We are in luck there is an American exercise just across the border at Fulda-Lücke. Each year they red team their strategies with junior officers.”

(A photo of a guard tower along the Russian wall in eastern Germany taken by Dallas F. Bell Jr. in the Winter of 1980.)

Ilya instructs, “General your helicopter is on stand-by to take you and Dr. Chaban to the theatre of operations.”

Medved softly confides to Ilya, “It is like you can read my mind.”

As they began to depart the office, Cherem warns Medved and Chaban, “Our saying is become a master or be gone. You have little time to confirm this project. I should not have to tell you if you fail your services will no longer be needed, in any capacity.” Ilya heeded Medved and Chaban’s exchange of grimacing looks.

At evening, the helicopter lands in front of the headquarters at the border. The swirling snow around the blades create a wonderland so bright the Magi could follow. Medved and Chaban are met by the region commander and his staff. Their salute is returned by a serious Medved. They are escorted into the building. “Take us to the operations center,” Medved growled.

They are accompanied into a large room with numerous television screens projecting panoramic footage fed from border tower cameras. The commander points out, “We monitor the activity across the border and listen to the radio frequencies.”

Medved says, “Fine. Get us something to eat.”

The commander motions to the sergeant and he quickly departs. Medved and Chaban remove their long coats and sit in folding wood chairs. “Commander, we want to retrieve an American officer for debriefing without their being aware of it,” Chaban cryptically explains.

“Just any officer?” the commander asks.

“Let’s just see how things go,” Chaban responds.

They are each handed a tray of bread slices and lean meat by the sergeant. Another sergeant interrupts, “Commander, this may not be important but an American lieutenant seems to have his vehicle stuck around five kilometers away and no one is responding to his distress calls. He is possibly in a radio dead zone or is being ignored so he will get himself out.”

Chaban inquires, “Does this happen often?”

The commander explains, “The Americans new to driving in snow frequently get their jeeps stuck and have to be pulled out. We have a Spetsnaz team already in place if you want to check this out.” Medved and Chaban nod in affirmed agreement. The commander picks up the radio and orders the team, “You have a green light.”

His call is replied to over the radio, “We are moving now.”

The commander reminds, “No witnesses.”

The Spetsnaz team leader replies over the radio, “Understood. No witnesses.”

In mere minutes, the team arrives at the American jeep and slowly approach it from behind. A small line to administer gas is gently placed inside the vehicle. The American lieutenant and his driver unconsciously slump forward indicating the gas has taken affect. The team leader opens the jeep door and checks the lieutenant’s vital signs. He radios to the commander, “We have the package.”

The commander responds, “Understood. Proceed.”

Meantime, an American intelligence officer has intercepted and descrambled their radio exchange on a special frequency at the tactical operations center. He explains to his commander that there is some odd Russian radio chatter at the border. The commander determined as he taps his West Point ring on the field desk, “It is probably nothing. The ruskies are always up to something.”

At the Russian headquarters, the Spetsnaz team arrives with the unconscious American lieutenant. Medved orders, “Get him to the debriefing room. Bring the medical team. Now! The clock is running. He must be replaced by 0700 hours.”

The commander eyes Medved and Chaban, “This is more than a debrief?” They affirm with a returning glare. “Only people with top clearances in here. Everyone else out!” the commander shouts.

The medical team joins Medved and Chaban in the room. “We need an x-ray machine, and a blood transfusion machine,” Chaban triages.

The Spetsnaz leader points to a table with items laid out in order. He offers, “This is what we found on him, sir. A military ID card, some U.S. dollars and German marks, a pocket clock calculator with a small world map, a Gideon Bible and a copy of Dante’s ‘Inferno,’ this gold cross and chain around his neck, and a room key with an engraved number. ”

Medved said gratefully, “Likely key to his officer’s quarters. No wedding ring. That is one less person to fool.”

Chaban thinks aloud, “No family photos. No state driver’s license.”

Medved now concerned, “What do you make of that?”

Chaban, “Unusual for Americans to not carry those things…It may be nothing.”

Ilya takes the military ID and explains, “I will run this by Moscow.”

Chaban adds, “I need the last five years, especially college records. Also, get them working on a match, average height and average weight. I need the replacement’s last five years as well.”

Ilya responds, “Yes. Time is ticking.”

The Spetsnaz leader asks, “Anything else sir?”

Medved snarls, “Make sure his driver stays healthy and loosen a wire on the jeep radio to explain the lack of radio contact to anyone that checks.”

“Yes sir,” the Spetsnaz leader replies.

Three hours pass and the medical team begins putting an x-ray machine in the room with a mobile blood transfusion machine from a field hospital. The lieutenant wakes up in a bed and Chaban probes, “It is natural for you to be groggy for a bit. Can you give us your name?”

The lieutenant says with a heavy southern American accent, “Yisrael Glockner, U.S. army. Why am I here?”

Chaban reassures him, “We found you in a jeep accident and brought you here. These people will need to conduct some tests.” Chaban instructs the medical staff, “Get the blood sample, and do a complete body check for scars etc. after the x-ray.”

Ilya enters happily, “He is Lieutenant Yisrael Glockner, a ROTC graduate with a four-year degree in political science with a minor in Russian literature. His military schools are a basic course, Airborne, and Ranger schools. The last year has been spent in those schools and assigned to his unit here.”

Chaban takes the file, “There are around forty-five days unaccounted for.”

Medved interjects, “Could be leave.”

Chaban continues, “Possibly. What about his family?”

Ilya responds, “The best we can find is his father is a high school principal in Tennessee, with a doctorate in theology. His mother is a teacher in another school with a graduate degree in education.”

Medved jabs, “What about a replacement?” Ilya hurriedly leaves the room.

In minutes, Ilya returns, “We have someone.”

Medved quips, “Well?”

Ilya explains, “He is Lieutenant Armen Zorkin. A younger brother of Captain Andrei Zorkin and son of the widow Anya Zorkin, a housewife. He has a four-degree in mathematics and a minor in English.”

Chaban interrupts, “So he is fluent in English?”

Ilya reassures, “It appears so. His military schools are the usual which has taken up the last year and his first assignment as a staff officer. His photo indicates he looks very much like the American and he is maybe a three hour drive away.”

Medved sternly orders, “Get him here!”

The phone rings in the three room Zorkin cottage. At this late hour, they are concerned about the call. Andrei moves to the phone slowly collecting his thoughts. “Hello,” he says meekly.

The person on the other end barks, “Is Lieutenant Armen Zorkin with you?”

Andrei replies, “Yes.”

The person orders, “Tell him to travel immediately to headquarters for a new assignment.”

Andrei complies, “He will leave now.” They abruptly hang up.

“What does this mean?” Anya questions.

“This is my chance!” Armen joyfully explains as he puts on his uniform.

“We will pray for you,” Anya says as Andrei nods in agreement.

“Don’t waste your time with that nonsense,” Armen corrects.

As he goes out the door, Andrei pleads, “Let us know what this is about as soon as you can. Mother will worry.” Armen nods as he leaves into the night.

At 0130 hours Armen arrives at the headquarters with a swagger. He is directed into the room with Medved and Chaban and upon seeing them he offers a salute. In English Chaban tests Armen, “Have a safe drive?”

Armen’s youthful confidence is thrown off by the foreign language but recovers in a general English accent, “Yes sir.”

Chaban looks at Medved approvingly, “Maybe he will do.” Chaban orders the medical team to get a blood sample from Armen and to darken his hair a few shades. He asks Armen, “Do you have any scars?”

“No,” Armen replies.

The medical team indicates in whispers among themselves the x-rays of the American show nothing unique other than one kidney hangs lower than the other. Chaban corrects, “His front tooth will need to be filed down to match the American. Get this done before the transfusion starts.”

Armen is now concerned about the talk of a transfusion. Chaban notices and explains, “You are to replace the American. From now on you and I will only speak in English.”

Armen asks obediently in English, “How long is this mission?”

Chaban says, “This is a classified project. At least seven years.”

Armen questions, “Why a transfusion?”

Chaban explains, “In seven years you will not only be like the American but will genetically be the American and he will genetically be you; the wolves are full and the sheep intact.” Both lieutenants gaze at each other resigned to the permanent weight of those somber words.

“Now lay down on the bed beside the American,” Medved orders Armen.

A nurse begins adding a dark dye to Armen’s hair. As she finishes the dental team arrives and examines the American’s teeth. The dentist turns to Armen and quickly files his tooth with an electric drill. The medical team enters the room and tells Medved and Chaban that the DNA cell replication prep has been successful. Chaban orders the transfusion to begin and the lieutenant’s DNA samples to be exchanged in a drip in their ingoing transfusion lines. Chaban informs the lieutenants that this process will take four hours and the briefing will need to begin immediately.

After explaining the American’s history, Chaban begins with instructions, “After a few months, enroll in the correspondence intelligence advanced course. Then, use that as a rationale to request a higher security clearance. Clearance investigations are expensive and even rich Americans need reasons to expend large sums of money. This process is an opportunity to replace the American’s fingerprints with new ones, which will be yours. That investigation will set the beginning of all future investigations to that point. On paper, you will officially have a replaced his identity with yours. At some point, you will naturally want to seek familiar situations. Avoid being overly interested in Russian books etc. or having a knowledge of places where you never have supposed to have traveled. Politely discourage family and friends from visiting until some time has passed. Explain the difference in accent as due to being away from home for so long. Any lapses in memory can be explained as being preoccupied or jet lag etc. No serious female relationships. In Germany, you will make regular reports to your contact at the Wilder Mann gasthaus near your kaserne. Order escargots in garlic butter and the bartender will personally wait on you. He is your lifeline. When transferred to the U.S., a ‘Lost Dog’ flier will be in the petro station window at the post front gate. Call the number on the flier after adding one number higher to the first and last digits. Common pitfalls are drinking heavily or becoming very religious. Avoid those errors. Obey the laws. Keep a low profile. Confide in no one except your contact. I am sure you will have questions. Just ask.”

Armen asks, “How do I contact my family?’

Chaban replies honestly, “This is not a likely option.”

Armen continues, “What happens after the seven years?” The American also takes interest in the inquiry.

Chaban replies, “We’ll see. There should be at least five more years before the project is concluded.” The lieutenants again exchange glances over their transfusion lines. Chaban assures Armen, “Your family will be contacted and told of your long-term patriotic mission. Now rest, you have a long day ahead of you.”

Medved and Chaban enter the room and wake the lieutenants. Chaban blurts to Armen, “The transfusion is completed. It is 0600 hours and you need to leave with the Spetsnaz team. Make sure you have everything, including the cross and chain around your neck.”

After an inspection by Medved, Armen solemnly salutes and leaves for the border. Minutes before dawn they arrive at the American’s jeep to find the driver still unconscious with good vital signs. The Spetsnaz team races away. “Wake up private…wake up,” Armen orders the groggy American jeep driver.

The private rubs his eyes and apologizes, “I am awake. Sorry sir.”

Armen continues, “This radio is still not operational. I will walk down to that town we passed and flag down someone from our unit.”

As Armen was walking down to the town, he is met with several jeeps from his unit enquiring where he had been. He explained he was stuck and his radio was not working. They reply that the commander was concerned about Russian radio traffic in the area and were desperate when they discovered he had not returned. Armen feared a quick end to his mission but bluffed with youthful exuberance, “We have been without food and heat all right. Whoever did the maintenance on the radio needs to be courts martialed.” This seemed to satisfy the members of his unit. Armen breathed the crisp morning air with great vigor. Vigor not unlike that of a victorious Olympic champion. He flushed with growing confidence.

When Armen arrived at his unit’s kaserne in Aschaffenburg, he participated in a local volkslauf and a volksmarsch discovering a German preoccupation with American television shows. A survey of the Americans found they cared little about television. West Point officers protected each other and were known to routinely rate superior ROTC officers lower on annual efficiency reports. Neither were given to drinking heavily, gambling, or womanizing. Young enlisted soldiers were often the opposite. He found it odd that junior officers did not hate Russians in general. They seemed to have respect for Russian soldiers and assumed they were just defending their homeland as anyone would do, even feeling sorry for them. They did despise their communism system of government. There was more of a concern regarding the German Nazi meetings in particular towns, such as Garmisch-Partenkirchen. A secret briefing indicated twenty-five percent of the town met regularly to plan for the next Reich. They also kept an eye out for the communist Baader-Meinhof terrorist cell. On his first meeting at the Wilder Mann, he proudly made a full report on these observed views.

Armen enrolled in the intelligence course at the education center as he had been ordered. After he completed several modules, he requested a higher clearance from the American unit intelligence officer. He explained, as he was briefed by Chaban to do, that this was needed for more intelligence training. The request was approved without notice. He was fingerprinted and verbally interviewed by an intelligence sergeant. The sergeant seemed to have a primary interest in discovering compromising drug use. Armen perceived his answers were accepted and was becoming proud of how easy it was for him to lie. He saw that same sergeant in civilian clothes in the battalion headquarters with an instrument in his hand, which was likely used to sweep offices for listening devices. This went into his next report to his contact.

Taking a chance, Armen also applied by mail for a copy of Yisrael’s Tennessee driver license. He explained it had been lost on military maneuvers. The license arrived in a few weeks with his U.S. home address. He had not been briefed on having to do that. He wondered what else they forgot, such as getting a voter’s ID card like all his peers carried.

His unit was deployed to guard the army munitions depot at Bruchmühlbach-Miesau for thirty days. He discovered the bunkers stored nuclear artillery warheads and there was a large underground complex that stored armored vehicles, which were regularly maintained. Their batteries were replaced each month, putting a demand on batteries for unit vehicles. If a unit vehicle’s battery was dead it could take weeks to replace it, keeping their daily reported readiness rate low. Riding back to the kaserne in an old school bus painted white, a Soviet Military Liaison Mission, SMLM, Mercedes approached them on the autobahn. They came alongside the bus and Armen saw the Russian officer on the passenger side was Andrei. His heart leaped for joy. Andrei had been assigned to his area and their mother must surely now also know what happened to him. Armen put his hand on the window and let Andrei know it was him. Andrei waved back and the American soldiers thought he was making fun of them. Andrei sped away into the distance. The incident with his brother was left out of the next report to his handler. He did not want to cause his big brother any trouble.

Yisrael’s parents called and hinted to visit him. It had only been a little over a year and Armen was not confident he could survive that encounter. After all they knew their son well. Reasoning they would be reunited the next fall and the trip would be expensive, they relented. The very next phone call was to inform Armen that his clearance was completed and his records updated. This gave him something in common with the unit intelligence officer who began to confide in possible career moves. This proved a rich relationship. He discovered there was a mid-level intelligence course in Garmisch and a human intelligence collecting battalion in Munich. He scheduled an interview with its commander. The encounter was very cryptic but the commander seemed to be interested in hiring Spanish speakers. With his sector of operations being more eastern, it would appear there was a larger mission priority. The attempt to befriend the unit chemical officer was inadvertently foiled when the captain was soon reassigned to another unit. Before the captain’s transfer, the officer did confide he had conducted chemical warfare research for a year at an undisclosed facility. This went into Armen’s regular report.

Engaging sergeants also proved valuable. On a long field exercise, a disgruntled Special Forces’ sergeant described in detail how there was a small unit at Berchtesgaden with a nuclear mission. Two man teams had low yield devices they backpacked into Russia. The sergeant confessed to have been part of many exercises into the Russian theatre to rehearse setting them off. A check of a newly assigned captain to our unit from the Berchtesgaden unit showed his graduate degree was in nuclear engineering. This seemed to confirm the sergeant’s story. That made for a great report.

Not all of Armen’s ideas were helpful. He thought the copying machines in the units could be altered to make duplicate copies, which could be regularly retrieved during maintenance. His contact informed him this was already being done. On another occasion, Armen noticed his handler calling someone on the phone and looking at him from behind the gasthaus bar. He unusually delayed coming over and waiting on him. Around thirty minutes later, a middle-aged man entered and quietly spoke to the handler and did not order a drink. “Big mistake,” Armen thought. The handler came over with the usual order of escargots and this time sat down. It was late and was not likely to raise suspicion in the near empty gasthaus. They wanted any information on underground missile silos. Armen conveyed there was never any talk about that. The handler nodded to the man that abruptly walked out. They were careless but he felt as if he had let them down. Armen also thought they were now considering him to be a valuable asset.

Armen had been promoted to first lieutenant early to the dismay of his peers. They thought he had some powerful connections and their overt ambition caused them to play up to him as the embodied triumph of nature over dreams. The promotion in rank led to his new job as company executive officer, XO, which led to more insincere friendliness thrown his way; the still waters are inhabited by devils.

Part of an XO’s duties is to supervise company maintenance operations. While attending the week long maintenance refresher course in Kitzingen, a barracks roommate in their temporary quarters recognized him from ROTC events at college. Armen managed to avoid him until he finished the short course. The encounter was positive in that first the classmate thought he was Yisrael and second that classmate did not have a southern accent nor seemed to detect anything amiss in Armen’s speech.

Less than a year from being rotated to the U.S., he was supervising a field exercise. Men from his unit reported a SMLM vehicle following them into a wooded area. They cut the Mercedes off and one of the Russian officers shouted words unknown to the Americans out of the passenger window and sped away through a shallow ditch. Armen arrived moments later and asked what happened. The sergeant said the SMLM vehicle got away after one of them cursed them. Armen had the sergeant try to repeat what he had heard. Immediately, Armen understood the Russian words as “Mother is dead. Mother is dead!” The sergeant described the shouting Russian officer as a large blond haired guy. Armen recognized that must have been Andrei. And Andrei would not have jeopardized his career and Armen’s cover unless he needed for him to know something. Armen went to his command jeep and began rubbing the cross on the chain around his neck. Somewhat consoled by the bad news, he reached into his pocket and took out the copy of Dante’s “Inferno.” Holding back a flood of tears from his drivers view, he put the “Inferno” back and took out the Gideon Bible. Reading a Psalm made him remember his mother sitting in her favorite kitchen chair reading Psalms aloud on Sundays. He put it away as his driver noticed his new interest in reading. Armen rubbed the cross again and decided to order an Ukrainian Bible at the post exchange, PX, bookstore when he returned. Ukrainian was much like Russian and would not be as obvious as ordering and reading a Russian Bible.

The thought of soon being able to read familiar Russian words gave him indescribable joy. This must have been how the American lieutenant felt when he read his Bible or Dante’s words he was now carrying. When Armen ordered the Bible he ordered the Russian one. At the Hail and Farewell ceremony thrown for him by his unit before being rotated to the U.S., he drank unusually too much wine. Waking the next morning, he recalled Chaban’s warning of seeking out familiar things and drinking too much. Armen snapped, “So what. Everyone knows nature always wins.” Working numerous hours had not allowed for his developing any meaningful female relationships. He didn’t even have a car, which generated excuses made to his peers of needing to save money. The truth was he had concern about an initial car insurance company checking on his driving record and finding something odd. He figured he deserved some perks and after all one cannot forbid living beautifully.

Armen’s plane set down on U.S. soil near Fort Benning, Georgia. He was now in America. The place he had been taught to despise. It did not feel like enemy territory to him. He got his luggage and told the cab driver to take him to a car lot. He was getting excited about spending some of his savings on transportation. “Maybe he could have a life,” he thought. Among the numerous cars for sell, an old Mercedes stood out. It reminded him of the last time he had seen Andrei. The price was right and he bought it when the salesman threw in a one-year per-approved insurance policy. The excessive smoke from its exhaust pipe reminded him of the cars in Russia. He drove to the petro station at the front gate and called the number on the “Lost Dog” flier in the window to check in.

He began classes in the infantry advanced course and found them too simplistic. He began to be a regular at the seedy liquor store. He drank more and more. His class ranking slipped into mediocrity with every exam. Each day puerile officers raced to the cork bulletin board to find their class ranking. He thought how sad it was they had not realized they would never be the handler and would always be handled. That reminded him he needed something to report to his handler.

Armen befriended an intelligence instructor that bit his nails. As he had figured, the insecure and lonely instructor was a font of information between classes. He first discovered a program at Fort Meade, Maryland, called Great Skills. He applied for it but was turned down by a Mr. Cougar for unknown reasons. The instructor also told him of the new weaponized laser technology. A satellite could burn almost a city block. This report was met with great appreciation.

Yisrael’s parents made a surprise visit on Thanksgiving Day to congratulate him on being promoted to captain. He was recovering from drinking too much the night before. Things went well but he now despised his talent for lying and he knew he had to stop the drinking. He felt helpless to his own nature knowing you talk about the pain you have. In his quarters one afternoon he cried out in desperation, “God is love. I believe in love… Salvation.” Almost instantly he felt like a burden had been lifted off his shoulders. He suddenly saw God’s mercy in the heavens, His faithfulness in the clouds, His righteousness like great mountains, His judgments as a great deep, and how He preserves both man and beast. Armen called to mind how his mother read the Bible and would say, “Wait on Jehovah, Always be of good courage, He will strengthen you.” He picked up his Russian copy and slept that night with it resting on his chest. He had the best sleep in recent memory. With his clear mind, he spend time thinking of ways to make his fortune. One idea was powering an electrical vehicle with sustainable energy but the infantile state of relevant technology prevented this from being a possible reality. He was comforted from that setback with the Bible’s description of life after death with streets of gold, a river of water, flight, or in a lake of fire and brimstone, which are solids, liquid, gas, and plasma each bounded by infinite states of love and justice.

He was pleased to be assigned to Fort Campbell, Kentucky, after the course. It was to be a fresh start. Having a car, Armen met a nice southern girl at Fort Campbell’s Officer’s Club. He took her on a date to the movies. While in line at the ticket office, a young man introduced himself as a former soldier under his supervision in Germany during the summer of 1980. Of course, he did not know him but managed to not say anything suspicious or embarrass the young soldier. This experience taught Armen to take future dates to out of the way places, such as federal parks for hikes, church, and exclusive restaurants. He found most girls he liked considered that romantic.

Armen soon became aware of a huge underground facility entered through from an abandoned radio station at the post entrance. His handler seemed disappointed in the overall lack of new information. Armen then began to expand on sources of intelligence. On a long weekend, he drove to the Oak Ridge National Laboratory. In a hardware store, he met an elderly man who spontaneously engaged him in conversation in physics principles. Realizing this must be a nuclear physics’ researcher at the facility he entertained the man. The physicist talked for almost an hour about getting the simple hardware part in his hand to fix something in his lab. Armen reported this vulnerability. On another trip to the same store, he did not meet anyone else but noticed at 1700 hours a large group of well-dressed middle aged women and men in coat and ties came out of the janitor’s entrance to the mall. They were smiling and talking among themselves as they walked to their cars until they were aware of Armen’s interest and they suddenly became grave. He was more discrete on the next visit. He had discovered an entrance to the underground nuclear facility. This was reported and met with great interest.

Between work at his unit and collecting intelligence, time was passing quickly. He discovered many closed Chinese restaurants near American government facilities. The properties were highly maintained and not for sale, as would be expected. A basic financial calculation of that collective business model indicated they were likely operated by Chinese intelligence. The Americans did not seem to know or care. They were subconsciously begging for a hammer and sickle. The American apathy and Chinese aggression was reported. Surprisingly, Armen’s handler understood and explained that psychopath Y. Andropov had finally died and his protégé, M. Gorbachev, had an offensive strategy of perestroika, reformation, first proposed by L. Brezhnev with the added umbrella of glasnost, openness. It would appeal to half of the Westerners. In their form of government, that is all that is needed for control. As K. Marx knew, get the malleable proletariat under-producers on your side and out of envy they will bring to heel the tenacious bourgeoisie producers. Andropov had been bankrupting Russia with his bare knuckle approach toward all of America and its allies. Gorbachev’s plan would be less expensive and more effective against their growing number of under-producers. The handler described a heated debate, in a recent intelligence briefing, between up and coming officers. Andropov’s follower, V. Putin wanted to continue the overt hard line but S. Lunev supported Gorbachev’s wily maskirovka of perestroika and glasnost, which would also have a domestic appeal to Russian producers. Gorbachev would grow in popularity with Western under-producers, especially American, and Russian producers—divide and conquer at the highest level. It did not take a genius to know Gorbachev would be swallowed up by the vast impulsive force he would be unleashing on the world. Westerners were now led by the pro-West American R. Reagan who had a single-minded focus on tearing down the physical and ideological wall between the West and the East. There would be power oscillations until an acceptable equilibrium of Brezhnev style razryadka, called détente by the West, could be reached. He ended the candid comments remorsefully, “I have said too much.” That was the last time Armen would speak with him.

Armen also discovered promotions to mid-level intelligence positions meant study at the Harvard School of Government soon followed. The school regularly posted class graduation photos and names, thus, providing an unclassified list for anyone to see. That was reported to his new handler but was already widely known.

It was now winter of 1987, and Armen was due to be rotated to another American post. On his call to the handler to find out what he might do, the voice was familiar. It was Chaban. After catching up on things at home, Chaban congratulated him on completing the seven years test. He was informed that his DNA was now that of Yisrael. He also told him to resign his active duty commission and travel to a theological seminary to get a doctoral degree. He had already been enrolled with the tuition paid and this would take five years. Armen was glad to continue his education and not have to make regular reports into the foreseeable future. But this also meant he would not have contact with his countrymen for a long while.

Chaban was paying a visit to a small apartment near Moscow. The guard Elizaveta Ivanov met him at the door. Inside was Yisrael who greeted Chaban. Navigating the apartment was difficult with numerous waist high stacks of books. Their subjects varied from medicine and physics to history and literature each being gifts on regular approved visits from Armen’s brother, Andrei. Chaban informs Yisrael that his tests show his DNA has changed. With the seven year test ending he would need to move. Elizaveta and Yisrael exchanged concerned glances that confirmed to Chaban they were more than friends. Chaban smiled and said, “You will be pleased to know you will be receiving an honorary doctorate from Moscow University. Professor Ivanov, Elizaveta’s father, and myself made this recommendation. With that approval, you will be given another apartment near the PolyTech Institute where you will lecture on ethics in Professor Ivanov’s physics’ department for the next five years. Of course, this means you cannot just be abandoned. I think you two will be glad to know Elizaveta will be promoted and not need to wear a uniform since she will be your official assistant.”

Elizaveta and Yisrael are joyful at the news. Yisrael inquires of Chaban, “What will you do now?”

Chaban replies, “I have been assigned to the Academy of Sciences again. This time I am to red team a five year research project on how cells communicate by light.”

Yisrael acknowledges with elegant parallelism, “Bio-photons.”

Not to be out done Chaban responds with graceful hand gestures as he poetically says, “A void and dark earth, YaHWeH said let there be light. The waves of photons.”

Elizaveta fondly remembered as a child how she had witnessed this almost competitive high level exchange of intellect many times during her father’s parties with his academic peers. “Iron sharpens iron,” her father would say.

Before getting up to leave, Chaban begins tapping a gold cross on his chair. Handing it to Yisrael he says, “This is for you as replacement for the one taken and given to Armen.” Yisrael puts it around his neck.

After wishing Chaban the best and Elizaveta goodbye for the night, Yisrael was looking forward to no more twenty-four hour guards and remembered a meeting seven years earlier. An American General Ethan St. John and a person introduced to him as Intelligence Director Leo Blanc suddenly came into his tent at Fulda-Lücke and informed him he was selected for a classified mission. He was informed of the Russian maskirovka exchange program, which was reportedly to be immediately implemented. He was hastily chosen for his education in Russian literature among other things and was to feign getting his jeep stuck and was to make numerous distress calls on his radio that would surely be monitored by the Russians. A broken wing strategy birds employ to lure predators. His replacement would be closely monitored and carefully fed information. Yisrael was assured, since it was a seven year test, he would likely be treated well. During that time, he was not to put up much resistance and was to bond with his captures to insure the good treatment continued. Continuing to receive promotions with pay going into a secret account, he could never be forgotten and would be contacted at the end of seven years. The contact would be identified by that person tapping out his name in Morse code. He had almost forgot Chaban’s odd tapping of the cross he had just gave him. “Could it be?” he thought. He removed the cross from around his neck. After twisting the cross, he discovered it unscrewed. In a tiny hole was a piece of film negative. He looked at it through a magnifying glass he sometimes used for reading small print in the poor light of his government housing. The film was a photo of several papers. One congratulated him for reaching that point and gave instructions for future contact. The others were of sensitive material that needed to be passed on to American intelligence for analysis. He wrote down the plans Chaban had laid out for his future and put it in an envelope with the film. As instructed, he left the envelope at a nearby drop point and joyfully walked slowly back to his apartment in the soft white snow thinking we will live-we will see.