Vladimir and his friends came for me at midnight. They wore the dark black-and-gray patterned nighttime camouflage uniform, all rank and unit insignia removed, feet snug in dull black crepe-soled boots. Even without their collar devices, I could sort them out by ranks. One officer, Vladimir, and three enlisted men, the latter all battle- toughened veterans.
The final man in the group was a civilian. He was smaller than the rest, with the pale, unhealthy look of a man who spends too much time inside drinking vodka. He was wearing the same outfit as the others, but his bearing told me he was something besides military ? KGB, GRU, or whatever the modern equivalent for internal security was. Vladimir nodded a greeting, then motioned to the civilian.
There was an air of nervousness about the civilian ? nervousness, yet determination. I saw the others following his lead, standing slightly back.
They moved into my room without invitation, taking up corners and crowding it by their very presence. The civilian walked over and stood before me, studying me for a few minutes. Finally, he held out his hand.
'It is very nice to meet you finally.'
Now that threw me for a loop. In my studies of the history of Russia's internal security measures, that was not a normal approach. 'Have we met? Should I know you?'
He shook his head. 'No, there's no reason you should.' He considered me for a moment, as though assessing how far to go. 'But I know you. And I knew your father. You weren't fooled today, were you?'
'About what?' 'With the man they said was your father. I told them it wouldn't work. But you know how they are ? they think themselves so clever.' He shrugged, an oddly casual gesture that one would make when talking to an old friend. 'Even without Vladimir's warning, it would not have convinced you, I suspect. And they are convinced they succeeded. Too willing to believe their own brilliance, I suspect. A common military failing.' He studied me for a moment longer. 'But I know better. I know who you are, Admiral Magruder.'
'Then you have me at a disadvantage, sir.'
He laughed softly. 'And one that won't be remedied anytime soon, I assure you.'
His accent was slight, the words a bit stilted but spoken with near native proficiency. He had to have been educated abroad, or in one of the Russian camps that had been constructed during the Cold War to mimic American cities and towns. Either way, his accent spoke of connections further into the intricate web of Russian intelligence and counterintelligence than anyone I'd encountered so far. 'You have no reason to trust me, Admiral Magruder,' he continued. 'I realize that. But if you are ever going to know the truth, if you are ever going to answer for once and for all those questions, then you must come with me. This is your only chance. I dare not take this one again.'
'But why?' I burst out. 'Why the elaborate charade today?'
'Why do you think?'
Now it was my turn to examine him, as though the answers to that very question would be written somewhere on his face. 'I can think of no reason,' I said finally. But I could. Millions of them. If the Russians believed they had convinced me my father was alive, he then became a bargaining chip. Perhaps it would weaken my resolve, make me hesitate to act when- When what? Russian counterintelligence plans were often intricate works of art, each piece gently moved into place in perfect sequence to effect an overall result. These invitations to mock war games, the bad information we'd been fed about the previous missions, the charade with my supposed father ? to what purpose? Even if I knew, I was not about to admit to this man, a man whose name I did not even know, what I suspected. 'Well? Have you made your decision?' he asked.
'About what? You haven't been particularly clear on that.' He sighed, a truly Russian sound. There are depths of meaning in those sighs, ones that hint of the deep, tragic passions that run all through the Russian psyche. 'Your father is not alive. He was brought to Russia, and later to Ukraine. That much was true. But, unfortunately, he was seriously injured in the ejection from his aircraft. He lived for a while. It might have been longer had the Vietnamese given him better medical care. By the time he came to us, he was too weak ? too far gone.'
He was telling the truth. There was no doubt in my mind of that. How I knew, I could not tell you, but there was something in his voice, a depth of feeling and sympathy that made disbelief almost impossible.
His words arrowed straight into my gut, twisting and coiling like a vicious serpent. For so long we'd said that we believed he was dead, but somewhere deep down we'd never really given up hope. Never ? not really.
Now, to hear the final confirmation from Russian lips, what the U.S. authorities had told us for all those decades, was too painful. I believed this man in a way that I had not believed the countless United States government officials who had sworn my father died in Vietnam.
'I will take you to his grave this evening,' the man continued quietly. He reached out and laid one hand gently on my forearm. 'My sympathies, Admiral. It is very difficult to lose a member of your family, even during times of war. This is something we Russians understand well.
One out of every ten Russians died during World War II, do you realize that? Do you know what an impact that has on a nation's character?' He shook his head gravely. 'Millions ? tens of millions ? Russian families felt the same pain, knew this loss. I myself lost my father, and two uncles.
But still, even for the fact that so many of us have lost, it is never easier for an individual.'
'You said you would take me to him,' I said. 'How do I know you're telling me the truth?' 'You have a photograph,' he said. 'One that you obtained from the POW-MIA groups. It was I who gave the photo to Vladimir to send to you. I can give you every detail of it, where it was taken, who took the picture.
I can even tell you who we used to impersonate your father.'
'The man I met at the hospital?' I asked. And just who had he really been? Another American brought to Russia? How could I walk away and leave him here?
Because he broke the trust. When he agreed to impersonate my father, no matter what the threats, he betrayed the faith. I was not entirely comfortable with that analysis, but decided I would have to live with it.
He nodded. 'And I can tell you something else, something your father told me. He knew that you would not believe, you see. During those days that I guarded him, I tried to convince him to talk, and later tried to make some sense of his ramblings; he knew that you would come. He always believed his government would come for him ? he never lost faith in that ? but more than anything in the world he believed that his son would grow up and insist on the truth.' 'Tell me what you know,' I said.
He began, and first recounted the story of how my father and mother met. The true story, not the one I'd heard today from the ersatz father.
Even as he started to talk, I knew I was hearing the truth again. Then, finally, he said, 'Your father told me about the words he scratched into the wall in Vietnam. 'Go west.' He said that, didn't he?'
I nodded finally, acknowledging the truth of what he was saying. 'I did find that. I had hoped ? but I was so young when he left. He couldn't have known-'
The man was silent for a while, and let me work through it for myself.
Finally, I said, 'Can you take me to him?'
'Of course. But it must be now, tonight. I had to wait until members of my unit ? the right members ? were on guard here. Another night, another watch section, and I will not be able to take you out unobserved.' He pursed his lips for a moment, and looked faintly worried. 'You realize, for a number of reasons, you will never be able to tell anyone about this.
Never. Too much is at risk.'
'My mother. She has to know.' It was not a request.
He appeared to consider that for several moments, then nodded. 'Your mother. But not your uncle ? not ever. He could not let it pass, you understand. He would be forced to take action. And then, those small bits of information I am able to pass to your groups, the thin trickles of information, will dry up. Silence, only silence.'
'And false hope is better?' I thought he was probably wrong about my uncle, but now was not the time to go into that.
'Which would you prefer?' He saw the answer written on my face, and nodded. 'As will most of the families. They would prefer a confirmation, even if they can never share it with the rest of the world, over that uncertainty that gnaws at them. Come, we must go.'
He made a motion with his hand, then turned and walked from the room without waiting to see if I would follow him. I hesitated for a moment, then gave up. If there was a chance of seeing my father's grave, his final resting place on this alien soil, then I owed him that much. Owed him that for the heritage of genes and family that had stood me in good stead, that had brought me to the Navy and to the fighters. I owed him.
