A BIRD IN THE LIBRARY

By Bob French,  

Dedicated to the late Frederik Forsyth

Colonel Vladimir Milkovich of the State Office of Intelligence sat sipping his ice tea in room 3019 of the sub-basement of the east wing of the Kremlin.  The only sound in his sparsely furnished office was the ticking of an antique mantle clock, claimed to have belonged to the late Tsar Nicholas the second. Infront of him stood three members of the Politburo who, according to the head of department 22, had been suspected of spying.

Before he could speak to Voslott, the incompetent Ukraine, who had been head of department 22 for as long as he could remember, had  got himself killed by, according to witnesses, being very drunk and falling down the stairs in the opera house last Friday evening.

BezeIt, who headed up the security department of the Kremlin, had carried out one of the fastest investigations in history. Which, once Colonel Milkovich had read his report, decided it was time for the incompetent Bezelt to spend a little time out in the wastelands of Siberia and was contemplating asking Department three to eliminate the fool, when suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by one of the three men standing in front of him.

“Comrade Colonel Milkovich.  I demand to know why I’ve been publicly humiliated by being arrested in the State Library and dragged down here in front of hundreds of people? I am a deputy minister of the State Politburo and have an important meeting to attend to this morning, with the Comrade Deputy regarding the vote so.……”

Colonel Milkovich gently put down his ice tea, looked up and cut him short. “Listen, all of you.” His voice was calm and just audible above the ticking of the ancient clock.  “Your names have been brought to my attention in matters relating to a breach of state security. You were all seen at the Opera last Friday evening, and two of you were seen drinking with Comrade Vislott at the end of the first act.”

 Colonel Milkovich paused for a minute allowing the tension in the room to build.  “And you,” he nodded to the last man, whose complexion was starting to turn an unhealthy shade of grey. “You accompanied Vislott to the toilets. Where you spent fifteen minutes.” He paused. “Don’t you think that was a rather long time?” Implying that some sort of sexual activity had taken place.”

With fear in his eyes he started to explain, but the Colonel raised his hand demanding silence.

“I am not interested in your alibies. I shall wait until my men have had a chance to have a quiet chat with you.  Only then will I really understand why you were there with Comrade Vislott and why he died.”

Just then there was a knock on the door and a tall rugged looking man entered the room.  Came to attention, and briefly explained that they were ready.  The three men turned and looked at the intruder and couldn’t help noticing the blood stains on his shirt and his hands.

“Thank you, Gregor.  They will be ready for you in five minutes.”  The man turned, smiled at the three politburo officials, then left.

The grey faced man turned to Colonel Milkovich. “What evidence do you have to arrest us.  It is not a crime to attend the opera.”

“Simple.  I have known Comrade Vislott for many years.  I know for a fact that he never drinks, he hates, no he loathes the opera and every Friday evening, without fail he always visits is elderly mother. Yet for some reason, you three seemed to have lured him away.  Got him drunk, then pushed him down the stairs. Was it because he’d accused you of treason? To me, that is enough to arrest you.”

All three stood, stunned at the charges just laid against them. Then the door to his office opened and two guards carrying Kalashnacoff rifles entered the room.  Without a word, the three men were ushered out of the Colonel’s office.

Three stories up in the Kremlin, where floors had plush carpets and smart furniture, and expensive drapes covered every window, Comrade Dimitry Medvedev, President Putin’s deputy, relaxed as he  took another sip of his Jack Daniels Old Number 7 Whiskey.  His thoughts were interrupted by his secretary who informed him that Colonel Milkovich wished to see him.

Before he could answer her, The Colonel pushed open his office door and strolled in as though he owned the place,

“You still drinking that gut rot Dimitry?  You do know it makes you go blind.”

Dimitry stood and came to meet his friend of some twenty years and took his hand. “You look well.  And how is Mienya?

“She and the children are very well, thank you.  You must try and drag yourself away from your desk and come and stay for a weekend at our Dacha. I am sure you will be utterly spoilt by my three children.”

Dimitry returned to his seat and invited Milkovich to take the luxurious Chippendale armchair.

“So, what brings you up here from your dungeons? Have you come to tell me you have found who has been steeling toilet rolls from the politburo washrooms?”

“Sadly no, but let me give you an update on my investigation to track down where the leaking information about the President’s future special operational plans was coming from.”

“Was this part of one of your covert operations?”

“Yes, Operation Cyanopsitta.”

“Ah yes I recall.”  Demitry’s expression slowly changed as his thoughts went back to the time when everyone was suspected of treason, even those on the top floor.  No one was safe in the Kremlin.” “God, I can never get the hang of your code-names.  What is a Cyanopsitta?”

Milkovich laughed.  “It’s a macaw, a parrot.”

Dimitry, with a smile on his face, shook his head.  “So the sudden disappearance of Voslott’s deputy and some of his staff was the work of you and Department three, am I right?”

The Colonel grinned. Yes, and with the coming release date of the invasion of Ukraine, I used a fake date to lure Voslott into my trap, and within three days my contacts in Poland, confirmed that the fake date had been received and was being circulated. 

“But his Deputy and some of his staff went missing, what, three weeks ago, why did you leave Voslott till last.? Did you have doubts about him being your spy?” 

Milcovich smiled. “I needed him alive until Last Friday so he could play his part in my rouse.” 

“Not sure what you mean?” 

“Do you recall last week you asked me to ensure that the important vote taking place this afternoon went in favour of the President? Well, I have temporarily arrested three of the deputies who were going to vote against the President, but I needed an excuse and the death of Comrade Voslott gave me the perfect reason.”  He paused to let his achievement sink in. “To my reconning, this gives you a clear two vote advantage, so the President will get his way.” 

Demitry suddenly pushed back his chair and rushed around his huge desk and dragged his friend up and hugged him. “How can I ever repay you for your dedication to the state?  I will make sure the President gets to hear of this.” 

“Not necessary my friend, but the decoration; the Hero of the Russian Federation would look good on my uniform. 

“Consider it done.  What about the tree deputies down in your cells.”

“Oh, I shall release them with a warning the day after the vote has been confirmed and formally ratified.” 

Dimitry quickly poured two glasses of his contraband Jack Daniels Old Number 7, passed one to his friend and raised his glass. “To your bird in the library.”

Copyright Bob French