APOINTMENT WITH DEATH

By John Smith

Sir Miles Henderson stared at the report, then looked up at his Chief of Staff.

“George, It would appear that the Russians have got the central African nations all sewn up in a bag; arms supplies, military cooperation and training. How do we infiltrate and destroy them?

Before his Chief of Staff could answer, he asked him to arrange a meeting with Bud Wolensky of the US embassy.

 During their brief meeting, it was decided that each would send a man to investigate the situation and restore the balance of power in Africa.

Henry Nielson, eased himself into the cubical in the Railway Tavern just outside Southend Airport, carefully placing his pint of bitter on the beer-stained table and waited. As he stared aimlessly at the faded pictures of bygone locomotives that hung on the walls he pondered the task that lay ahead.  His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden cold draft that forced its way into the warm bar.  A tall, well-built man stood and quickly glanced around the room, then made his way towards the bar.  Minutes later he approached Henry.

          “Do you think the Shrimpers will get promoted this season?”

          Without blinking, Henry responded. “The women’s team will, but I doubt the men have got it in them?”

          The man quickly sat down and in a hushed voice spoken with an American accent. “McKenzie, out of Langley.”

          Henry went to shake hands but quickly realized it was not the done thing. “Nielson, Whitehall.”

          For twenty minutes they chatted about nothing of interest.  When they had finished their drinks, they both left and started to walk the streets of Southend.

          McKenzie spoke first. “So, have you done this kind of work before?”

          Henry smiled, realizing that the man had not read his file.  “A bit. Mainly on the African continent.  You?”

          “Yeh, a bit here and there.”

          It started to rain as they began to walk along the famous pier and once alone started to discuss in detail the operation at hand. The next time they would meet would be in May of 2023, in the town of Vesilivka, on the fringe of the Kremenets Mountains National Park, southwest of Kyie in Ukraine; specially selected as the thickly wooded area and the surrounding mountains would shield their satellite communications and avoid detection from those who wanted to interfere.

          It was three in the morning when Henry, sitting in a rented house in Vesilivka, put down the handset and smiled.

McKenzie looked up from reading an intelligence report.

“Who was that?”

“Major Igor Vassilovitch, company commander of the Wagner 43^rd Infantry company.

“One of your inside men, no doubt? Anything interesting?”

“Yes.  He says that Prigozhin, the leader of the Wagner Group is getting really pissed off with General Shoigu, the Minister of Defence and his side-kick, General Gerasuimov, the Chief of the General Staff.  It appears that these two want the Wagner mercenaries transferred under the control of the Army so they can discreetly milk their unlimited financial and weapons resources.”

McKenzie slowly nodded. “That’s good.  Do you think it’s time to start phase one?”

Henry thought for a minute, then nodded.  “I’ll make the call to GCHQ and start the ball rolling.”

Two days later, TASS, the Russian government news organisation reported that hackers had infiltrated the networks of many large Moscow banks and hospitals including the total disruption of the rail, tram and bus services in and around the Russian capital. The consequences were as expected and the people wanted their government to sort it out, and now!

McKenzie smiled as he read the Russian newspapers, then glanced at Henry. “Phase two, I think? I’ll give Langley a call.”

Within 48 hours, The Russian intelligence services noticed a huge increase in traffic from Facebook, Twitter, and Snapchat users across the country openly complaining about the incompetent way the country was being run, how the war was going, and some very disturbing comments about Putin.

It was the end of May. McKenzie took a satellite message from the telex machine and read it quickly, then glanced up at Henry.  “You need to read this.”

As Henry read the telex which stated that the Wagner Group had to give a lot of ground due to a shortage of ammunition. McKenzie lent over and studied the map of eastern Ukraine. “Phase three to begin.”

Henry nodded.  I’ll contact Igor and warn him.”

“How long have you known this Major Vassilovitch.  Can you really trust him?

Henry smiled. “I met Igor at Cambridge. We both read law.  When the Russians invaded Crimea, Igor returned to Ukraine and joined his country's intelligence service, then when the Wagner Group entered Ukraine, he crossed over to them. He was a lieutenant then, and now he commands an infantry company.  Of course, I trust him.”

Within three days, Igor had covertly intercepted the supply convoy just as it crossed into Ukraine and discretely spirited away the ammunition, supplies and money destined for the Wagner Group through his black-market network. Yevgeny Prigozhin, went ballistic and immediately got onto Moscow, insisting that he speak with the Minister of Defence, demanding to know where his supplies were.  Gerasimov, the Chief of the General Staff took the call and was totally unaware of what had happened and attempted to pacify Prigozhin.  He was met with threats that if he could not supply his men in the field, then he would come up to Moscow and cut his throat, and that of that idiot, Shoigu.

Two weeks later it happened again, and as predicted, Prigozhin publically advocated that he was going to Moscow to execute the Minister of Defence.

On the 24^th of June, American satellites picked up a small Wagner battle group crossing the Ukraine border and slowly starting to move towards Rostov-on-Don, enroute to Moscow. They also picked up that General Shoigu had fled from Rostov-on-Don and, shortly after, the private jet of Putin had flown from Moscow to St Petersburg, later that night.

Social media throughout Russia, driven by the CIA, quickly latched onto this coup against Putin.  Within a matter of hours, the story had gone around the world.  All of a sudden, Yevgeny Prigozhin was the people’s new crusader.

Igor, who had a good working relationship with Prigozhin, spoke to him before he left for Moscow and attempted to warn him that Putin would see his move on Moscow as mutiny, and if captured, he would be eliminated.  “You will have an appointment with death, Sir.”

Prigozhin smiled at him. “Then you must save me,” was all he said, before he turned and climbed onto his tank.

Henry turned to McKenzie. “Right, phase four. Can you get everything ready?”

A week later, once the move against Moscow had petered out, TASS reported that Putin had refused to meet Prigozhin and was going to charge him with treason. Then, after public outcry, again orchestrated by the CIA, It was declared that Putin had asked the president of Belarus, Alexander Lukashenko, to mediate the terms in which the Wagner Group, would be disarmed and sent to Belarus in exile.

During the weeks that followed the attempted coup, phase five was enacted.  The Canadian Globe and Mail, CNN, The New York Times, and the Wall Street Journal all published names of senior Russian generals who, based on reliable sources inside Russia, were complicit in supporting Prigozhin’s attempted coup.

Henry had to hand it to McKenzie.  His misinformation campaign proved very effective with eight senior Russian officers being quietly removed on the orders of the President by the FSB, never to be seen again.

Then on the 23^rd August, the private jet carrying Yevgeny Prigozhin and nine of his senior Wagner officers, flying from Moscow to St. Petersburg was shot down by Russian anti-aircraft missiles, killing everyone.

Early on Monday the 30th August, Henry, Igor and McKenzie flew back to London.  At the debrief, later that day, Sir Miles sat spellbound as Igor explained the last phase of the plan.

“As you know Sir, the Wagner Group was sent into exile on the 27^th June.  I knew that the Boss still had a lot to do with the closing down of his businesses in Moscow. 

Once I got his itinerary, I began to plan.  The first thing I had to do was to recruit a look-a-like and position him in the toilets of the Central Bank in Moscow, which was the penultimate bank on his program.  The others knew of the plan to switch him during the day.  The Boss pretended to have a bad cold, so he wore a scarf, and his favourit thick woolen hat. I have to say, his double did a convincing job of fooling the FSB, who closely followed them everywhere they went.  At the last moment, the Boss went to the toilet and the switch was made.”

“I had already visited the airfield where his jet was parked late that night and removed something that would cause the jet to fail its pre-flight test.  In the morning I explained to the senior aircrew officer that his jet was to be thoroughly checked before take-off.  In the event of it failing its pre-flight routine, I explained that I had a back-up jet in hanger 27. Sure enough, the Boss’s party arrived on time, and, as expected, the jet failed its pre-flight checks, so the aircrew rushed over to hanger 27 and quickly loaded everyone on board, then took off.  Fifteen minutes out, the bomb I had placed on the jet exploded, killing everyone on board.”

One of the officials sitting in on the debrief suddenly sat up. “You killed your Boss, but why?”

Sir Miles Henderson frowned at the man. “Do pay attention, Smithers.”

The boys back at Langley spread the word that Putin had assassinated the leader and his command team of the Wagner Group, by shooting down his jet.   And on the 29^th of August, the whole world watched as the Boss was buried in St. Petersburg. Again, Russian media exploded with threats against Putin.

“And where is Yevgeny Prigozhin at this moment, young man?”

“Long after his party had left the bank, he exited from a side door disguised as an elderly woman, crossed the road, and met up with Sergeant Major Max Stanislas, one of your boys I understand.  They caught the train down to Starobud, just inside the Russian border where a Ukrainian helicopter, hedge hopped across the border, picked them up, and flew them to Warsaw International Airport.” 

Major Igor Vassilovitch glanced at his watch.  “They should be landing at Stansted about now Sir.”

Sir Miles Henderson leaned back in his chair.  “Gentlemen, well done.  Has Mr. Prigozhin agreed to cooperate?”

Igor smiled.  “Yes Sir.  He has agreed to give us and the American’s the full breakdown of the whole central African weapons distribution chain, including who the main ring leaders are.  The breakdown of the Russian deployment along with what is left of the Wagner Group.”

McKenzie cut in.  “We also destabilized the Russian government, removed several high-ranking officials and turned the population again Putin.  Not a bad couple of months’ work.”

 

Now the question is, is he alive or not?

Copyright John Smith