Bar in the Departure zone. The story of one escape. Alexander Couprin
Transportation Order,” granting him a free railway ticket. Dima had chosen Vladivostok, a distant city on the Pacific coast, as his destination.
FMD and SMD
The most important and prestigious section of the KGB is, of course, the First Chief Directorate – FCD (intelligence). This is the dream of young romantics whose heartfelt wish is to join the “Komitet.” Bitter disappointment awaits many of them. Upon returning from various foreign assignments, they will discover they are being watched, their phones tapped, and their careers will halt. They spend long hours with their heads in their hands, trying to recall where and when they had aroused suspicion. Which of their comrades could be the source of the denunciation? The trouble, however, is that there may not have been any denunciation. The colleague has returned from beyond the ideological front, and who knows, who knows?
Members of the Second Chief Directorate – SCD (counterintelligence) rarely go on operational trips abroad, and because of this, their careers are more predictable. Life and service are simpler. For example, they are not required to live undercover – neighbors and friends could know that so-and-so works in the KGB. For every FCD officer, however, a cover story was arranged. Usually, for friends and neighbors, he was supposed to be an engineer at a secret defense facility. Most employees of the FCU of the KGB of the USSR never used an official ID – a plastic card without a photo and a name was used to enter the vast complex at Yasenevo on the outskirts of Moscow. It never occurred to anyone to flash a brown folding ID with the embossed letters “KGB” to anyone without serious cause. Whatever you look at it, life in the SCD was more straightforward.
Major Valov, the senior operations officer of Department “T” of the SCD, left the Detskiy Mir (Children’s World) store. In his right hand was a slim diplomatic briefcase; in his left, like a conjurer, he held two ice cream bars. Squinting at the sun and glancing at his watch, he ate both, discarded the sticks in an overflowing trash can, crossed the street, and disappeared into Building No. 2 on Dzerzhinskiy Street, the former Bolshaya Lubyanka. Here, on the fourth floor with a window overlooking the dreaded Inner Prison, where the employee cafeteria is now located, was his office.
But it was not easy to find Valov there. More often, he could be found in one of the unmarked rooms in the main building of international airport Sheremetyevo-2, right behind the Deputy Hall. Or in the airport basement behind a steel door with the inscription “Civil Defense.” Or in the departure hall, he walked around with a detached look, pretending to be a passenger. Often, he would sit at the bar with his habitual double-scoop of ice cream. Of course, the staff knew who he was, no secret about that. Among themselves, they called him “our curator from the KGB” or simply “curator.” The departure zone was his actual workplace, a sort of battlefield where, like chess pieces on a board, his proxies and confidential informants were placed, special equipment was installed and concealed. Valov had sources among cleaners, customs officers, border guards, and even pilots.
It is not that the average Soviet citizen was naturally secretive and close-mouthed. Still, he became extraordinarily talkative after being caught in petty theft, a bribe, immorality, or any offense that entailed a trial and dismissal. He provided mountains of information, sometimes unexpected and sometimes unrelated to the work of the KGB. He would be investigated and asked to sign a document obligating him to cooperate with the authorities voluntarily; a pseudonym was selected, and a schedule for secret meetings was agreed upon.
The primary despised “initiators” – those who voluntarily sought contact and offered information. There were many of them, but all employees at Sheremetyevo were not averse to snitching to the KGB. However, Valov, being an experienced operative, understood that these volunteers all wanted to use him, Major Valov. Some wanted to settle a score through him, some wanted to advance in their jobs, and others, anticipating future problems, wanted to get into his favor as an excuse or to receive special treatment.
Major Valov never refused to listen but mainly trusted his tested informants, recruited based on solid evidence, indebted to him, and deeply involved in their informant activities. In official documents, this is referred to as an “informant network,” and through this network, streams of foreigners flowed day and night. They would drink too much, eat, and buy souvenirs, speculating that the cashier or a cheerful bartender might have some connection with the “kay-gee-bee” (KGB). However, these were the game’s rules during the height of the Cold War.
The network provided a vast amount of information, often of a criminal nature or, as the KGB termed it, “police-related info.” It was meticulously documented but never directly shared with the police to protect the anonymity of the sources. However, it would be incorrect to say that this data was not utilized – it was often used to recruit new KGB informants.
Foreigners, as a category, rarely interested Valov. This was the domain and concern of the prestigious First Chief Directorate of the KGB of the USSR. Instead, Valov focused on Soviet citizens actively seeking contact with foreigners. Providing a tip about such individuals could earn an informant a cash bonus, exemption from legal troubles, and, in some cases, a State award. A secret order of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR granted these awards. Recipients were prohibited from wearing or boasting about them to neighbors or relatives. However, Valov had never had such informants in his network. Most individuals in Valov’s network were ordinary people who had found themselves in some trouble, documented in intelligence reports that landed on Valov’s desk.
Major opened the steel safe and pulled out two folders – one thin folder labeled “Personal” and the other thick folder with the words “Operational” written on the cover, along with the bold inscription “Confidential Informant LARIN” in felt-tip pen. Glancing at his watch again, Valov picked up both folders and headed to meet his boss.
The head of Department “T,” responsible for counterintelligence operations at transportation facilities, occupied a bright and spacious office on the third floor. This “General” had formerly been a high-ranking member of the Party’s Central Committee, but during the campaign to “strengthen intelligence,” he was transferred to the KGB. Despite lacking experience as an intelligence officer and never holding a military rank, he was promoted to General overnight – a common practice aimed at imposing Party control over law enforcement. In the USSR, ideology always took precedence over professionalism. The Dzerzhinsky Red Banner University of the KGB even had an extraordinary faculty to train those transferred Party and Komsomol workers for leadership positions within the KGB.
The former Party boss held a certain appreciation for Valov’s superior operational skills but also harbored a slight fear due to the absence of compromising information on him. Consequently, their interactions were infrequent. Although the major had a direct superior, that person had recently gone on vacation, leaving Valov in charge. After explaining his request, the General leaned over to read the contents of the “personal” file.
Valov made a peculiar request – to seek approval to hire the informant’s nephew, “Larin,” as a porter. Larin, whose real name is Vlad Klimov, worked as a bartender in the departure zone of Sheremetyevo-2 and implored Valov not to obstruct his nephew’s employment. Larin had already handled all the necessary paperwork with the airport management using his connections, and the only remaining step was to secure the Committee’s approval.
“I don’t quite understand why he wants a relative to work there, and I understand even less why we need him,” the General said, emphasizing the word “we.”
“There’s nothing illogical about it,” the major responded quietly. “There isn’t a single shift change at the bar without shortages. The porters typically steal beer and cigarettes. They drink the beer and break the empty bottles to claim they were damaged in transit, and the cigarettes are smoked in the storage room, eliminating the need to carry them through the checkpoint. Sometimes, they loosen the caps of the cognac bottles and extract ten or twenty grams. Currently, they’re short of a porter. All the shift bartenders have to come in an hour early and transport