Memories of Moscow

I was walking back to my apartment from the metro. I’d spent the weekend in St. Peterburg, trying to make the most of my time in Russia while I worked to adopt my cover as a student. Pretending to be a tourist is an easy cover to maintain when you actually enjoy being there.

The had CIA picked me up during college. Though I have no desire to live in a dangerous location, I’ve arrived in Russia. I had hoped for a position with the State Department in the future, after college. Preferably a nice embassy in Europe. Having Marine guards at the entry would be considerably nicer than having to triple lock my door and check my windows before bed. Yet here I was double checking my locks and windows. Of course, simple locks wouldn’t do much should anyone really want in.

My interest in Russian history and the language made Moscow an easy move for me. With the need for intelligence personnel in the Middle East waning, The Agency is hard at work re-establishing ground intelligence in rival nations. Russian intelligence hadn’t shifted towards counterterrorism like we had, so they were running circles around us. Ambassadors have reported coming home to lamps being moved to different places in a room and clocks set to the wrong time. Small, ominous, signs that they were within reach.

I’ve kept a small black notebook to document life, partly to ensure I’m not going mad. I’ve got no family or partner back home. Moscow is my home, and life now. I’ve got pages on where I keep things, how my apartment is set-up, how my fridge is kept, and otherwise what my schedule is like. I sleep with this thing to ensure it’s never in the hands of anyone else.

The notebook can’t be that incriminating, should someone find it, which is how it is meant to be. I’m to spend the first months getting into a routine, looking and acting like a student in a new city. This should be the highlight of my trip. I’m not breaking any rules. If I am stopped by anyone, I play the wander-lusting Westerner in love with Russian history and feign ignorance to all else.

In truth, after the months of acclimation, I am to begin monitoring Russian hacking sites, anything that may be ‘off the grid’ of traditional military installations. I’ll walk different routes around the city, have coffee here, lunch there, do anything to make these surveillance walks just part of a routine. There’s plenty of ground to cover so I can slowly map the city without drawing attention to myself.

Funding has been my only concern. I must live on a student budget, under the guise of some past part-time job. The Agency, of course, keeps money in my account but doesn’t provide much for anything above necessities. I haven’t gone hungry, but my recreational travel is less than I’d like it to be, especially knowing my real paychecks are being held in an American bank back home.

Every Thursday on a three week cycle I stop by my drop site to grab physical messages or items left for me. I have a satellite card in my laptop to relay urgent messages to me, should anything come up. I check it twice each week. The dead drop once had a pen with a confirmation code inside, but since then, no messages. My drop pattern is meant to be varied in order to throw any tails as well. I’ve had training on all of this but even then, when performing it in the field, it feels terrifying.

I don’t have any friends in Moscow. My instruction, should something go wrong, is to get to the U.S. embassy like any normal student. Should anything suspicious happen or if anyone reaches out to me they should be considered, “unfriendly”.

Now, a few months into my stay I am considered active. I’ve begun watching for followers. With winter underway my favored method of ensuring I wasn’t followed was to sit down in a café and later head out the back, since I couldn’t see who might be waiting for me to exit the door that I entered in. Doubling back or just waiting at a place for a while also worked. The hardest part of tailing someone is to look unsuspicious while waiting. Once or twice I felt I’d thrown a tail or found a lamp in the wrong place in my apartment, but for the most part felt I’d been left alone.

I was heading to my drop site Thursday evening on my way home. The site being a bench at a park, I’d just planned to sit, tie my shoe, and write in my notebook. I arrived and took in the view of the park. The occasional jogger passed by, but it’s too cold out for much activity this late in the year. The site had been picked due to it being between my apartment, school, and metro so it wouldn’t be unordinary for me to stop here.

I noticed some regular park-goers and reached my fingertips inconspicuously under the bench for anything that might be waiting for me. Nothing, again. I was slightly relieved, having no added stress. I packed my notebook and was ready to head home. As I stood, I noticed something next to the trash bin near my bench. There was a black duffel bag next to it. A little odd, but maybe left by a jogger. There’s nothing unusual about it except that it’s there at all. I glanced around as I left to see who might be watching me and set off to finish the journey home.

Walking to University the next day, I took the park route again maintaining distance from my bench. I caught a glimpse of the bag, still by the trash. Maybe someone forgot it. I didn’t want to draw attention to my seat at the park, but the bag bothered me being so close to it. If someone reports the bag and the police check it out, that will draw attention to my spot anyways, so maybe by checking it myself I could prevent trouble?

As the day ended, I stopped at a market before heading home. Now with a brown bag full of groceries stacked on one arm, I trudged towards the park. As daylight faded, I set my groceries on my bench and walked to the trash bin. I glanced around as I pulled a receipt from my pocket and tossed it in the trash. The day darkening, with no one around, I knelt and found the zipper.

The bag unzips smoothly, revealing neat rows of cash. American cash.

My rolled my eyes and I mumbled a curse. If anyone did see me check the bag I’ll look suspicious. What would anyone think of an American in Russia carrying so much cash. Why couldn’t it be rubles at least or just dirty jogging shorts?

I glanced around, searching for any peering eyes while zipping the bag. I grabbed my groceries, quickly starting towards my apartment. My mind raced, questioning why the bag was there. I worked to maintain a normal pace. This wasn’t random, it had to be linked to my drop site. I wasn’t notified of this, so someone else must be doing this. Am I imagining eyes from some corner of the dark path home, or is someone really watching me?

I threw my door locks in place and checked the windows. Looking around the room nothing was moved. I felt alone, yet only meagerly safe. I opened my laptop to check the satellite link for messages. I re-opened the duffel bag on my table and laid out the contents, counting in all, twenty sets of $100 bills, each in a group of $1,000. What’s my excuse for having $20,000 as a broke international student?

I can’t leave it in my apartment, risking someone digging through my bags. My average monthly cost of living is $300. I couldn’t spend all of this if I tried. I opened the satellite connection and my heart sank. A red notification blinked on my computer, sent just over a day ago. The message contained four words.

“Get out. Step Alpha.”

I ran to my closet and grabbed my prepared go-bag. It had clothes, some cash and my passport. I threw my laptop back in my backpack and grabbed the newfound duffel bag- just in case. I had no thought that I’d get to keep the cash but Russia being what She is, a bribe could at some point help my situation. I shut the door for the last time. I didn’t have much there but it’s been my entire life these past few months. I took a breath and locked it up, stepping off towards safety.

"Step Alpha" is the first plan in a set of escape plans, and the most preferred. Find a cab, jump out near the embassy. Easy enough. I walked two blocks down to a busier street with shops and a market. I found a cab that didn’t look like it’d been waiting for me and gave him the address.

It took a nerve-wracking thirty minutes to cover the six miles to the hotel. I got out and paid after leaving a $1,000 stack of cash in the back, wondering if he’d have the same reservations I did about US currency. I entered the hotel and sped straight through the lobby and café to the staff-only kitchen door and exited through the back.

I turned the last leg into a jog, moving quickly up the small street that ran to the embassy. I could see the lights through the leafless trees. I had to force myself to slow down as I approached. A kid sprinting towards the embassy, with multiple bags, after dark, likely wouldn’t end well.

I passed the Marine guards at the gate as I moved across to the entry on the left. I showed the doorman my passport and he glanced at my bags. I set them on the conveyer and stepped through the metal detector. He didn’t react to the duffel bag of cash going through, I’d wondered if he’d seen crazier things. I grabbed my backpack, go-bag, and moved to grab the money bag when he put a hand on the bag to stop me.

He returned my passport with a smile and said, “We’ve been expecting you, head on in. I’ll lock that with security.” Fine by me.

Once inside I made my way through security doors to my pre-designated room. I sat and let out a sigh of relief. Safe at last. There was a small table with two chairs, a cot, and some water in the room. I laid down to get some rest, anticipating my debriefing.

I woke-up to a knock on the door and sat up, remembering where I was. I wasn’t expecting the ambassador himself to come down but had no idea who I was looking at. A trim, young man had peeked in. He wore a blue suit and carried a clipboard, identifying himself as Adam, another member of The Agency.

We talked about the events leading up to my exit. Someone had been watching me and some allied intelligence tipped us off that I was actually in danger. The money likely was some trap for initiating contact and blackmail, at least.

“No matter,” Adam said, “you’ll be out on the next diplomatic flight home. Between us, I’ll report the cash as abandoned. You can keep it as a little bonus from your adventure.”

I told him, "I don't have it, I gave it to the gate guard who said you were expecting me."

Adam looked confused, “No one else knew you were coming.”

There was no record of the guard or the cash from that night, they had both vanished without a trace.