I had forgotten that Monday was Presidents’ Day — a federal holiday in the U.S. — and I was unable to reach my friend in the Justice Department until Tuesday . . . giving me an additional day to think, to worry, and finally to unpack.

When I did reach him on Tuesday, he was greatly interested in what I had to tell him, asking for a number of details before drawing a legal conclusion. And when at last he said there was no prohibition against Shvets’ publishing his book in the United States, nor against my representing the two former spies in a legitimate business transaction, I made the final decision to begin calling people in New York in search of the all-important publishing connection.

And the next day, the FBI showed up.

Well, what else should I have expected? The FBI is, after all, a part of the Justice Department. And as an attorney at Justice, my friend would have been obligated to pass along the information I had given him, in case the two Russians might be of interest to the Bureau.

Which, as it turned out, they were. And now, so was I.

*. *. *

Thus began two of the most . . . well, let’s just say . . . interesting years of my life. I had never before, or since, answered so many questions, or been asked for so many impressions or opinions. They never told me why, of course, but that little voice in my head had been right: there was more to this than just a book. The FBI’s intense interest in bringing Valentin Aksilenko and Yuri Shvets back to the United States for a visit had suddenly hurled me into the middle of an adventure I had neither anticipated nor wanted.

And once it started, it took on a life of its own, and kept going, and going, and going — a sort of perpetual motion machine of espionage.

Well, perhaps “espionage” is a bit dramatic. But how else to describe two years of trying to build a business in Russia and also finding time to juggle the FBI, the KGB, the CIA, the Russian “mafia” — all the while knowing that there was far too much behind it that I really didn’t know . . . and never would?

*. *. *

At the time, though, I wasn’t even sure there would even be a book, much less that it would actually be published. To begin with, Shvets was in Russia, writing — allegedly in secret, in a dacha somewhere in the countryside — something that might turn out to be a huge flop.

And even more concerning was whether he and Aksilenko would be able to get out of Russia and into the United States at all, considering their backgrounds. Once word got out in Moscow, would they even live long enough to find out?

But I knew it definitely wouldn’t happen if I didn’t at least try, so I went ahead and issued the requisite business invitations to each of them, and prepared myself for a long wait. And while waiting, I did manage to secure an introduction to a literary agent through . . . well, through a mutual friend. Leave it at that.

When I learned that it had taken just a few days for the U.S. State Department to approve their visa applications, I was only mildly surprised. Obviously, the FBI had cleared the way . . . meaning, of course, that they were more than just a little anxious to get them here.

The real shock came when I heard from Aksilenko that they would be arriving at New York’s JFK International Airport on April 25th. They had gone to the U.S. Embassy in Moscow and received their visas in record time; and they had made their airline reservations on Russia’s Aeroflot airline. They were clearly not sneaking out of the country. But how had they managed it?

I never did find out.

*. *. *

In the meantime, an unexpected bit of manna from Heaven had been dropped on me. I had been contacted by an old client of my former law firm who was now heading a humanitarian aid foundation and needed someone to oversee his operation for several months . . . in Moscow.

What were the odds?

This had all come about as a result of that fateful trip in February, when I had accompanied his U.S. manager on her first visit there. And when he offered me the opportunity for a longer stay in Russia — actually living and working there — there was no thought of my refusing. It was my golden opportunity.

But I was due to leave on May 10th, and Aksilenko and Shvets were arriving on April 25th, with ten-day visas expiring May 5th. Then we three would all be back in Moscow at the same time, under — I assumed — the watchful eye of any number of successor agencies to the (supposedly) disbanded KGB. I was cutting it close, and March and April flew by in a total frenzy.

*. *. *

To be continued . . .

*. *. *

Brendochka
1/6/25