Birth of an Assassin Read online

  Birth of an Assassin

  Rik Stone

  How odd of God to choose the Jews

  But not so odd as those who choose

  A Jewish God, yet spurn the Jews.

  Grey Skipwith 1912–1942

  © 2013 Rik Stone

  Rik Stone has asserted his rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  Published by Silver Publishing

  First published in eBook format in 2013

  eISBN: 978-1-78301-099-8

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the Publisher.

  All names, characters, places, organisations, businesses and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  To my beautiful granddaughter Lucy Marie Irvine

  Forever Young

  Table of Contents

  Birth of an Assassin Rik Stone

  © 2013 Rik Stone

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Epilogue

  The Man in the Blue Fez

  The Turkish Connection

  Chapter 1

  Moscow, Russia: 1947

  Early September and autumn advanced alongside a cold north wind. Fifteen-year-old Jez Kornfeld pressed on, passed through the grounds of the Kremlin and stopped in Red Square to admire the splendor of St Basil’s Cathedral. Thoughts of how Ivan the Terrible had blinded the architect to prevent the creation of another edifice as beautiful sent a shiver down his spine. But then he turned full circle and his heart beat rapidly. He sighed, “Moscow.”

  He’d stood too long and his body shook with the cold. Threadbare clothes hung loose on his narrow frame and the chill marched through without resistance. He hunched his shoulders, pulled his muffler tighter, pushed it under his collar, and hugged the jacket close. He should move on. If he could find a recruitment center and enlist today, he’d be in a comfortable bed by nightfall and would have taken his first steps to becoming a soldier.

  He’d snuck away from his hillside home after his father had told him to put foolish dreams aside, wait a year, marry and settle down. He couldn’t do that – he wouldn’t. He hadn’t wanted to slink off in the shadows like a chicken thief, but he had to follow his destiny: he would be a soldier – whatever the cost.

  Recollections faded as two young soldiers bundled through the Kremlin gates behind him. They pushed and shoved at each other like children.

  “You’re a good lad, Private Krupin… huh, sergeant’s little creep, all you did was go for his cigarettes,” the taller of the two taunted.

  “You’re jealous because he said I’m doing well. And he thinks you’re a bit – what did he call you? – oh yes, dim.”

  Before the laughter cleared Krupin’s throat, the taller youth had hooked an arm around his neck and wrestled him to the ground. They tussled in the street but the one who’d taken the initiative held firm.

  “All right, all right, I give in,” Krupin squealed.

  “First, tell me what you are… come on.”

  Up until now, Jez had watched without expression, but when the soldier ground his knuckle into Krupin’s shaven scalp, he winced.

  “No, don’t… oh… what am I?”

  “You’re a creep, come on, tell me.”

  “Yes, I’m a creep, a creep. Ouch, fuck, that’s enough, let go.”

  He let go his hold and both men got to their feet, dusted off their uniforms and slapped their berets against their thighs. Krupin put his cap on askew, took out a crumpled pack and tapped a couple of cigarettes from it. Firing up both, he handed one to his comrade.

  Jez was about to walk on, but then he brightened and went over to the soldiers. Maybe they could help.

  “Excuse me, sirs,” he said. “I’m looking for a place where I can sign up to become a soldier of the Red Army.”

  Krupin sharpened his glare, looked Jez up and down, and for a moment appeared to turn away. But then his gait changed, he smiled, gripped Jez by the shoulder, switched his attention.

  “Red Army,” he sniggered, “yes, of course. If you carry on straight up Nikolskaya Prospekt, you’ll come to Dzerzhinski Square. Cross the plaza and pass the statue. Beyond that, you’ll see a yellow building with grey brickwork at ground level. That is the place you seek.”

  The taller of the two pursed his lips, leaned over and exhaled a thick blue line of smoke that clouded and fogged around Jez’s head. His eyes watered and the fumes from the cheap cigarette rasped his throat. He wanted to protest, but instead said, “Thank you, sir. I’m grateful for your help,” and walked away with the directions firmly in his mind.

  The soldiers continued with their banter and Jez heard snippets. “Krupin, you are a bastard”, “Dzerzhinski Square”, “Red Army” and “but the way his eyes watered…” Even with a good distance between him and the men, he still heard them scream with laughter.

  He shook his head and smiled. The soldiers weren’t important. He had the information he needed.

  *

  At the square he crossed the plaza, and there it was beyond the statue: the yellow brick building. Excitement hammered through his veins and he strode purposefully. He got to within a couple of steps of the entrance when an official in a heavy greatcoat and Ushanka fur hat halted him. Jez’s footfall flattened.

  The man towered over him like a giant. “Stop, where do you think you’re going, boy? Let me see your papers… quickly. You do have papers?”

  Nervously, Jez unbuttoned his side bag, fumbled with its contents. “Yes, sir… I do have papers…” He noticed epaulettes on the official’s
greatcoat. They had pips – an officer. Hurry, a chance to impress. The papers, he patted down pockets and cleared his throat. “… And I’ve come to enlist in the military of the people, sir, the Red Army.”

  “Enlist? Young men usually wait for conscription – and you look too young. What are you running from?”

  Too young, he hadn’t thought of that. “I’m not running, sir. The army is my destiny.”

  An almost imperceptible shake of the head and the official held out his hand. “Papers,” he insisted.

  Positive he’d put the cards in his side bag, Jez pulled them from his jacket and proudly handed them over.

  “Jezer Kornfeld, you’re a Jew. Why are you volunteering for the Soviet Army?”

  Jez couldn’t understand the attitude. Hadn’t the man listened to what he’d just said? And there must’ve been Jews in the army before, at least in the Great Patriotic War.

  “Could it be your family has put you out as a result of the famines?”

  “Famines?”

  “The famines caused by our Scorched Earth policy when we were in retreat from the Nazis. Are they so insignificant that you can’t bring them to mind?”

  “Oh, the famines, no, sir, of course I know of the famines. I was confused because you thought my family might turn me away. They would never do such a thing. Not for any reason.”

  “Then is it because we’re no longer at war you believe you could be in for a soft ride?” he goaded.

  Rebellion prickled Jez’s skin. “No, sir, I follow no religion and all I want is to learn and serve. As far as wars are concerned, there’s always one waiting to happen.” He shrank at saying the words “no religion”. True, but it would break poor Poppa’s heart to hear him say it, and to a gentile.

  “Well, that’s quite an answer for a little fellow, and it must be said you are a little fellow. I’m not sure it would be wise for you to pursue this line of work. You look a bit… fragile.”

  “Not so, sir. I train every day. I’m probably as fit as anyone in this building.”

  “Oh, is that so?” replied the official, his granite face softening as he raised his eyebrows. “And have you completed any education?”

  “Yes, sir, I’ve studied as much as was available and did well in each subject.”

  “Hmm,” his interrogator nodded. “You’ve come directly to Lubyanka. Was there a reason for that?”

  Strange question, thought Jez. “Yes, sir,” he said, “it’s an army recruitment center.”

  The other’s face opened into a smile. “Oh, I see. Very well, and what is it you expect to achieve as a soldier?”

  “I want to know all there is about the army, sir.” The thought grew in Jez’s mind and excited him. “And I want to be an officer – like you.”

  A snigger huffed through the larger man’s nose. “Right, Comrade Kornfeld, come with me. We’ll see what you’re made of.”

  Jez marched a half step behind, through large wooden front doors, into a maze of identical corridors. On one of the higher floors, the officer went into an office and Jez waited at the entrance for further instruction. He peeked inside and saw a highly polished dark oak desk with a large red and gold leather inset, elaborate bookcases snugly hidden against dark paneled walls, and a square rug that virtually covered the whole of the floor. The grandeur of the room redeemed the image of military pomp previously tarnished by the soldiers at the gate. But again, he felt overshadowed.

  “Come in, boy.”

  Nervous, he strutted so as not to show it, but he was thrown out of kilter by the deep pile that tried to swallow his feet. He hurried to the chair and sat. The officer frowned and Jez realized he should’ve waited to be told what to do – too late now.

  The man looked about Poppa’s age, mid thirties, but the likeness ended there. Never had Jez seen anyone so big, as tall as a house and such massive shoulders. His natural expression appeared stern, but then he relaxed and looked caring, even kindly. Maybe younger than Poppa, he thought.

  After he’d hung his greatcoat on a rack in the corner, he sat down opposite Jez. But then his eyes rolled upward: he’d forgotten to take off the Ushanka hat. He shook his head and slung the hat towards the coat rack. Briefly forgetting his nervousness, Jez struggled to keep a straight face.

  “I’ve kept an eye on new recruits and… I don’t know. There’s something about you. I’ve nurtured an idea for some time and maybe you’re a person I could discuss it with.”

  What could an official want to discuss with him?

  “Before I begin, I should tell you this is not an army recruitment center. It is in fact KGB headquarters; and the statue in the center of the square is Felix Dzerzhinski, founder of the first communist secret police – the Cheka. Surely you’ve heard of Dzerzhinski Square or Iron Felix?”

  “No, no, sir, I haven’t.”

  Right enough, he hadn’t known of the place, but he suddenly knew why the two soldiers had laughed so. A wry smile crossed his face.

  “You think that’s funny?”

  He stiffened. “No, sir, sorry, I was directed here by guards outside the Kremlin and…”

  The official raised a hand. “Enough, I understand. I am Colonel Michel Petrichov, an officer in a Federal Security Services command that goes under the name of Spetsnaz. You’ve heard of it?”

  “No, sir,” his face burned. He thought he’d known so much about the army, but he hadn’t known any of this.

  “Don’t worry. I see from your papers you’re from a rural area, so no reason why you should.”

  The colonel shuffled into a different position and drummed a tattoo on the desk. “The reason you’re here is because of my father. A prominent Bolshevik at the time of the People’s Revolution, his belief that the workers were capable of military greatness was unshakeable.”

  The colonel stared, eyes penetrating. Jez had no idea how to respond, so he pulled his shoulders back, sat up straighter and did nothing. If he held an intelligent expression, maybe he would look as if he understood what was going on.

  “His idea,” the colonel continued, “was that with enough time invested in a peasant, Mother Russia could have the greatest armed forces in the world. What is your opinion?”

  Was he amusing himself like the two soldiers at the gates? Whatever his reasons, Jez reckoned he should answer as well as he could. “I think he was proven right, sir. We have recently become a superpower. How could he have been wrong?”

  “Well answered, but I think he meant each military individual could be the best, and that certainly isn’t the case, is it?” The colonel sat back, folded his arms, waited for an answer.

  Jez stumbled in his mind. “…I’m sorry, sir, I can’t say. I don’t know any soldiers.”

  The colonel leant forward, planted his elbows on the desk, made a church with his fingers and bowed his head. Jez wondered if he was praying. If he was, the prayer quickly ended and he sat back abruptly.

  “The fact is, Kornfeld, your attitude has a certain appeal. And because you’re such a little mite, if I were to turn you into the complete fighting machine it would verify my father’s beliefs.”

  A surge of adrenalin made Jez become spirited and he jumped to an answer. “I would be honored to prove your father right, sir.”

  “Good, first things first, which means that we have to put you through basic training. Do you think you’re up to the task?”

  Jez had dreamt of this for as long as he could remember. “Yes, of course, sir, that is why I came here.”

  “Then that’s all there is to be said. Oh, just one thing: you are forbidden from telling anyone of this discussion. And I mean anyone. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir, I understand,” he said, but couldn’t imagine why anyone would care anyway.

  The colonel picked up the phone and within moments of him putting it back in the cradle, an officer entered the room.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, stamping to attention.

  “This young man wants to join the Soviet Arm
y. Take him and see he is signed up without anyone questioning his age. I want you to arrange a dossier on the boy, and at the end of the preparation I want the paperwork – and the boy – back here.”

  Surprise crossed the officer’s face, but he acknowledged the demands without query and left the office. Jez trailed raggedly behind. Tiredness had reached the stage where it was fast becoming his master.

  Chapter 2

  Jez sat in the back of an old Studebaker truck, bouncing in unison with other recruits as they drove through the Moscow military district. The fact that he was the only one whose greatcoat was too big for him cast his thoughts back to when he was younger.

  *

  Early 1941, and not quite 8 years old, Jez was sitting at the table in their hillside cabin. Sabbath supper had finished and he hung around wondering what to do next.

  “Can I go out and play please, Poppa?” he asked.

  Outside, the sun had become a memory and a sudden certainty told him he and his wooden rifle might be needed round the back.

  Poppa combed his fingers through his great beard. “Yes, Jezer, for a little while anyway, but come straight in when Miriam tells you, okay?”

  “Yes, Poppa.”

  Who knows, there could be a threat from night prowlers. He eased from the chair as his younger brother Nat squeezed by, and horror filled Jez on noting it. Nat was just as tall as he was. Not that Nat’s height was important, but he was only six. Jez wasn’t growing fast enough.

  Dreams of life as a soldier shattered before his eyes. Too small, the army wouldn’t want a little man. He looked down at his arms and things got worse: he was too skinny. He had to get out of the cabin, now. Picking up his wooden gun, he rushed through the door. If it hadn’t been for the tough character required of an infantryman, he might well have been close to tears. All the same, he had to find his big sister Miriam, and fast.

  She was round the back gathering up Rachael and Lydia so she could get them ready for bed. She spun at the sound of his approach and, with a swiftness surprising even his military prowess, grabbed him tightly.

  “My beautiful little soldier,” she said, and swung him round until they fell on the grassy bank that ran down to the cabin. “I don’t know how you would manage without that rifle by your side.”