Val Karren: The Deceit of Riches

“Sir, what kind of protection can you offer me if I tell you everything I know?” I asked emphatically.

“You are in one of the country’s most secure facilities,” he offered.

“After this interview can you help me leave Russia very quickly?” I pushed him.

“If you have committed no crimes, then you will be free to leave Russia as soon as your doctor gives his consent,” his voice stayed calm and said nothing rash.

“That’s not good enough, Major. Can you get me out tonight if I tell you what happened there Wednesday?” I was emphatic.

“You first tell me everything that happened as you know it, and I will judge what type of protection you might need,” Dobrynin assured.

I took another deep breath. “I was the reason that both the FSB agents and the Chechens were in the gallery that day. I am the reason that they were all gathered around the one painting. I was shot by an FSB agent and now—because I was being followed and watched—now how many people are dead? Twenty-three or twenty-four in total?” I confessed, “It’s not my fault but it is because of me.”

“That’s a big claim for a young student, Mr. Turner. You may be feeling like you were a target because you were shot in the chaos, but I can assure you that they were not there for you.” Dobrynin said dismissing what he thought was the confession of a survivor’s guilt.

I doubled down, “Major, I was there in the company of a man who is either a CIA agent or an international terrorist if I am to believe the officials from my embassy.” I insisted, “We know each other from Nizhniy Novgorod where I am a student and he was involved in the theft of Russian military secrets. The FSB was in pursuit of me because they believed I was transporting the disc or discs for him from Nizhniy to Moscow. The Gallery was agreed to be the place of the handover, but I was carrying nothing for him. He was bluffing the Chechens. Either he still has the disc or he destroyed it like he claimed.”

The Major held up his hand to stop me and asked for the nurse to excuse us. Nelya protested telling Dobrynin that she had security clearance as hospital staff. He politely acknowledged that fact but explained that it was above her clearance level. She complied with his request and exited quickly without further discussion.

I continued, “I was shot when Sanning handed one of the men my claim tab from the wardrobe. I guess he had agreed to make the swap in this way so that nobody would see any goods trading hands. As soon as the FSB agents saw the handover, I believe they drew on the Chechens. I didn’t see anything before I got shot and then all hell broke loose. I saw the last gunmen shoot and kill three of the FSB agents at the same time he got a bullet to the forehead.”

“Mr. Turner. Will you be willing to sign a statement to this effect?” he asked solemnly.

“If I can leave here tomorrow, yes!” I blurted out.

“Can you tell me how your associate acquired the military secrets you believe he was smuggling?” he asked with some doubt.

“He murdered, or had murdered a local mafia boss in Nizhniy Novgorod, Mr. P. who was the son the famous Ivan Sergeyevich S., a top aviation engineer at the Sokol research facility for the MIG aircraft. I understand that Mr. P. was trying to sell these to a man from Kyrgyzstan who would sell them through to Iran. That is the story that Sanning told me at the least,” I proffered the theory with fluency.

“Can you offer any proof about these events?” Dobrynin emphasized his disbelief.

“Last weekend, Mr. P. was murdered, that is really all I can prove. The American Embassy has photos of me meeting Sanning in the city on Wednesday just before we went to the Gallery. I don’t know if they will show those photos to you. My guide at the museum can verify I was with him. The rest are dead. Del has disappeared. The only other proof I can offer is in the address book in my bag that I checked at the Gallery,” I conceded.

“What role did the FSB agents have in these events?” Dobrynin began taking notes.

“They arrested me in Nizhniy Novgorod. As I know Sanning well and did some ad-hoc work for him they believed I was involved with Del’s espionage work. I helped them to make contact with him again via a telephone number in Sweden after they lost track of him. They brought me to Moscow and followed us from the Arbat meeting to the Gallery. Del was very careful to make sure they followed us. It seems to me he set the whole thing up and knew that the FSB and those wanting the disc would shoot each other for it,” I explained.

“And where is this person now?” the Major asked.

“Sanning? The last I saw him he helped our tour guide leave the gallery room where all the shooting happened. He packed my wound, gave me his shirt to put pressure on it, and while I had my eyes closed he just disappeared into the crowds I guess,” I speculated.

“Mr. Turner. I will ask you not to repeat this information to any other police officer or investigator. If what you tell me is true we want to keep this as quiet as possible while I make unofficial inquiries. If any FSB officials hear of this your life could be in further danger. The agents that arrested you and brought you to Moscow, were they the same that we found dead at the museum?” Dobrynin was very serious.

“Yes, at least three of them. The other three I didn’t see until I was in Moscow already,” I confirmed.

“Peter, if I am able to substantiate any part of this story it will be difficult for me to release you to the American Embassy officials as you will be critical to our investigation and apprehension of the criminals,” he explained with an apology.

“I can’t see how I can help any further. I wasn’t involved in the data theft. I have no idea who it was who wanted to buy it. My research and information were about the local mafia boss and what he planned to do with his money, that was evidently to come from selling the information. It was Del that knew somehow that there was somebody looking to sell and buy the weapons data. I didn’t know anything about that until the FSB arrested me,” I pleaded.

“Do you know what type of weapons?” Dobrynin caught every new clue in my explanation.

“It is a very accurate missile guidance program,” I revealed.

Dobrynin closed his notebook, thanked me for this statement, stood and turned to leave. Just before he opened the door he turned to me again and said, “Peter, thank you for telling me this information first. It would have been very bad for you if I had to come back and ask you about it myself. You are now on the right side of the law. In Russia, one does not want to be on the wrong side of the law. The consequences of that get quickly out of control,” and he left without waiting for a response.

That same afternoon I received another visit from the embassy staff. Mr. Richardson did not come this time, but Arkadin the security chief and another embassy officer accompanied him. I invited the men to walk with me on the grounds instead of sitting in the stuffy hospital room. My stamina was improving and I was no longer struggling to catch my breath after short strolls. Once we were out of ear shot, Arkadin started the interrogation while we walked.

“Mr. Turner, we need to better understand your relationship to Santander as we don’t believe you have been forthcoming with the information we asked for,” Arkadin grumbled.

“What is not clear, sir?” I asked with fake deference.

“We believe that you accompanied Santander to the Gallery where you were shot. We don’t believe that your meeting was just a chance meeting in Moscow. We have reason to believe that he was with you and may have been involved in the gun fight in the museum.” Arkadin was probing for information.