Epilogue

Bangkok, Thailand – January 2030

Brock found the address he was looking for just off Sukhumvit Soi 33. It was a nice neighborhood, based on the noise and the throngs of people out tonight it was popular with the Western tourist crowd. Perfect for a Gogo bar that from what he read online catered to an upscale clientele.

Out front of the establishment, they were met by a couple of smiling young Thai girls dressed in tight black dresses showing off all their delightful curves.

“Shall we go in?” Brock said to his younger half-sister Katalin who stood beside him eyeballing the girls who were doing the same to the good-looking dirty blonde foreigner.

Both he and his sister wore khaki walking shorts and sandals. Brock a green polo untucked while Kate a designer white tank top over a matching sports bra.

He had to pay their door fee of a few hundred Baht to go in. First drink included. It was just after 11 pm on a Thursday in early January. High season for Thailand. Easier for Brock and his sister to blend in. Not that anyone really cared what the two white American tourists were up to.

Inside, the place was all neon lights, music, and girls. Probably a dozen Thai girls sat around talking with a few male clients. On a small chest-high stage three young bikini-clad girls with numbers on their hips swayed to the beat of Asian techno rock. A hostess offered them a booth, but Brock spotted open stools at the bar and asked to be seated there.

Brock ordered a couple of beers, and they toasted each other as they sat watching the action in the nice-looking Gogo bar. It had been almost a year since they last saw each other back in Berlin. His sister, the journalist, the war reporter extraordinaire these days. Her coverage of the 12-day conflict in Poland in 2028 had been good for her struggling career and his.

His curiosity satisfied he turned to the large-breasted Thai woman in a pink tube top behind the bar.

“Can I speak to Ivan?” He said, watching the woman’s face. Asians were so hard to read. She cocked her head just a bit.

He slid his business card across the bar. Not hiding who he was. Trusting that once Ivan saw his name the man would at least come to see him.

They sat there for another 10 minutes politely declining the advances of the bar girls. He did buy lady drinks for any girl who approached them, so they left with a smile and having made a few Baht.

Pink tube top came back. “He say take seat at booth over there. He be out soon.” She told him as she took a wet rag to the bar top.

Brock and Katalin followed a bikini-clad hostess over to a curved booth of red upholstered leather in a quieter corner of the bar. They could still see the dancers on the stage. Two more cold Singh beers were delivered to the table.

He was watching his sister. She had her Hungarian mother’s good looks, and strong features, and wore her thick blonde hair trimmed stylishly short at her collar. Kate was sweating under her arms and fidgeting. To a lesser degree so was Brock, sweating from the heat of the warm tropics.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, just killing time.

“I hate wearing a bra. Especially in this heat, I get a rash,” Kate said reaching a hand up to her chest. Kate was busty like her mom.

“Then don’t wear one,” Brock said, being practical. Half the women in Nashville these days were probably running around sans bra. Including his wife and daughter when the mood struck them.

Her blue eyes smiled back at him, a little smirk on her lips.

“Mr. Steele?” a deep accented voice said from beside the table.

Brock and Kate turned to see a fit older man dressed casually in cargo shorts and a plain t-shirt standing by the table. Brock knew Ivan was in his 70s. This man’s gray hair was cut short, and he sported a goatee. He mostly fit Brock’s mental image.

Brock started to stand and stuck out his hand. Ivan shook hands with both. Seeing Kate, he gave her a full white smile.

“Thanks for seeing us, we wanted to talk with you, if you have some time,” Brock said.

Ivan reached back and pulled a metal chair up to the edge of the table. From over his shoulder Pink Tube Top frowned at them and set a beer in front of Ivan.

There was a moment of silence.

“I know of you. Both of you.” Ivan said his eyes on Brock and then Kate. “You fought against the Russian Army at Warsaw, helped beat those bastards. You lost many men, but you won.” Ivan paused then looked at Kate “And the story I heard is you took a taxi out to join your brother’s unit before they attacked. You survived, your reporting made him famous, and you got a bunch of awards.”

“You’re very well informed for a guy who fled Russia after a stint in prison for treason and landed here,” Brock said as he looked around the bar.

Kate cut in. “I, we, were hoping to ask you a few questions about your time in the GRU and your arrest for treason. I’m working on a story.”

Ivan drank his beer.

“Sure, why not, ask your questions? But I want something in return.”

“What would that be?” Brock said, his eyes on Ivan’s face trying to read the old Russian spy.

“I’m at that age when secrets don’t matter any longer so much.”

Brock and Kate were quiet letting him speak.

“I want to meet your brother, the one who’s in the ‘State Department’ here in Bangkok. Set up a meeting. I have a proposition for him. You agree and I’ll answer your questions.”

Brock didn’t have to think hard. His brother had followed their father’s footsteps into the clandestine service. To date, he has spent most of his time in Asia. Knowing what Brock knew about Ivan’s ties to the CIA he didn’t see setting up a meeting as a problem.

“All I can do is ask and I will,” Brock spoke honestly.

Ivan nodded, “Okay. Ask your questions,” he said leaning back in his chair.

First, Brock asked if it was okay to talk here, in the bar. Ivan said there was no place safer, so go ahead.

“You know your son Alexey is dead?” Brock said just coming out with it, then added “A week ago in Estonia.”

Ivan glanced at his beer then at Brock and Kate. “Not surprised. But yes, I heard. He was playing a dangerous game and crossed the wrong people.”

“You know my company and his were business rivals?” Brock said.

Ivan nodded “Yes, I know. But I have not spoken with Alexey for a few years, not since I left Russia. He was greatly embarrassed by me and what he viewed as my failures.”

Kate had started taking notes on a small tablet she took out of her purse. Brock had already hit record on his device.

“Alexey took it all much harder than his sister. When it came to Mother Russia my son was a true believer. He wanted the old Soviet back. What a fool.”

Brock didn’t want to spend all night in the Russian’s Gogo bar, so he got to the point.

No one was in earshot, “If you don’t mind, we had some questions about your spying for the Agency. You admitted in court that you spied for the CIA but when and for how long are not in the trial records.”

“True, I did spy. That was a long time ago. Since my trial was for show, most of the details were not put on the record. But go ahead, what do you want to know,” Ivan said focused on Brock.

“I assume it’s okay if Kate takes some notes?” Brock asked.

A nod yes at Kate who had already been taking notes.

Brock set up his first question by explaining the untimely death of Admiral Ford. That he had left a file that contained information on Ivan starting with his activities in Bosnia and being recruited as a spy.

Ivan didn’t say anything, he just listened and waited for the question.

“What I don’t understand is this. After all those years of spying you only received a five-year sentence and then only served 18 months in a minimum-security camp?”

Brock pulled up an official-looking CIA document his father had passed on after it was declassified. He showed it to Ivan.

“In this report, the date is redacted, it states that CIA counterintelligence believed you were discovered within the first five years by your own service, the GRU. The date is redacted but the CIA determined the information that you were providing was of little or no value or straight disinformation. They believed you had become a double agent.”

The old man smiled and waited. Ordering another round of beer.

“And yet when you left the GRU in 2006 and didn’t have the same access to classified information you became a very successful businessman.”

Brock pulled up another document showing Ivan’s extensive portfolio of businesses and investments.

“You invested someone’s money, large sums of hard currency in defense, energy, and other highly sensitive yet profitable businesses. Information that would have been of value to an organization like the CIA who was trying to understand the new Russia.”

Brock looked at Kate. Her pen was busy taking notes.

“Here’s the question. Did the CIA double you back on the GRU or was it the FSB by then who was running you?”

Ivan sat quietly. Waiting for Brock to reveal his hand.

Brock brought up the CIA counterintelligence report again.

“Do you see the name on this report? It’s not redacted.”

Ivan looked and smiled. “J. Steele. I’m guessing your father as you look like him.”

Brock continued “Yeah, he gave me the report once it had been declassified. But he said his involvement ended with the decision that you had been turned, that was over twenty years ago.”

Ivan just nodded his head, waiting on Brock.

“I think, that when confronted with the evidence the Agency gave you another option. An opportunity to continue to make some money and at the same time stick it to a system you had come to see as corrupt. Am I wrong?”

Ivan told his story. He became that rare thing in the world of spies and counter-spies, a triple agent who lived to old age. It took two more beers and as many trips to the men’s room to tell the short version of his remarkable story.