10.2 The Spy Who Came Out of Nowhere

At that point Yakov frowned lost in words. He thought they caught a guy with good knowledge of secret projects taking place in Area 51 and one who could part with technical details of the spy planes. They uttered to themselves clearly with disappointment in their faces. By the way, Colonel General Nicolai Yakov was the head of Moscow Aviation Plant 39 though he appeared in plainclothes. He was honoured with the Hero of Social Labour in 1940 and 1957, a pioneering genius behind jet engines and his Yak-series of fighter aircrafts, including the all-weather interceptor and the supersonic bomber. He even studied in England, Germany and Italy and could speak three languages fluently. He was a civilian more or less – highly decorated.

On his right sat a young officer in green and blue suit. He was an advanced specialist holding an equivalent of a PhD in aeronautics from Kharkiv Aviation Institute and he was there to guide Comrade Yakov if they had to enter a rather more complicated field in technical areas.

The elderly officer on the left was a KGB General to supervise the session and take decision if required. His name was Vladimir Leonovich Silayev – The Sledge.

Then it all came down to him to apply a different tactic and try a new approach. It showed on his face that he clearly had no business to do here but General Silayev insisted.

Yakov produced a set of photographs from the folder and took a glance at them looking for an image to start with. He motioned to the two muscular men, “Bring him forward!”

They lifted his chair and moved three feet closer to the desk.

Yakov showed a black and white print of 8R size, “Can you tell this man?”

“President John F Kennedy,” Tyler Friesen replied promptly.

He was so disorientated that he tossed the photo on the table and picked the other, “Who is this?”

“Lee Harvey Oswald.”

“This?”

“Kelly Johnson.”

“And this?”

“Jaco Ferre.”

“And this man?”

“I don’t know him,” but it was a familiar face. He could not immediately grasp where he saw that face.

“Who is this?” repeated the General shaking the photo between his fingers.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Maxwell. Have you heard of him?”

“Sure, I did.” And he remembered where he saw that face. It was during one of his astral projections that Tyler experienced in Makravan levitating to a settlement bombed by an aeroplane hovering in the sky. He was the captain wearing a Blue Shade 84 uniform.

“Have you met Robert D Maxwell?”

“No sir, I don’t know him.”

He was holding next a photograph of Aleksandre Giorgashvili to show to him but decided against. Yakov knew who Maxwell was and did not want to bring up the subject. He showed another photograph, “Can you figure what this apparatus is?” a crash site of an aircraft.

“It’s a wreckage of an aircraft.”

“What type?”

“Hard to tell.”

“Who is this man?” he showed another portrait.

“Gary Powers,” answered Tyler.

“Did you watch the televised trial?”

“No sir.”

“Can you tell this aircraft?” he returned to hold the previous image.

“U-2.”

“Where?”

“In the Ural Mountains. Oh no!” he figured thick tropical jungle behind the crash.

“It isn’t, isn’t it!” With that he dropped the prints on the table and rose to his feet. Three slipped out of the room. The crash site he showed was actually from Cuba and a photograph taken on 27^th October 1962 of the U-2 that killed Major Rudy Anderson.

In a different room on the same floor, there was a disagreement taking place between the generals. Yakov was saying, “He’s not the man we want. He does not know Robert Maxwell. If I take it any further, he’s going to learn something new and we learn nothing.”

“He is lying all the time!” blasted Sledge.

“He does not know aircrafts. He is not following the news. Try any method you like but he can tell you not a thing about an aircraft. Send him back to Armenia!”

“I cannot. We have already crossed the line. FBI, CIA, ASA, they’re looking for him. And this Turner would know too. He is an air force pilot. We double checked on it. Quite absurd if you say we got the wrong man!”

“It sounds as foolish as you think. Don’t bother me again, I’m leaving. This is so annoying! Why don’t you shoot one of your famous bullets to his head!”

“Maybe, if I have to,” uttered General Silayev, “He must disappear.”

Then the telephone rang in the green room and one of those muscle men picked it. He replied, “Da ser,” and turned around, “Podval.”

Tyler Friesen was taken downstairs to the basement. They led him through a hall with quarters on either side barred with metal grid doors. Behind each grid door, there stood two rows of cells on a narrow corridor. Each cell locked separately with a red metal door with a small vent on it that could be slid open from the outside. His wristwatch was removed but his diary tossed to his hand. He was locked in there at midnight; Tuesday, 27^th April.