Shadows of Power

[Jay]

Leonid Petrovich Reshetnikov sat alone in a corner of a quaint café in Moscow, the kind of place where the clink of porcelain cups and the soft murmur of conversation created a deceptively serene atmosphere. The sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm, almost peaceful glow over the room. Yet, the tranquility was an illusion, for Reshetnikov was a man accustomed to the sharp edge of danger.

He read his newspaper, scanning the headlines of the latest edition of the Moscow Times. The headline blared with a striking report: “Thailand on the Brink: Communist Expansionism Threatens Southeast Asia”. A small screen mounted in the corner of the café played loudly across the cafe. The ultranationalist pundit, Aleksandr Dugin, dominated the screen. His rhetoric was unmistakable, calling President Nemtsov a weak leader and suggesting that Thailand should be eradicated.

Reshetnikov sipped his espresso, the rich bitterness had become a customed taste for Reshetnikov. He was a man who had navigated the treacherous waters of Soviet intelligence and emerged as the chief of Russia's foreign intelligence service. A job which carried many perils as it did personal benefits.

As he finished his coffee, he gave a subtle nod to his bodyguards, who blended into the cafe and sat across it. The guards experienced themselves, were adept at blending into the surroundings.

With a final glance at the television, Reshetnikov rose from his seat. He walked toward the back exit of the café, his bodyguards falling into step behind him. He preferred the back alley—a habit from his KGB days, it wasn't out of the question, despite the end of the Soviet Union, for inner-KGB strife

The alley was dimly lit a narrow passage between two high brick walls. The city’s noise seemed a distant murmur here. Reshetnikov's guards watched him closely, their eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. The sound of footsteps echoed faintly, but the alley remained empty. The dim, flickering streetlight cast elongated shadows that danced eerily on the brick walls

Reshetnikov sensed something was off and as he turned around he saw his guards had disappeared. He moved quickly, his hand subtly shifting towards the sidearm holstered beneath his coat. But before his fingers could even reach the grip, a flash of motion caught his eye.

A shadowy figure in the alley lunged forward. Reshetnikov’s hand was slapped away. A gun was thrust against his side, its cold metal pressing into his flesh. The sound of the weapon’s safety clicking off.

Reshetnikov’s gaze locked onto the assailant. The man holding the gun was unmasked, and Reshetnikov sighed. “You,” he said. The alley was filled with tension as Reshetnikov looked at the shadow figure.

“Don’t move,” the figure growled. Reshetnikov’s face remained stoic. He shifted slightly, angling his body to minimize the pressure of the gun. “They let you out of the black crypts now have they?” Reshetnikov said steadily.

“Surprised are you,” the figure replied, stepping into the weak light. “’ Eventually your ghosts come back to haunt you, Leonid.”

“Ghosts?” Reshetnikov laughed. “You are no Ghost. Just some scumbag who thought he could rise at the back of those who lent him a hand. A nobody…” Reshetnikov’s eyebrow arched. “I’ve served my country faithfully. I’ve done what was necessary. Unlike you.”

“Faithfully?” The figure’s voice dripped with scorn. “You’re a traitor. You lick the boots of oligarchs. Your loyalty was to your own power, not to your people.”
Reshetnikov met his gaze steadily, his expression guarded. “To blame me for what happened is dishonest…dishonest to the economic stupidity of our political leadership, the political instability they left, and how unsustainable it is.”
The man’s face turned grim and his tone laced with accusation. “The system didn’t just fail by itself. It was sabotaged from within. The oligarchs took over and ran the show. And like rabid dogs you…Yeltsin…and all the others ran to the rubles they threw at your feet.”

Reshetnikov laughed rather menacingly. “Is that what you believe. You think we’re under the thumb of the Oligarchs. Be real. We’re the KGB successor. We are the flies on walls. We are the iron in nails. You should know…you had Yeltsin removed.”

The man’s face hardened, his frustration evident. “We are not the same. What I did, I did for Russia and its future. The Soviet Union was dismantled, dismantled from within, and the nation’s power and influence were severely diminished. You were complicit in allowing the destruction.”

Reshetnikov’s eyes narrowed, his voice calm but firm. “You are oversimplifying the situation. We were not always perfect, and the political landscape was in constant flux. But you served your own interests…not the nations.”

“Ah, always the politicians,” the figure sneered. “You’re the one who betrayed the ideals you were sworn to protect. You let the Union collapse so you could secure your own position and wealth. You think you’re untouchable?”

Reshetnikov’s face remained stoic, though his patience was visibly thinning. “The world changed, and we had to adapt. Don’t insul…”

The figure’s hand tightened on the gun, his frustration evident. “Adapt? You and your ilk adapted to protect yourselves while the nation crumbled. You should have been eliminated back then, but you survived. And now, it’s time for that mistake to be corrected.”

Reshetnikov’s eyes flicked toward the entrance of the alley, “You’re a fool if you think killing me will change anything. I should have dealt with you when I had the chance.”

Before Reshetnikov could react further, the figure’s finger triggered the silenced pistol, with a muffled shot, the SVR chief crumpled to the ground, a faint look of surprise etched on his face. The figure quickly adjusted the angle of the gun to make it appear as though a mugging had gone wrong. A quick check of Reshetnikov’s pockets ensured the impression was convincing.

With a final glance at the former Chief, the figure retreated into the shadows, leaving behind the dimly lit alley and the crumpled form of the former intelligence chief. The distant echo of footsteps faded, merging with the ambient noise of the city.

 

[Jay]

President Boris Nemtsov was fast asleep. The clock on the bedside table read 3:17 AM. The soft glow of a bedside lamp dimly lights the room. His wife, Irina, is still asleep beside him. The door opens quietly, and an aide, Lieutenant Gorokhov, knocked twice before entering the room.

Lieutenant Gorokhov: "Mr. President, I’m sorry to disturb you, but it's urgent. Chief of Staff Smirnoff is requesting you immediately."

Nemtsov stired himself awake as he started blinking groggily. Irina, half-awake, turns to him. Irina: "What is it, Boris?"

Nemtsov stirred, groaning softly as he became aware of the urgency. “It seems there’s an emergency, my dear,” he said, his voice heavy with sleep. He rubbed his temples before rising from the bed and slipping into a pair of neatly pressed pajamas. The aide, Lieutenant Gorokhov, stood silently in the hallway as Nemtsov quickly dressed. The President rubbed his eyes and nodded to the aide.

Nemtsov: “Let’s get going, Tolya.”

“Sir,” the aide said as he guided Nemtsov through the dimly lit corridors of the Kremlin. They moved through the grand halls, their footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the night. Eventually, they arrived at the office of the Chief of Staff. Inside, Chief of Staff Dimitry Smirnoff awaited, his face etched with tension and illuminated faintly by the glow of a solitary desk lamp.

Nemtsov: “Dima, what’s the meaning of this? Why rouse me at such an ungodly hour?”

Smirnoff: “Mr. President, I deeply regret the disturbance, but there’s grave news. The SVR Chief, Leonid Reshetnikov, has been found dead.”

Nemtsov’s eyes widened, the remnants of sleep instantly replaced by a look of shock. His expression shifted from confusion to alarm as he took a seat in front of Smirnoff’s desk.

Nemtsov: "Dead? What happened?" He asked as he took a seat in front of Smirnoff’s desk.

Smirnoff: “It appears he was the victim of a mugging gone awry, though the circumstances are increasingly looking suspicious than innocent. I wanted to inform you before the news breaks. I’ve held off the news agencies for a few hours but they won’t wait passed the morning news cycle to announce it.

Nemtsov: “This... this is disastrous. Especially now. We needed the news to focus on the Deputy Prime Minister's return. Something that showed strength, not weakness.” He sighed deeply, rubbing his face in frustration.

Smirnoff: “Indeed. We have to manage the fallout and decide our course of action. The far-right will seize this opportunity to attack you. The Social Democrats are likely to hold a hearing to exploit the situation. After the debacle of a hearing from the FSB Chief, this will be a feast for them. Not to mention, there are already rumors circulating that you had him killed to cover up the Bangkok report.”

Nemtsov: “Had him killed?! Are you mad, Dima? Are they out of their minds?” Boris’s shout echoed through the room.

Smirnoff: “I understand, Boris. But they are vultures, and your position is not looking any better.”

Nemtsov: “I’ll make those socialist swine f…”

Smirnoff: “Boris.” Dima’s tone was firm as he cut off the President. “Calm yourself. We’ll handle this.” He picked up the phone and began dialing. “First things first: extend our condolences to Ms. Reshetnikov and assure her that we are investigating the incident.”

Nemtsov: “Why not just stick with the mugging story?”

Smirnoff: “Ms. Reshetnikov is old. Not senile. She’s no stranger to this world…She knew this could’ve happened. She’ll sniff through that like a hog looking for truffles.”

Boris took up the phone, his fingers trembling slightly as he waited for Ms. Reshetnikov to answer. When her voice finally came through the line, he offered his condolences and vowed that he would not rest until those responsible were brought to justice.

“I understand the weight of this loss,” he said, “and I assure you, we will leave no stone unturned.”

As the call ended, Dima took charge, setting into motion the assembly of a task force to brief the President within the hour. Boris, meanwhile, returned to his room, his mind reeling from the weight of the news.

He approached his wife, Irina, with a weary look. “I need some time to process all of this,” he said softly, though his eyes were troubled. He slipped into a more formal attire, preparing himself to face the grim reality ahead. Rubbing his back, Irina whispered into his ears, “You’ll get through this Boris. You always do.” She said biting his ear before curling back into her sheets.

The heavy wooden doors of the conference room swung open with a resonant thud. High-ranking officials entered, their faces etched with grim resolve. The atmosphere was thick with tension as they took their places around the long, polished table, each chair creaking as everyone took their seats.

Dmitry Smirnoff cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the somber room. “The assassination of Director of the SVR,” he began, his voice carrying a note of incredulity. “Head of the SVR, right here in Moscow. How does such a thing happen? Right under our noses.” His words hung in the air as his fingers tapped the table.

Vasil Istomin, a National Security staffer with a furrowed brow, listened before speaking up as no one else would. “This assassination is a blow to us all. The loss of Chief Reshetnikov is an endearing loss. It is a blow to our foreign intelligence operations and leaves us exposed by jeopardizing our international standing. The notion that the SVR Chief could have been taken out by a foreign power is deeply troubling. The President will need a clear and actionable strategy to address this crisis.

Lavro Dmitrievich, Director of the Federal Security Service’s Counterterrorism Division, nodded thoughtfully before adding, “Our preliminary assessment suggests this was not a terrorist act. We’ve been closely monitoring channels in Central Asia due to the unrest in Afghanistan, and our joint office with the counter-intelligence division has not intercepted any relevant information from the Caucasus. Director Makarov, is there anything further to add?”

Tomas Makarov, Director of the Federal Security Service’s Counter-Intelligence Division, adjusted his glasses and leaned forward, his demeanor serious. “The murder of Chief Ivanovich is a grave blow to our counter-intelligence efforts. The fact that he was killed on our own soil is not only an embarrassment but a stark intelligence failure. As of now, the FSB has no evidence suggesting this was a coordinated assault involving foreign intelligence agencies or their operatives. We are still assessing the motive and identifying potential suspects.”

Tomas paused as he glanced at his notepad. “We are still probing the motives, but this was clearly a professional hit. The assailant was up close and personal, and the Chief’s immediate details were missing from the scene. The methodical clean-up suggests Soviet-era training, which narrows down our list of potential suspects and actors significantly.”

Dmitry fixed his gaze on the Director, his voice cutting through the tension. “Where did his guards disappear to?”

Stanislava Nikulina, Director of the Federal Security Service’s National Security Division, spoke up after a moment of silence. “At present, we don’t have answers. We are actively tracking down the missing agents. They have not reported back to the SVR nor returned to their residences. Our field agents are trying to narrow down where they could be.”

She continued, as she looked around to gauge the tension in the roomt. “Our investigation team is diligently following leads. We have several potential suspects under surveillance—individuals with the access and means to carry out such an operation. However, the defection of four SVR agents is a grave concern.”

Dmitry surveyed the room before addressing the issue directly. “Why are we so certain they are Soviet-trained? There is an elephant in the room. What if it was the Swedes? Or the British? For all we know, it could’ve been the Thais. Why are we so quick to rule them out?”f
Tomas nodded as he jolted down the Chief of Staff’s concerns before responding. “For starters, Thailand lacks the sophistication needed for such a precise operation. If a foreign power was behind this, it would necessitate a large and coordinated team— a strike team or handler to recruit the SVR agents, a surveillance unit to monitor the Chief, a facilitator to smooth over the process, a clean-up crew, an exfiltration team, and, crucially, a handler within the Embassy. We have seen no significant uptick in activity from any of the relevant embassies.”

He continued, “Regarding Soviet-style operations, there’s a distinct tendency to leave minimal evidence to avoid drawing attention or implicating the perpetrators. Our methods are typically cleaner, focusing on subtlety. Western actors, in contrast, often employ advanced technology to conceal their presence. This operation, by contrast, lacked such high-tech elements. Lastly…the Americans have a knack for explosives and drawing attention to their operations.”

Shvidkin Viktor Andreevich, Head of the Moscow Internal Affairs Main Department, spoke up after Tomas. “As far as the President is concerned, we should consider potential retaliatory actions once the perpetrators are identified. Additionally, we must enhance security for government officials…”

Brigadier General Mili Zhilov, Chief of Military Intelligence, cut him off with a sharpness in his voice. “Leave the military planning to the military,” he said, casting a steely glance at the Police Chief. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Given the way Leonid ran the SVR, this could very well be a manifestation of long-standing internal factionalism. It could also be a foreign plot—or something entirely different. What the President needs is a thorough report on what we know and a clear outline of the next steps.”

Dmitry nodded in agreement. “Thank you, Mili.”

Gasha Yershova, the Kremlin Spokeswoman, glanced down at her notes, her expression tight with frustration. “What should we tell the media?” She asked as she leaned her face into her hands.

“What we know,” Tomas replied firmly. “The evidence at the scene indicates a botched robbery. There are no immediate signs of foreign involvement. However, the FSB is investigating all possible leads. We have no further information at this time.”

Gasha raised an eyebrow, her irritation evident. “You really think that’s going to hold up? The media will be all over this. They’ll start asking if Thailand’s involved or if the Americans are trying to stir up trouble during an election season. I’m already dealing with whispers that President Nemtsov ordered this hit.” A murmur rippled through the room as the name Thailand hung in the air like a ghost.

“Let them ask their stupid questions,” Tomas said dismissively. “We’re working down our leads. That’s all we have for now.”

Gasha shot Tomas a pointed look. “Really, is that all you…”

Tomas interrupted her. “I won’t tell you how to do your job. Figure it out,” he said, standing up. “Chief Smirnoff, if the other FSB directors and I could have a moment to get updates from our teams, we’ll be ready to brief Chief Nurgaliyev.”

Dmitry Smirnoff gave a nod, allowing the FSB Directors to exit for their briefing. He then turned his attention to the remaining officials, his gaze sharp. “Shvidkin, you are dismissed. Shvidkin you are dismissed. Make sure the FSB isn’t bothered otherwise I’m flaying your fat shameless body. Gasha, head to the President’s office and come up with a statement—something tasteful, please. Vasil please write a classified memo for the Security Council to review later. I don’t need another protocol officer up my ass.”

The room acknowledged Dmitry’s orders with nods of understanding. Gasha, now clearly agitated gathered her things and left the room while Vasil walked Shvidkin out to ease his bruised ego. Dmitry motioned for Mili Zhilov Mili to walk with him.

As they walked down the corridor, Dmitry’s voice was low and concerned. “Mili, give it to me straight.

Mili’s expression was grave. “The GRU has suspected for some time that the SVR has been a mess for the last two years. The situation has been deteriorating, and it seems the internal strife has only worsened.”

“Mili,” Dmitry said, his voice low, “So it is true that the SVR has been falling apart?”

“Yes, that would be my view,” Mili responded before adding. “The agency has been a shambles for the better part of two years now, plagued by infighting and poor leadership. If not murder they are allowing their operatives to fail in the field.”

“Do we need to worry if the Americans were behind this?” Dimitry asked.

Mili shook his head. “The GRU has long suspected that the CIA managed to infiltrate the SVR during the fall of the USSR. To counter this, we formed our own covert group to monitor and address potential breaches. We’ve been cleaning shop…but no. The CIA wouldn’t have done this. They know the risks.”

“So, Lenoid’s death might have been orchestrated from within?” Dmitry asked.

Mili nodded. “It’s increasingly likely. The fact that Lenoid seems to have been killed by his own people suggests a deeper level of corruption and factionalism. I’ll dig further into our intel, but for now, I’m inclined to believe the SVR is deeply compromised.”

Dmitry nodded, his face rather tense. “If the SVR is indeed compromised, the ramifications could be far-reaching for the President…not to mention makes picking a successor more challenging. Any…

Mili cut him off. “That’s a matter for politics to decide. I’m no politician, and frankly, I wouldn’t trust the new SVR chief any more than I trusted Leonid. The political currents will determine who fills the role.” He said ending the conversation and returning to the shadows where he came from.

A few hours later, President Nemtsov entered his office to see his advisors waiting for him. He sat behind his long oakwood table that smelled of berries. His fingers drummed a rhythmic and impatient beat as his eyes seemed distant, troubled by the unsettling turn of events. “Can someone give me some good news,” Boris asked looking around the room.

Smirnoff, Nemtsov’s chief of staff, leaned in, his expression grim. “General, the optics of this situation are a nightmare. The public is already swirling with rumors and speculation. Either way, we are in deep trouble. We cannot afford the scandal of suggesting that a foreign power was involved…neither can we afford for this to be a mugging right in the heart of Moscow.

Director of the Federal Security Services Rashid Nurgaliyev looked around before speaking. “Our initial assessment was that this was a mugging gone wrong,” Nurgaliyev said turning to the screen in the President’s office. “However our forensic team concluded that this pattern gives us reason to believe that a Soviet-trained operative carried the hit.” He changed screens to show a list of countries: Poland, Ukraine, and Kazakhstan. “These are the nations who have the capabilities to conduct an assassination like this as well as the fitting the profile of the hit.” He paused letting the President take it in.”

“However, the FSB does not have any reason to suspect a foreign power was involved. Our counter-intelligence unit did not gather that from our operations in the city. Our sources do not tell us that these powers or other adversaries were involved in such an operation.” Nurgaliyev said ending his slides.

Mili who had been looking out the window would hear his name called out by the President. “Mili…what do you make of this,” Boris asked pointing to the camera shots of Lenoid in the alleyway.

“A good thief could’ve easily done this,” Mili said almost brushing aside what Rashid had said. “There are parts of Moscow where crime lords and oligarchs run mini-Republics. Places where if you cross the wrong guy…you end up like that.” Mili said pointing to Lenoids body.

“Whoever killed the SVR Chief is sending a message,” Mili said with a shrug as he looked around the room. “Any one of us can be next. Do you trust your guards after what happened?” Mili asked Rashid as he paced around the office. “Perhaps Lenoid’s death is meant to spur chaos.”

Boris looked rather annoyed as his gaze was fixed on the flickering shadows cast by the overhead lights. “Chaos…to what end. To bring…”

Mili interrupted the President. “Chaos isn’t a pit. It doesn’t lead to an end…but a beginning. Chaos is a ladder. Many who try to climb it fail, and never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some are given a chance to climb, but they refuse. The climb is all there is. Whoever killed that man had a reason. I advise us all to forget the currents of politics and think of the deeper risks at stake. That of the Federation”

“Stop it, Director.” Boris said, having enough of Mili’s games, “speak the plain truth or do not speak at all.”

Mili sighed before responding. “Mr. President. The news will blow over eventually. The pundits will find something new to gnarl over. Your presidency is not the only thing at stake.” He said gaining a snicker from Boris.

“So. We don’t know who is responsible. We don’t know why. We only know that Lenoid is dead. And on top of that, my top officials have become riddlers instead of spymasters. Great.” Boris said rather sarcastically.

Smirnoff would try to step in but Boris would box him out. “Director Nurgaliyev I’m giving you twelve hours to give me an answer. Otherwise…don’t bother coming back at all. Gasha follow me” Boris said getting up and leaving the room. Smirnoff nodded recognizing that the President was getting tired but he felt bad how he ended the conversation.

As Boris left the room, he turned back to the Director. “Great job at the Duma.” He said as he turned around and headed back to his room.

“Thank you, Sir,” Nurgaliyev said as Nemtsov and Yershova left the room and he began to pack his stuff.

“It wasn’t a compliment,” Dimitry said as he walked leaving Rashid in the room.

Dmitry Smirnoff walked with Yuri Nikolaev, one of Boris’ security confidants.

“This could be a blessing in disguise,” Smirnoff said, his tone low as he and Yuri walked to the garage. “Reshetnikov was a liability. I’d heard whispers that he was planning something with the Rodina party—
Yuri glanced around before responding. “And the implications of this ‘mugging’? If it’s seen as up…”an internal matter…it would be just as damaging. if it gets out that we’re covering something

Dimitry waved a hand dismissively. “The blood is in the water and the poison is in the air. Lenoid was a traitor. That is for certain. What matters now is how we handle this. The President’s reaction will be crucial. We need to ensure that he sees this as an opportunity, not a catastrophe. It is time to clean up the legacy of Yeltsin out of the intelligence agencies.”

Yuri laughed. “You want to fight the Razvedchik.” He said not believing it himself.

Dimitry looked around again before responding as they rounded a corner “Reshetnikov was becoming a problem. He was aligning himself with the oligarchs, building connections in the Duma, and more importantly flirting in places he shouldn’t have been. You saw what happened to Nurgaliyev…they ate him alive out there. These guys are shadows of what they were. They’ve allowed their agencies to become principalities. Carving out fiefdoms for themselves. They are not the Razvedchik who reeked of terror.”

Yuri shrugged “You think it was the people that got Yeltsin ousted?” Yuri asked Dimitry almost with a smirk. “The Silvoki are one thing. The oligarchs are another. The Razvedchik are something else completely. They are playing a different game Dimitry. One well above your head.” He said almost as a warning.

Dimitry looked at his friend as they waited for the elevator. “I know one thing. Russia will not survive the next decade if we allow those hogs to steer this ship into an iceberg. I’ll be damned if I let them play their games at our expense.”

Yuri smiled, as the elevator opened, ending their conversation. He handed Dimitry a name. “Vladimir is a promising guy. I’d vouch for him as a successor to Lenoid…when the time is right.” Yuri said as the elevator closed.