978042511408750395

AN UNHOLY TERROR
STALKS THE GODLESS EMPIRE .
The Soviet premier hesitated, wondering what effect
the next item would have.
"Our Party leader wishes to appoint Colonel
Valarian to the post of Minister of the Interior," he
said.
"NO!" Somoroff screamed. "No! That man is a
murderer. He destroyed my son. He has been re-
sponsible for murder in one hundred cities and towns.
And you will make him a Minister? He will burn in
Hell before that!"
RED DEVIL

Books by David Saperstein
from The Berkley Publishing Group
cocoon
metamorphosis
red devil

DAVID SAPERSTEIN
BERKLEY BOOKS, NEW YORK

RED DEVIL
A Berkley Book/published by arrangement with
the author
•
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley edition/February 1989
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1989 by David Saperstein.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,
by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.
For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
200 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016.
ISBN: 0-425-11408-2
A BERKLEY BOOK® TM 757,375
Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
200 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016
The name "BERKLEY" and the "B" logo
are trademarks belonging to Berkley Publishing Corporation.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
10 9 87654321

The author gratefully acknowledges the help and inspiration
provided by the following people:
Rabbi David A. Mersky, Director of Campaign and
Development, Combined Jewish Philanthropies of Bos-
ton, Boston, Massachusetts
Rabbi James Perman of the Free Synagogue of
Westchester, Mount Vernon, New York
Rabbi Noah Hefetz of the Institute for the Heritage
of Zefat in Halacha and Kabbalah, Zefat, Israel
Nira and Arie Posner of Tel Aviv, Israel
Mr. David M. Szonyi for his wonderful research
efforts
Mr. Anatoly Shcharansky for his extraordinary spirit,
will, and inspiration
The late James "Yasha" Smith, my true Russian uncle
Father Colm Murphy of The Columbian Order, Brus-
sels, Belgium
Qin Shi Huangdi, the first emperor of China who
created the terra cotta soldiers of Xian (Sian), and the
Government of The People's Republic of China, which
has taken great care to preserve them for us all
Natalee Rosenstein, my editor who caught the
"spirit" . . .
Susan Schulman, my agent who inspires

To
Cherie and Lou Bernard
and
Iris—the Fabulous Siri
for always sharing the dream
and
Aunt Lil Eisen—my teacher
Aunt Henri Luchan—my other mother
Uncle Harry Luchan—my pal
May Cod bless

PROLOGUE
The chill January dawn was the first morning of total silence.
Hardly an inch of earth was not covered with the blood of
Soviet heroes on Mamai Kurgan Hill. Below, the Volga River
flowed slowly past the awesome scene of death and destruc-
tion that was Stalingrad in early 1943.
But the German invader was gone—stopped and forced to
retreat. Beaten. The price was clear on the bloody hill that
morning as a sea of bodies, Soviet and German, lay twisted
and contorted in silent testimony to the madness of war.
A Soviet staff car worked its way slowly up the hill. Once
in a while a waft of smoke, carried on the frosty wind,
crossed the hillside. The man driving the car was oblivious to
the carnage around him. He slowly approached his goal, a
concrete bunker near the crest of the hill.
The man had a regal bearing, even as he sat behind the
wheel of the battered Mercedes, a gift from Adolf Hitler to
his one-time friend and ally, Joseph Stalin. How ironic the
car's history was on the hill that day. But to the driver, it
meant nothing. His deep black eyes were cold, lifeless blood-
stones set in a gaunt, pale, scarred face.
Waffen SS Colonel Wilhelm Hendricks's staff car eased to
a halt in front of the abandoned Soviet bunker. He was
dressed in the uniform of a Russian major. The cold, dead
body of a Soviet captain, Vladimir Barnowski, lay near the
entrance. The colonel stepped over the corpse and went down
the concrete steps into the bunker's main room. He was
alone.
Although the day was bright outside, the interior of the
1

2
David Saperstein
bunker was dark. But from a shaft of light angling from the
firing slit onto the wall to his right, he could make out the
form of another body draped over a machine gun.
Colonel Hendricks was unmoved by the sight of death as
he pushed the dead soldier to the side and peered through the
opening. The landscape in front was barren and scarred from
the battle. Bodies, in whole or part, were scattered in front of
him like toy soldiers left behind by a child. It had been a
fierce battle. Some would say later that this was the exact
point where the Soviet Army stopped the Germans and turned
the tide of the war on the Eastern Front.
The Nazi Colonel went back outside and dragged the So-
viet captain's body several yards from where he found it. He
went through the man's pockets and removed his identity
cards. He tore off the battalion insignia and rank marking
from the uniform. He then took a small bottle of acid from his
pocket and poured it onto the fingertips of the dead man. He
did the same to the dead man's hair. A twisted smile appeared
on the evil, burn-scarred face of the German officer. He
compared his hands, also badly scarred, to the Soviet's. They
were almost the same size.
After looking around to see that he was alone, the SS
Colonel went to the car and took a spare gasoline can from
the back seat. He poured the gasoline over the dead Soviet
officer. Then he removed a jade and silver ring from his
finger and put it on the middle finger of the corpse's right
hand. He struck a match and the body burst into flames.
Satisfied, he turned and walked back into the bunker. Within
a few seconds it exploded violently. A cloud of black smoke
rose high in the sky.

Outside the Kremlin, Moscow was in the grip of winter. The
sky was grey. Snow had fallen all week. It was Friday. The
bureaucrats and government officials of the modern commu-
nist era were taking leave for the weekend. The premier's
office still showed a light.
Premier Ivan Ivanovich Alexeyevich, Premier of all the
Russias, President of the Presidium of the Union of Soviet
Socialist Republics, was sitting in his favorite chair by a
small fireplace. He sat alone, staring into the flames and
sipping his tea. His face appeared troubled and deep in thought.
The jacket to his blue serge suit hung in the closet. He still
wore the vest.
There was a knock on his door. He looked up and smiled.
He stood and crossed the room to greet his visitor—a man
who had been a good friend long ago, in another place.
Peter Ilyavich Somoroff was tall and close in age to the
premier, but he did not show his fifty-five years, as the
premier did. His step was firm on the soft Persian rugs.
The two men met in the middle of the room and clasped
hands. The premier then reached for his friend's shoulders,
brought him toward his face, and kissed him on the cheeks.
"Peter . . . Peter, my dear old friend. You look well."
"Premier Ivan Ivanovich. Thank you. You look tired."
The premier laughed. "Yes . . . tired. You think it is easy
to be the premier of all the Russias? Come and have some
tea."
"Yes, tea would be good. It's a Moscow winter out there."
The two men's eyes met and locked. The premier was the
3

4
David Saperstein
first to look away as he put his teacup down near the samo-
var. "Peter, I asked you to come because I have a problem—a
personal problem. I asked you to come here ... to this place
... at this time . . . because I am deeply disturbed with
things that I do not understand."
Somoroff immediately became interested. "Well, old friend,
I cannot imagine a problem that you, I mean a man who sits
in this room, cannot solve one way or another."
Ivan Ivanovich shook his head. "Ah, Ilyavich, you would
be surprised at what can't be solved in this room. Let me
show you something."
The premier slowly crossed the room to his large desk.
Peter followed. It was a neat desk with papers piled along one
side and a telecommunications console on the other. An
ornate fountain pen and inkwell set made of onyx stood
proudly on the desk. The inscription read: Ivan Ivanovich
Alexeyevich—a citizen of Odessa—a friend of the people—
true son of Russia. It was signed by the City Council of
Odessa and dated on the day he was elected premier.
Ivan Ivanovich stood at the right side of the desk and bent
to pull out a file. It was sealed with a leather binding and
strap that doubled around the file and joined with a locked
clasp. The premier reached into his vest pocket and took out a
small key.
"Here it is. Come, sit over here. This will be a long night.
Let's be comfortable by the fire."
They walked to their chairs near the glowing fireplace.
Peter was staring at the file and wondering why the premier
had to keep files locked in his own office. His mind drifted
for a moment to his own office and the rows and rows of
locked files that were there. But that was normal business for
the KGB. Files and locks, locks and files ... the things that
dreams are made of—mostly bad dreams for the names in
those files.
Settled again the premier spoke. "What I am about to show
you, and tell you, could be the end of me in this office, but I
believe, deeply believe, that what happens to me is now of
little importance. There is a danger. A long sharp bloody
knife is aimed at the heart of our great country. I believe that.
It is like a kukri, you know, the curved, double-edged knife
the Gurkha use. And it is in the hands of a man who knows
how to use it.''

RED DEVIL
5
Somoroff stared at the premier. He could hardly believe the
words he had just heard. There was fear in this voice. They
had been through much together—wars . . . women . . .
death . . . depravity . . . even murder, but this was a differ-
ent thing he heard. This was a man who was sincerely
frightened, and because it was the premier of the Soviet
Union speaking, Peter felt a chill pass through him.
The premier sighed and continued. "Well now. This file
was started two years ago by Boris Menoff. He did it on his
own and gave it to me just one week ago. We met the next
day after I had read it, and we talked for several hours. I must
admit that I did not believe him, but you know, he was a dear
friend like you, and he was a man I trusted."
Peter stopped him. "Was?"
"He is dead."
"When . . . how . . . ?" Peter was shocked. "I heard
nothing."
"You will hear nothing. Perhaps in a few weeks a heart
attack or something, and a private funeral."
The premier reached for a bottle of brandy next to the
samovar and poured a glass. He gestured questioningly to
Peter and then poured another glass. Both men quickly downed
the warming liquid. The premier poured another.
"Boris died in my arms here, in this office, on Wednesday
afternoon at six thirty-three pm. He died in a way I cannot
begin to describe. Words are inadequate. He was ... he was
. . . destroyed from inside."
The premier's eyes moistened. Peter came to his side.
"Ivan Ivanovich . . . what happened?"
The premier reached for his key and opened the file. He
handed it to Peter and gestured for him to sit down and read
it. Then he leaned back in the chair and stared at the fire.
Peter Ilyavich Somoroff was a Georgian. He had been in
the Cossack guard and had served as a tank commander in
World War II. He moved to counterintelligence during the
occupation of East Germany. He rose fast in the NKVD, and
transferred to the KGB when it became an independent agency,
but had the sense to move into the background when Stalin
was on a rampage. It was in those years that he had met Ivan
Alexeyevich in Odessa. Peter made it his business to be near
a seaport when Stalin was in one of his moods. One never

6
David Saperstein
knew when a knock on the door would come. It was easy to
shoot down a plane or stop a car, but it was hard to find a
ship at sea. Ports were the best hiding places. Besides, a fast
speedboat could make it across the Black Sea to Turkey in
less than a day—perhaps a bit more if you had to dodge
patrols.
Ivan Alexeyevich had such a boat, and it was in this way
that the two men had met.
Peter noticed the boat in the harbor one Sunday as he
lunched at a restaurant near the shore. It was low, sleek,
and very official looking. He watched it move slowly out of
the harbor and then, just beyond the seawall, the sound of the
engines changed pitch and the boat seemed to rise out of the
water, moving toward the point on Karkinitskiy Bay called
Ak-Mechet. It moved faster than any boat he had ever seen. It
was an early hydrofoil, and Ivan Alexeyevich was its designer
and builder. Peter vowed to find the owner and to become his
friend. With such a boat his security was guaranteed.
Boris Menoff was a Jew. He was also one of the few
people who could communicate with the German scientists
whom Ivan Alexeyevich had brought to the Soviet Union
after the war. Boris, it was said, had a way of convincing the
Germans that their lives depended on how he wrote the
reports that Commissar Alexeyevich required before the sci-
entists were allowed to work. He used to liken his role to that
Dr. Mengele had played before the long lines of Jews in
Auschwitz. This one to the right . . . this one to the left. He
also let them know that he was born a Jew.
At one meeting late in 1945 he had gathered thirty-eight
German scientists in the meeting room at the compound in
Smolensk. He had been having some difficulty with this
group because they had banded together and refused to work.
There originally had been thirty-nine of them. But at this
meeting one was missing. Menoff never mentioned where he
was, but he wore the missing man's ring on his finger. No
one missed this fact. At the end of the meeting he brought a
box into the room and displayed the severed head of the
missing scientist. He then promised a head a day if work did
not immediately proceed. It did.
Actually, the unfortunate scientist had died in the night of a
heart attack. Boris only took advantage of his body, which

RED DEVIL
7
was of no use to the Soviet Union anymore. When Stalin
heard about the incident he personally telephoned Boris and
congratulated him.
Ivan and Boris met at a Party function in Leningrad in
1953. Boris had lived there all of his life, even in the days
when it was called Petrograd. He had survived the pogroms
and finally renounced his religion for the Party. He did this
out of conviction, not fear. He was a communist through and
through. He was also rising in the Party and had the reputa-
tion of being a very thorough and precise man. Ivan and Boris
immediately became friends, for what Boris lacked in poise
and political finesse, Ivan had. Alexeyevich on the other hand
could feel the power and strength of this diminutive man.
From the day they met, they became a team and a power to
be reckoned with in the Party.
On the day Peter spotted the hydrofoil, they were cruising
to Yalta. The boat was handling well, and Ivan ordered top
speed as soon as they were out of sight of land. They ran at
seventy knots for ten minutes, and then Ivan ordered the boat
back to cruising speed for the rest of the journey. He put his
arm around Boris and, laughing, they went to their quarters.
The rest of the journey was spent with vodka, two beautiful
Mongol girls from Chita, and sleep.
Peter Somoroff met Ivan Alexeyevich one week after he
learned that it was he who controlled the hydrofoil. Boris
Menoff introduced them. It took little time before the three
men became close friends, a friendship they kept to themselves.
Ivan was the politician.
Boris was the activist.
Peter was the organizer.
Together they formed a synergistic troika. They often joked
about the strength of threes, long a symbol of Russian might.

2
An hour passed before Peter looked up at the premier. He had
gone through the file three times. Boris Menoff had been his
usual efficient self. The material was well organized, but
some conclusions seemed to be missing from the file. What
was inferred had never been quite spelled out. It had been
difficult even to surmise the purpose after the first reading.
During the second reading Peter entertained a thought so
bizarre that he dismissed it. After the third reading there was
little doubt in his mind as to the conclusion Boris was heading
toward before he died. But to believe that was pure fantasy.
And Somoroff was a pragmatic policeman.
The file was filled with facts, events, names . . . and
toward the end, a great deal of innuendo.
It began in 1952, one year before the death of Premier
Stalin. A long list of young officers and party members
assigned to keep tabs on the Jewish population of the Soviet
Union was the first document. A name was circled—Major
Nickolai Valarian. Nothing more.
The next entry was a series of articles from a Leningrad
newspaper. The first reported the suicide of a man after he
had murdered his wife and three children. As in all Russian
papers, the details of the murder were withheld, but the
suicide could not be hidden. The man, a rabbi, had immo-
lated himself in front of the Opera House.
The second article dealt with a minor protest by the congre-
gation of the dead rabbi. They maintained that the rabbi had
not committed the crime and, in fact, had been murdered
himself. The name of Nickolai Valarian was neatly under-
8

RED DEVIL
9
lined. He had been the investigating officer at the protest that
took place at police headquarters in Leningrad. Valarian was
not a member of the Leningrad police but was attached to
Internal State Security. His headquarters were nearby in the
city of Pushkin. The article also mentioned that Major Valarian
and his men had taken several of the protesters into custody.
The final article in the series was dated two months after
the occurrence of the presumed suicide. It was not from the
Leningrad newspaper but was rather a small clipping from an
Estonian weekly. It stated that the third synagogue fire in as
many weeks had taken place in Leningrad and that a Major
Valarian from Internal State Security had completed an inves-
tigation showing that the fires were being set by the congre-
gants themselves in an attempt to disrupt the "People's
Government" by claiming anti-Semitic actions. Once again
Boris had underlined Valarian's name.
There followed in the file several more articles and newspaper
clippings, official internal documents, clippings from Ger-
man, American, Israeli, and Canadian papers, and a letter
from a Mrs. Katarina Barnowski from Gorki requesting that
her husband, Captain Vladimir Barnowski, missing in action
in 1943 near Stalingrad, now called Volgograd, be removed
from the rolls of deserters and given the proper honors of a
hero of the USSR. Thus far the clippings had all pertained to
the treatment of Jews in the USSR from 1952 to 1977. As a
collection they were a damning statement of anti-Semitism.
That was not a surprise to Peter Somoroff, nor was the fact
that a former Jew, Boris Menoff, had gathered this data.
What was surprising was the letter from Mrs. Barnowski. It
didn't fit. Then Peter noticed that the request had been an-
swered officially and denied. The answer was dated July 15,
1957, and was signed by Colonel Nickolai Valarian. The
major had become a colonel and was now assigned to the
Security and Records Division of the Army.
The next entry in the file was a blown-up black and white
photograph taken from an Army identity card. The face was
badly scarred from burns. The expression was alert. The eyes
were piercing even through the softness of the blowup. There
was no hair on his head, only scar tissue. It was a photo of
Colonel Nickolai Valarian.
The two men sipped their tea and brandy.

10
David Saperstein
"Was Boris ill when he wrote this last entry?" Somoroff
asked.
"He was changed. Something was dying inside . . . here."
The premier touched his hand to his heart.
"I don't understand. Boris gave up his religion long ago,
yet this file is filled with ... I don't know what to call it."
"I call it God. Boris Menoff was reaching for his God."
"How did he die?"
"Horribly. In agony ... in my arms. Even in death, his
face was not at peace."
Peter leaned toward his old friend. "Ivan Ivanovich, this is
the twentieth century . . . almost the twenty-first. These fan-
tasies that Boris infers . . . they are unbelievable. Don't you
think so?"
"Yes," the premier answered softly. "But Boris was a
rational man, and a friend. And I have seen things happening
. . ." His voice drifted off wistfully. The premier stopped
talking for a moment. Then he caught himself and focused
back on Somoroff. "Peter Ilyavich, I want you to pursue this
affair." His voice was now businesslike.
"Of course."
The premier stood, signaling that the meeting had ended.
Peter stood too. Both men studied one another again.
"Boris was afraid of this Colonel Valarian. Are you?"
Peter asked.
"I can deal with him, but his ideas, his methods—those
can hurt us. This is the USSR on the move," the premier said
proudly as he swept his hand toward the relief map of the
Soviet Union that dominated one wall of his office. "We
cannot tolerate negative world opinion for policies that do not
emanate from this office. We are old friends, and I tell you I
am frightened for this country that we love. Boris was a good
man. He was always a Jew at heart. Superstitious. But some-
times things can get out of control . . . people can gather
power in this bureaucracy we've built and destroy everything
Russia might become. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Somoroff answered. He suspected the premier knew
more than he was telling. "Let me get to work."
"Good." Ivan Ivanovich Alexeyevich slapped his old friend
on the back. "It's good to see you. You look well. How is
your family?"
"They are all well. My son is an officer now. Armored."

RED DEVIL
11
They walked to the door of the premier's office and em-
braced as they had done when they first met earlier that
evening.
"Let me know if you need anything, Peter Ilyavich."
"I will." He started to leave, then turned back to the
premier. "And Ivan Ivanovich, please rest easy. We'll get to
the bottom of this business and clean it up."
The premier looked kindly at his old friend. "Yes. Make
me an airtight case against this Valarian, and we can both put
dear Boris's bones to rest."
The Kremlin was quiet when Peter Somoroff left with
Boris Menoff s file tucked neatly in his soft leather attache
case. The premier remained in his apartment behind the for-
bidding Kremlin walls, a man alone at the head of a great
nation. A proud man.
"It's yours now," the premier had said, gesturing to
Menoff s file. "Be careful. I have lost one dear friend. I
don't want to lose another."
"You won't. Let me attack it my way, plodding as that
may be. I promise you and the ghost of our old friend Boris
that I will get to the bottom of this thing." The men had
embraced once again and Peter had clamped his hand on the
premier's shoulder. "He was my friend too, Ivan Ivanovich.
Good night."

3
Detective, in a word, described Peter Somoroff and his ap-
proach to his work. Facts. The case must always be built on
facts. And he knew that sometimes facts were not exactly
what they initially seemed to be. He had the distinction of
being above politics in his role in the KGB, due mostly to his
superior abilities as a detective. After all, espionage aside, a
good policeman was always an asset to a security organization.
The next morning Peter Somoroff ate breakfast with his
wife, Nadja, and her mother, Maria. The old woman, nearly
eighty now, lived with them in their three-bedroom flat on the
south side of Lenin Square. His position in the government
allowed for the spacious apartment. The Somoroffs had two
children. The girl, Anya, was a student at the Polytechnical
Institute in Omsk. They only saw her once a year since the
central Soviet city was more than 1500 miles from Moscow.
Their son, also named Peter, was serving with the Army in
Chita, near the Mongolian-Manchurian border, as a tank
commander.
Peter had awakened early and made three calls. The first
was to his assistant, Leonid Chomsky, telling the young
lieutenant to meet him at the office later that morning. The
second was to Katarina Barnowski in the city of Gorki. The
late captain's wife was at home and surprised to hear from
an official regarding her request that her husband be taken
off the rolls of deserters. Peter told her that he would like
to speak to her and would arrange to be in Gorki the next
day.
The last call was to the widow of his good friend Boris
12

RED DEVIL
13
Menoff. Celia Menoff sounded cold and distant on the phone
but agreed to accept his visit that afternoon.
Peter finished his breakfast, kissed both women, and left.
His car was parked in front of the apartment house. It was a
late model Skoda, another symbol of his status. After three
tries, the small engine caught and he drove across Lenin
Square toward his office.
Peter had made a decision. He would involve as few people
as he could in the initial investigation. They, in turn, would
know as little as possible about the overall operation. He
would be the central control and the only one who knew all of
the facts.
When he arrived, Chomsky was waiting in the office
anteroom.
"Good morning, Leonid. Sorry about this. I hate to disturb
your weekend, but it is important."
The young lieutenant dismissed the apology. He was totally
loyal to his boss. He also knew that Somoroff was a personal
friend of the premier. Contacts like that never hurt a career.
Both men entered Somoroff's office. Peter chose his words
carefully.
"Leonid, last night I had a call from the premier. We met
in his office. He asked me to do him a favor. But it is very
delicate. It can go no further than this office, and until I tell
you otherwise, no one—I repeat no one—is to know what
you are doing. Is that clear?"
"Absolutely, sir."
The young man was excited. He sensed something impor-
tant was happening.
"Good," Peter answered. "Now, first I want you to go
over to our records department and get everything you can on
a Colonel Nickolai Valarian. Be careful. Speak to no one.
Get the file yourself. Don't sign it out."
"Don't sign it out?" questioned Chomsky. "You mean
steal it?"
"I mean get the damn file over here before two this
afternoon. How you do it is none of my business."
Peter's voice was stern. It surprised Leonid because his
boss was normally a very mild-mannered man.
Chomsky answered quietly, "Yes, sir." He got up. "Will
there be anything else?"
"Yes. Understand this is serious business. I want you to

14
David Saperstein
turn over anything else you are doing to Captain Servioff.
Tell him it is my order. If he has any questions, have him see
me."
"Very well." The lieutenant started to leave. Peter spoke
again.
"Leonid? How well do you know Pushkin?"
"I was bom there."
"Yes. Next week you will have a holiday. I'm sending you
home on leave . . . officially. Unofficially you will have
some work up there."
"Very well, sir." He closed the door and pondered the
change in his boss's manner. Although Leonid was only
twenty-eight years old, he had gathered wisdom far beyond
his years. His teacher, Peter Somoroff, was the best. Yes,
something big was up. Okay, he thought, if it is this Valarian
you want, then it will be Valarian you will get, Peter Ilyavich
Somoroff. And anything else you ask me to do. Loyalty was
one of Chomsky's great strengths.
After Chomsky departed, Peter engaged the scrambler on
his phone and called the premier. In a moment the familiar
voice came on the line.
"Good morning, Ivan Ivanovich," said Peter.
"Good morning, old friend. How are you?"
"Just fine. I wanted to tell you I am at work, and we are
already making progress. I will need someone to act as a
liaison to you. I thought we might consider Boris's wife, but I
called her this morning and she sounded strange. I am going
to see her this afternoon. Any thoughts?"
There was a pause on the phone.
"No, Peter. I haven't seen her since well before the ... ah
Boris's . . . accident. It went through official channels. She
may even blame me. Let me know what you think."
"Very well," Peter answered. "If not her, then perhaps
we can arrange a leave for my son."
"Where is he now?"
"Chita. With the 294th Armored Brigade."
"Like father, like son, eh, Peter?"
"For his sake, I hope not. But he's trustworthy. That I can
guarantee."
"Fine. If Celia is no good, we can arrange for your young
Peter to have some leave. Call me later."

RED DEVIL
15
"Good. Later then, Alexeyevich."
"Goodbye."
The next few hours went quickly for Peter Somoroff, so
quickly that he was surprised to see Leonid Chomsky stand-
ing before him. Somoroff had reread Boris Menoff's file on
Valarian several times.
"That was quick, Leonid. Any problems?"
"No, sir. Well, a small one . . . not really a problem."
"What happened?"
"The file was not in the general access area, and it was not
on the computer. That can happen, but it is rare."
"Where did you find it?"
"In the secure section. I used your entry code to the
computer."
"My code? You have my code?"
"You said how I got the file was my business."
"Correct. Good," he said, smiling.
"There is something else that is sort of funny."
"Yes?"
"The file is incomplete. On both ends."
"Explain."
"It begins in 1943. It ends in 1977. Look."
The young man put the printout sheet on Peter's desk. The
first page heading read:
Valarian, Nickolai. Colonel, USSR Army, 1957, Bach-
elor Officers Quarters, Building 347. USSR Army, Se-
curity and Records Division. Member Communist Party,
1952, status—current.
Then an asterisked notation interrupted what appeared to be a
normal file.
***A11 records on Valarian, Nickolai prior to 1943
destroyed in Leningrad by fire. Subject suffered acute
amnesia and third-degree burns on 68% of his body in
battle, Stalingrad, 1943.
Hospitalized at Grozny Burn Institute, 1943-1950.
Recuperation in Baku, 1950-1951. Military pension re-
fused by subject. Readmitted to active duty, Internal
Affairs, 1952.

16
David Saperstein
The file then continued normally, outlining Valarian's ca-
reer. Much of it was in Menoff's file. In 1977 the file ended
abruptly. Peter Somoroff noted the last entry. He knew it had
been made by Boris Menoff himself.
Subject: Valarian, Nickolai. Colonel, USSR Army,
Security and Records Division, Department of Internal
Jewish Affairs. Budget request for extraordinary increase
by Colonel Valarian denied by Commissar B. Menoff
acting as Deputy Minister, Bureau of Budget, Internal
Affairs.
Finally, the computer printed a curt closing on the file.
File transferred July 14, 1977. Secure code entry termi-
nated. See Division Chief, Security and Records Divi-
sion, USSR Army.
In effect, if you wanted to know more about Colonel Valarian,
the computer was telling you to see Colonel Valarian personally.
"Clever," commented Peter.
"I don't recall ever seeing anything quite like it," said the
young lieutenant.
"There are ways, Chomsky. But in a government like ours
it is difficult to hide everything. We will see."
Somoroff stood behind his desk. He folded the printout and
put it into his briefcase.
"Now, Leonid ..." The KGB colonel moved around to
the front of the desk and put his hand on Chomsky's shoul-
der. Both men walked toward the office door. "I want you off
on holiday to Pushkin. Cut the orders yourself and sign them
for me. Send me a copy. Our friend Valarian was in Internal
State Security headquartered in Pushkin in 1952. See what
you can find out, especially about some business with the
Jews in Leningrad."
Peter had made copies of the articles from Menoff's file
regarding the dead rabbi and the protests. He gave them to
Chomsky.
"These will help. Just get whatever you can and be back
here next Saturday morning. We will talk. Have a good trip."
Chomsky started to leave through the anteroom. Peter called
after him.

RED DEVIL
17
"Leonid."
The young man stopped. "Yes, sir?"
"Be careful. Keep things to yourself. It's important."
"Yes, sir. I understand."
The lieutenant left Peter standing at the office door. No,
thought Somoroff, you don't understand. But you will soon
enough.

4
There were 478 cinder blocks surrounding Isadore Vogel,
former rabbi of Congregation B'nai Jesherin of the city of
Minsk in the western Soviet Union. He could not remember
when he had first counted the blocks, but now he could look
at any wall in the compound and immediately tell you how
many blocks it contained.
Outside, the Siberian winter made a Moscow winter seem
like spring. His room, his home, was exactly twelve feet by
twelve feet by six feet. There was a door, a bed, a table and
chair, a small dresser, and no window. A small, oval woven
mat covered the center of the floor. It always reminded Rabbi
Vogel of a yarmulke.
He had been in Tostuya, in the science compound, for
seven and a half years. Before that there had been three other
camps. He had not seen his family in all that time. Once in a
while there were letters, but he could not answer them. For
all he knew they might have been told he was dead. There
hadn't been a letter for over two years. He tried not to think
about them. Sometimes a week would pass and then he would
remember. But he didn't cry anymore.
Today he had been washing the bathroom floor near the
reception center processing section. He saw a group of very
well-dressed men being processed. He knew one of them.
The man was a well-known scientist, a mathematician, named
Yasha Mendel. Yasha was from Minsk but had moved away
twelve years ago. He hadn't been a religious Jew. When the
rabbi saw Mendel he thought, Mendel . . . Yasha Mendel
. . . what have you done to bring you to this place? You were
18

RED DEVIL
19
always the Russian first and the Jew second. What has hap-
pened? Rabbi Vogel knew he might have to wait a long time
for the answer. But one thing that he had developed as a
prisoner was patience. Without patience you either went mad
or killed yourself. So the rabbi cleaned the floor and asked
God what Mendel had done. It made his day quite interesting
as he speculated on the possibilities.

5
Celia Menoff's appearance shocked Peter. He was so riveted
by her emaciated condition that he didn't notice the physical
change in the Menoff apartment until after they had sat down
in the living room. She looked terrible. What has happened to
you, Celia dear? thought Peter. The once vivacious and beau-
tiful woman had aged overnight. Her long dark hair was
matted and streaked with grey. Her dark eyes looked glassy
and hollow. She had always taken pride in her figure, which
for a woman in her late forties was remarkably young. Now
Peter observed a thin, shuffling ghost of the woman he had
known.
"Tea?" she asked.
"That would be nice, Celia. How are you?"
She pointed to a chair near the window. "You sit down,
Peter Ilyavich. I'll be a moment." She went to the kitchen for
the tea.
Now he noticed the apartment. It sent a chill through his
body.
The room was dark. The only light came from the window
near him and, from far off in the corner, a menorah, the
Jewish candelabrum, which was burning with seven candles.
As his eyes adjusted to the light he saw that the furniture in
the room was covered with black cloth. Only his chair and a
small wooden bench nearby were uncovered. The large wall
mirror was covered with black paint. But something was
written, or drawn, on the mirror. He walked toward it for a
closer look. There was a square painted on the mirror, and the
square was divided into forty-nine boxes. In each box was a
20

RED DEVIL
21
letter. He walked closer to read the letters as Celia came into
the room.
"No, Peter. Get away from that!" There was panic in her
voice.
"What is it, Celia?"
"Something . . . nothing . . . Sit. Please sit near the
window."
She put the tea tray on the floor near the wooden bench.
"One sugar, right?"
"Right," he answered, watching her squat to prepare his
tea.
She handed him the glass, took her own, and sat on the
bench. "I knew he would call you," she began, "and I knew
you would get involved. Boris knew too."
"Boris was my friend. I loved him and so did Ivan Ivanovich.
Of course I am involved."
"Of course." She seemed to stare into empty space, as
though he were not there.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes."
A noise entered the room. A moan. It came from the corner
near the menorah. Peter looked up and saw two of the candles
go out. Celia dropped her glass onto the floor. It didn't break,
but the tea spilled. As he looked back at her she was on her
feet and moving quickly to the mirror. She stood in front of
the box of letters and muttered words he didn't understand.
Then she lit the two candles with the center candle. The noise
stopped. Peter shivered again.
"You should not be here," she said as she returned to the
bench.
"Tell me about it, Celia."
Life and anger suddenly came to her face.
"No!" she screamed. "I can't."
He leaned to her and grabbed her shoulders. He felt her
bones through the grey sweater.
"Celia. Listen to me." His voice was firm. "I want to
know what happened. I want to know everything Boris told
you, everything you saw, everything you know he did. It is
very important."
She looked up at him. The anger and fear were gone. The
blank expression returned.
"Everything?" she said. "You won't believe me. You'll

22
David Saperstein
think I am insane." She laughed a hollow laugh. "Perhaps
am insane. Boris thought he was, you know ... at least for ;
while. Then it became real, and he knew he wasn't insane
Then he was just frightened."
She looked at Peter, and some life came into her eyes. Shi
reached out and touched his face.
"It was the first time in his life that he was frightened. Yoi
knew him well. He was your friend ... I know you dii
many things together. He didn't speak of them, but I knev
. . . I know. He loved you, Peter Ilyavich. He loved me
too."
He watched her relax a bit. Peter released her from his grij
and leaned back in the chair. "Tell me, Celia. I have t<
know."
She braced herself and her eyes cleared. She took a dee]
breath and let the air out slowly. Then she spoke.
"Boris was a Jew. You know he gave it up long ago . .
for the Party ... for new things that he learned to love ani
believe in. I am not a Jew. You see the way this place is
Boris did that before he died. He brought an old man here, t
rabbi, I think. The man showed Boris what to do. It tool
them a whole day. The man said it was the only chance Bori
had. He said it would protect me."
Peter was confused. "Protect you . . . from what?"
Her face became frightened again.
"From that man—that evil man." She began to shake
then she screamed. "Oh, God, how I hate him. I hate him.
hate him."
Somoroff was on his feet, pulling her up into his arms. He
strength was surprising. He held her tightly and tried to calr
her.
"Easy, Celia . . . easy. It's all right. Try to be calm. I't
here . . . you are not alone. Easy . . . relax."
He felt her tightness ease.
"Let's go into the kitchen," he suggested.
"No! I have to stay here. It is safe in this room. Please.'
She pushed herself away from him.
"I'm all right now. Sit."
They both sat again, he in the chair, she on the bench. Bu
she didn't speak.
"Whom do you hate, Celia?"
She remained silent. He decided to push her.

RED DEVIL
23
"Is it Valarian?"
Slowly she raised her eyes until they met his. Her face was
contorted, and pure hatred filled the room around her.
"Yes." Her answer was a hiss.
And then she would speak no more. It was as though she
were in a trance, or a catatonic state. He shook her, yelled,
hugged her, lifting her off the ground. Nothing worked.
He went to the phone and dialed the duty officer at KGB
headquarters.
"TTiis is Colonel Somoroff. I need an ambulance and
medical attention at Commissar Menoffs apartment." He
gave the address and told the officer he would be waiting
there.
Peter then sat Celia in the chair and went into the bedroom
to get her coat. The bedroom was unkempt, and the bed had
not been slept in. In the center of the bedspread were several
bits of cloth, placed in an arrangement that resembled a
five-pointed star. Peter took out his notebook and drew the
arrangement on a blank sheet of paper. He found her coat and
a warm Persian lamb hat. When he came back into the room
she was not in the chair. For a moment fear gripped him.
Then he saw her in the corner near the menorah. She was
kneeling and muttering what sounded like a prayer.
"Celia?" he called to her as he rushed to her side and
knelt.
"Peter," she spoke softly, "you must love God." Then
she went into a trance again and he knew he could not reach
her.
In the distance he heard the sound of the ambulance siren.
Quickly he pulled her to her feet and dressed her in her coat
and hat. Then he sat her in the chair.
He didn't know why, but he began to pull the sheets from
the furniture. He threw them in the bedroom. Then he took
his notebook and copied the letters from the mirror, being
careful to get the configuration exact. He took a sheet and
wiped the mirror clean.
There was a knock at the door. He let the attendants and a
doctor into the apartment, telling them that Mrs. Menoff had
had some kind of a breakdown while he was visiting. He
instructed the doctor, a young woman, to put Celia in a
private room under observation.

24
David Saperstein
"No one is to talk with her until Dr. Brodsky arrives. I will
call him. This is official business."
His firmness was not missed by the young doctor.
"Yes, Colonel. Is there anything else?"
"Yes, Doctor . . . ?"
"Karkov," she answered.
"Karkov." He wrote her name down in his book. "Please
sedate her now."
"As you say, Colonel." She took her medical bag to the
windowsill and removed a syringe. While she gave Celia
Menoff an injection Peter called the duty officer again and
instructed him to contact Dr. Brodsky and to have the doctor
call him at home after he had seen Mrs. Menoff.
Before they left the apartment, Peter took the keys from
Celia's handbag and double-locked the door.
He watched the ambulance pull away. As he walked to-
ward his car he took out the notebook and studied the letters.
They appeared to be an anagram but made no sense to him.
This is what he had written.
T H I R A M A
H I G A N A M
I G O G A N A
R A G I G A R
A N A G O G I
M A N A G I H
A M A R I H T
Now he would have to involve a cryptographer in the
investigation. The team was growing.

6
Pushkin is a city that lies southwest of Leningrad, near the
Baltic. As a young man growing up there, Leonid Chomsky
had been able to enjoy the cultural activities that nearby
Leningrad offered. He was a well-rounded Army officer with
a passion for the ballet and, in particular, for a beautiful
young ballerina with the Leningrad Company.
As soon as he arrived in Pushkin, he called Marina
Grochenko and made a date to see her on Monday. It turned
out to be her one day off. He was pleased with the timing.
It was now Sunday, and although he knew the Internal
State Security office would be open, he didn't want to appear
there on the weekend. Instead, he called his parents from the
hotel and arranged to have dinner with them that night.
Five hundred miles to the southeast, in the late afternoon,
Peter Somoroff waited inside the Gorki train station. The
Moscow express was due in half an hour, so he had some
time to contemplate his meeting with Katarina Barnowski.
The woman had been cordial. She lived alone in a small
house in a suburb of the industrial city. She was grateful for
the attention that Somoroff was giving her request, but very
surprised that he was interested in an event that had happened
so long ago.
They had exchanged greetings and sat in a small sunroom.
She served cake and coffee.
"I found the letter denying my request, Colonel Somoroff,"
she began. "I kept it because my husband was a very special
man ... to me."
"I understand. May I see the letter?" asked Peter.
25

26
David Saperstein
She passed the letter to him. He quickly glanced at the
signature.
"Did you try to contact this Colonel Valarian?"
"Yes. I remember the conversation to this day. It was three
days after I had received the letter. I really didn't think he
would take the call personally, but he did. He was . . .
adamant about the denial. I told him that my husband was a
career officer. That he would never desert, especially in a
battle. He hated the Nazis. He was from Riga, you know.
Both his brothers had been killed by the swine. When I told
Colonel Valarian that, he laughed."
"Laughed?"
"Well, not a laugh exactly, but his tone of voice had some
pleasure in it. I remember his exact words. 'My dear Mrs.
Barnowski, in a war millions of people die. I am not
impressed.' "
Somoroff listened intently.
"Then," she continued, "he told me that my husband was
a goddamned deserter and would forever remain so in the
records of the Soviet Army."
She was visibly upset. Tears came to her eyes.
"Forgive me, Colonel, but it's been a long time and the
memories are flooding back ..."
"I understand," Peter said in a soothing voice. "May I ask
you a few questions—if you don't mind, that is?"
"Certainly you may. I am grateful for your attention."
"I find it interesting that Valarian used the word god-
damned. You are sure he said exactly that?"
"I am certain. It was a strange word for an official to use,
so I remember it clearly."
"Do you have any photographs of your husband? Espe-
cially any taken around the time he disappeared?"
"Yes," she answered. "He was on leave during Christmas
of 1942. We spent some time at a friend's cottage near the
Caspian Sea." Mrs. Barnowski got up to get the picture, but
Somoroff stopped her. "Excuse me. Just a moment. I want to
show you something." He reached into his pocket and took
out the black and white photo that Menoff had put in the file.
He handed it to her. "Do you know this man?"
She gasped. Then she put on her glasses and studied the
picture carefully.
"For a moment . . . just a moment, I thought it was my

RED DEVIL
27
husband. But, no. The face ... the shape of the head is
similar. Poor man. Those are terrible burns. Who is it?" she
asked as she handed back the photo.
"Colonel Valarian."
Mrs. Barnowski was a kind woman.
"Poor man," she said softly. "No wonder he is so difficult."
She left the room and returned with a yellowing photograph
of Captain Barnowski and herself, taken in front of a small
cottage by the sea. A moment of happiness captured on film
before the horror of Stalingrad the following month.
Somoroff heard his train approaching. She was a sweet
woman, and he believed her when she said her husband was
not a deserter. He studied the photos side by side. There was
a similarity. But why Boris Menoff had singled out Mrs.
Barnowski's letter was a mystery. Peter made a note in his
book to get Barnowski's records from the military record
center in Riga. He then bought a bag of peanuts from the
station vendor and walked onto the platform as the train
entered the station. He looked forward to the ride home and a
long nap on the train.
As his train made its way toward Moscow, night had come
to Siberia, thousands of miles to the east. You could tell night
there only by the clock, for at this time of year the frigid
wasteland stayed in almost total darkness. The camp slept by
the clock.
This night Rabbi Vogel was assigned a special detail. He
and several other prisoners were taken to a building that had
been recently reopened. They were put to work cleaning the
floors, windows, and toilets. As the rabbi scrubbed the floor
near the shower room he noticed Yasha Mendel working in
there. Vogel pushed his bucket toward the shower room, then
rose to his feet and went into the room to refill the bucket.
The guard paid no attention. He came up behind Mendel,
who was wiping the shower stall walls.
"Don't turn around, Mendel. It's Rabbi Vogel from Minsk."
The mathematician stiffened and whispered. "Rabbi Vogel?
You aren't dead?"
"Almost like dead, but we Jews are tough. What happened
to you that they sent you to this hell?"
"It's a long story." Mendel moved around to face the

28
David Saperstein
rabbi. The shock of seeing such a change in his old rabbi
registered on his face. "My God, Rabbi. What have the years
done to you? You look one hundred years old."
Vogel smiled. "If I look one hundred that's good. I feel
one hundred and fifty. Give it time, my friend . . . you'll
catch up. Forget that. We haven't too much time. They don't
like me to talk to anyone. Tell me what has happened. Tell
me if you have seen my family. Tell me the news."
Mendel spoke rapidly. "I haven't been in Minsk for more
than five years, so I know nothing of your family. But Minsk
is relatively good for the Jews. I was in Kiev, at the Physics
Institute. A few months ago they came in one day and took
us, all the Jews, out to trucks. Just like the Nazis. They said
it was a secret project, that our families would be notified.
We went to the military airport, and they brought us here in a
plane. All Jews. Jews in the Soviet Union are going to have
very bad times."
The news hit the rabbi hard.
"So it continues." He sighed. "It always continues . . .
always a final solution."
Then he put his hand on Mendel's arm. "Yasha," he said
in a soft voice, "in this place you must be strong. You must
believe that it will be over some day, and you must live for
that day. I am still a rabbi . . . your rabbi, and I am here.
Now I must go back to work. We will talk again."
"Thank you, Rabbi," said Mendel. "Please say a blessing
for me tonight. I never really left our faith."
Vogel was touched. "Of course, Yasha. That is because
our faith never left you. Stay strong."
The men parted. Vogel filled his pail and returned to
scrubbing floors. He scrubbed toward the southwest corner of
the building—in the direction of Jerusalem—and prayed for
Yasha Mendel and all the Jews of Russia.

7
The cold air outside the Moscow train station drew the warmth
from Peter's face. If the world were a simple place, I would
be on a sunny beach now, he thought. But it is not, definitely
not.
He found his car and drove toward the hospital. Twice he
reached to use the radio phone in the car but thought better of
it and decided to control his curiosity until he reached the
hospital.
The guard at the entrance to the secure wing of the hospital
snapped to attention when Peter showed his ID. At the infor-
mation window inside he found the room number of Celia
Menoff and checked to see if Dr. Brodsky was in the hospi-
tal. The inside guard checked his records and affirmed that
the doctor was still in the building. Peter asked that the guard
have Dr. Brodsky paged and tell him to meet him in Mrs.
Menoff s room.
As he approached the room Peter was aware of the smell
of the hospital. It was not pleasant to him. That antiseptic
odor was forever linked in his mind to the mental institute
where he had spent so much time interrogating prisoners
of the state. The idea of putting them into a mental hospital
had been Boris Menoff's brainchild. Now he was dead,
and his wife lay in a hospital bed suffering from some
form of mental disease. A strange twist, thought Peter to
himself.
The room was dimly lit by a small bedlamp. Celia lay
sleeping, her face still not relaxed. From time to time it
contorted as though in pain. Sadness filled Peter's heart, and
29

30
David Saperstein
he reached and touched the frail woman's hand. It was cold.
As he drew away Dr. Brodsky entered the room.
"She is resting," said Brodsky behind Peter's back. Somoroff
turned to face the doctor. Brodsky was a large man, over six
foot six, weighing about 250 pounds. Yet for his size he was
a most gentle man and an excellent diagnostician. Peter reached
out his hand in greeting.
"How are you, Dr. Brodsky?"
"Well, Comrade Colonel. And yourself?"
Peter liked the big man and responded to his genuine
warmth. "I am fine. But how about Mrs. Menoff? What is
it?"
The doctor moved over to the bed and gazed down at the
sleeping woman. He shrugged.
"I don't know. A severe trauma, perhaps. Physically she is
healthy enough. We did a blood test. It was good, a little
anemic perhaps, but within the parameters for a woman her
age. She has been sedated, you know, but it looks like shock
to me—just a guess. Tomorrow we will know more." The
doctor motioned for them to leave the room. Out in the
hallway he continued.
"Let her rest tonight. I will be here first thing in the
morning, and as soon as I examine her I'll give you a call."
Peter was grateful for Dr. Brodsky's attention. Celia was in
good hands.
The two men walked to the elevator. Brodsky draped his
arm over Somoroff's shoulders. "Don't worry, Colonel. You
look after affairs of . . . whatever you look after, and I will
tend to the healing."
Peter smiled and then shook hands with the large man. "I
won't worry. And thank you."
The elevator arrived, and Peter entered and waved good
night.
After the elevator door closed, Dr. Karkov, the young
female physician who had originally tended to Celia Menoff,
approached Dr. Brodsky.
"Did he speak to her?" asked the young doctor in a firm,
almost commanding voice.
"No. She is still sleeping. How much did you give her
anyway?"
"Enough to keep her quiet. What did he ask you?" Her
voice again held a tone of command.

RED DEVIL
31
"Just the normal questions. Nothing unusual. I told him I
would examine her in the morning." His tone was question-
ing. Dr. Karkov thought for a moment. Brodsky waited for
her to speak. Finally she looked up into his warm brown eyes
and answered in a cold, distant voice.
"I will meet you here in the morning. It is possible that the
patient may not last the night. Good night, Dr. Brodsky."
The woman turned and left the tall, heavyset chief of
diagnostic medicine standing as though he were a brand-new
intern admonished for some vague medical error.
Damn you, thought Brodsky. But he knew he was impotent
to act against her will. Valarian had made sure of that.
Before retiring for the night, Peter Somoroff had to make
one final visit to his office, which was not far from the
hospital. He placed the slowly growing file into his private
safe after first making a copy of the anagram taken from Celia
Menoff s mirror. He then placed a call to the premier on the
secure phone.
"Good evening, Ivan Ivanovich."
"How are you, Peter? How was your journey?"
"Interesting, but not conclusive. It will take some time,
but the wheels are in motion."
"Good. How is Celia?"
"I am afraid she will be of no use to us now. Dr. Brodsky
is letting her rest tonight. I saw her a little while ago. She is
ill, Ivan . . . very ill, I am afraid."
"Then we will have to send for your son. I will arrange
things, and he will be en route by the morning."
Peter weighed involving his son for a moment. The premier
understood his silence and spoke again.
"Don't worry, Peter. He will be with me. We will not
arouse any suspicion. I have checked into the matter already.
General Kubyshev is commanding in that region. I'll tell him
we are going to honor you, and as a surprise we are gathering
your family for the festivities."
Crafty of you, thought Peter, but he felt relieved.
"That sounds good, Ivan. But I won't need him for a few
days, so have him travel by train. A plane might show
favoritism and arouse suspicion."
The premier listened and knew there was more to Peter
Somoroff s suggestion than just avoiding favoritism.
"What is it, Peter Ilyavich?"

32
David Saperstein
Somoroff chose his words carefully. Secure phone or not,
one never really knew.
"It is a puzzling business we have, Ivan Ivanovich. Puz-
zling and rather complex. But by all means let's have our
young man from Chita come to us. I think we will have need
of trusted allies in the days ahead."
"Good. I understand. Let us talk again tomorrow. Good
night, Peter."
"Good night, Premier Alexeyevich. Sleep well."
Before leaving the KGB building he had one more stop to
make. First, Peter Somoroff checked the duty roster to see
who was covering the cryptography section that night. The
officer in charge was Major Rosteveli, a brilliant Georgian
who, because of an inability to tolerate incompetence, had
been passed over for promotion three times. However, his
natural curiosity drove him to be one of the best cryptographers
in the country. Peter found good luck in the fact that Rosteveli
was on duty.
He found the major in his office in the basement. Rosteveli
was an old friend and greeted Peter with a hug.
"An honor, Colonel Somoroff. A great honor for you to
visit us in the bowels of this behemoth of an edifice."
Peter was smiling, almost forgetting the reason for his
visit. "May I sit?"
"Please, Comrade. Forgive my bad manners."
"I have a little job for you, Major." The Georgian imme-
diately became interested. When Peter Somoroff had a "little
job," it usually turned out to be a challenge, and Rosteveli
loved challenges.
Before Peter continued, he took the copy of the anagram
from his pocket. The major leaned over his desk with interest.
"Before I show this to you, I want it understood that this is
. . . well . . . personal. I want you to keep it to yourself.
Show no one. Clear?"
"As a bell, Comrade, as a bell. Now what is it?" He was
curious to the straining point.
Peter passed the paper to the aging major, who glanced at
it, then looked up at Somoroff and back to the paper. He
spoke as he looked at the document.
"Ah. A crossword puzzle. Well, if this is for a contest, I
want a commission for the answer." He looked up smiling,

RED DEVIL
33
but Peter Somoroff was not smiling back at him. The major
immediately became serious.
"A bad joke. Forgive me."
"This is serious, Major Rosteveli, and very private as I
said. I want you to give it your full attention ... no matter
how long it takes."
The major spread the paper on the desk in front of him and
stared at the anagram. He was at work already.
Peter rose from his chair. "Thank you, Serg. Call me on
my direct line when you have something."
Rosteveli looked up and nodded. "It may take a while,
Colonel, but I will have an answer. Of that you can be sure.
Good night."
Peter left the building and walked slowly to his car. The
night air was cold. The events of the day raced through his
mind. Things were in motion. The first steps had been taken.
Exactly where they were leading, however, was still a mystery.
As he drove toward home a thought gnawed at him. Boris
Menoff, an old and dear friend, now dead, might have been
slightly insane to reach for the conclusion hinted at in the file.
There was still no proof, and Celia's condition didn't make
things any easier. Perhaps Boris and Celia had gone off the
deep end together. Perhaps. But he would press on and gather
the facts in his own plodding way. With facts you got an-
swers. With answers you got solutions. And with solutions
you solved problems.

8
Dawn came to Pushkin while most of Russia still slept. It was
a brisk winter morning outside as Leonid Chomsky, KGB
officer, slept in his warm hotel bed. It was an uneasy sleep in
spite of the wonderful dinner he had had last night with his
parents. The dreams were a constant nocturnal visitor to the
young lieutenant. Always the faceless questioner. The cold
room. The light.. And a raspy persistent voice pounding at
him from inside his brain.
He was grateful for the knock on his door that woke him.
The room was chilly. He wrapped the blanket around him and
went to the door.
"Yes? Who is it?"
A woman's voice answered. "Chambermaid."
"Chambermaid? What time is it?"
"Time for you to open the door. I have only one day off!"
It was Marina.
Leonid quickly opened the door, and she slipped inside the
room. He opened his arms to her and the blanket fell to the
floor, leaving him naked, but he was so excited at seeing her
that he didn't realize he was not wearing pajamas.
"Can't you wait a moment to say hello?" she joked.
"What? Oh, forgive me ... I didn't . . ."He scrambled
to put the blanket around him, but somehow it didn't cover
him completely. Marina Grochenko began to laugh at his
clumsy attempt. The more he struggled, the funnier he looked.
Finally she came to him and put her arms around his neck.
They kissed long and softly and spoke no words. He took her
toward the bed. She slipped off her coat and let it fall to the
34

RED DEVIL
35
floor. He began to unbutton her blouse and was clumsy at
that, too. One button came off. He knelt, pulled off her
boots, and kissed her feet. She stood and slipped her skirt
down over his head, but he kept on kissing and moving his
way up her body. She fell back on the bed as he worked up to
her face. Their lips met again, but the skirt was around his
shoulders now and his hands were trapped under it. She rolled
over on top of him and pinned him to the bed.
"Now I have you. You are my prisoner."
"Please show me mercy," he begged. "I have no arms."
"It is not your arms I need. It is this."
She reached down to his erection and held him.
"Oh, that," he said casually. "Well you can have that, but
leave it attached to me. It works better that way."
"Show me."
They made love, and although Marina was a ballet dancer
who lived in a world of grace and fluid motion, their passion
for each other and the long absence grew into a wild, almost
frenzied, joining. They were deeply in love, each trying to
convey this to the other with the strength of youth.
Later at breakfast, which they ate in the small restaurant in
the hotel, they held hands and spoke softly.
"Can you stay with me tonight?" Leonid asked.
"Yes, but I have a class early tomorrow. How long will
you be here?"
"Just for a few days. I have to go out today for a while."
"Why?" She was disappointed.
"Some business for the boss. It will only take an hour or
so. You can use the room and sleep."
"I don't want to sleep. I want to love you."
"Only an hour. Sleep now because you won't get any sleep
tonight."
"Is that a promise?"
"A commitment!"
She reached across the table and touched his face with the
back of her hand. Her fingers were long and slender, like her
dancer's body. He had fallen in love with her before they ever
met as he watched her dance in Leningrad a year ago. He
would sit in the balcony and see her face as though she were
right next to him. Her eyes, those Tatar eyes captured him.
They held passion and fire—black fire and a faint suggestion
of a heritage and pride dating back to the glorious days of

36
David Saperstein
Genghis Khan. No one would ever dominate those eyes, nor
the soul behind them.
As the lovers finished their breakfast, a young Peter Somoroff
was awakened by his orderly in the barracks near Chita,
thousands of miles to the east.
"Lieutenant. Sorry to wake you. These orders came di-
rectly from Commanding General Kubyshev."
The sleepy tank commander focused sharply when the
General's name was mentioned.
"Let me see."
The orderly handed him the teletype page.
"Moscow? Immediately. Yet by train?"
He knew that somehow his father was behind this sudden
interruption in his life. He also knew about his father's work.
A telephone call was out of the question. If he was wanted in
Moscow then he would go to Moscow.
Two hours later he waited in the Chita train station, con-
templating what the mysterious journey might mean and why
he was to report to the premier directly. He knew this must
involve his father. In the distance a train whistle blew. It
would take two days to get to Moscow. The time couldn't
pass quickly enough for the young Somoroff.
The senior Somoroff was up early that Monday morning as
his son began his journey. It was too early to call the hospital.
Peter made himself a cup of tea and sat at the small kitchen
table. He took a pad and pencil and began to chart out the
investigation. So far he had made a solid beginning. The next
step would depend, in part, on what Lieutenant Chomsky was
able to uncover. Peter also wanted to have a look at Valarian
himself. He toyed with the idea of just walking in on the man
and presenting himself as an adversary. The phone interrupted
his train of thought.
"Hello."
"Colonel Somoroff, this is Major Rosteveli."
"Yes, Major. You have something?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where are you now?"
"In the office. It didn't take too long."
"Not over the phone, Major. Meet me in the park on the south
side of the monument to the cosmonauts. You know the place?"

RED DEVIL
37
"Yes, sir."
"In an hour, Major. And keep it to yourself."
"You told me that last night. When a Georgian makes a
promise to another Georgian, he keeps it."
"Sergei!"
"Yes, sir."
"Someday that mouth of yours will get you fired."
"Yes, sir. One hour."
Peter hung up. He was excited. Information was beginning
to filter in. Rosteveli would have some; Chomsky would have
some; Brodsky would have some; Celia would tell him more
. . . and slowly Comrade Valarian would become known.
The duty officer at Internal State Security in Pushkin was a
captain of Artillery, ill-suited for a desk job. He was a man of
action, not a pencil pusher. Now this young lieutenant flashed
his KGB identification, and he was supposed to jump. Pushy
cop, thought Captain Bonyon, as Chomsky rattled off a list of
files he wanted to examine.
"Well, Lieutenant, those files are very old. It will take
some time to get them up from the basement."
"I have time, Captain. Let me call you tomorrow morning."
"They may not be here by then."
Chomsky sensed a problem and responded firmly. "Cap-
tain . . . sir . . . this is a top-priority KGB matter. I know
you understand the importance of such a request. Surely you
can have someone work on it today. I need those files."
The captain stood up behind his desk as if to dismiss
Chomsky. Leonid sat in the chair, immovable. If the captain
wanted an argument he would get it, and he would lose. That
was apparent to both men.
"I am sure that we can have those files for you by tomor-
row morning."
"Good." Chomsky now got up and prepared to leave. He
turned at the door and addressed Captain Bonyon again.
"One more thing, Captain, if you have a moment."
The captain waited. Now what? he thought.
"There was a synagogue near the central square. Is it still
there?"
"They had a fire there last year. But it is still there,
although there are not too many Jews left."

38
David Saperstein
Bonyon smiled a knowing smile at Chomsky. The young
man didn't smile back.
"Thank you, Captain. Until tomorrow morning."
Chomsky saluted and left the room.
Bonyon returned to his desk and telephoned the corporal in
the records section downstairs. He gave him the list of files
that Chomsky had requested and a clear order to have them in
his office early that afternoon. Before you have those files,
thought, Bonyon, I want to see what is so interesting to the
KGB.
The Moscow train moved swiftly west. By nightfall it
would be in the super-secure Omsk region, a nerve center for
the Soviet missile system. The windows would be covered
and anyone found peering out would be subject to immediate
arrest. Even the young tank commander did not have the
authority to view this area, but Peter would be sleeping as
they passed through.
The monument to the cosmonauts soared above the small
park, rising angular and smooth into the winter sky. Major
Rosteveli sat waiting for his boss. The news he had for
Somoroff was certainly unique. The code had been easy. The
translation had been a little harder to come by.
Peter approached the major only after he had carefully
checked the rest of the park. No one was there, as well no
one should be on this cold morning. He sat next to the major
and felt the icy bench through his wool pants.
"Good morning, Rosteveli. What have you got?"
"Good morning, Comrade Colonel. I have a great deal,
and I need to know more, but for that I will need an expert
and I didn't want to involve anyone without consulting you
first."
Somoroff was grateful for the major's caution.
"That is one of the few times I have heard you admit you
don't know everything, Rosteveli my friend. Perhaps you are
mellowing in your old age?"
The major chuckled. "No, Colonel Somoroff. This kind of
knowledge is extremely specialized. I don't know if we have
anyone in the Soviet Union who can supply all of the answers."
Now Peter was intrigued. "Go on. Tell me everything you
know."

RED DEVIL
39
Rosteveli took his notes from a small briefcase. There were
several pages. He began to speak. Peter did not interrupt,
although he was bursting with questions.
"It is not an anagram. It is called an acrostic; actually this
one is a double acrostic. A complete specimen. The words are
Hebrew and some older language, too. I think perhaps
Chaldean. Very old, and very complex in meaning. It would
help to know where you found this, but since you did not tell
me I assume that I have no need to know, for now."
Peter nodded.
The major passed a copy of the acrostic to Peter Somoroff
so that he could follow the explanation and translation. This
copy was boxed.
T	H	I	R	A	to	A	
H	I	6	A	N	A	N\	
I	6	0	6	A	N	A	
R	A	6	I	G	A	R	
A	N	A	G	0	G	1	
to	A	K	A	6	I	H	
A	M	A	R	I	H	T	
"I have a rough translation of some of the words, but only
rough, because they are a mixture of languages. It really is
quite interesting and very ancient. You see that the words are
the same across and down. The first, Thirama, is from a
language I do not know. Higanam is derived from Hebrew. It
means something like defending or defend. The next word,
Igogana, was tough, but I think it is also Hebrew or derived
from a Hebrew word meaning roof or covering. Of that I am
not sure. The next, Ragigar, I can't ascertain at all. It has the
feel of the oriental about it. Anagogi is simple. It is derived
from Greek—anagoge; it means raise or elevate. Managih is
also Hebrew and has several meanings. I put down those that
seemed to be in keeping with the others. So we have managih,
from the Hebrew mno, to restrain, stop, put up a barrier, or
even contain with a barrier. The final word, Amariht, is also
Hebrew, from armth, which means word or speech.

40
David Saperstein
"So this acrostic is talking about either containing or pro-
tecting something or someone, or perhaps penetrating some-
thing, or someone. But it is very old, and I do not know how
it was used."
Peter corrected him. "Is used, my friend. It is used."
"Do you know how?"
"No."
"Can you tell me where you found it? How it was placed?"
"Why do you say 'placed'?" The major's findings had
captured Somoroff's confidence.
"Because these acrostics had a definite use to ancient
peoples. They could conjure up spirits and protect against
evil. Things like that."
"How do you know this, Rosteveli?"
"Well, Comrade Ilyavich"—the major used the familiar
name—"I am not exactly a student of Hebrew, so I had to
use some research books. I must admit that I found the key to
it quite by accident while flipping through a dictionary. My
eye caught one of these acrostics, and there it was, in black
and white." He smiled and shrugged. "Accidents can happen
in my business, too. All is not science."
Somoroff liked the man's honesty. He decided to share his
confidence and told him the story about finding Celia Menoff,
but told him nothing of the file or Valarian. He never men-
tioned the premier.
After Somoroff had finished, the major let out a slow
whistle. "We have something very special here, Comrade
Somoroff. What do you want me to do now?"
"We have to find an expert who can translate the rest of
this for us and tell us about its meaning. Any ideas?"
Rosteveli thought for a moment. "Must it be someone in
KGB?"
"No. But it must be someone we can either trust or control."
Again the major thought for a moment. He spoke now in a
softer voice, even though the two men were alone in the park.
There was conspiracy in the air.
"I have a friend ... an acquaintance. She is a Jew. Sort of
religious, but we've known each other a long time. She has a
friend whom I have met a few times. He is old and immersed
in his God. I know he doesn't know where I work, but when I
am around he always talks about retribution to me. He says
that we, meaning the atheists, will pay a price for our god-

RED DEVIL
41
lessness. Things like that. I know he deals in mysticism, and
the Jews treat him with great respect . . . and fear.''
"Can you find him?"
"Yes. He worships every day in the big synagogue."
"Fine." Peter paused for a moment, then gave Rosteveli
Celia Menoff s address. "Find him and bring him to this
address at three this afternoon. I will meet you there. But
don't tell him what it is about."
Both men rose from the bench, shook hands, and went off
in opposite directions. Rosteveli made his way toward the
synagogue, while Peter drove toward the hospital, wondering
what surprises the day would bring. He hoped that Celia was
better, because he had many more questions without answers
. . . yet.

9
"She died in her sleep. There was no suffering, Colonel
Somoroff.'' The large doctor sat with Peter in the anteroom at
the end of the hall, away from the main flow of the hospital
traffic. Peter's sadness filled the room.
"How did it happen, Brodsky?" An anger was swelling
inside him, and Peter wanted the doctor to know he was
angry.
"An embolism in her sleep. It went right to her heart. I am
sorry."
"Who was on duty when it happened?"
Dr. Brodsky was taken aback by the question. He thought
of lying but knew Somoroff s reputation for details. When the
KGB section chief asked a question, he always checked out
the answer.
"Dr. Karkov was on duty."
"The young woman who came for Celia?"
"Yes. She is a very good doctor. There was nothing to be
done, believe me, Colonel."
Peter wondered why Brodsky was pushing so hard.
"Is she here now? I'd like to speak to her for a moment."
Brodsky got up and went to the house phone. He had Dr.
Karkov paged.
"How about some coffee, Peter?"
"Not now, thank you. I would like to see Celia. Is she still
in the room?"
"I believe she is," answered Brodsky. He was nervous.
They walked down the busy hallway to her room. As they
entered, Peter stopped, turned, and caught sight of Dr. Karkov

RED DEVIL
43
ducking into a doorway. She had been watching them. Brodsky
missed it, but Peter Somoroff suddenly realized that he had
engaged the enemy. From this point on, no one was to be
trusted.
Celia lay under a sheet that was pulled up over her face.
Peter drew the curtains apart and filled the room with sun-
light. Then he carefully pulled back the sheet to reveal the
corpse. The look of death was on her face, and something
more. In death she should have been calm. However, her face
was a mask of fright, the skin pulled tight over sunken
cheeks, the eyes closed; yet beneath the lids fear still dwelt.
She was rigid, her bony hands clenched in fists.
"Please leave me alone in here with her." It was an order
to Brodsky. The large man let himself out of the room
quietly.
Peter moved quickly to the body. His hands explored the
arms, legs, and neck. He was looking for something, and he
found it behind her left knee—a small needle mark. As he
touched it, the door opened and Dr. Karkov entered. Peter
knew she was there, but he kept on examining the tiny
wound.
"Dr. Brodsky said you wanted to see me, Colonel Somoroff."
"Yes. Please just wait a moment." He took his time so
that there would be no doubt in Dr. Karkov's mind that he
had found the injection mark. He replaced the sheet over
Celia and turned to his adversary.
"You were on duty last night, Doctor?"
"Yes, sir. I found the patient, Mrs. Menoff, dead this
morning at about four o'clock."
"Did you try to revive her?"
"Yes, sir."
"How?"
"I gave her adrenaline and then used the defibrillator. It
was no use."
Peter removed the sheet and opened Celia's nightgown.
There were slight burn marks, signs that a defibrillator had
been used. He closed the gown and looked at her arms.
"I see no injection marks here."
"I couldn't find a vein there, so I used the large vein in her
leg, behind the knee, Colonel."
"I see," answered Peter. Now I have you, he thought. He

44
David Saperstein
went to the room phone and called his office. Captain Servioff,
his adjutant, was on the phone in a moment.
"Captain, send my driver and two of the Special Branch
people to Central Hospital, room six-six-seven. I will meet
them." Peter hung up and escorted Dr. Karkov to the door.
"Thank you for trying to save her, Doctor. She was an old
friend. I will take care of the body. You may put that in your
report."
Once outside the room, Peter closed the door tighdy and
called down the hall to a guard. He instructed the man to
allow no one to enter the room without his permission. He
repeated, "No one."
The guard snapped to attention. "Yes, sir."
Dr. Brodsky stood across the hall watching the proceed-
ings. He was frightened by Peter's official attitude and threw
a glance at Dr. Karkov. Peter saw the exchange.
"Doctors, can we have a little talk in the anteroom? I have
to be here until my men arrive." He didn't wait for an answer
but walked down the hall. The two doctors followed.
At the same time, Major Rosteveli parked his car across
from the synagogue and waited. He knew the rabbi would
emerge eventually, and he was sure the old man had not seen
him following along to the synagogue earlier. As he waited
he thought about Fannie Beshevsky, his lover, a Jewess and
his friend for many years. Would this be considered a be-
trayal if Somoroff arrested the rabbi? Surely Fannie would
know it was Rosteveli's doing ... or would she? So many
Jews were being picked up these days. Perhaps it would be
just another arrest to her. He would be kind and understand-
ing and offer to find out what had happened to the old man.
Yes. That would appease Fannie. It would be all right. His
thoughts were interrupted as an Army vehicle pulled up in
front of the synagogue and six soldiers, led by a tough-
looking major, entered the building. Fear gripped Rosteveli.
He must act quickly.
At another synagogue in Pushkin, Lieutenant Chomsky,
dressed in casual civilian clothes, sat with another rabbi. The
man was very old and poorly dressed. His clothes were
ragged but neat. The collar on his black coat was frayed with
age. The rabbi spoke slowly.

RED DEVIL
45
"The fires were set by hoodlums, even if they were sol-
diers. I don't care what they tell you. They were soldiers.
Under orders."
Leonid didn't argue. He was sure the old man was correct.
"I am sorry about the fires, Rabbi, but that is not my area of
responsibility."
The rabbi nodded. "No one is ever responsible. But God
knows, and I know. That is enough."
Chomsky tried to move the conversation to what interested
him. "I was asking about the other rabbi. The one who killed
his family and immolated himself in front of the Leningrad
Opera House. Did you know him?"
"Rabbi Levinson? Yes I knew him. But it wasn't that way.
Everyone knew it wasn't that way."
"What happened?"
"They killed his family. They burned him. They blamed it
on him. It was all lies." ,
"What really happened? Who did it?"
Now the rabbi stared deep into Leonid's eyes. It was a
piercing look, wise and angry. Chomsky stared back, unable
to break away from the other man's gaze. Then the rabbi
shuddered and broke off contact.
"No. There is nothing to tell. A family was killed ... a
rabbi was killed ... a synagogue was burned. It happens all
the time, here, Europe, America. It's been that way for
thousands of years. I don't know who did it. I only know
why."
Chomsky knew he had lost the man's confidence. One last
try. "Then why did they do it, Rabbi?"
Now the old man smiled. "Before I tell you perhaps I
should pray that after you arrest me, you'll let me die quickly."
"I am not going to arrest you, Rabbi." Leonid was sin-
cere, yet he understood the old man's fear. The KGB has a
reputation that always precedes it. But now the rabbi was
silent again. Leonid played his last card.
"Do you know a man named Valarian?"
Immediately the rabbi uttered a prayer, put on his prayer
shawl, and pulled it over his head. He stood, bowing toward
the torah ark of the small synagogue and rocked back and
forth, chanting rapidly in Hebrew. Leonid was startled. The
rabbi spoke to him no more. After a few minutes Leonid left
the synagogue. The rabbi was still praying with a fervor, and

46
David Saperstein
although the words were strange to Chomsky, he knew the
sound of fear in any language.
It would be several hours before he was able to forget the
fear and make love to Marina.

10
Things had gone well at the hospital. Peter Somoroff was
pleased as he waited in his office. Doctors Brodsky and
Karkov were being processed downstairs. Each would have a
private cell in which to spend a few hours thinking about why
they were there and what was going to happen to them. Let
them stew for a while, thought Somoroff, then we will get
some answers. Meanwhile he had removed Celia's body to
the pathology section of another hospital under another name
and ordered an autopsy. He had particularly instructed that
the needle hole in the back of the knee be checked for
adrenaline. The report would be to him by the end of the day.
Now it was time to get over to the Menoff apartment and
keep his appointment with Major Rosteveli and the old Jew.
The day had grown grey, and a light snow was beginning
to fall. Rosteveli kept the motor running, and the heater on
high. Even so, the old man still shook in the seat next to him.
He had good reason to be afraid.
When Rosteveli had seen the soldiers enter the synagogue
he had acted quickly, leaving the car and following them into
the building. They had gone to the office that was down a
long hallway to the left. Rosteveli had gone directly into the
sanctuary and found the old man praying in the last row. He
slid into the pew next to the old man and touched his shoul-
der. At first the Jew didn't recognize him and was confused.
The major reminded him that he was Fannie's friend. The
man remembered and returned to his praying.
"We must leave here, Rabbi."
47

48
David Saperstein
"I am not a rabbi, atheist."
"Fine. But there is danger here for you. There are soldiers
searching the synagogue. You have to come with me."
"I am not afraid of soldiers."
"Nevertheless, old man, you are going to come with me.
We have business to discuss."
"I have no business to discuss with atheists."
"It is for Fannie. She sent me," Rosteveli lied. "She
needs you now."
"Is she sick?"
"Yes." He was willing to say anything to get the old man
out of the temple. "You have to come right now. I have a car
outside."
The old man hesitated. "Are you a policeman?"
"Yes. KGB. But I am Fannie's friend."
"I know. We talk about you sometimes. She says you are a
good man."
"Fine. But we have to go quickly." He heard the soldiers
coming back down the hallway. In a moment they would be
in the sanctuary. Rosteveli had to think fast.
"What is your name, old man?"
"Isadore Kantrowitz."
"Fine, Isadore. Listen to me carefully. The soldiers are
coming. You get down and hide near the aisle. I will stop and
distract them. You understand?"
The old man nodded, his eyes bright and alert.
"When I speak to them, you slip out the door and go
across the street to a dark green car. Get into the back seat
and lie down. Hide yourself. Do you understand?"
Again the old man nodded. He got to his knees and crawled
to the aisle. The major stood up and walked to the opposite
aisle as the soldiers, led by the other major, entered the
sanctuary. Rosteveli took out his KGB identification and
called to the major.
"You. Major. What are you doing here?"
The Army major was startled to see a Russian in the
synagogue. He was distracted by the loud voice and the tone
of command.
"Who are you?" asked the soldier.
"Major Rosteveli, KGB. Come here. All of you." Once
again a command.
As the group of soldiers came toward him, Rosteveli re-

RED DEVIL
49
treated back a few rows so that when he confronted them,
their backs would be to the door. As they passed the row
where the old man was hidden they didn't notice him. Their
eyes were glued on the KGB officer.
Rosteveli presented his ID to the Army major. They saluted
each other.
"I am Major Anton Metsky, adjutant to Colonel Nickolai
Valarian, Security and Records Division."
"Nice to meet you, Major. May I ask why you are here?"
"We are looking for someone, a man. An old man. Have
you seen anyone?"
"Just those people in the front." Rosteveli gestured toward
the front of the sanctuary where three men were praying.
"Ah," said Metsky. "Thank you." He signaled for his
men to surround the worshippers.
"One moment, Major," commanded Rosteveli. He noticed
that the old man had just left the room, and he wanted to give
him time to get out of the lobby and into the car.
The soldiers hesitated, looking toward their major, not
knowing who was the senior in the room.
"Yes, Major?" answered an annoyed Metsky.
"May I ask the name of the man you are seeking?"
"Why?"
"Because I am asking. That is enough." The Georgian
could be tough when he asserted himself.
Metsky thought for a moment. The men in the front of the
sanctuary were looking back at them now, and he could see
that they were all young men. His prey was not among them.
"His name is Isadore Kantrowitz. May I do my work now?"
"Certainly. Don't let me stop you from your duty."
Rosteveli couldn't hold back a smile, but he had misread
the major. Instead of sending his troops toward the front of
the room, he ordered them back into the street. Rosteveli
looked up and saw the outside door just closing. Kantrowitz
was an old man and couldn't move fast. As the soldiers
moved toward the door the KGB major stopped them again.
"Wait. Major Metsky, just another moment. I think I can
help."
The Army men stopped again and faced him.
"How, Major?" said Metsky. "All you seem to be doing
is delaying us from our duty."

50
David Saperstein
Ignoring the dig, Rosteveli spoke. "This man . . . Kantrowitz.
Is he a small man with a beard? Does he wear that black Jew
clothing?"
"Yes," answered Metsky. He was interested. "Do you
know him?"
"No. But there was a man here about ten minutes ago. He
had a terrible cough. I thought he was dying. The others sent
him home." Rosteveli gestured to the men in the front, who
had resumed their praying. He hoped that they had heard
what he told the soldiers and that they would confirm his
story. He had spoken loudly enough, but to be sure he
continued, even louder now.
"Yes. I am sure they called him Isadore. He went home.
You just missed him."
Metsky was sure that the men in the front had also heard
the KGB officer. It would do no good to check with them
now. Somehow he felt he had been fooled, but he didn't
know why.
Rosteveli was now sure that Kantrowitz was safe in his car.
He snapped a salute to Metsky. "Well, Major. I must be
going myself. Glad to be of service."
"May I ask what business you had here this morning,
Major . . . ah . . . Rosteveli?"
Arrogant bastard, thought Rosteveli. You want a game? I'll
give you a game.
"You may ask, but I cannot answer. Unfortunately regula-
tions do not permit me to share KGB work with you. But I
can say it was a routine matter. Good day, gentlemen."
As the green KGB car pulled away, Major Anton Metsky
watched carefully. He was sure he saw a head pop up in the
back seat as the car turned the comer. Colonel Valarian
would find this matter interesting.
When he was sure that they weren't followed, Rosteveli
spoke to the old man. He used a soft voice to allay the man's
fear. "Why did the Army want you, Mr. Kantrowitz?"
"Do they have to have a reason? I am a Jew, that is
enough."
"I don't think that is the reason, Rabbi."
"I am not a rabbi, I told you that. And we are not heading
to Fannie Beshevsky's house either. You are arresting me."
"No, Mr. Kantrowitz. Not an arrest. But we do have some

RED DEVIL
51
questions for you. You may not believe me, but I don't know
what the questions are. We will meet someone else in a
while. He has the questions."
"Then he will get the answers." The old man folded his
arms in defiance and was silent.

11
The shades on the Moscow train were drawn and locked by
the Military Police, who had boarded as the train entered the
Omsk region. Young Somoroff slept.
In Pushkin, Leonid Chomsky returned to the hotel. Marina
had slept and was now in the bath. He was still upset by the
rabbi's reaction to Valarian's name. He called hello to Ma-
rina, who was luxuriating in a tub full of suds.
"Are you here for good now?" she yelled back.
"All yours, love. Take your time. I have to make just one
call."
The lieutenant placed a call to Peter Somoroff in Moscow.
He caught him just as he was about to leave for the Menoff
apartment. Since the call was not on a secure line, Chomsky
had to be discreet in what he said.
"I am just checking in, Colonel Somoroff."
"How is your holiday going?" The section chief immedi-
ately understood that Chomsky wanted to speak in code words.
Somoroff listened carefully, making notes on a pad.
"It's going very well, but the weather is a bit cloudy.
Tomorrow I hope it will be clear."
"Is the forecast good?"
"I think so. I saw my parents last night. They are well. I
visited an old uncle, and he is sick. It is puzzling as to what is
wrong with him."
"What do the doctors say?"
"He only saw one doctor. The same one whom we discussed."
52

RED DEVIL
53
Somoroff knew that he was talking about Nickolai Valarian.
"Did the doctor prescribe anything for your uncle?"
"Yes, but he had a very bad reaction. Sort of lockjaw, but
not as bad a reaction as your friend had. I'll visit him again
soon and see if he is any better.''
"Fine. Things here are interesting, but they will wait until
you are back from holiday. When do you plan to come
home?"
"A few days. I'll know better tomorrow. Why don't you
call me in the evening tomorrow?" He gave Somoroff the
number so that the call could be scrambled.
"Fine, Leonid. I'll check with you tomorrow night at about
eight pm."
"Good. Until then, Colonel."
"Yes. Until then. Have a good time."
Somoroff broke off the call. Three blocks away Sergeant
Mikolov, aide to Captain Servioff, was pleased with his first
information from the phone tap. He called Captain Servioff
with the pertinent information.
"Captain, I got the tap in just in time. Chomsky called. He
is in Pushkin at this number: six-eight, four-four, oh-two.
Room twenty-two."
The captain was pleased—and he knew Major Metsky would
also be pleased with his efficiency. It had taken only one hour
to get the tap operative. He called Metsky and told him the news.
Major Anton Metsky was totally committed to his superior
officer, Colonel Nickolai Valarian. He was mesmerized by
the power and self-assurance that emanated from the badly
scarred officer. He entered Valarian's office quietly after
calling him to say that there was information to be discussed.
No matter how many times Metsky went into that office he
still found it an awesome experience.
Valarian sat behind a huge mahogany desk. A communica-
tions console was the only item on it. The top was kept
dust-free and shiny. The rich deep red of the wood reflected
the one light in the room, a large chandelier made of ornate
wrought iron, kept barely lit by a dimmer switch. The chan-
delier was in the shape of a pentangle, a five-pointed starlike
figure enclosed by a circle. Tiny lights ran along the outline
of the star and circle. Valarian's bald, scarred head and face

54
David Saperstein
were not reflected onto the desk though the chandelier
was.
The bare walls were also paneled in mahogany. There was
no window in the room. A special thermostat allowed the
colonel to keep the room temperature exactly the way he liked
it, which was very cold.
This was the second time that day that Metsky had visited
the office. When Rosteveli had duped him, and he was sure
that the major had done just that, he quickly returned to
headquarters and went immediately to Valarian. It took a few
minutes at the console for Valarian to find out who Rosteveli
worked for and what he did. Valarian had just a few questions.
"Why would a cryptographer be out in the field? What
does his boss Somoroff want with the Jews? Who else is close
to Somoroff?"
The first two questions were unanswerable at the time. The
third could be responded to—Leonid Chomsky, Captain Viktor
Servioff, Premier Alexeyevich, and the Somoroff family.
Also, a most interesting fact, Somoroff had been close to
Boris Menoff. This made Valarian uneasy. He instructed
Metsky to get a phone tap on Somoroff and have their agent
in the Kremlin check out the premier's visitors' log for the
past few weeks to see if Somoroff had been there.
A few hours later, Metsky returned to the office with the
information from the phone tap. Servioff had been on Valarian's
payroll as an informer. He was an ambitious man with an eye
for Somoroff's job, and, as Valarian's files revealed, a not
infrequent taste for young boys, which Valarian had been
happy to arrange to supply.
"Colonel Somoroff's aide, Lieutenant Chomsky, is in Push-
kin. We are checking the number, but we are sure it is a
hotel. They spoke in code. Somoroff will call him on the
scrambler tomorrow night. That will not be enough time for
us to install the equipment necessary to overide the scrambler."
Valarian listened intently, then responded. "Let me know
when you have confirmation on the hotel. Alert our people in
Pushkin. Anything else?"
"We were not able to put a tail on Somoroff. He left too
quickly."
"What about Karkov?"
"She is in Lubyanka in the Internal Security section. So is
Dr. Brodsky."

RED DEVIL
55
"Then they moved them from headquarters? When?"
"A few moments ago . . . just before I came down to see
you."
"Can we reach them?"
"No, Colonel. We have not been able to penetrate that part
of the prison."
"What about the Kremlin log?"
"Nothing yet. It is too soon."
Valarian was annoyed. His body tensed. A battle was
joined. He knew Somoroff s reputation and understood that
he was not dealing with an amateur. Valarian enjoyed the
challenge.
"Very well, Major. Keep on top of things and feed me
information as it comes in, no matter what time it is. Do you
understand?"
Metsky knew that tone of voice. He stood and snapped to
attention.	,
"Yes, sir!" He turned and walked toward the door. He
knew Valarian was displeased with the day's events. But it
hadn't been Metsky's fault. Still, that didn't matter. It never
mattered. Valarian was his master. It was a pact they had
joined long ago. Success earned him great reward, but failure
meant pain. That was the bargain.
Metsky's body tensed. Then it came—the hot, searing flash
in his spine. A fast deep pain, right to the nerve endings. A
reminder to obey orders. Metsky screamed and fell to his
knees. He pleaded with Valarian to stop. The colonel glared
at the fallen major. He spoke in a low, disdainful voice. "Get
up, you weakling. Get to work."
As the cringing major left the room, Valarian turned to his
communications console and entered his private code. The
computer responded quickly, as if it too knew the caller could
inflict pain. Valarian requested the complete record and ser-
vice file of Colonel Peter Ilyavich Somoroff, Internal Secu-
rity, KGB, Moscow.
Within a few moments the long printout of Somoroff s
history began to appear on Valarian's terminal printer.
At that same moment, Peter Somoroff opened the locked
door to Boris and Celia Menoff's apartment and pulled a
reluctant old man inside. Major Rosteveli followed after them.
Isadore Kantrowitz was frightened. The apartment was just

56
David Saperstein
as Peter had left it. He walked to the center of the living
room, but the old man would not follow. "Please come in,
Mr. Kantrowitz. There are things in here that I want to ask
you about."
Isadore Kantrowitz backed away toward the door. He bumped
into Major Rosteveli, who held his shoulders.
"No . . . No!" screamed the old man. "Not in there."
Rosteveli was surprised at the man's strength but held him
firmly. Peter Somoroff found the man's actions most interest-
ing. Then he recalled Celia's words about an old man who
came to the house with Boris before he died. A man who did
things to the walls, mirrors, and furniture. Could Isadore
Kantrowitz possibly be that old man? Peter took a chance.
"Mr. Kantrowitz, we know you were here before. We
know you did things in this apartment. Boris Menoff is dead.
Celia Menoff is dead. This place is safe now."
The shock of hearing about Boris Menoff caused Major
Rosteveli to release the old man.
"Did you say Boris Menoff is dead, Colonel? I did not
hear anything about that."
Peter realized his mistake, but it was too late to recall his
words. Now he had to draw Rosteveli in deeper.
"Commissar Menoff died over a week ago. It is a secret.
His wife died this morning. That too is a secret. Do you
understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"I will fill you in on the details later. Now we have to get
this old man to talk to us."
Peter walked toward Kantrowitz and put his hand on the
old man's shoulder. He spoke gently and guided the man into
the disheveled room.
"Please, Mr. Kantrowitz, please sit down. We will not
harm you. The Menoffs are dead. Whatever was in this room
will not harm you, either."
Trembling, the old man responded to Somoroff's plea and
slowly entered the room. But he was afraid. What did this
policeman know about harm of this nature?
"Do you have a match, Colonel?" asked the old man.
Peter dug into his pocket and handed a box of wooden
matches to the Jew. The old man then lit all the candles on
the menorah, muttered a prayer, and sat on the small wooden
bench near the window.

RED DEVIL
57
"What do you want from me?" he asked.
"First let me ask you if we may turn on the lights in here."
"Yes."
Peter motioned for Rosteveli to turn on the living room
lights.
"Now, Mr. Kantrowitz, please be at ease. We are not
going to arrest you. We are not going to harm you. We can
protect you if you wish."
Isadore Kantrowitz did not respond. He just stared at the
colonel. Rosteveli sat down in one of the armchairs, intent on
what was happening.
Peter continued. "I was here yesterday with Mrs. Menoff.
She became ill, and we took her to the hospital. She died
early this morning. I don't yet know why she died, but we are
doing an autopsy. Before she fell ill we spoke ... we spoke
about many things. You did this to the room, didn't you?"
Kantrowitz nodded affirmation.
"How did you come to Boris Menoff?"
"He was my nephew." The old man now spoke in a
monotone.
Rosteveli hadn't known that Menoff was a Jew. The news
came as a shock to him, but he remained silent and absorbed.
Peter went on. The pieces were coming together. "What
did you do here? Why was the room this way?"
Slowly the old man raised his face until he was staring
directly into Peter Somoroff's eyes. He spoke slowly and
carefully.
"I will answer you. What I say is the truth, but you will
not believe it. Even I know little about it. What I did here I
did from memory, from things long ago, before the War and
the Nazis . . . before the revolution . . . when there were no
Reds . . . when there were no Whites . . . only the czar and
oppression. They are things I saw as a boy in my home
village of Melitopol, in the south. Boris was bom there, too.
He was a good boy. He was a Bar Mitzvah. He was a Jew. In
the end, he came to know that being a Jew was the only
possible road to safety for him and his wife. But as you can
see it was too late."
The old man paused. Peter remained patient until the old
man spoke again.
"I told Boris that I didn't know enough. These things . . ."
He gestured around the room toward the menorah and the

58
David Saperstein
mirror. He noticed that the acrostic was gone, erased by Peter
Somoroff before Dr. Karkov arrived. "Oh," exclaimed the
old man, "it is gone . . . well, no matter. The evil one is also
gone from this place."
Peter spoke. "What evil one?"
"The one who killed Boris and Celia. The one who is once
again trying to destroy my people. The one who will destroy
Russia. I think you know him." The old man smiled.
"You mean Valarian?" asked Peter.
"That is what he calls himself now. We know him by
many names."
"What do you mean, many names?" Peter felt a cold
sensation in his spine.
"He is the ungodly. He is the fallen angel. The evil one."
Peter drew a deep breath and asked the question that Boris
Menoff s file had inferred. "You mean the devil?"
The old man raised his hands and spread them in a plea to
heaven above. He spoke a prayer in Hebrew, then looked
back at Somoroff. "That is a fairly new name for him. The
ancient ones, blessed be they, called him Shaytan. That is
Aramaic. Others call him Lucifer . . . Leviathan . . . Belial
. . . Satan . . . Antichrist—there are many names."
Rosteveli was on his feet. "My god, what are you talking
about? The devil? Colonel, surely—"
Peter cut him off. "Major, sit down and remain silent. Mr.
Kantrowitz is speaking. There will be no interruptions."
"Yes, sir." Rosteveli sat again, staring at his superior
officer in disbelief.
"But," said Peter, "you were able to do things in this
house to stop him. How?"
"Boris and Celia are dead. It was a feeble attempt. It was
not done properly. I told you I only know from long ago—my
knowledge is incomplete."
"Celia was safe until I took her out of here," said Peter.
"He didn't want Celia anyway. It was Boris he was after."
"Why?" Peter asked.
"Because Boris was after him. I warned Boris, but he
didn't believe, until it was too late . . . may he rest in
peace."
"In peace," Peter responded. "Can you tell us about the
things you did in this room? What do they mean? How do
they work?"

RED DEVIL
59
The old man realized that this KGB colonel believed his
story. It was fantastic. Perhaps this was a chance for his
people. He knew there were good, kind Russians. He knew
they had a fierce pride in their nation, in their Mother Russia.
It was, after all, his country too. He spoke hesitantly.
"I can tell you some things, show you some things, but it
will be incomplete."
"Is there anyone else who knows more?"
Now Kantrowitz perked up. Yes, perhaps this was the way
... a beginning.
"Yes, Colonel," he answered, "if they are still alive.
Some rabbis, one in particular—from Minsk."
"What is his name?" Peter asked.
"Isadore Vogel . . . Rabbi Isadore Vogel of Minsk. But I
don't know what happened to him. He was arrested many
years ago, and we have not heard about him for a long time."
Peter was on his feet. Rosteveli stood also.
"Major, I want you to take Mr. Kantrowitz to the office
and make him comfortable. Show him what you have done so
far with the acrostic and see if he can help you. I want a
guard on him twenty-four hours a day. If he needs anything—
anything—get it for him."
"Yes, sir." Rosteveli gestured for Kantrowitz to come
with him. As they headed for the door Peter stopped them.
"One more thing, Mr. Kantrowitz. Could you come into
the bedroom for a moment?"
The three men went into the bedroom. Peter took out his
notebook and showed the old man the drawing of the pentan-
gle he had made from the cloth arrangement he had found on
the bedcover.
"This was on the bed yesterday. Do you know what it is?"
The old man smiled. "Yes. The Christians believe it is
Satan's sign. But it has no power for us. Celia did it when I
was here."
The three men left the apartment together. As Major Rosteveli
and Isadore Kantrowitz drove off toward headquarters, Peter
Somoroff drove in the opposite direction toward the Kremlin.

12
Premier Alexeyevich met with Peter in his private conference
room.
"Your son is on his way by train. He will arrive the day
after tomorrow, in the morning. He is to report directly to
me."
The premier seemed distant and distracted. Affairs of state,
thought Peter. I wouldn't have his job for anything. It is too
much responsibility for one man.
The premier continued. "Before you tell me your news, I
think you should know that Valarian knows I am investigating
him."
"What happened?" asked Peter.
"He is trying to locate a copy of my visitors' log. I have
loyal people around me, but now I suspect he too has people
on my staff."
This fact unsettled Peter Somoroff.
"Then he knows you have Boris Menoff's file?"
"He must. That puts you in danger. I'm sorry."
Peter was touched by his friend's concern. "That comes
with the job, Ivan Ivanovich. I can protect myself."
Premier Alexeyevich had more news.
"I have spent the morning with the Presidium. This busi-
ness with our Jews grows worse. There are pressures from
America. The dissidents get publicity. I will have to act
soon."
"Can't you ease off a bit . . . let some time pass?"
The Soviet leader was on his feet. His voice raised in
protest. "Don't you get the picture yet? I'm not ordering
60

RED DEVIL
61
these things to be done. Valarian is behind it. His people are
scattered throughout this damned bureaucracy of ours. If I
stop one, then another arrests Jews somewhere else, or burns
a synagogue, or rounds up a few and sends them off to
Siberia. It's a big country, comrade, and filled with anti-Semites."
"You are sure Valarian is behind it?" asked Peter.
"Most of it—of what gets out to the world press anyway.
He has powerful allies and an organization of fanatic follow-
ers. We must be very careful with this man. He has been able
to gather many to his side. Caution, Peter . . . caution."
Peter paused before speaking again. The things he had to
tell the premier were of a different order than how the premier
viewed Valarian. Peter was not really sure he grasped these
things himself.
The premier sat down again. "So what has the KGB to
report?"
"Several things ..."
It took an hour for Peter to relay all of the information to
his friend. He was careful not to conclude anything regarding
the motive behind Valarian's deeds. His final statement was
cautious.
"The man holds some power, but I don't know enough
about him yet to define his goals. There is a sense of . . .
strangeness . . . something mystical, religious about this thing.
I hope to have more for you in a few days, but for now
conjecture will serve no purpose."
The premier had a question. "This old Jew you have with
Rosteveli. Do you trust him?"
"Yes. He is genuinely frightened: In his way, no matter
what you and I think, he did try to help Boris and Celia. That
is more than we were able to do."
Premier Alexeyevich stood to announce that the meeting
was ended. As the two men walked to the door of the
conference room, Peter asked, "Do you have one more
moment?"
The premier stopped and nodded.
"I need someone else to help in the investigation. I can't
take any more of my staff or others will become suspicious.
My son will be able to relieve me of contacting you in this
way, and I will be able to get out into the field. Then I can
dig into Colonel Valarian's past in detail. But for now I must
have someone you trust implicitly."

62
David Saperstein
"What do you want this person for, comrade?"
"I have to send someone to Siberia or one of the camps to
find a certain man for me."
"The rabbi the old man spoke about?"
"Yes," answered Peter, a little embarrassed that he was
following the suggestion of an old Jew. But the premier
understood. No stone should be left unturned.
"One of our special embassy agents is here for a debrief-
ing. She has been in America for two years. She is one of our
best. I trust her with my life, Peter Somoroff. Her name is
Sasha Andreyev. I will send her to you tomorrow."
"Thank you, Premier Alexeyevich." Peter left the room
reflecting that perhaps he should have asked for a man. He
knew the rabbi about whom Isadore Kantrowitz spoke would
surely be in Siberia, and that was a brutal place at this time of
year, especially for a woman.
When Peter reached his Skoda the snow was falling hard. It
took a few minutes to brush off the windows and warm the
car. He maneuvered around a soldier plowing the parking lot,
passed through the Kremlin's northeast gate, and drove through
the still streets toward Lubyanka Prison. It was time to have
his talk with Doctors Brodsky and Karkov. As he drove
slowly through a Moscow turning white, Peter Somoroff s
thoughts remained with the premier. His mind drifted back to
those early days on the hydrofoil as the three, Ivan Alexeyevich,
Boris Menoff, and Peter, cruised the Crimea from Odessa to
Sevastopol. Those were the days of Stalin and purges. But to
these three rising stars in the Soviet political system, they
were days of warm sunshine, a fast boat, and beautiful women.
After Peter had seen the hydrofoil leave Odessa harbor he
had stayed all day, hoping for it to return so that he could
meet the owner. By nightfall he knew it was futile to wait any
longer. Each day after that he waited at the docks. On the
third day he was rewarded beyond his expectations when, as
the boat docked, he saw the familiar figure of Boris Menoff
on the fantail. He also knew the man with Boris by sight. It
was Ivan Ivanovich Alexeyevich, Commissar of Odessa. Pe-
ter waited patiently on the dock as the two men approached.
Boris, always aware of the physical world around him, no-
ticed Peter Somoroff.
"Peter Ilyavich," the little man called out, "how glorious

RED DEVIL
63
to see you." They hugged, and that brought a smile to the
waiting Ivan Alexeyevich, because Peter was a good foot
taller than Menoff and had lifted him from the ground.
"Now, if you will put me down," declared Menoff, "I
will introduce you to the man who runs this city."
"It will be an honor to meet the man who, as you say, runs
this city, but it will be a delight to meet the man who runs
that marvelous boat," Peter answered, and in so saying made
a friend for life of Ivan Ivanovich Alexeyevich, now premier
of Russia.
As he drew closer to Lubyanka, another memory passed
through Peter's mind, of the day that he had revealed to
Alexeyevich why he had wanted to meet the owner of the
hydrofoil.
They had been swimming and drinking on a beach near
Yalta. The boat was moored offshore. Boris was on board
with the women sleeping off a horrible hangover.
Ivan lay back on the warm, golden sand with a satisfied
sigh. "This is the good life, my new friend. It would be
wonderful to always be this serene . . . this safe."
Peter picked up the cue. He knew that the commissar was
close to Stalin, but Boris had hinted that these days Alexeyevich
kept away from Moscow. Premier Stalin was on the warpath.
He took a chance and spoke his mind to Ivan Alexeyevich.
. "The good life, that's true. But I don't know about safe.
One never knows about that . . . these days."
Alexeyevich knew that Somoroff was NKVD. For a mo-
ment he thought that his time had come, that Comrade Stalin
had sent Somoroff to collect him. He sat up and stared at
Peter. "What do you mean, Peter?"
Peter saw the fear in the man's eyes and knew that he had
played his cards right. Alexeyevich was also afraid of the
madman in Moscow.
"I mean that we have a leader who is . . . shall I say ... a
bit erratic when it comes to the security of those around
him?"
Ivan felt it was a test. He was wary. "Well," he said,
"perhaps, but these are difficult times for the country. There
is too much devastation from the war. Too much unrest in the
world. Atomic weapons. Revolutions. The job he has is a big
one—I would never want that responsibility."
Prophetic words.

64
David Saperstein
Peter decided to go all the way with his new friend.
"There is no excuse for the purges. I have friends who
have felt his wrath . . . unjustified. I think he is a madman."
There. He had said it. Suddenly there was relief on Ivan's
face, and he fell back onto the sand laughing.
"You hate that lunatic bastard, too?"
"That's why I wanted to meet the owner of the hydrofoil. I
thought it was the perfect escape vehicle—if I ever needed
one, that is."
Tears of laughter were in Ivan Alexeyevich's eyes.
"Yes, yes. That's why I keep it down here, especially this
summer. And you are welcome to it, my friend . . . always."
He kept laughing and laughing. Peter knew it was emo-
tional relief Ivan was letting out, the relief that any of them
might experience after feeling he had escaped from a one-way
ticket to the Gulag or, perhaps, the grave.
As he entered the stone walls of Lubyanka, reality came
back. It was Moscow ... it was winter ... it was snowing,
and he, Peter Ilyavich Somoroff, held prisoners in this place.
He also had business in Siberia. Time changes only the cast
of players, the game remains the same.
Leonid and Marina finished making love for the third time
that afternoon and napped peacefully in each other's arms.
Downstairs, two men, a police sergeant and a plainclothes
detective from the Pushkin central police station requested the
register from the hotel manager. They would report Chomsky's
whereabouts to Major Metsky immediately.
Young Peter Somoroff s train passed through Omsk. As he
ate in the dining car, news of his orders reached Nickolai
Valarian through the computer. Valarian had programmed the
computer to supply background on all of those close to Peter
Somoroff. He kept the information foremost in his mind as he
studied his adversary's file. It might be useful to know ex-
actly where his son was going to be for the next few days.
Sasha Andreyev found a message from Ivan Alexeyevich's
secretary to call him. She had been out shopping for dinner.
Her roommate, a cousin from Kiev, had taken the message
down carefully.
"I couldn't believe it, Sasha. She actually said she was

RED DEVIL
65
calling from Premier Alexeyevich's office." The young woman
knew that Sasha worked for the embassy in America. Since
apartments were so hard to get in Moscow, she had been
happy to take care of the place while Sasha was away. But
she never realized how high in the government Sasha's job
went. The young diplomat never talked about her work.
Sasha called the Kremlin number, but the premier was out.
However he had left a message. She was to see Colonel Peter
Somoroff at KGB headquarters in Moscow the next morning.
She was to call him first. He was expecting her call. The
premier also said that she was assigned to Somoroff until
further notice. KGB in America or KGB in Moscow—to
Sasha it was all the same thing. She was one of the best, and
she knew it.
The dull Siberian winter sky never changed. However,
within the Tostuya compound many things were changing.
There was an influx of new inmates, all Jews. More buildings
had to be opened, cleaned, and quickly filled with the new
arrivals. Rabbi Vogel was kept busy day and night on detail
after detail. At least it gave him a chance to talk to Yasha
Mendel once in a while. The conversation was always the
same—why so many Jews? Was it happening all over again?
Why? They were allowed little contact with the new arrivals,
who were themselves bewildered and lost in the snowbound
surroundings. Vogel had to know what was happening. He
had to chance talking to some of them. He shared this idea
with Mendel, who by now had grown accustomed to the
camp rules and regulations.
"Rabbi," Mendel whispered as they moved musty mat-
tresses from a truck into the barracks, "if you have to do this
thing, be careful. There are new people here in the adminis-
tration, too. And some new guards arrived yesterday, Cossacks."
"I will be careful, Yasha. Something has happened. I feel
it."
"Me, too," said the mathematician. Rabbi Vogel noticed
as they entered the lit barracks that Yasha Mendel had aged
considerably in the few short weeks since he had arrived.

13
Dr. Brodsky's room in Lubyanka was comfortable, if small.
He stood nervously at the barred window, averting his gaze
from Peter Somoroff's. With or without eye contact, the
interrogation continued. Brodsky was beginning to crack.
"Once again, Doctor," said Peter, "I must have an answer
from you today. Who is this Dr. Karkov that she has a hold
over the Chief of Psychiatric Medicine?"
"She has no hold over me, Comrade Colonel." The doctor
answered formally.
Peter had found the autopsy report waiting for him at the
prison. It confirmed that Celia Menoff had died of a heart
attack, an embolism. It also stated that adrenaline had not
been used, especially behind the knee. So he knew that
Karkov had lied, and Brodsky knew she had lied. Now there
was no time for games. Peter felt an urgency to know more
about their plans.
"The woman was murdered. You are accused as an accom-
plice. It won't go well with you, Doctor, I promise. On the
other hand, if you cooperate with me, and because of our
long friendship . . ." He let his voice trail off.
Brodsky spun around on the word murder. His face was
white, the blood drained.
"Murder? Me murder? You are insane."
"Very well. If you wish to spend the rest of your life in
prison, that is your business." Peter stood and turned to leave.
"Wait," yelled the doctor, "please wait." He sat on the
bed, dejected and beaten. After a deep sigh, he told Peter
Somoroff the truth.
66

RED DEVIL
67
A half hour later, Peter left Brodsky's room feeling good.
Now he had some ammunition. Before questioning Dr. Karkov
he called Major Rosteveli.
"How is Mr. Kantrowitz?"
"Settled in, Colonel. We are working on the acrostic. He
is unable to fill in some of the translations; still we are trying.
There is something else, Colonel."
Peter didn't like the tone of his voice. "Yes?"
"I received a call from that Army major I met at the
synagogue today. He tracked me down to my office. His
name is Anton Metsky."
"Where does he work?"
"I checked it out. He works for the man you mentioned to
the old Jew today. Colonel Valarian."
So they're tracking us here, too, thought Peter. Fine. Still
he hadn't made a link between Karkov and Valarian. Brodsky's
story made no mention of Valarian or Metsky. It would be
troublesome if there was a link. However, Brodsky had given
a plausible reason for why Dr. Karkov would want Celia
Menoff dead. Peter knew he needed more facts before con-
fronting Karkov.
He told Rosteveli, "Major, I want you to leave Mr.
Kantrowitz under guard. No one is to see him. No one. Go to
the terminal in my office and use this entry code: K-RR-
sevenXB plus. Do you have that?"
The major answered in the affirmative.
"Get a printout on Dr. Tania Karkov, now attached to the
Psychiatric Unit at Central Hospital. Bring it to me at our
section in Lubyanka."
"Yes, Comrade Colonel. It may take a while."
"I'll wait for you, Rosteveli . . . and, Major, be careful.
When you get here I will explain much of this to you."
Within minutes Rosteveli had a guard on the door to his
office and was on his way upstairs to Colonel Somoroff's
office.
Peter called home to Nadja and explained that he would be
working late. She was disappointed, so to cheer her up he
told her that their son was coming to Moscow on leave. Nadja
quickly forgot her annoyance with her husband.
While Peter waited for the file, across the city in the
headquarters building of the GRU—the Intelligence Director-
ate of the General Staff of the Soviet Army—Colonel Nickolai

68
David Saperstein
Valarian, Security and Records Division Chief, sat and lis-
tened to Major Metsky's third report of the day.
"Chomsky is in Pushkin at the Grazeed Hotel, room twenty-
two. He is with a lady friend"—he looked down at his
notes—"a Miss Marina Grochenko. She is a dancer with the
Leningrad Ballet."
"Do we know why he is in Pushkin?" the colonel asked.
"Not yet, sir. But we will have a tail on him when he
leaves the hotel."
"Good. Any news from Lubyanka?"
"Both doctors are still there. Somoroff is in the prison.
Also, Captain Servioff reported that the major whom I met at
the synagogue today—"
Valarian interrupted, "Rosteveli?"
"Yes, sir. Rosteveli is in Somoroffs office using the
computer.''
"Do we know why?"
"No, sir. I tried to locate the request, but it came in on a
secure entry code. Somoroff has such a code similar to yours,
Comrade Colonel."
"What about the old Jew?"
"He is in Rosteveli's office under guard."
Valarian put both of his scarred hands on the shiny mahog-
any desk. He glared at Metsky.
"Kill him!"
Anton Metsky had received orders like this against Jews
from Valarian in the past. But never a job to be done in such
a dangerous place. "In KGB headquarters, sir? That will be a
problem."
"You don't have to attack the place, idiot. But the Jew will
have to eat."
Metsky understood. Servioff could take care of that.
"Is there anything else, Colonel?" The major wanted to
get out of the cold room quickly. Whenever there was killing
in the air Valarian's cold, calculating demeanor changed. He
would become excited, issuing orders until he reached a
frenzy. But this time Valarian remained calm.
"Yes, Major Metsky. One more thing. I want to know the
schedule of the stops that the train from Chita to Moscow will
be making for the next few days. Also a list of people we
have at those locations."
Metsky knew better than to question the reason for the

RED DEVIL
69
request. "Yes, sir. I will have that delivered to you within the
hour."
The major stood, saluted, and left the office quickly. He
had no desire to return again that day. Three visits were
enough.
Rosteveli arrived at the prison on Dzerzhinsky Square after
nightfall. He sat patiently as the colonel read the file on Dr.
Karkov. When Somoroff had finished he spent the next hour
telling Major Rosteveli the whole story, and since he had
been in Menoff s apartment, he also told the major some of
the conclusions that Boris Menoff had suggested in his inves-
tigative file. But the KGB cryptographer refused to believe
those conclusions.
"You are right, Major, but we have to follow the case—
wherever it leads us."
Both men stood. Peter walked with Rosteveli to the eleva-
tor. "You go back to the office and tuck our guest in for the
night. I will see you in the morning. Thank you, Major."
As the major left the prison, he didn't notice he was being
followed by someone in another car. There was too much on
his mind. The snow was falling more heavily now. He had to
drive with caution.
Isadore Kantrowitz hadn't ordered anything to eat, but he
was hungry. The guard outside the door told the mess orderly
that Major Rosteveli did not mention food would be coming
up to the office. However, it was the dinner hour, so he
accepted the tray. He unlocked the office door and gave the
food to the old man. Isadore Kantrowitz nibbled on the
chicken and boiled potato while he pored through the Hebrew-
Greek translating dictionary in search of another meaning for
anagogi or anagoge. He was dead within twenty seconds.
The guard outside heard nothing as the old man slumped
forward onto the dictionary.

14
"I demand to know why you are holding me here, Colonel
Somoroff!" There was arrogance in Dr. Karkov's voice.
Peter also detected a slight tremor of fright underneath. Good,
he thought. She is not sure.
"In good time, Tania Karkov. It will all be clear to you in
time. Now I have a few questions for you, if you don't
mind."
Keep it polite and low-key, thought Peter. He was sure she
would not be thrown off her guard by his manner, but there
was no need for extreme interrogation techniques yet.
The pretty, blond Bielorussian doctor stood defiantly. "Ask
your questions, policeman."
"Good," said Peter. He deliberately sat down and opened
his briefcase methodically. String her out. Raise her anxiety.
He had, in his life, questioned hundreds of prisoners. He
knew all of the techniques. Soon, this murderer would under-
stand whom she was defying.
"Now, Comrade Doctor. The reason you are here is mur-
der. You are accused of being an accomplice in the murder of
Celia Menoff, wife of a member of the Supreme Soviet. We
have charged Dr. Brodsky, and he has implicated you. I have
just a few loose ends to tie up before you are formally
charged."
Tania was stunned. Murder? How did they know? Brodsky
wasn't there when she did it. She knew Somoroff was lying
and felt contempt for his clumsy approach.
"That, of course, is a lie, Comrade Colonel. I am an
accomplice to no such act, and you know it."
70

RED DEVIL
71
"Perhaps. But he did implicate you. He seems to hold a
great animosity toward you. Frankly, Tania, he hates you."
She shrugged and folded her arms across her bosom. Peter
noticed that she had an attractive body underneath her white
lab coat. What a strange species we are, Peter mused. I am
attracted to this female while at the same time I have such
contempt for her actions. He changed tactics.
"Have you had your dinner, Doctor?" he asked.
"Yes. Swill for pigs."
"Well," he said, standing, "you had better get used to it.
You will be here for a long time." He began to fold his
papers.
"Is that all you have to say to me?" she questioned.
"No, there is more. Brodsky is not the murderer—you are.
We have the autopsy report. There was no adrenaline admin-
istered. You injected air into Celia Menoff's vein behind her
knee, causing a heart attack. It was clumsy, and you, my dear
doctor, were stupid to think you could get away with it."
"I had no reason to kill the woman. I had no motive."
"Ah, but you did. Dr. Brodsky told us about your hatred
of Boris Menoff. About how he imprisoned your brother for
anti-Soviet activities. You had an excellent motive."
Actually Brodsky had only casually mentioned it. Peter
Somoroff had confirmed that tidbit in Karkov's file. He also
found that her brother, Misha Karkov, had been released from
prison a few months ago at the direction of none other than
Nickolai Valarian. The circle grew tighter.
"But my brother is free. And Boris Menoff is dead—" She
stopped herself but too late. He had tricked her.
"Yes, Comrade Doctor. Boris Menoff is dead. But how do
you know that?"
"The woman told me," she countered quickly. "She . . .
ah ... she woke during the night. She was delirious . . .
muttering about her husband. I was shocked to hear the
news—''
"Garbage. You told me she was sedated, that she didn't
waken at all. That she had the attack in her sleep. Get your
story straight."
Tania Karkov knew that her words were being recorded
through a bug hidden somewhere in the small detention room.
She fondled a ruby ring on her finger. Peter noticed the
action. He bore in for the kill.

72
David Saperstein
"I know that you are only an instrument in this matter,
Tania. It will go easier for you if you tell me about the man
who gave you the order to kill Mrs. Menoff."
Tania Karkov felt the cold shock of entrapment surge
through her body.
"What man? What are you talking about?"
Peter changed tactics again. He shouted at the attractive
doctor.
"I am talking about Valarian. Colonel Nickolai Valarian,
the man who instructed you to murder Mrs. Menoff. You
have just a moment to speak, Doctor, so do it quickly.
Otherwise the next time you talk it will be before a magistrate
of the court."
Tania Karkov lunged at Somoroff, trying to slash him with
the ruby ring. As though captured in a frozen moment, Peter
saw the small needle point projecting from the center of the
bright red stone. Poison.
He backed away toward the door, shouting for a guard. She
lunged again, barely missing him as he stepped aside. As she
passed him he kicked her in the stomach. She fell forward,
clutching her groin, as the guard opened the door with his
pistol drawn. Tania looked up and knew she was trapped.
Peter ordered the guard to shoot if the prisoner made any
attempt to attack.
"Now," Peter spoke in a shaky voice, "give me the
ring."
"You will have to take it, Colonel." There was cold
defiance in her voice.
"Then we will take it," Peter answered coldly.
A look of hatred came across Dr. Karkov's face. She knew
the man meant to have his way. She knew she was finished.
For her, failure was death, from either the men in this room
or that strange and powerful man to whom she owed her total
allegiance. She spoke to Peter Somoroff, and her words cut
the air like knives.
"You will never have me, Somoroff. You will know soon
enough who we are, and what we can and will do. You are
weak, impotent, ignorant. He will break you like a dry twig
in winter. I curse you ... I spit upon you ..."
Her face twitched; her eyes grew glassy; spittle ran from
her mouth. Peter saw that she had plunged the needle ring
into her wrist.

RED DEVIL
73
As he knelt over the dead woman, a guard arrived to tell
him that Major Rosteveli was on the phone with an urgent
message. Peter told both guards to remove the woman to the
prison morgue. He rushed to the phone only to hear of
another death. Rosteveli was furious.
"He was poisoned. Someone sent food to him. The guard
is not at fault, I didn't instruct him properly, Colonel—it is
my fault."
"Calm down, Major," Peter instructed with a commanding
voice. "Calm down. Have the body removed to the morgue
here at Lubyanka, then go home. Take all of the acrostic
papers with you. I will call you in the morning at home. Stay
there until I call."
"Is it safe for me, Colonel?" Rosteveli was worried.
Peter thought for a moment.
"I have a better idea. Go to your lady friend's house. The
one who knew the old man. Call me in the morning. And be
sure you are not followed."
The major understood. The colonel was talking about Fannie
Beshevsky.
"Don't worry, Comrade Somoroff. I won't make any more
mistakes."
He hung up the phone. No, Peter thought, and neither
will I.

15
Moscow was white with the new-fallen snow and as hushed
as a soundproof room. Peter Somoroff sipped his morning tea
and watched Moscow waking up out of the kitchen window.
His mother-in-law was up and about, puttering and cleaning
so that things would be perfect for her grandson's arrival
tomorrow. Both women had been excited when he came
home last night. It was always difficult to leave the happen-
ings of the day behind when he came home. Usually it took
two shots of vodka before he could relax. Last night it took
four, and Nadja had noticed his alcohol consumption. She
was gentle with him. Supper was hot and delicious. Talk was
kept to a minimum, although both women were bursting with
questions about young Peter's leave. He told them it was a
special leave given to soldiers who had performed exception-
ally well in Afghanistan. Another lie in a life of lies. But it
satisfied them.
Peter reviewed his plans for the day. Major Rosteveli
would call soon. Peter glanced at the kitchen clock. Seven
fifteen; yes, he would be calling at any moment. Assuming
the major had not been followed, they would meet away from
the office. Peter knew that Lubyanka was a secure place. The
KGB diplomatic agent whom Premier Alexeyevich had rec-
ommended would also be calling, but at the office. Other than
Chomsky and Rosteveli, Peter knew he could trust no one.
Somehow he would have to divert her call. Then there was
Chomsky in Pushkin. He would have some news tonight.
Peter considered calling him now to warn him of the danger,
but he knew the young lieutenant would be out working. The
74

RED DEVIL
75
thought made Peter anxious. First things first. He went to the
phone and called the premier.
"Good morning, Premier Alexeyevich. Can you put this
call on scramble?"
Peter heard a high-pitched squeal. Then the premier was on
the line again. "Good morning, Peter."
"I would appreciate your calling your friend Sasha and
asking her to meet me at Lubyanka, in my section. Tell her to
be there by nine am."
"Is anything wrong?"
"A few problems. I will come by later with a full report."
"Fine. Make it before five. I have a state dinner tonight
with the Hungarians. Goodbye."
Satisfied, Peter waited for Rosteveli's call, which came
immediately after he hung up with the premier.
"Good morning, Colonel."
"Good morning, Major. Meet me at Lubyanka at eight-
thirty. Goodbye."
Nadja came into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around
her seated husband. She felt warm and soft. He loved her and
bent his head backward into her breasts and the warm robe.
She kissed his neck.
"Good morning, Peter Ilyavich," she murmured into his
Adam's apple.
His response was even more muffled.
"Good morning, love."
Nadja's mother watched from the kitchen door. Her son-in-
law was a good man. It pleased her to see their love. She
smiled and shuffled off to clean the house as only a grand-
mother can for her only grandson.
The Moscow train traveled into dawn near Chelyabinsk.
Ahead lay the Ural Mountains. Now the train would slow
down as it wound its way through the mountain passes and
tunnels across the majestic range. Peter had been trained in
this region in nuclear and biological warfare at the highly
secret Kamyshlov Range and Proving Grounds. The weapons
they studied surprised the young man. He thought about
whether he would really use them against an enemy one day.
Thoughts about the Afghanistan action flooded his mind. He
was glad to be out of that business. You fought an invisible
enemy who seemed to be part of the rocky, barren terrain.

76
David Saperstein
They appeared and disappeared at will, hitting with rocket
and mortar fire sporadically as they moved through the for-
bidden hills. He had come to admire the tribesmen who
defended their mother country with the same intensity and
abandon described by his father when he talked about the
Soviet Army defending Stalingrad against the Nazis. Young
Somoroff had kept a diary of his adventures in Afghanistan.
Now, as the memories came to him he took paper and pen
and began to write. Someday, he thought, I will tell the story
of this chapter in Russian history.
Peter brought Rosteveli up to date on last night's events.
The major was still angry with himself and was pacing back
and forth in the cell that Peter had set up as a temporary
office.
"Please, Major. No one blames you. Please sit down and
listen to me."
The Georgian slumped into a chair opposite the Colonel.
"We have to begin to anticipate these people effectively. I
am convinced they have tapped my office phone, and proba-
bly my home phone. We will assume that your line is also
tapped. This wing of the prison is mine. I know every man
and woman here, but I want you to spend the day checking
their files for any contact with Valarian—or anyone at GRU
in Moscow. Be thorough. From now on our lives depend on
it."
Peter could see that Rosteveli was completely involved. It
felt good to have the crusty fellow Georgian on his side.
"Did you tell the woman about Kantrowitz?"
"No, sir. But I felt like a shit, that I can tell you."
The intercom buzzed.
"Colonel Somoroff, you have a visitor in reception." Peter
glanced at his watch. It was 9:00 am exactly. A good sign.
He instructed Rosteveli to leave the room and use the office at
the end of the hall. The files were there.
Sasha Andreyev, although bom in the Ukraine, grew up in
Tallinn, in Estonia. Her clothes reflected a life style oriented
to the west. She wore a lynx coat and matching hat, sealskin
boots, and black suede gloves. The boots and gloves set off
the dark, silky black hair. As she removed her coat, Peter saw
she wore an American sweater and jeans underneath. The

RED DEVIL
77
jeans were skin-tight, revealing a full figure. He noticed her
gun neatly tucked into the right boot on the inside. The flare
of the jeans hid it well. She spoke first.
"I have heard a great deal about you, Comrade Colonel. It
is an honor to work with you."
"You have me at a disadvantage, madam. I know nothing
about you, but if Ivan Alexeyevich recommends you, then
that is good enough for me."
They shook hands. Hers were warm and smooth. He lin-
gered with them for a moment thinking how long they would
last if exposed to a Siberian winter storm.
"Is there something wrong?" she asked.
He let her hand go. "No . . . nothing. Now come and sit
down. I have a job for you that needs to be done immediately."
She took a notebook from her shoulder bag. Before she
could get her pen out, Somoroff stopped her.
"Nothing on paper, Miss Andreyev. The matters we will
discuss are for my ears and the premier's only."
"Yes, Colonel. And my name is Sasha, please."
"Good. Now, Sasha, first you will locate a man. His name
is Rabbi Isadore Vogel."
She looked at the KGB chief. "Excuse me, Colonel—"
"Yes. I said rabbi," he answered before she could ask,
"and my name is Peter." He continued, "I believe Vogel is
from Minsk. He is in a camp. I assume in the Siberian area
but possibly somewhere else. When you locate his where-
abouts, report back to me."
"Can you tell me why you want this man . . . what the
case is about?"
Sasha was curious but respectful of her superior officer.
"Not now. I will tell you what you need to know as you
need to know it. I'm sorry, but it will all make sense to you
in time. Just one more thing. Do not connect my name or that
of the premier or my section with this research. And if you
can help it, keep it away from the GRU. We have enemies
there. As a matter of fact, try to involve as few people as
possible and leave no trail from here. Be sure you are not
followed when you return."
Sasha knew how she would like to get the information—
firsthand, at the source. She had to ask.
"Comrade ... ah, Peter, do we have a budget for ex-
penses on this case?"

78
David Saperstein
"What do you need?" he asked. It hadn't occurred to him
yet to set up a budget. This woman asked good questions.
"It is an hour by plane to Minsk. I can make the flight if I
get to the airport by noon. I can be back by tomorrow
afternoon. That way I can go to the court records without
using the computer or the GRU, as you instructed."
"Do you have a government travel card?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered, "but for the diplomatic section only."
"Fine. Use it for your trip. By tomorrow I will have the
premier transfer us to his special discretionary budget."
"Very well. I will see you here by three tomorrow after-
noon." She thought for a moment, then asked, "Do you want
me to call you from Minsk?"
"No. The phones are not secure. And when you leave
here, go through our section to the main prison and out the
front gate. Good hunting, Sasha, and be careful."
As Sasha Andreyev drove toward the airport she made
several quick turns to be sure she wasn't being followed. It
was strange to be on assignment inside her own country,
taking the same precautions she had so often taken in the
United States. There was something very sad about Soviets
spying on Soviets. But the premier had been specific . . .
"You are to be totally committed to this man Somoroff as
though he were me." Now that she had met the famous Peter
Ilyavich Somoroff, she liked him. Her only complaint at this
point was her ignorance of the case. In a few days, she would
wish that her ignorance had remained.
In Pushkin, the files gathered for Chomsky told Captain
Yuri Bonyon that the KGB was interested in Nickolai Valarian.
The captain put two and two together quickly. Inside, the
KGB agent was reading files of Jewish arrests and incidents
going back several years—all involving Valarian. Outside,
two of the most anti-Semitic policemen in Pushkin sat waiting
and watching. Well, thought Bonyon, this is none of my
affair. Let the hyenas eat their own. He went down the block
to the neighborhood coffeehouse.
Police Sergeant Zalitski nudged the detective next to him.
"That was the duty officer who just left. Chomsky must have
had to see him."
Lieutenant of Detectives Vladimir Zorbin was a patriotic
Russian. He followed orders explicitly, but his actions were

RED DEVIL
79
always tempered by his love of his country. Police work was
satisfying but local in scope, so when he was approached by
Sergeant Zalitski to get involved with a special project for
GRU chief Valarian, he was thrilled. It had been explained
that both men could be of great service to their country, and
to the GRU in particular, if as they went about their daily
work they took special assignments from Valarian's office.
Most of those assignments had involved actions against Jews.
Now, for the first time, they involved a KGB agent, and this
made Lieutenant Zorbin uneasy.
"Yes, he probably did," answered Zorbin. "Put it in the
report."
"Shouldn't one of us keep an eye on him?" asked the
zealous sergeant.
"He probably only went to the coffee shop."
The sergeant moved to get out of the car. "I'm going to
have a look anyway. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Zorbin didn't argue. He was glad to be alone for a while.
As he sipped his coffee, Captain Bonyon was amused by
the clumsy sergeant's attempt to spy on him. It also made him
uneasy. TTiis KGB agent in his office might be involving him
in a matter he didn't want any part of. He decided to speak to
Chomsky and hurried to finish his coffee.
Chomsky sat absorbed in the files. Separately, they were
just records of arrests and imprisonments of some citizens of
Pushkin. Collectively, they were an indictment of anti-Semitism
in that fair Russian city. Each file was signed by Major
Nickolai Valarian, then head of internal affairs for his sec-
tion. Leonid wondered if it would be worth while to stay
another day to compaie the arrests of Jews after Valarian had
been promoted out of that job. As he tried to make that
decision, the door to the office opened, and Captain Bonyon
stood staring at him with a funny look on his face.
"I'm not finished yet, Captain. I'll be about a half hour
more."
"What is it exactly that you are looking for, Lieutenant?"
"That is my business . . . KGB business. I'm afraid it
doesn't involve you."
"Ah, but it does," said Bonyon as he sat down in the
unfamiliar chair opposite his own seat, "it most certainly
does."

80
David Saperstein
"And how is that, Comrade Captain?" Chomsky asked
sarcastically.
"I have just had a cup of coffee at the corner, and I believe
because of your presence here, I had to drink it under the
surveillance of our local police."
Chomsky grew alert. He felt a tingle in the pit of his
stomach.
"Police? Are you certain?"
"Oh," said Bonyon, enjoying the KGB agent's interest, "I
am quite certain. I know those rats. But they don't know
me ... at least I think they don't."
Chomsky relaxed. "Just a coincidence. I know they have
no business with me."
The captain sat back in the chair and smiled. "Ah, but I
think they are here because of you. I think they followed
you."
"What makes you think that?" Leonid was worried again.
"You have to know this neighborhood, its businesses. The
police just don't come around here too often."
Chomsky believed the man. He had to know more about
the police outside, and that meant involving Captain Bonyon.
But in order to do that he first had to speak to Colonel
Somoroff.
Peter Somoroffs secretary took Chomsky's call. He was
told that the colonel could be reached at Lubyanka. Somoroff
took the call as he was on his way to see Dr. Brodsky.
"Yes, Leonid. What is it?" Peter was annoyed that Chomsky
had called, even though he knew these lines were still secure.
"I apologize for calling, but something has come up. May I
speak freely?" The KGB lieutenant had asked Captain Bonyon
to leave the room while he placed this call.
"Go ahead," answered Somoroff.
"The files are full of interesting information about our
friend. But for some reason I seem to have two local police-
men on my tail."
"How do you know that?"
"The captain of this section spotted them. I believe him."
"Who are they?"
"I don't know exactly, just that they are from the local
police. A sergeant and a lieutenant."
"Get me their names. I'll hold on."

RED DEVIL
81
Chomsky put down the phone and called the captain into
the office. "Do you know the policemen's names?"
"Yes."
"Good," said Leonid. "Please write them down for me.
I'll be just a moment, then you can have your office back."
He was especially nice to the captain, sensing that he
would need him. After Bonyon left the room, Leonid read the
names to Somoroff. Peter copied them down.
"Good, Leonid. Now, get those files photocopied, and get
out of there. I want you back here by tomorrow morning."
Chomsky was startled by his boss's insistence.
"Is everything all right, Colonel?"
"No. It is not all right, and this business of those police-
men worries me. Be very careful, Leonid."
Chomsky thought for a moment, then risked Somoroff's
wrath with a question. "Colonel Somoroff, I may have to
involve the captain of this section a bit. He gave me the
names of the policemen, he knows which files I have viewed,
and . . . and I am worried about Marina Grochenko. She was
with me last night."
Peter hesitated. It was dangerous to involve any stranger,
but he trusted Chomsky's judgment.
"If you must, then tell him only what he needs to know—
but, Leonid, be sure of him, please. This business is getting
nasty. And give me his name."
He gave Somoroff Captain Bonyon's name.
"Yes, sir. I will. See you tomorrow morning?"
"Yes, Leonid. But meet me at Lubyanka. We are using
this wing for our office in this matter. See you tomorrow."
Somoroff hung up. He stopped by the office where Rosteveli
was working.
"Major, hold off on those security checks for a while. I
want you to pull the files on these people. Bring them to me
as soon as you have them."
Rosteveli took the three names, noting that two were with
the Pushkin police and one was an Army captain. "May I use
your secure entry code to pull them?" he asked.
"From now on use only that code for the computer. Every-
thing we do is to be as secure as we can keep it . . . until we
want them to know our business."
Rosteveli felt the anger in Somoroff's voice. It was a
controlled anger, tempered with the patience of a first-class

82
David Saperstein
detective and a man of intellect. He also sensed that the chase
was on. In typical Somoroff fashion, it first involved
information—as much as they could gather against their
enemies—then, when they knew everything there was to
know about these people, Colonel Somoroff would move in
for the kill. And it would be a kill without pity, based on
solid evidence.
Somoroff moved down the hall to Dr. Brodsky's room. He
was not finished with the traitor yet. Before the day was out,
the Chief of Psychiatric Medicine might need a psychiatrist
himself.
A copy of Premier Alexeyevich's visitors' log lay on Nickolai
Valarian's polished desk. The notations of Peter Somoroff s
meetings with the premier were neatly underlined. Valarian
now knew he was confronting a clever enemy. The KGB
chief's fde was thick with success. His reputation was awe-
some. How swiftly he had moved to collect Brodsky and
Karkov. But how did he find the old man so fast, and what
was Lieutenant Chomsky up to in Pushkin? He needed an-
swers, but first he would move to slow Somoroff down, to
punish him enough so that there would be no doubt about
Valarian's power. He stretched his mouth and squeezed his
eyes shut as though he were a lion yawning. Valarian felt the
tightness of his burned body. Aging scar tissue became less
flexible with time.
Anton Metsky watched the GRU colonel contort before
him. He recoiled inside at the sight of those long, yellowing
teeth and the bunching flaps of twisted flesh that covered his
boss's face. The colonel spoke as if from deep inside a musty
well.
"Have you heard anything more about Brodsky or Karkov?"
The major hesitated, knowing he must give his chief bad
news. "Yes, Colonel*Valarian. I am afraid it is not good."
He waited for a reaction, but the colonel only looked.
"Dr. Karkov is dead. She is in the Lubyanka morgue.
There is no news of Brodsky."
"How did she die?"
"Poison. She took her own life."
Once again the yellow teeth parted scarred lips. A smile?
"She was loyal. I want her body brought here."

RED DEVIL
83
"That may not be possible . . . not just yet. Somoroff has
it under guard."
"Bring it when you can. How did they react to the old
man's death?"
"Captain Servioff said the body was also taken to Lubyanka's
morgue. It is being guarded."
Valarian stood and leaned over the desk. The hollow voice
pierced the cold room. "You will be busy today, Metsky. We
will have to teach this Somoroff a lesson. A lesson he will
never forget!"
Metsky concentrated on the orders as they were issued
rapidly. Was there, he thought, anyone more evil or more
powerful in the world than this man before him? The pleasure
of serving Valarian's wishes excited the major. He loved the
action. And the power.

16
As night fell in Moscow, Peter Somoroff left the Kremlin.
The lights in the great hall were burning, and the strains of
music from the Soviet Army Orchestra announced the begin-
ning of a state dinner. Peter's meeting with the premier had
been short and to the point. Starting tomorrow his son would
be the liaison to the Kremlin chief of state. That thought
made Peter Somoroff feel proud. He still had not told the
premier what his gut feelings were regarding Menoff's file
and the conclusion one might draw from the events of the
investigation. He found his Skoda and prepared to head home.
The words of Alexeyevich still echoed in his brain. "When
you sit in my chair, Peter Ilyavich, you feel the undercurrents
of the powermongers. They will use anything to control the
destiny of the Soviet Union. This Valarian has organized
many people to his cause. Make no mistake, I know his
cause. It is my position he seeks. Others have tried. If we
misjudge him, then we will be punished. He knows he has me
by the throat with this Jewish business. He is clever. And he
has powerful friends in the Presidium. Be careful."
Peter drove toward home, welcoming the thought of a
warm apartment, a good meal, and a loving wife. Tomorrow
he would see his son. He felt no compassion for Dr. Brodsky.
The man had been stubborn, pleading ignorance. Now he
would spend a few days in Somoroff s psychiatric ward with
a different breed of doctors. Peter knew Brodsky was his. The
man would crack in a short time. Peter put Brodsky out of his
mind until the KGB doctors were ready to give him back in a
more cooperative mood.
84

RED DEVIL
85
Leonid Chomsky was looking forward to his return to
Moscow. Captain Bonyon offered to drive him to the Lenin-
grad airport. The soldier was extremely buoyant and talk-
ative. He was alive with excitement. Now he had more than a
desk job. He had been enlisted by the KGB in a field opera-
tion, working for the fabled colonel Peter Somoroff. The
young lieutenant next to him was a good man. It had been fun
watching him handle the Pushkin policemen this afternoon.
After copying the files, Chomsky and Bonyon had left the
building. The two policemen still sat in their Zim watching
the front door. Chomsky walked directly to the car and
motioned for the driver, the sadistic sergeant, to roll down the
window.
"May I see your identification?" Chomsky asked directly.
"Who the hell are you?" the belligerent sergeant answered
as he opened the car door to get out.
Chomsky slammed the door on the man's legs. He screamed
in pain. The lieutenant started to draw his gun and then
thought better of it when he saw Captain Bonyon pointing a
large service revolver at him through the window. Chomsky
dragged the sergeant to his feet and told him to spread-eagle
against the car. He searched the man and took his revolver.
"Now turn around slowly and show me your identification.
Take it out slowly."
Sergeant Zalitski took out his ID. "You are making a
mistake, you arrogant KGB bastard." The sergeant was still
in pain.
Leonid took a perfunctory glance at the ID and returned it
to the man. Then he spoke to Bonyon. "It's all right, Cap-
tain, these men seem to be with the police."
Detective Zorbin was out of the car in a flash. "Seem to
be? You two are under arrest!"
Chomsky smiled. These policemen were dumb. Even the
detective hadn't picked up the sergeant's mistake. Leonid
pressed his point home. "You had better have solid grounds
for this arrest, because you knew I was a KGB officer. Your
friend here just insulted my rank."
"And you knew we were police," the detective answered.
"That, sir, you will have to prove, and I suggest that
unless you can, you will quickly feel the wrath of my office
in Moscow on your fat necks."

86
David Saperstein
Zorbin knew he had lost the argument. He motioned for
Zalitski to get into the car. They sped off as Bonyon and
Chomsky had a good laugh.
Before heading for the Leningrad airport, Chomsky made
one stop at the Pushkin synagogue, but the temple was de-
serted and locked, and the old rabbi was nowhere to be seen.
As Chomsky bade farewell to Captain Bonyon at the Lenin-
grad airport, he could not have known that, at that moment,
just fifteen miles away in the artists' section of the fabled
city, Sergeant Zalitski was carrying out the first of Nickolai
Valarian's orders for the day. His partner, Lieutenant Zorbin,
sat on the young dancer's chest and pinned her arms, while
Zalitski smashed a sledgehammer down on her right kneecap.
She fainted from the pain. The crunching sound made Zorbin
sick, and he vomited on the bed.
Zalitski laughed. "You should have done that on her face,
Comrade Lieutenant. Now get off."
He then took a bag containing a dead cat from his over-
night satchel and slit the cat's throat. Major Metsky had been
specific about this part of the action. He held the bleeding cat
over the young dancer and let the blood pour onto her body,
especially the legs.
"Must you do that?" Zorbin asked, aghast at the gory
sight.
"We must do whatever Comrade Metsky tells us to do.
Now mark her!"
The shaken detective smoothed out the blood on the danc-
er's belly and drew the six-pointed Jewish star onto her skin
with his pocket knife. Zalitski then smeared the cat's blood so
that it mingled with Marina Grochenko's blood, and the deed
was done. The final act was to call the Leningrad Ballet and
leave a message that Marina Grochenko had been in an
accident and was at home. They would discover her by
morning, but by that time Zorbin and Zalitski would be safely
back in Pushkin. Sergeant Zalitski wished he could see the
KGB lieutenant's face when he heard about his little dancer.
The second of Valarian's orders was carried out in Lubyanka
Prison. It was done by Misha Karkov after Valarian told him
that his sister was dead. The young criminal wanted revenge.
It was easy for the colonel to guide his vengeance toward the
KGB enemy.

RED DEVIL
87
Using GRU identification papers, young Misha Karkov,
recently paroled by Valarian, entered the Lubyanka main
prison with orders to pick up GRU autopsy reports for that
month. This allowed him access to the morgue. He asked the
desk sergeant, who was on Metsky's payroll, for the reports,
taking notice of the KGB guards standing near the storage
drawers in the cold room. One drawer would contain his
sister, the other the old Jew. He signaled to the desk sergeant
who rose and called to the guards.
"Hey! This guy wants to talk to you two."
Misha drew his pistol and hid it under his coat as the
guards came to the cold room door. When they were both
through the door he put the pistol to the sergeant's head and
instructed the KGB soldiers.
"Put your machine pistols against the wall behind the desk.
Quick!"
The guards followed his orders. He pushed the sergeant in
front of him and ordered them all into the cold room. He then
made all three men get into the storage drawers and slid them
shut. He crossed the room and took the machine pistols and
used them as wedges to keep the drawers shut, all but the
sergeant's. The small but powerfully built Karkov then checked
the hallway outside. No one was around. He pulled a surgical
scalpel from his leather greatcoat and went to the first drawer.
In it was his sister, cold and white in death. Tears came to his
eyes and anger welled up in him. He bent and kissed her cold
lips, then slowly closed the drawer, turning his attention to
the other where the body of Isadore Kantrowitz was stored.
With the scalpel he mutilated the old man's body, cutting
large slashes, pulling out the intestines, and finally cutting off
the old man's penis and testicles and stuffing them into the
cadaver's mouth.
Tomorrow morning the Jewish community of Moscow would
be informed that the KGB had murdered one of their mem-
bers. Since Valarian knew that the Jews rushed to bury their
dead, they would demand the body. Let Somoroff explain the
mutilation to them.
Anton Metsky felt removed from the third order, but he
knew it was the most dangerous. It had to be carried out no
matter how much he questioned the wisdom of such an act.

88
David Saperstein
Valarian had studied the Chita-to-Moscow train schedule along
with the list of loyal people along the train's route.
He pinpointed the city of Kazan, just two hundred miles
east of Gorki. The city lay near the Volga River. Their agent
there was a civil engineer named Valya Pernick. She special-
ized in hydroelectric dam construction and was a totally
committed disciple of Valarian's. They had met when he was
recuperating at the Burn Institute in Grozny. Her mother had
been Valarian's nurse, and until her unfortunate death in 1970
in an airplane crash, both women did his bidding. Metsky
placed the call to Valya Pernick himself. She never ques-
tioned orders from Colonel Valarian.
In the early morning hours, as the Chita-to-Moscow train
left the Ural Mountains behind, speeding toward Kazan and
eventually Moscow, Valya Pernick bought her ticket at the
Kazan station and waited. The ticket read Kazan to Gorki,
one-way. She wore the black dress, black coat, and veil of
mourning. The station agent might remember her, but he
never saw her face through the heavy veil.
A few hours later, young Peter Somoroff awakened to the
conductor announcing Kazan as the next stop. By the end of
the day he would be in Moscow and would see his family. It
was exciting. He dressed and went to the dining car for
breakfast. There were many travelers boarding at Kazan, and
he was glad that he had eaten breakfast before the morning
rush began in the dining car. He casually noticed the woman
in mourning when she entered the car.
Two hours later there was a knock on Lieutenant SomorofFs
door. He was surprised to see the veiled woman before him.
"May I help you, madam?" he asked politely.
The woman was crying. "I saw you in the dining car.
Aren't you the son of Colonel Peter Ilyavich Somoroff?"
"Yes . . . yes I am. How do you know me?"
"I know your father. May we talk?"
Peter invited her into his sleeper compartment. He turned
to ask if she would like some coffee just as the woman drove
a long stiletto upward from below his rib cage into his heart.
In a few seconds he was dead, killed by an expert. Valya
propped him up on the sofa and covered him with a blanket as
though he were sleeping. She then returned to her seat, took a
book from her handbag, and read for the rest of the trip to
Gorki.

RED DEVIL
89
Peter Somoroff parked in Lubyanka and walked toward his
sector. It was going to be a full day, he thought. Leonid and
Sasha will both be back. As he walked in the cold morning
air, he had no idea that it would be a day he would remember
for the rest of his life.

IT
Somoroff, Chomsky, and Rosteveli sat in the office-cell and
discussed their next moves. The major and the colonel had
read the Pushkin files thoroughly. There was no doubt that
Valarian had been ruthless and brutal in his treatment of the
Jews in that part of Russia.
Rosteveli reported on his check of the KGB Lubyanka
people in this section. None of them had any link to Valarian
or the GRU. The three men then discussed the previous
night's happenings in the morgue. The news was all over the
prison. Somoroff ordered Tania Karkov's body to be moved.
There was little he could do about the mutilation of Isadore
Kantrowitz's body. Peter questioned Rosteveli.
"You say that the KGB men were locked in the drawers,
but the desk sergeant was not?"
"Yes, Comrade Colonel."
"Strange. Was this sergeant included in the people you
checked out yesterday?"
"No, sir. He is not in our section; however, the guards
were and they checked out fine."
Another mistake, thought Somoroff, betting to himself that
the sergeant would have a GRU or Valarian connection in his
file.
"I want you to pull that sergeant's file and check it, Major.
Do it now."
Chomsky had sat quietly through the last exchange, amused
by the thought of the three men locked in cold storage draw-
ers. Somoroff turned to the young lieutenant as Rosteveli left
the room.
90

RED DEVIL
91
"You were not able to find the rabbi again?"
"No, Colonel. The synagogue was deserted. I think the
man was a little crazy anyway. He withdrew when I men-
tioned Colonel Valarian."
Peter sensed that Chomsky was taking this too lightly. He
had not yet told him all of die facts. It was time to sober up
the young man.
"If you think that rabbi was crazy, Lieutenant, then you
are a poor judge of character, or your little romantic interlude
has softened your brain."
Leonid Chomsky sat upright in his chair, alert to the colo-
nel's tone of voice. Peter told him the facts, especially stress-
ing the fanatical way in which Tania Karkov took her life. He
ended the lecture with a question. "How do you think those
Pushkin police got on to you?"
"A phone tap? I apologize, Colonel."
Then he realized that if the police checked his hotel yester-
day, they also knew that he had spent the night with Marina.
A knot tightened in his stomach.
"What is it, Leonid?" Peter asked.
"Marina. They must have seen Marina. Perhaps there were
more of them . . . perhaps they followed her back to Lenin-
grad. . . . She may be in danger."
He was on his feet, searching for a phone. He located it
and picked up the receiver.
"May I call her, Colonel?"
"Go ahead. These phones are still safe."
There was no answer at her apartment.
"Perhaps she had an early rehearsal," suggested Somoroff.
Leonid was close to panic. "It's too early. They don't start
until noon. She had a performance last night ... so they rest
in the morning."
"Are you sure?" Peter felt a chill. He took the phone from
Leonid and flashed the operator. "Give me KGB Central in
Leningrad." While he waited he told Leonid to write down
Marina's address. Leningrad answered. "Give me Major Bazak."
Somoroff instructed his man in Leningrad to take a few
men and to go around to Marina Grochenko's apartment. If
she was not there, they were to check the Leningrad Ballet
Theater. And they were to move immediately. Peter instructed
them to call him back at the Lubyanka number as soon as
they located the girl. He hung up.

92
David Saperstein
"Thank you, Colonel."
"You're welcome. Now if we can dispense with your love
life and get onto our problems ..." Secretly Somoroff feared
for the young dancer.
Leonid Chomsky smiled nervously. He could not really
concentrate until he knew Marina was safe.
The head rabbi of the Great Synagogue in Moscow re-
ceived the news about Isadore Kantrowitz by telephone. The
caller was anonymous. He checked with the regulars who
confirmed that Kantrowitz had, in fact, crept out of the
synagogue with the help of a KGB major. He had not been
seen since that happened yesterday morning. But a lone Jew
in Moscow is not a person with position. There was no free
press to inform. There was no politician to call. There was
nowhere to complain except through the international links
established by the dissidents. In the end, the rabbi knew that
he would have to go to Lubyanka and ask questions. He
would have to gather what facts he could, and he would
perhaps have to beg for the body of Isadore Kantrowitz, so
that it might be buried according to Jewish custom and law.
Rabbi Posner was himself an old man weighed down by a
life of oppression and prejudice. From the Pale to the po-
groms. The miraculous escape from the Nazis. The dark days
of Stalin. The faint hope of immigration to Israel . . . And
now, the steadily growing pressure, squeezing his dwindling
congregation once again. How much must a people take? He
knew the answer. As much as God wills. He grunted as he
struggled with his heavy overcoat. By now, he thought as he
left the synagogue, my feet know the way to Lubyanka all by
themselves.
Peter was about to have Major Rosteveli bring in the
sergeant from the morgue when the phone rang. Leonid jumped
to answer, but Peter told him to sit.
"I will get it."
"Speaking." He listened intently as the major from Lenin-
grad related the scene he had found when his detail entered
Marina Grochenko's flat. Peter fluctuated between anger at
the deed and compassion for his young assistant, who sat with
his eyes glued on Somoroff.
"Thank you, Major. Call me when you have a doctor's

RED DEVIL
93
report." Leonid jumped to his feet. "And, Major," Peter
continued, "I want a guard on the woman at all times."
"What is it?" asked an anxious Chomsky. "Is she hurt?"
"Sit down, Leonid." Somoroff was firm, yet gentle at the
same time. He told the young lieutenant what the major had
found. He left out the part about the blood and the Jewish
star.
"I have to go to her . . . please, Colonel," Chomsky
pleaded.
"Not today, Leonid. She will be sedated, and the surgeons
will have to do a full workup before we have answers. There
is nothing you can do for her now. I promise that you will be
there when she wakes up."
Somoroff put his hand on Chomsky's shoulder. He wanted
to say more to the young man, but a fear was gripping him.
Like some giant chess game, they were all players, trapped in
a battle with life and death as its outcome. He knew more
than the others . . . Chomsky, Rosteveli, Sasha . . . even the
premier. He knew they were losing at every turn.
"Leonid, listen to me." Peter spoke softly. "I will make
you another promise. When we find who did this, you can
have him for a while . . . alone. All right?"
"If you give him to me, you will never get him back,
Colonel!"
"I know." The answer seemed to calm the young man.
Premier Alexeyevich took General Kubyshev's call in his
office. The morning had been spent busily preparing for a
Presidium meeting that afternoon. Kubyshev was insisting
that he speak to the premier directly.
"Yes, General, what is it?" Ivan Alexeyevich didn't like
interruptions.
"I am sorry to disturb you, Ivan Ivanovich." The premier
noted that the general, an old friend, used the familiar form of
address. He narrowed his attention to the far-away voice in
Chita.
"What is it, Comrade General?"
"I have very sad news for you. A few moments ago I
received a message that young Peter Somoroff was murdered.
They contacted me because he was carrying orders from my
command." A sledgehammer seemed to hit Ivan Alexeyevich.
He thought of the boy's father.

94
David Saperstein
"What happened?" His voice was filled with anger.
"We don't know. He was stabbed sometime this morning
after the train left Kazan. They found his body in Gorki. A
conductor found it. The train is being held and searched, but I
am afraid many passengers got off in Gorki before the
discovery."
There was a long pause as the premier thought, trying to
gather his senses.
"Is there anything I can do at this end?" asked General
Kubyshev.
"No. Just keep this as quiet as you can. I will take care of
the matter from Moscow. Thank you, General . . . thank you
for calling me directly."
He hung up the phone and leaned back in his large leather
chair. Death. Death was in this office, he thought, picturing
Boris Menoff twisting in agony on the floor of this very
room, cursing the name of Nickolai Valarian as he clutched
Ivan Alexeyevich's arm. Blood had oozed from Menoff's
eyes, nose, and mouth as if some awful hemorrhage had
exploded in his brain. Still he cursed Valarian. Then as death
came to him he had muttered in Hebrew, "Shema Yisraeil:
Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad. Hear O Israel: The Lord
Our God, The Lord is One." That moment of death brought
to an end Boris Menoff's torment. Ivan Ivanovich wondered
what young Peter Somoroff had thought as he died.
The premier called his deputy with instructions to delay the
Presidium meeting for two hours. He then telephoned Lubyanka.
Peter was on his way to the front desk to meet Rabbi
Posner when Rosteveli caught up to him in the hallway.
"There is a call for you from the premier."
Peter stopped and instructed the major to bring the rabbi up
to their office.
Chomsky sat in the office-cell, about to begin his interroga-
tion of the morgue sergeant, when Peter entered the office.
"Excuse me, Leonid. Take this man to an empty room and
question him there. I need the phone here."
Leonid gestured to the nervous sergeant, and they left the
room. The premier told Peter to come to his office immedi-
ately. From the tone of Alexeyevich's voice, Peter knew not
to question the order. He waited until Rosteveli brought the
rabbi into the room.
"Major, make this man comfortable and have him remain

RED DEVIL
95
here until I return." He then addressed the rabbi. Peter knew
what the man wanted because the duty officer at the front gate
had insisted that the rabbi state his business. Rabbi Posner
had specified the KGB and mentioned Isadore Kantrowitz's
name. Peter was not surprised. The game grew more intricate
by the minute.
"Rabbi, I have some urgent business that will take me an
hour or so. I know why you are here. Please be patient."
He thought about having Rosteveli show the man the acros-
tic but thought better of the idea. There was no point in
involving another person.
The rabbi sat in a chair and folded his hands in his lap.
Never had a KGB officer spoken so politely to him. He felt
that the man's concern for his comfort was genuine.
"Major, Lieutenant Chomsky has our friend in a room
down the hall. See that the prisoner does not leave this floor
or communicate with anyone. Also, call over to the section
where Dr. Brodsky is located and tell them that I want him
ready to speak to me this afternoon. I will call you if I am
delayed."
He crossed the room and reached to shake the rabbi's hand.
"Thank you for your patience, Rabbi. We will answer all
your questions shortly."
As Peter left Lubyanka and drove through Dzerzhinsky
Square, Marina Grochenko was being wheeled into the x-ray
facility at Leningrad Hospital. A scab in the shape of a Star of
David had formed on her abdomen, causing raised eyebrows
from the technicians.
Downstairs in Lubyanka Prison a KGB captain racked up
the videotape of yesterday's visitors as the two KGB guards
sat in front of a monitor and waited to identify the man who
had locked them in the morgue drawers.
In Tostuya it was mealtime. Rabbi Isadore Vogel listened
with great interest as a new arrival from Kiev told of Jewish
roundups and the desecration of the synagogue in that great
Ukrainian city.
Meanwhile, a few hundred miles northwest of Kiev, in the
city of Minsk, Sasha Andreyev committed as much of Isadore
Vogel's file as she could to memory. Somehow she knew that
she would be meeting this learned man within a few days.
The thought of being in one of those fabled camps excited the
pretty agent. The thought of winter in Siberia did not. She

96
David Saperstein
looked at her watch and realized that she would have to hurry
to make her flight back to Moscow.
One paragraph in the file was fascinating. This rabbi had
been accused of sorcery and witchcraft. Certain pieces of
evidence had been presented at the trial by the State Prosecu-
tor. When questioned, the rabbi had stated that they were
used to exorcise devils, dybbuks, from fellow Jews. The
judge had asked the rabbi to repeat the answer and then
requested a complete psychiatric workup on the man. Sen-
tence had been passed.
She noted that the arrest and charges had been made by
Major Nickolai Valarian.
In the request log on the face of the folder, she saw that the
file had been recently examined by a very high official of
the government. The name was familiar. It was definitely the
signature of Commissar Boris Menoff, Deputy to Premier
Alexeyevich, member of the Supreme Soviet, and Minister of
the Interior.

18
When a son must bury a father there is solace in the fact that
a long life had been completed, that continuity was estab-
lished. But when a father must bury a son, there is devasta-
tion and despair.
Ivan Alexeyevich watched his friend Peter Somoroff care-
fully. Several moments had passed in silence since the pre-
mier had told Peter of his son's murder. There was no easy
way to give his friend the sad news. He tried to comfort
Somoroff, telling him it had been quick, that the boy did not
suffer, that the police were rounding up suspects in Gorki.
His words fell on deaf ears. Peter Somoroff s mind was
light-years away, tripping through the birth, growth, and
death of his one and only son. He pictured the fair hair and
bright blue eyes of an eight-year-old on their first trip to the
resort on the Black Sea. Young Peter had taken to the water
like a fish. The image of the boy swimming faded to a young
Nadja, gently holding the baby in her arms and nursing him.
Peter could hear the sounds of delight coming from his son as
he nursed. How he loved them both at that moment. Then he
was at the Military Academy, and the brand-new Lieutenant
Somoroff hugged his father, and his father wept with pride in
his son. And that was gone. That bright, handsome, loving
child turned to man was gone. Peter Somoroff s heart was
breaking inside, alone as though he had fallen into a chasm
of endless depth with only the echo of his despair around
him.
"Peter Ilyavich, speak to me." The premier was standing
next to his friend, unable to comfort but trying to establish
97

98
David Saperstein
human contact. Peter looked into the premier's eyes and
slowly came back to reality.
"May I have a brandy, Ivan Ivanovich?"
The premier brought Peter a stiff drink, which he drank in
one gulp. Peter shuddered, unaccustomed to alcohol midday.
"Why?" he asked. "Why would anyone want to kill him?"
Both men kept their thoughts to themselves. Could it possi-
bly be connected with the Valarian investigation? For what
purpose?
"Was it robbery?" That crime was so rare in the Soviet
Union that Peter knew the answer before the premier spoke.
"Nothing seems to be missing. I spoke with the Chief of
Police in Gorki. He is personally handling the investigation."
Peter began to drift away again.
"Why don't you go home . . . take a few days off . . .
however long you need. I'll take care of the arrangements."
Home. It hit Peter like a shot. Nadja . . . Grandmother
Maria . . . Anya ... He had to tell them. It would be
unbearable. He knew he needed time to gather the strength
required.
"Can we keep this quiet, Comrade Alexeyevich ... for a
few hours? I don't want to go home just now ... I need
some time ..." His voice trailed off, and the premier
understood.
"Of course. The police would like to do an autopsy in
Gorki. They will send the body on tomorrow. There can be a
funeral with full military honors. He was a hero of the
Afghanistan action."
Yes, thought Peter, a military funeral would be right.
Nadja's mother will go to the old church and do things her
way, but he knew the old woman wouldn't insist on a reli-
gious service.
He prepared to leave. Then Peter remembered the events in
the Lubyanka morgue and the attack on Marina Grochenko in
Leningrad. He related these to Premier Alexeyevich.
"You are convinced Valarian is behind this business?"
questioned the premier.
"I am certain. I want to arrest him!"
"You had better sit down again, Peter. I too have some
news for you on matters pertaining to this case."
The KGB chief didn't like the sound of Alexeyevich's

RED DEVIL
99
voice. It was going to be more bad news. He sat quietly. The
premier sat behind his imposing desk.
"This afternoon I will attend a meeting of the Presidium. I
delayed the meeting because of this terrible business with
your son, but I must tell you that you cannot arrest Comrade
Valarian."
Peter was stunned at the use of the word Comrade attached
to the name of the man whom the premier suspected of
murdering Boris Menoff. He waited for the Soviet leader to
continue.
"The general secretary of the Party, with whom you know
I share leadership, called me a few moments before you
arrived to ask why I had delayed the meeting. When I told
him, he was understanding but insisted that we convene this
afternoon. He has put a new item on our agenda."
The premier hesitated, wondering how his news would
affect Peter Somoroff.
"The new item is that our Party Leader, General Secretary
Marshall Serge Malenkov, wishes to appoint Colonel Nickolai
Valarian to the post of Minister of the Interior—Boris Menoff s
old job."
It was too much. The world had gone crazy. Peter felt
dizzy, nauseous. His heart, broken moments ago, was about
to explode. Anger welled up inside.
"No!" he screamed. On his feet, leaning across the large
desk, the blood vessels in his neck and face bulging, he
screamed again, "No! Are you mad? That man is a murderer.
He destroyed my son as though he had driven the knife in
himself—I know it, and you know it. He has been responsible
for murder in Pushkin, in Gorki, in Kiev, Minsk, Tostuya—in
one hundred cities and towns. And you will make him a
minister? He will burn in hell before that!''
The dam had burst and spilled its angry contents onto
Premier Alexeyevich. He knew he must respond, but there
was too much at stake to allow anger, even murder at this
point, to interfere with the delicate balance of power that he
held precariously in his hands.
"Sit down, Peter," he commanded, "and listen! Marshall
Malenkov and Valarian have kept their friendship secret.
They have planned this carefully, orchestrated every move.
This is not all they want. I'm not too sure where they are
heading, but I do know that to fight them on this thing will

100
David Saperstein
bring down our government and perhaps turn the whole world
into chaos. You are a policeman. I am the premier. It will be
done my way."
Somoroff knew the premier was right, but the anger didn't
subside.
"I will kill him, Ivan Ivanovich!"
"Good," answered the premier. "But when I tell you . . .
and not a moment before. Is that clear?"
"I know he murdered my son."
"Perhaps. It is possible. That thought also entered my
mind. But you are a policeman. You wrote the KGB hand-
book. Use it. Make your case. Build it like a castle, stone
upon stone. Then we will take that scum and his friends,
including Malenkov, and grind them to dust. But let us do it
right!"

19
The trip back to Lubyanka was dreamlike for Peter Somoroff.
His thoughts wandered and the pain would not subside. It was
a knot ... a knife ... a huge sadness piercing his heart.
Anger dissolved into agony, then into a profound hurt. He felt
as if a part of him had been torn out.
As he parked the Skoda and turned the ignition off, he
experienced an uncontrollable emotion rising from within. His
hands shook, then his legs, and from deep inside this calm and
sensitive man released a primordial cry that vibrated through the
car. It made the steel doors and thick glass windows reverberate
harmonically. Then the tears came. He bent his head forward
onto the steering wheel and sobbed for his lost child, for
that sweet, proud part of his world he would never again know.
Rosteveli, Chomsky, and Sasha Andreyev looked up to see
a very different Peter Somoroff standing in the doorway of
the office-cell. They knew something was very wrong. Sasha
wanted to go to her new boss. She sensed he needed help.
But it was Major Rosteveli who crossed the small room and
touched the colonel.
"Peter Ilyavich . . . what has happened?"
The others rose in anticipation. Rabbi Posner stood also.
He, perhaps more than the others in the room, knew the look
of great loss that was upon Peter Somoroff's face.
Peter gently removed the major's hand and entered the
room. He closed the door behind him and asked them please
to sit down. It didn't occur to him to ask the rabbi to leave. In
fact, it was a comfort for Peter to see the understanding in the
old man's face.
101

102
David Saperstein
"My son is dead," he announced in a quiet voice. "He
was murdered on the train this morning."
Now Sasha did cross the room to embrace Somoroff. "I
am so very sorry, Comrade," she whispered.
Leonid came to Peter's side and said nothing. He just stood
staring at the floor.
Rabbi Posner closed his eyes and silently said Kaddish, the
Hebrew prayer for the dead.
Rosteveli knew what had happened. His old Georgian bones
told him that Valarian was behind this brutal deed. He was
furious but kept it inside. Peter's eyes met his, and they both
understood.
Somoroff gestured for them to sit down. He spoke first to
the rabbi. "I am sorry to detain you, Rabbi. Thank you for
your patience. Mr. Kantrowitz was working with us on a
case. He was poisoned. I am sorry to say that it happened
right in KGB headquarters. That is the truth. On this day, of
all days, I hope you will believe me."
The rabbi knew the pain of the man who spoke, and he did
believe what he was told. "I understand. I only wish to be
able to take the body for a proper burial."
"Of course. Do you know who called you about this,
Rabbi?"
"The man did not give me his name. He just said that
Isadore—Mr. Kantrowitz had been murdered by the KGB and
that his body was here in Lubyanka."
Peter studied the rabbi's face carefully. It was a kind face.
He decided to trust the man.
"I want to ask you a few questions, Rabbi. I am taking a
chance in speaking to you, and everything I say must remain
secret. No one may ever know what I am about to tell you."
The rabbi looked around the room at the other three KGB
agents. They were all looking at him. He felt uneasy but
turned to Peter Somoroff and spoke. "Colonel, may I speak
for a moment . . . before you share confidences?"
Somoroff nodded.
"I am a Jew. I am a Russian." His lower lip quivered.
"So on two counts I am a proud man. Believe it or not, I love
my country ... but ... it is not normal for the KGB to
request ... to enlist ... the help of Jews. I know that it is a
sad and bitter day for you, and you have my deepest sympa-
thy. They told me that a KGB major took Isadore yesterday.

RED DEVIL
103
They also told me that this major helped Isadore escape from
some soldiers—"
Peter interrupted. "It was Major Rosteveli here who took
Mr. Kantrowitz. Your description of what happened is
accurate."
The rabbi nodded and paused in thought. Peter also paused.
The two men stared at each other for a moment, suspended
across years of persecution and suffering. Each wondered if
trust was possible. Peter decided it was, and that it was also
necessary.
"Rabbi, if I tell you what Mr. Kantrowitz was doing for
us—and by doing so I must tell you a very strange story—
then it is possible that your life might be in danger. I have
lost my son today ..."
The words choked in Peter's throat. A tear came to Leo-
nid's eye.
"... and others have died or been hurt with this business.
I don't want to put your life in danger, Rabbi, but if they
called you and told you about Mr. Kantrowitz's death, then
you may already be involved."
The rabbi smiled. "To be a rabbi is to be involved, Colo-
nel Somoroff. I am many things, but I am not afraid. Let me
help you if I can."
"Thank you." Peter reached and touched the rabbi's shoul-
der. "We are working on a case that involves the death of a
high official of the government. This man and his wife were
helped by Mr. Kantrowitz."
Peter then spoke to Major Rosteveli. "Serge, do you have
a copy of the acrostic?"
The major opened his attache case and took out a copy of
the acrostic.
"Please let Rabbi Posner see it."
The rabbi studied the paper carefully. Leonid and Sasha
strained to see it. Noticing their curiosity, Peter spoke. "I
will fill you in on all the details later. We all have a need to
know everything now."
The rabbi looked up from the paper and directed his words
to Peter. "Do you know what this is, Colonel?"
"Not entirely, Rabbi. I hoped you might help us. It was
what Mr. Kantrowitz was doing when he was killed."
"Yes," said the rabbi, "Isadore would know about these

104
David Saperstein
things." His tone was one of disdain. "But I do not." He
passed the paper back to Rosteveli.
"But you are a rabbi?" Peter questioned.
"Yes, but not that kind of rabbi," he said, gesturing with
his hand toward the paper. "That is magic and superstition
. . . not my work."
"Do you know Rabbi Vogel from Minsk?" Peter asked.
Rabbi Posner let out a deep sigh as Sasha Andreyev leaned
forward in her chair. "Yes, Colonel, I know . . . knew him.
I believe he is dead."
"No," corrected Peter, "we think he is alive, in . . ."
He turned to Sasha questioningly.
"In Tostuya, Comrade Colonel. Camp Eleven."
The rabbi did not change expression. "Well, it is good he
is alive, but I really knew him only by reputation. We met
once after the war, briefly." Then it dawned on the rabbi why
they were asking about Rabbi Vogel and the acrostic. Still he
wanted to be careful. This was the KGB.
Peter pressed the point. "Do you think that Rabbi Vogel
will know about the acrostic . . . about the things that Mr.
Kantrowitz tried to do?"
"What things?" the rabbi asked.
Peter sensed his caution. He asked the others to leave the
room. When they had gone Peter told Rabbi Posner the whole
story. When he finished the old man just shook his head in
amazement.
"I can tell you that if you wish to do those things—that
superstition about evil that Kantrowitz did, about devils and
archangels—then Rabbi Vogel is your man. If anyone knows
these things, he knows, believe me. But, God help you. This
is the world of mystics and darkness, not the twentieth cen-
tury. Can you be so desperate, Colonel?"
"It is not a matter of desperation, Rabbi. We just want to
examine every possibility in this case."
"Then Vogel is your man."
"Thank you. Please remember that what I have told you
must remain secret. Your life depends on it."
The rabbi agreed and stood. "It is already forgotten.
Now if I may make arrangements to take Mr. Kantrowitz's
body . . ."
Peter hesitated. "There is one more thing, Rabbi. It con-
cerns the body."

RED DEVIL
105
Peter explained the mutilation. When he finished, the rabbi
sighed again. "I am not surprised, and I believe you had
nothing to do with it. Isadore has no family left. Only a few
friends will mourn him. I will keep the coffin closed."
"You must make a complaint, Rabbi."
Posner understood. "I will do it through official channels,
the police. I suppose there will be an investigation . . . they
will question me . . . you?"
"Yes. I will deny it," answered Peter, "and if I guess
right, then Colonel Valarian will try to make trouble for me.
Please be careful with him, Rabbi. Be outraged at the dese-
cration, at me."
"I will, Colonel. He is a man, not a devil."
Peter wrote out a release for Kantrowitz's body and handed
it to the rabbi.
"This will allow you to take the body. Thank you for your
patience, and for your help. We will talk again, I hope . . .
after all of this is put to rest."
"That would be nice," said the rabbi. He walked to the
door, then turned back to Peter Somoroff.
"Colonel. If you find Rabbi Vogel tell him that . . ." He
hesitated, then spoke clearly. "That Kemiot still exists. He
will know what I mean."
Peter wrote the word down and checked the spelling with
Rabbi Posner. '"K-E-M-I-O-T?"
"Yes. And, Colonel, my sympathies to your family. I will
say a prayer for your son tonight ... If you don't mind."
"I would be honored," Peter answered, "and thank you."
The rabbi left to collect the remains of Isadore Kantrowitz
as Peter Somoroff called his team back into the room. The
four then spent the next two hours filling each other in on the
mysteries and terrors of Colonel Nickolai Valarian and his
followers. However, Peter did not tell them about Marshall
Malenkov's friendship with Valarian and the plan to have him
sit on the Supreme Soviet as Minister of the Interior.
When they finished, each went in separate directions. They
would meet in three days, and by then their little band would
have grown by three members.
Leonid Chomsky was to contact Captain Bonyon in Push-
kin and cut orders assigning him to KGB, then the two men
were to question Marina Grochenko about her attackers.
Sasha Andreyev was to go to Tostuya, Camp Eleven, after

106
David Saperstein
first setting up a financial account through Premier Alexeyevich's
office. If she found Rabbi Vogel she was to bring him to
Moscow and keep him in the secure wing of Lubyanka Prison.
Major Serge Rosteveli was to complete the interrogation of
the morgue sergeant, clear the files on all KGB people work-
ing the prison wing, and organize a squad of men to be
available twenty-four hours a day. He was also to move all
the files on the case from Somoroff s office over to the
prison. He was to trace the phone tap and see who was
involved at headquarters.
Finally, he was to open an investigation into the death of
Isadore Kantrowitz. Peter suggested that Captain Servioff
handle the matter.
Rosteveli remained in the room after Leonid and Sasha left.
The old Georgian wanted a moment with his friend.
"Have a drink, Peter Ilyavich?" The major poured two
glasses of vodka from his flask.
Somoroff took the glass and stared at the clear liquid. He
then looked up at Rosteveli. The major's eyes were tearful.
"Colonel, I wish to drink a toast to your son ... if you don't
mind . . . and to say that I will not rest until that animal
Valarian is dead by my own hand!"
Peter was moved by the fury of his friend.
"Thank you, Sergi. Let's just drink to the boy ... to
Peter, and keep our minds clear. I now know this business is
far from over. The journey is just beginning."
The major felt the weight of Peter Somoroff s words. He
lifted his glass.
"To Lieutenant Peter Somoroff," he toasted.
"To Peter . . ."
Both men emptied their glasses and tearfully embraced one
another.

20
The front page of Pravda carried the story of the deaths of
Boris and Celia Menoff in an automobile crash while vaca-
tioning near the Black Sea. An official state funeral was to be
held the following week.
Inside the paper, on page four, a brief account of the death
of Lieutenant Peter Somoroff, son of Colonel Peter Somoroff,
was printed. The young man's death was listed as the work of
imperialist agents because the boy was a hero of the Afghani-
stan action. It further stated that he was posthumously pro-
moted to captain and would be buried that day in a military
cemetery with full honors.
Letters of sympathy lay unopened on the foyer table in the
Somoroff apartment. The funeral had been painful for Nadja
and Peter. Their daughter Anya had been strong despite her
long trip from the Polytechnical Institute in Omsk. Peter,
Nadja, and Anya sat in the small kitchen on the morning after
the funeral.
"Grandma is in church," said Anya.
Nadja sipped her tea, nodded, and spoke softly. "She will
go every day now, to light candles for Peter and to pray for
his soul."
"But Peter wasn't religious," answered Anya. She was
twenty-two and quite beautiful. Her dream was to be a cos-
monaut, and she was taking the equivalent of a masters degree
in aeronautical engineering at the institute in Omsk.
"No," said Peter, "but your grandmother is, and if that is
her way, then let her do what she thinks is right. It can't hurt.
She's old . . . let her be."
107

108
David Saperstein
His voice didn't scold, but it was firm.
"Okay," said Anya. "Now can you tell me what happened
to my brother?"
Nadja and Peter looked up from their food at her.
"What are you talking about?" said Nadja.
"I'm talking about how my brother died. I don't believe
that stuff about foreign agents. Peter wasn't that important
. . . was he?" She looked directly at her father for an answer.
Peter knew that he must keep up the charade. His daughter
was more like him than young Peter had been. She was
tenacious when it came to getting answers to questions, and
her trained mind had a cold logic about it that wouldn't let go
until a problem was solved.
"Your brother was killed. The police believe that it was a
foreign assassin. I have not seen any reason to doubt them."
"Why was he on a train? Why was he coming to Moscow?"
"He was on leave ... to attend a ceremony for me. The
premier was going to give me a medal ..." His voice trailed
off.
"And I wasn't invited?" Anya questioned.
Peter tried to be firm. "No."
Anya caught him glancing over at her mother. Nadja was
crying.
"I'm sorry, Mom, Dad. It's just so frustrating. I'm sorry."
She reached across the table and took her mother's hand.
Both women began to cry.
The phone rang, and Peter rose to answer it. Anya stopped
him. "I'll get it, Dad. You stay with Mother."
Moments later she came back into the kitchen. "It's Pre-
mier Alexeyevich's office. He would like to speak to you."
Peter went to the phone. "Premier Alexeyevich?"
Peter heard the squeal of the scrambler and adjusted his
own, which had been installed two days ago after Rosteveli
informed him that his home phone was tapped.
"Good morning, Peter Ilyavich. How is it today?"
"It will take time, Comrade Ivan Ivanovich, but it will
heal. Thank you for asking."
"I have been able to delay Valarian's appointment for a
few weeks, but Malenkov will press me after that. The Ameri-
cans haven't been making that much noise about the Jews
lately, and unless they do, I will have nothing to delay with.
Do you understand?"

RED DEVIL
109
Peter thought for a moment. An idea passed through his
mind to use the desecrated body of Isadore Kantrowitz to
arouse the American Jews. He would have to put Rabbi
Posner in touch with the dissident underground.
"Perhaps I can arrange some press for us, Premier. Give
me a few days. I'm going back to work today."
"I hate to bring it up, Peter, but we still need someone to
be liaison between us in this business."
"I'll give it some thought."
"Fine. I will be in Poland for a few days. Call me when I
return."
"Have a good trip, Ivan Ivanovich."
"Good hunting, Peter Ilyavich. Take care."
Rabbi Isadore Vogel sat in his cell and sipped tea. It was
different from his cell in Tostuya. This place was warm, and
the tea was fresh. The door was not locked either, and the
walls were smooth and plastered. No cinder block here. It
seemed a palace compared to his last residence. Yet he knew
it was Lubyanka, and he didn't know why he had been
brought so far by the pretty KGB officer. Still, his treatment
had been kindly, and he didn't feel threatened. It's a mystery,
he thought, but it's better than Tostuya ... at least for now.
He only regretted that he had been unable to tell Yasha
Mendel where he was being taken. They will think I am dead,
thought Vogel. Maybe I am. Maybe this is just a dream. He
reached across the table and touched the prayer book that the
KGB major had brought him. Next to it lay a yarmulke and a
tallith, also supplied by the wondrous Major Rosteveli. And
he was so polite, Vogel thought, so . . . concerned for my
comfort. But with the patience of a man who had kept his
sanity while denied freedom for almost twelve years, Isadore
Vogel relaxed and enjoyed the relative freedom of the mo-
ment. Later he knew it would change. It always did.
Leonid met Captain Bonyon at the Leningrad Hospital. He
asked the soldier to remain outside Marina's guarded room
for a moment while he spoke to her. The captain understood.
Marina lay with her leg in a cast suspended on wires
attached to a frame above her. She was asleep. Leonid no-
ticed the flowers he had sent, plus a large bouquet from
Colonel Somoroff. He would have to be back in Moscow

110
David Saperstein
tomorrow. Although he made no noise Marina sensed his
presence and opened her eyes. Leonid stood above, her. He
held her hand.
"Hi," she said dreamily.
"I love you," he answered, and bent to kiss her. She
touched the back of his head and caressed his hair, squeezing
his hand in her other hand with all of her strength.
He stood and breathed deeply. "I love you," he said
again.
"Why did they do this to me?" she asked. "Why?" Now
she was crying, and she turned her face away into the crisp
pillow.
"I don't know," he lied. "Do you feel like talking about
it?"
"No." The answer was long in coming.
"I want to find them, darling. We have to know what you
saw . . . who ..."
"If I tell you what I know"—she hesitated—"will you
promise me something?"
"Yes."
"Promise me that I will never have to see them."
"I promise. Before you tell me I want to bring another man
into the room. He is working on the case. Okay?"
She nodded, and he called Bonyon into the room.
It took just a few moments before both men knew who had
attacked Marina Grochenko. An hour later they were on their
way to Pushkin with a KGB squad, and shortly thereafter,
using a small ball peen hammer, Leonid Chomsky smashed
both of police sergeant Zalitski's kneecaps with relish. Ma-
rina might never dance, but this man would never walk again.
Captain Bonyon held Marina's other attacker and made him
watch. Lieutenant Vladimir Zorbin then talked for over an
hour, but he never took his eyes off the hammer that Chomsky
held in his hand.
After the interrogation, both prisoners were sedated and
brought to Leningrad KGB headquarters. Ironically, Zalitski
was placed in the room next to Marina Grochenko's. He was
chained to the bed and given only minimal medical attention.
Orders were issued to keep him sedated and under guard.
Bonyon and Chomsky took Lieutenant Zorbin back to Lubyanka
with them for further questioning.

RED DEVIL
111
The team now gathered for their first meeting in three
eventful days. Somoroff listened as Sasha related that it had
been relatively easy to find and secure the release of Rabbi
Vogel. The camps were quite crowded, and his cell could be
used for at least three new prisoners. She had not been
followed, and Peter was fairly certain that Valarian could not
connect her to this investigation.
Leonid Chomsky reported on his actions after introducing
Captain Bonyon to the group. Peter thought it might be useful
to have the crippled Sergeant Zalitski brought to Lubyanka.
Leonid agreed, and steps were taken to notify the KGB in
Leningrad. The detective, Lieutenant Zorbin, was being held
in a cell in their wing. They talked about Marina for a few
minutes and agreed that she should have a guard at all times.
Major Rosteveli had the longest report. He had been very
busy organizing the unit, clearing all the people in the wing,
establishing a secure squad, equipment, and a budget and
completing the questioning of the morgue guard who had
confirmed the identity of the man who desecrated Isadore
Kantrowitz's body. But he was unable to make a link with the
guard and Valarian.
At the end of his report he spoke directly to Peter Somoroff.
"I have established and traced the tap on your office and
home phone, Comrade Colonel. Either they are clumsy or
very arrogant, because it was simple. Our own KGB Sergeant
Mikolov, Captain Servioff s aide, operated the tap. To me
that means they are a small group, with perhaps fewer staff
than we possess. On the matter of who poisoned the old man,
there is not much to report. The kitchen received a call using
my authority to order the dinner. My guess is that Mikolov
did the deed, but no one in the kitchen actually saw him.
Perhaps we should ask Sergeant Mikolov to come over here
for a few days?" A smile crossed Rosteveli's face.
"Not yet," said Peter. "As long as we know whom we
have to watch, we can be careful. Let them feel secure. We
must build our case."
Sasha spoke up. "In all the activity, I almost forgot to tell
you, Comrade Somoroff, that Minister Menoff had recently
inquired into the court records of Rabbi Vogel. His name was
on the log sheet."
That was bad news. If Boris Menoff knew about Vogel,

112
David Saperstein
then it was possible that Valarian would also have interest in
the rabbi.
"I think we must consolidate all of the information we
have," ordered Peter, "and begin to set up a method of
operation. I want to interrogate all of the people we now
hold. I will do it in the main interrogation room. Put it all on
videotape. I want all of you to observe the questioning through
the one-way mirror."
The group rose as one, but Peter held them for a moment.
"First I want to meet with Rabbi Vogel alone. Then let's
see the morgue sergeant, then Lieutenant Zorbin, and finally
Dr. Brodsky."
The group dispersed under Major Rosteveli's leadership.
Peter walked down the grey hallway toward Rabbi Vogel's
cell. Instinctively he knew he was about to enter a strange,
forbidden land. In his bones he sensed that Rabbi Vogel held
the key to combating Valarian. Whether the rabbi would, or
could, share it willingly was another question. Years of im-
prisonment did strange things to people. Perhaps the rabbi
felt he had nothing to lose. Perhaps he might even welcome
death itself, rather than aid his captors. Somoroff had to
know. He opened the door to the cell. Rabbi Vogel stood
opposite the door with his back to Peter. The tallith, a
large black and white prayer shawl, was pulled over his
head, and the man swayed from side to side in prayer, mutter-
ing Hebrew words from the prayer book he held open in his
hands.
The rabbi turned to the intruder.
"Please finish," said Peter. "I will wait."
The rabbi nodded and returned to his prayers. Although he
said the words, thoughts raced through his mind. This is the
man who wanted me, I know it. ... I feel his eyes behind
me . . . Yet he allows me to pray. . . . Gather yourself
together, Vogel—this will be a day to remember.
Anya grabbed the phone in the middle of the first ring. Her
mother napped in the bedroom, and she didn't want her
disturbed. Her grandmother prepared lunch in the kitchen.
The woman, aged as she was, had returned from church
strengthened by her worship. Anya was jealous of the old
woman's strength. She seemed to accept young Peter's death

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113
with a fatalistic attitude. Youth is not necessarily strong,
Anya was thinking, but wisdom is. Then the phone rang.
If it is possible to feel hatred over a telephone line, then
Anya did. She said, "Hello," but there was no immediate
reply. Someone was at the other end. She could hear the
sound of breathing, like that of an asthmatic.
"Hello," she said again.
"Tell your father I will crush him. I will destroy all of
you."
Death on a telephone line. The voice had an icy breath like
the wind in Tostuya. Anya tasted fear in her mouth.
"Who is this?"
"Tell your father I curse him to damnation!"
Anya grew strong.
"Coward," she said. "Whispering threats on the phone is
the coward's way."
"Do not offend me, little girl. The blade that tore into
your brother's heart still lives. ... It can find yours,
too."
"Fuck you, pig." Her own words shocked her.
The voice chuckled with an evil hiss into her ear. She
slammed down the receiver in anger, but she was shaking
from that last sound. It still hissed in her brain. Looking up
she saw her grandmother coming across the room. The old
woman looked at Anya and came to her.
"What? What is it, darling?" she asked.
Anya embraced her. The warmth of age comforted the
frightened girl.
Valarian continued to chuckle to himself after the girl had
hung up. He called to his secretary and told her to send Misha
Karkov into the office. A moment later the young criminal
stood before his mentor.
"Did you see the young Somoroff girl at the funeral,
Misha?"
"Yes, Colonel. She is very pretty." He smiled.
Karkov was a small man with closely cropped hair and
dark eyes. His hands were large for his body, and his high
cheekbones spoke of Mongol heritage.
"Would you like to have her?" Valarian asked.
"Yes. I would like that, Colonel."

114
David Saperstein
"Then have her. She is at home now with two other
women. They will not bother you. Go!"
Misha reached across the desk and kissed Valarian's scarred
hand near the jade and silver ring. He felt heat from the ring.
It gave him strength. Valarian allowed him to linger in its
warmth for a moment.
"Do it well, Misha, and I will reward you."

21
Vogel was stunned. There was no playing around with Peter
Somoroff. The KGB colonel was direct and obviously in a
hurry for answers. After he introduced himself, Peter got
right down to cases.
"You are here because we believe we need your services
and your knowledge. But before I begin, I must tell you that
there is great danger in what we are doing. Perhaps you best
of all will know that danger."
The rabbi listened. The man across the small cell table
was obviously an intellectual and a leader. The name Somoroff
was familiar, but vague . . . something from long ago.
"I am here at your request, Colonel."
"Do you know Rabbi Posner?" Peter asked.
"Yes. I knew him long ago. Is he still in Moscow?"
"Yes. Do you know Isadore Kantrowitz?"
The rabbi thought hard for a moment. "No. That name is
not familiar to me."
Peter was annoyed. He knew the man was lying, yet he
didn't want to bully him.
"Rabbi . . . what is a dybbuk?"
Shock. The KGB wanted to know about dybbuks. Had the
world gone mad? Vogel composed himself and stared at his
interrogator. Who was this man?
"You know, Colonel Somoroff, that was the last question
a judge in Minsk asked me before I . . . ah . . . went away.
Surely you didn't bring me here, all this distance, to ask the
same question?"
"I am not a judge, Rabbi Vogel. I am a man who seeks
115

116
David Saperstein
some answers. And that is one of the questions I want
answered."
"Very well," Vogel answered. "A dybbuk is a spirit, a
bad spirit, that enters a body and possesses it. Makes it crazy,
or sick, or inhuman. That's a dybbuk."
"Do you know Isadore Kantrowitz?"
"Yes. It was a long time ago. He asked me to come to
Moscow to help him with a dybbuk."
"Did you come?"
"Yes."
"Did you help him?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"We drove it out."
"How?"
The rabbi stood and walked over to the cot. He felt
oppressed, as if the smooth grey walls were closing in on
him, crushing him. He sat on the squeaky bed and ran his
hand over the rough grey blanket.
"I don't remember that one in particular. . . . There were
so many in those days ..."
"Is each one different? I mean, each time you do it, do you
have to drive it out differently?"
"Yes, Colonel. Well, basically it is the same, but there are
different techniques. It depends on how strong the dybbuk is
. . . or what it is doing to the person."
"Must the person be a Jew?"
Rabbi Vogel was startled by the question. He thought hard
about his answer.
"No. It is not necessary, but I never did it to a non-Jew. I
was never asked."
"What do you do, Rabbi? Is it like the Catholics do
exorcism?"
"It is and it isn't. I really can't explain."
"Try. It's important to me."
"Well, our way is older. We were around before the
Catholics, so much of what we do, what we believe, is in
their ceremonies. But they attack these spirits in the name of
Christ . . . through Christ."
"And you? The Jews!"
"We just attack the dybbuk directly. It is driven away, but
it is never destroyed. You can't destroy them."

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117
Peter took the copy of the acrostic from his pocket and
handed it to Vogel. The rabbi studied it. His lips moved as he
gazed at the paper.
"Do you know what that is, Rabbi?"
"Yes. But it's just a protection ... a precaution. It is not
very powerful." He handed it back to Somoroff.
"Mr. Kantrowitz made that for someone. You are right. It
didn't work."
The rabbi nodded, then there was silence in the room.
Vogel began to hum under his breath.
"Rabbi," Somoroff began again, "do you remember the
man who brought the charges against you in Minsk?"
Now Vogel's attitude changed. His face became pale, and
he stroked his beard nervously and withdrew to himself. Peter
noted the reaction and knew he was at the moment of truth.
But the rabbi didn't answer. He just looked off into space and
hummed louder, as if to block out the next question.
"Do you remember Nickolai Valarian?"
The rabbi grasped his own shoulders and drew himself up
tightly. His humming became high-pitched, a wailing border-
ing on crying.
"Isadore Kantrowitz is dead, Rabbi Vogel. He died trying
to help us."
"Rest in peace," said the rabbi. "He was a fool to try and
fight that . . . that . . . thing."
"What thing?"
The rabbi suddenly composed himself, stood, and walked
back to the small table. He sat and looked directly into Peter
Somoroff's eyes. Now Vogel knew what the KGB wanted.
He felt curiously strong, and for the first time in many lonely
years, he felt a purpose in his existence. A new voice came
from his lips. Peter noted it with alarm. He did not expect
such strength.
"Colonel, I believe you know what I mean—Valarian is
not a man. He is a thing. He has hurt you, hasn't he? Yes. I
can see that in your eyes. But understand something. It is
very important. This is not a dybbuk. Forget dybbuks. This
beast is stronger, more important than a mere dybbuk. He is
evil! He is an abomination doing the devil's work."
Peter Somoroff listened. And at that moment his life was
forever changed. Vogel was the ally that he, the premier, all
of Russia needed.

118
David Saperstein
"I want you to help me kill him." Peter's voice was
insistent.
"You cannot kill him. You can never kill him!"
The room filled with silence once again. Peter refused to
accept defeat.
"What can we do?"
"I don't know. Really. He is very powerful, and you must
be careful. Now I know—" The rabbi stopped in midsentence.
"You know what?"
"The camps ... all the camps are filling up with Jews
again. Like with the Nazis. It is his work. Now I know."
"Then we must stop him."
"For Jews you want to stop him?"
"For Russia."
Vogel touched his hand to the prayer book and looked up at
Somoroff.
Peter knew he needed this man. Somehow he had to reach
and use the real power that the rabbi possessed.
"Rabbi Posner asked me to tell you something. He said to
tell you that Kemiot still exists."
"Posner said that? Kemiot?"
"Yes. What does it mean?"
"I can't say." Vogel's voice was calm, but Peter could see
the man's mind racing.
"Is it important?"
"Can I see him?"
Peter stood. "Within the hour."
He left the rabbi pulling the prayer shawl over his head,
and as he closed the door the prayers began again.
Rosteveli had the morgue sergeant brought to the interroga-
tion room. Now he sat with Bonyon, Sasha, and Leonid
waiting for Colonel Somoroff. They watched the sergeant
through a one-way mirror. The man was frightened. Peter
entered the room, glanced through the mirror, and then in-
structed Rosteveli to take a few men and bring Rabbi Posner
to Lubyanka. The major left immediately.
Peter went into the interrogation room and sat down oppo-
site the sergeant.
"I will make this brief, Sergeant. The man who came to the
morgue was Misha Karkov. He has been identified. We know

RED DEVIL
119
whom he works for. All I want to know is whom do you
work for?"
"I work for the prison, Colonel. In the morgue."
"Sergeant, don't be a fool. There are two guards that you
made look stupid, and all they would like to do is get their
hands on you for a few minutes. Do you understand?"
"But, Colonel, I was attacked too."
Peter stood. "I have no time for this bullshit. I'll send
them in, and you will tell them what I want to know."
He moved toward the door.
"No! Please, Colonel, I'll tell you."
It was just a matter of money. The sergeant was not a
follower of Valarian. Major Metsky paid him from time to
time for services. He reported about prisoners in Lubyanka.
He copied some records. Small stuff. That night the major
had called him and told him to do whatever Misha Karkov
requested. He was promised protection, and he felt betrayed.
He was also afraid of Metsky.
Peter turned the sergeant over to Leonid Chomsky for a
complete statement that would serve as an indictment against
Major Metsky when the time came to prosecute.
Anya sat alone in the apartment. Her grandmother had
gone to church again, and her mother still slept deeply in the
bedroom. It had been two hours since the call, and she was
still debating whether or not to call her father. The late
afternoon light faded, yet she made no move to turn on a
lamp. Darkness crept into the apartment, turning all colors to
grey and black. The Siamese cat sat in her lap sleeping. She
did not hear the door latch being violated. Suddenly the cat
perked up. Then Anya heard the scratching sound. It's Grandma
trying her key, thought Anya. She went to the door to open it
just as Misha Karkov popped the lock. She surprised him,
and for a moment he was startled. Then he pushed by her,
closing the door and grabbing her around the neck. The two
fell to the floor onto a small area rug that slid with the weight
of their bodies. Anya gasped as the intruder tightened his grip
around her neck. She could not cry out. His other hand was
on her breasts, rubbing and pulling her blouse open.
The little man was strong. Anya realized she was being
raped. The man was excited, and she felt his hardness against

120
David Saperstein
her buttocks. She relaxed her body and gently began to move
against his.
"Ah," he whispered. "You want it . . . good."
She continued to rub and slowly slid her hand toward his
crotch. He grabbed it, leaving her breasts for a moment.
"No tricks, little girl. I'll tell you what to do."
He rolled her over onto her stomach, keeping his arm
around her neck in a tight grip. With his other hand he pulled
her dress up and slid his hand into her underwear and between
her legs. It was cold. She remained calm and slowly parted
her legs to allow him to touch her vaginal lips. His finger
pushed inside her with difficulty because she was dry with
fright. Then he pulled his hand out and opened his belt. She
heard his fly unzip and then felt his hard penis on her
buttocks. Time was running out, but she didn't panic. As
long as she felt his penis she knew she was still safe. He was
getting excited and began to mutter obscenities in her ear. She
tried to react positively, as though she enjoyed what he was
doing and saying. She spread her legs for him.
"Good," he said. "You want it."
He put his hand on her again, but she was still dry. Then
he spit on his hand and rubbed the spittle on his penis.
"I'll get it in . . . I'll ram it up your ass if I have to,
bitch."
She felt him raise up, and in doing so he loosened his grip
on her throat. She pictured his penis and testicles in her mind
and felt sure of their position above her. He was a short man,
and she knew they were within her reach. Her right hand
opened slowly once, then balled into a fist. Anya struck
quickly back with her fist and at the same time rolled in the
opposite direction.
Misha emitted a sickening scream and released her. The
pain was intense. Nausea rose in his throat. Anya was on her
feet and delivered a powerful kick to his groin . . . then
another . . . and another. The last landed directly on his
testicles again, and he fainted.
Nadja stood in the door of the bedroom.
"What is it, Anya?" She saw the man on the floor and
screamed.
Anya's eyes searched the room for a weapon. She didn't
know how long the attacker would be out.
"Mama, call Dad. Tell him to get here immediately. Do it

RED DEVIL
121
quickly." She then pulled a lamp cord out of the wall and
tore it from the lamp. In a flash she was tying his legs. She
repeated her action with another lamp and secured his hands
just as the man began to awake.
The rabbis spoke in yiddish while Peter sat in the room,
ignorant of their conversation. There seemed to be an argu-
ment, with Vogel admonishing Posner. The word Kemiot
came up several times. In the end Posner prevailed. He spoke
first.
"My friend here is unaware of many things. We have been
discussing a little history, mostly about Israel and the Jews of
Russia. I told him that I trusted you, but you must understand
that he has been in prison for a long time. He is out of touch
with our life today."
Peter nodded his understanding.
Rabbi Vogel then spoke. "You want me to help you with
this Valarian? I believe he is possessed by an evil spirit. We
cannot kill him, but it may be that we can drive him away.
Rabbi Posner does not agree or believe in such things. We
have the same God, it's just that from time to time we
approach him differently."
"Then you will help us?" asked Peter.
"That depends on how far you are willing to go. It is not a
simple matter, and I can't do it alone."
"Whatever you need, we will get." Peter felt relieved.
"Then we will have to go to Israel."
And by the tone of his voice, Peter Somoroff knew that
Rabbi Vogel was serious. Somoroff was about to discuss the
ramifications of Vogel's request when Leonid Chomsky
broke into the room to tell Peter he was needed at home
immediately.

22
The marshall paced back and forth in Premier Alexeyevich's
office. The two men had run the Soviet Union as a team for
ten years, with Premier Alexeyevich handling external affairs,
thus controlling the KGB, and Marshall Malenkov handling
internal affairs, with control over the Army and the GRU.
"Ivan Ivanovich, it is absolutely unforgivable that this
thing should have been done by the KGB. The American
press is full of the story. They even have a picture of the
Jew's body."
"But what makes you think the KGB had anything to do
with it?"
"What am I, a fool? The man died in KGB headquarters.
He was in the morgue at Lubyanka. That idiot Somoroff gave
the body to the Jews. What did he think was going to happen?"
The premier knew that this was the price he would have to
pay for allowing Somoroff to release the story to the western
press. If he could contain the marshall to abuse in this office,
then they had bought the time they needed to deal with
Valarian. He pressed harder on the general secretary.
"Somoroff thinks that this was done by the GRU in order
to make the KGB look bad in our eyes. I don't know why
yet, but I am investigating. Give me a few weeks and I will
have the matter cleared."
"I warn you, Comrade Alexeyevich, the politburo won't
stand for this publicity. What we do in our country is of no
concern to anyone else outside."
The premier was on his feet. He smashed his fist onto the
desktop.
122

RED DEVIL
123
"But, my fellow comrade, what we eat in this country is
our concern, and since you have been unable to produce
enough food for our people, we have to rely on the west for
grain. And when they have us by the balls they like to
squeeze a little from time to time."
The marshall calmed down. This round goes to you, Alex-
eyevich, he thought, but soon, very soon, Colonel Valarian
and I will crush you and your precious KGB bootlickers.
"How long will it take for them to calm down in America?"
"Too long for us to wait. We have to respond. I want this
business with the Jews to stop for now, and I want you to
allow them to begin to emigrate again."
"How many?"
"That is your business, but it had better be substantial.
And none of the stupid payment business. Let them leave
with their belongings, just no money."
The marshall poured himself a brandy. Premier Alexeye-
vich toyed with the idea of warning Malenkov about Valarian
and telling him about Boris Menoff's file, but thought better
of the idea. Let him play with fire . . . Let him get burned.
"Will you be at Menoff's funeral?" the premier asked.
"No. I have to be in Murmansk. The new submarine is
being tested."
Alexeyevich watched his partner with sadness. Once they
had been close, sharing dreams for their great country. But
the marshall had changed. His whole life centered on power,
on winning, even at the expense of the nation. It was madness.
"Boris was a friend. He loved the Soviet Union."
"Menoff was a Jew!" The word sounded like a curse.
"What has happened to you, Comrade Secretary? Why this
obsession with the Jews? There are so few of them."
"They are a cancer to be cut out and destroyed."
"Even if it means destroying our country?"
"That will not happen."
"You sound like the Nazi madman. He tried it too and
almost took us with him. It cost us twenty million lives. Do
you forget?"
Marshall Malenkov spun around and pointed a shaking
finger at the premier. "Forget? My wife and child died in
Kursk. I have a piece of German steel in my neck." He
slapped his neck. "Forget? I will never forget. But in the

124
David Saperstein
beginning it was the Jews, not the Nazis, who brought the
war."
"Bullshit. You are a stupid old man if you still believe
that. You forget our dear Comrade Stalin and his love affair
with that Nazi. The world was ours until he drove the knife
into our backs. It was Hitler not the Jews who burned Soviets.''
Malenkov suddenly grew tired. He dismissed the argument
with a wave of his large hand, put down his brandy glass, and
moved to leave the room.
"I will take care of the emigration matter, Ivan Ivanovich.
You take care of the Americans. Two weeks. Not one day
more, and I will have that bastard Somoroff s head!"
He slammed the door behind him. Ivan Ivanovich Alexeyevich
gestured an obscenity to his departed partner, then turned on
his scrambler and telephoned Peter Somoroff with the good
news.
The squad of six enlisted men and one officer dispersed
around the Somoroff apartment. Two men in the apartment,
two in the hallway, one at the back entrance to the building,
and the officer and one man in the van out front. All had
walkie-talkies. All were armed with submachine guns. There
would be no easy access to the Somoroff apartment now.
Back at Lubyanka, the interrogation of Karkov began.
"This man is not possessed." Rabbi Vogel was firm in his
statement. Misha Karkov sat in the straight-backed chair with
his hands and feet bound tightly. Peter stood next to the
rabbi. Leonid remained near the door of the interrogation
room. Down the hall, Sasha Andreyev talked quietly with
Anya Somoroff.
"I could have killed him," Anya said.
"I'm glad you didn't."
"Did he kill my brother?"
"No, I don't think so. It seems he was in Moscow when
that happened."
"Who killed him?"
"We don't know."
Sasha could see that Anya didn't believe her, but it was the
truth. It was not her place to convince the pretty daughter of
her boss otherwise.
"Do you know why he died?"

RED DEVIL
125
"It is not for me to say, honestly. Perhaps your father will
talk with you now . . . after this business."
Anya liked Sasha's honesty. She decided not to press the
matter further. In time her father would tell her.
Leonid felt the hair begin to tear from Misha Karkov's
head. He relaxed his grip.
"You can't scare me," Misha said defiantly to the KGB
colonel seated in front of him.
"Would you like to die?" Peter asked.
"I don't care. It is not in your hands."
Rabbi Vogel stepped closer to the prisoner. Suddenly some-
thing about the man struck him. Something that he had not
seen before. As he approached, Misha's eyes locked on the
rabbi. Fear began to creep into his face, and he tried to pull
back from the old man. Vogel reached slowly toward Misha's
neck and pulled away his shirt. There was a mark on Karkov's
shoulder. It was red and shaped like an arrowhead, wide at
the shoulder and coming to a point at the neck. Inside the
mark was a yellow backward C, and under it three yellow
dots.
0
• • •
"This man is marked." Vogel directed his words to Peter.
"He will be able to tell us much, but first I must get some
things. Leave him for now but guard him carefully. Don't let
him sleep or even close his eyes."
He then gave Leonid Chomsky a list of things that they
could get from Rabbi Posner at the Great Synagogue of
Moscow. Captain Bonyon was assigned to stand guard over
the prisoner. Vogel went with Major Rosteveli to have a look
at the morgue sergeant, Dr. Brodsky, and the Pushkin lieuten-
ant Zorbin. Perhaps they too were marked.
"Are you feeling better?" Peter was extremely gentle with
his daughter.
"I'll be all right, Dad. But please tell me what is going on.
I know this has to do with Peter's death, and I want to
know."

126
David Saperstein
The case had cost him one son, and he certainly didn't
want to put his only remaining child in danger. But Valarian
had a reach throughout the Soviet Union, with many disciples
whose identities were still unknown. It would be better, Peter
decided, if Anya was kept in Moscow and within the tight
circle of the investigation. He told her the whole fantastic
story. It was too much for her to believe.
"You are mad, Father. Spirits . . . Devils . . . Possessed
people? Do you really believe all of this?"
"Yes," he answered, "and it would be better for you to at
least keep an open mind. In any case, I want you near me for
a while. You will act as liaison between our group and the
premier. It was the job that your brother came to Moscow to
do."
She grasped the significance of what her father had decided
and felt very close to him.
"I won't let you down . . . and I will keep an open mind."
"Don't leave here without a guard. Don't go anywhere—
no matter what happens—unless we know where you are,
and, Anya . . . never alone. Is that clear?"
"Absolutely."
They hugged.
"For now," he told her as they left the room, "stay close
to Sasha."

23
At the first taste of wine, Valarian spit. Metsky, startled by
Valarian's action, drew back from his mahogany desk. The
colonel spit again.
"Arghh . . . damned Jew."
"What is it, Colonel?" „
"Leave the room," commanded Valarian. The discomfort
was growing, and he knew he had to be alone.
As soon as Metsky left, Valarian lay down on top of his
desk and stared into the pentangle of lights above him. His
eyes milked over, pure white. One of the points of the
pentangle turned red, and the color expanded down the length
of the point to the middle of the star, which now took the
shape of the mark on Misha's shoulder. The small lights
formed the same backward C, and three lights became dots
under the letter. Valarian's body stiffened.
At the same time, back in Lubyanka, Misha Karkov's body
also stiffened. Rabbi Vogel watched carefully as he stopped
pouring wine into Misha's mouth. The prisoner's eyes rolled
back, and the sound of Valarian's voice roared out of his
mouth.
"Damned Jew!"
Vogel was pleased. He spoke in ancient Aramaic. "There
is but one God—Yahweh."
He then diminished the name of God.' 'Yahwe . . . Yahw . . .
Yah . . ."
The rabbi moved quickly and, with a pointed instrument,
using the remaining wine, drew an acrostic on Misha's forehead.
The KGB investigation entered a new and quite unexpected
127

128
David Saperstein
phase as it elevated before the Soviets' eyes from the natural
to the supernatural.
Peter, Leonid, and Bonyon watched in fascination. It was a
square divided evenly into nine boxes. In each box Vogel
wrote a number. As he did it he explained.
"The names of God are many. This is one of the most
ancient. It can be diminished to three letters, Y-A-H, and their
numerical value is fifteen—and a very powerful number when
written this way."
Each box had a number and no matter what direction you
added, the total was fifteen.
	9	1	
3	5	7	
8	1	6	
As he entered the last number, a six in the lower right-hand
box, another sound came from Misha's mouth, but its origin
was deep within his body.
"Awww . . . A www . . . meechawww ..."
Vogel then placed a highly polished mirror in front of
Misha's face. The others in the room looked into the mirror
and saw Valarian's face. Chomsky gasped.
"Who is that?"
"Valarian," said Peter Somoroff.
"Yes," said the rabbi, "the evil one himself. But I can't
hold him too long."
Peter tried to be businesslike. "What is happening?"
"We have been able to reach him and let him know that he
has been discovered. Misha is a disciple. This one always has
five attached to him ... in a sense he owns their souls, but it
is a temporary thing. Soon he will release this one, because
we have used his body and because we control it. Then Misha
will be of no use to us ... to anyone."
Suddenly words tumbled rapidly from Misha's throat.
"I will kill you, Jew. Foul stench of the earth. Your
children will burn, your people will vanish. I swear this."
Vogel reacted immediately with a firm voice. "Silence. I
do not speak to the fallen. I speak only to Yahweh. To Him

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you may swear. Do it, Belial . . . Leviathan . . . Lucifer . . .
Shaytan ... I know you."
The mirror began to glow in Vogel's hands.
"He is leaving Misha. Stand back."
The others moved away as the mirror glowed brighter.
Vogel released it, yet it remained hovering over Karkov's
face. Then it burst with a flash. It was gone.
Misha screamed and contorted in the chair. Spittle ran from
his mouth, mucus from his nose. The acrostic on his forehead
shriveled and disappeared. Then he passed out.
There was silence in the room.
"He is gone," said Vogel. He pulled Misha's shirt back,
and the arrow was gone, too.
"This man is no longer bound to his service. A small
victory, but of little consequence."
"What do we do now?" asked Peter. He was sitting,
exhausted by the events.
Rabbi Vogel folded his prayer shawl, placed the pointed
silver instrument in a blue velvet case, and cleaned the wine
cup carefully.
"Do you want to meet Valarian, Colonel?"
"Will there be a danger?"
"Yes, but I think you should face your enemy and know
him for what he really is. We can do it next week, on
Tuesday."
"Why Tuesday?" asked Rosteveli.
"It is Yom Kippur, our Day of Atonement. On that day he
may not harm us. But we can do some harm to him . . .
perhaps delay him for a while . . . make him reexamine his
plans."
Peter Somoroff stared at the rabbi, wondering how a man,
so long in prison, so long out of touch with the world, could
be so positive and so quickly involved.
"What will happen, Rabbi Vogel?"
The rabbi took an old twisted ram's horn from another
velvet case. He held it up for all to see.
"This is the shofar—the ram's horn. On Yom Kippur, evil
is powerless over those who are truly penitent."
He passed the shofar to Peter. "I will teach you to blow the
horn by Tuesday, and I will teach you the words. Oh, how I
wish I could be there, but only one may approach him. He
will not expect this from you, Colonel Somoroff."

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David Saperstein
Peter put the horn to his lips and tried to blow. No sound
came out. The others in the room laughed at his huffing and
puffing. It broke the tense atmosphere.
The rabbi took back the shofar, placed the mouthpiece
between the second and third finger of his right hand, and
held the end of the hom high in his left hand.
"This is the way it is held. Blow steady and use the
tongue." He put the mouthpiece to his lips and blew. A loud,
mournful sound came from the hom—tekeeeawwww. . . .
At GRU headquarters, Valarian, sitting alone in his office
deep in thought, shuddered as the sound of the shofar dimly
reverberated in the room. Outside in the anteroom, Major
Anton Metsky also shuddered but didn't know why. He clapped
his hands over his ears to block out the strange sound.

24
GRU headquarters stood facing the People's Park in a north-
ern suburb of Moscow. It was one of the few military installa-
tions in the city, and unless one knew there was a military
presence inside the structure, it would appear to be another
government building. A high wall surrounded the white mar-
ble structure. The main gate was guarded by two military
policemen in uniform, with the bright blue and red GRU
patch and crest on their uniforms.
Peter Somoroff eased his Skoda to a stop at the guard
booth. He flashed his KGB identity card, and the guard
snapped to attention, bringing his machine gun up vertically
to salute the colonel.
"Good afternoon, sir. Please state your business."
"I have an appointment with Colonel Valarian."
"Just one moment, sir."
The guard entered the booth and checked his list of visi-
tors. Then he telephoned to confirm the appointment. A
moment later he waved Peter through the gate. "Please park
in the visitors' spaces on the right, Colonel. Colonel Valarian
is on the fifth floor." He saluted again.
Peter parked and entered the building's main entrance.
Once again a guard, seated at a desk in the lobby, questioned
him, and once again a phone call confirmed the appointment.
Peter noticed the metal detector as he passed through the
lobby to the elevator. He felt the ram's horn in the pocket of
his greatcoat, thinking about the problem there would be if it
were metal and how he would explain the instrument. He
passed through another metal detector outside Valarian's office.
131

132
David Saperstein
The secretary was a middle-aged woman, plump and red-
faced. Her steel-grey hair was pulled back severely into a
bun. She wore a high-collared blouse and black wool skirt.
"An honor, Colonel Somoroff. Welcome. Colonel Valarian
will be with you in a moment. May I bring you tea?"
Peter looked carefully at the woman. Rabbi Vogel had
spent the past few days instructing him in the various ways to
recognize disciples, among other things. The mark on the
shoulder was the obvious sign, but there were more subtle
ways, now that they knew Valarian had taken disciples to
him. But the woman moved too fast, and Peter was unable to
look at her hands or directly into her eyes. She stood with her
back to him and made tea. Behind him he heard a click, and
the door to Valarian's office opened slightly. Without looking
she spoke.
"You may go in now, Colonel. I will bring the tea in a
moment."
Peter felt a cold rush of air coming from the office through
the small crack of the door, now ajar. Then he smelled an
odor somehow musty yet acrid. It reminded him of a mixture
of wet wool and burnt hair.
Nickolai Valarian, murderer of his son, smasher of danc-
ers' legs, killer and epitome of evil, sat behind the shiny
mahogany desk in an arrogant pose, both hands folded on the
desktop. The reflection of the pentangle chandelier above him
gave the aura of a crown of lights around Valarian's hands.
"I have anxiously awaited this moment, Comrade Somoroff,"
Valarian said caustically. "You are a courageous man."
Peter was about to respond when the secretary entered the
office. She passed by him and placed the tea service, an
antique silver one with one white porcelain cup, on a small
table along the wall.
"Will there be anything else?" She directed the question to
Valarian.
"No, thank you. We do not wish to be disturbed."
"Yes, sir." She left the room quickly, with a grace that
belied her portliness. The door closed softly behind Peter. He
turned to face Valarian.
"May I sit down?" Peter fought his fury and remained
calm on the outside.
Valarian gestured to a chair near the tea service. Peter sat,
picked up the teacup, and poured himself some tea. He

RED DEVIL
133
noticed that Valarian's image was not reflected in the shiny
silver teapot. This was as Vogel had said it would be. He then
glanced up at the light above the desk and noticed that one of
the star points was dark. Vogel would be glad to hear this
news. It meant that a new disciple had not yet been ordained
since Misha Karkov had been freed.
"Now, Colonel Somoroff," Valarian began as he leaned
back in the black leather chair, "what can I do for you?" His
tone was sarcastic.
Peter sipped the tea. "There is no point in being coy,
Colonel Valarian. I know who and what you are. I came here
to tell you that you have no place in this country. We do not
want you here!"
The evil man's face became hard. A grunt of contempt
growled in his throat.
"We? Who is we, Colonel Somoroff? You little man.
Bureaucrat. You don't tell me where I belong. I am of this
world, free to be where I want to be, when I want to be!"
His voice was strong. There was no doubt about Valarian's
will. Peter started to answer when he felt a burning sensation
begin to creep down from his shoulder to the hand that held
the teacup. The cup began to shake, slowly at first, then
violently. It shook out of his hand and crashed to the floor.
The heat stopped. The shaking stopped.
Valarian was smiling.
"I could destroy you now—just as I destroyed your Jew
friend Menoff."
He leapt to his feet and pointed at Peter. The KGB colonel
was thrown from his chair onto the floor, then rolled over and
over toward the opposite wall, finally crashing into it. His
body vibrated against the rich mahogany paneling. His head
banged violently against the wall and floor. Valarian laughed
and relaxed, and the shaking stopped.
"Little man. Do you really know who I am? Do you know
what I can do if I wish it?"
"I know who you are . . . what you are."
Peter sat up on the floor. He slid his hand into his coat
pocket and gripped the shofar firmly.
"No, Colonel Somoroff, I don't think you know." Valarian
laughed. "Now you have seen me. You have felt my power.
But you are tiring me, and I must get on with the business of
this nation. Ahhh, such a business it will be when I am

134
David Saperstein
ready." He laughed again and settled back in his chair. He
didn't see Peter ease the shofar out of his pocket.
Peter lifted himself slowly to his feet, keeping the shofar
hidden from his adversary. He began to move toward the
door, bent in defeat. Valarian kept laughing at his back.
Suddenly Peter brought the shofar to his lips and in one
movement sounded the ram's horn while turning to face
Valarian. The sound filled the room. Teekeelaww . . . Quickly,
another blast—shvoooawww . . .
Valarian froze in midlaugh. Then, as though hit by a
sledgehammer, he was thrown back into his chair with a force
that caused the chair to topple him over onto the floor.
"Damn you," he screamed.
Peter moved to the front of the desk and looked down at
Valarian.
"Silence, godless one. You are fallen forever from His
grace!"
Then Peter began to speak in Hebrew as Rabbi Vogel had
taught him.
"Praise be the Lord our God, who has given us his
commandments!''
He blew the horn again.
Valarian was slammed into the rear wall of the office. He
sat there, unable to move, and it was obvious to Peter that he
was inflicting great pain upon the man. Peter continued with
the commandments.
' 7 am the Lord, thy god!''
Valarian shook.
"Thou shalt have no other gods before me!"
Valarian's legs split. Peter heard a bone crack.
"Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in
vain!''
Valarian's eyes rolled back into his head, leaving only the
whites showing.
' 'Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy!''
Valarian's arms slammed against the wall, as though he
were being crucified.
' 'Honor thy father and thy mother!''
Valarian bled from his nose and mouth.
"Thou shalt not kill!"
Valarian was lifted off the floor, slowly, up toward the
ceiling.

RED DEVIL
135
"Thou shalt not commit adultery!"
Valarian was jammed into a corner of the ceiling. He
moaned.
"Thou shalt not steal!"
Valarian, now spread-eagle in a corner of the ceiling, was
slammed down onto the floor. His hands and feet were burning.
"Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor!"
Valarian was spun in a circle on the floor. Blood and fire
flew from him.
"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house, nor his wife,
nor his servants, nor his cattle, nor anything that is thy
neighbor's!''
Valarian stopped spinning abruptly. He fell in a heap on
the floor at Peter Somoroff s feet.
"Praise be the Lord our God, who has given us his
commandments!''
Peter lifted the shofar to his lips again and sounded a blast
that drowned out Valarian's scream.
He looked down at the twisted, bloody, burning man at his
feet.
"Little man, you say? I will show you who is little. I am
Russia, and I damn you!"
He left. There was much yet to be done.

25
It was midmorning before Andy Taft could catch the shuttle
back to New York. He had to encourage the D.C. cab driver
to speed a bit on the parkway, but they made the plane.
The plane was half-full, and Andy had time to sit by
himself and ponder the events of the preceding night. Sasha
Andreyev was a known KGB agent attached to the Soviet
Embassy in Washington. They had met on a few occasions,
each knowing that the other knew his or her work. Andy was
with DIA—Defense Intelligence Agency-—a secret and little
publicized intelligence arm of the U.S. government.
The meeting had been requested by a direct phone call to
Andy at his New York apartment. The phone was unlisted
and secure, yet Sasha had had no problem getting through.
She was resourceful, and quite attractive, too.
They had dined at a small French restaurant in Georgetown,
just off Wisconsin Avenue. The food had been superb and the
wine had served to loosen the conversation. After dinner they
had gone to his Georgetown apartment. Sasha had suggested
this, and because Andy knew it was secure, he agreed. He
was a little surprised the next morning when he played back
the tape he had made of their conversation. It was completely
jammed with a high-frequency disturbance. She must have
hidden a device in her pocketbook lining. He had checked the
pocketbook when she went to the bathroom after they had made
love and found nothing, but he hadn't checked the lining.
Now he leaned back in his seat and pondered the conversa-
tion. It had all been small talk through dinner. When they
arrived at his apartment he took her coat and went to the bar
136

RED DEVIL
137
to make stingers. She sat on the barstool across from him and
immediately presented him with her request.
"Andy, we need to use your contacts in Israel. We want
you to set up a meeting with one of my superiors and the
chief of the Israeli service."
Andy was shocked. "It would be easier to set something
up for you with the Chinese. Are you mad?"
"No, not mad, just in need of a favor. We are willing to
pay you for your troubles."
He shook his head in disbelief. "Well, beautiful, assuming
I know who the chief of their service actually is, and assuming
they could be convinced that the meeting was in their interest,
it will take more than money to pull this thing off. You
people haven't been . . . shall I say . . . close with them?"
He offered her a stinger mist, and as she took it he leaned
over the bar and kissed her.
"It comes with the drink. . . . You're beautiful."
She licked her lips and answered. "You too . . . but later.
Do you think it could be done?"
"Anything can be done, sweetheart. Just give me a good
reason to do it, and then give me about ten good reasons for
the Israelis to do it, and we have a deal."
Sasha became very businesslike.
"Okay. What I am going to tell you, you will just have to
believe. I can't prove anything now. We will prove it for the
Israelis later. Also, this meeting comes from the premier,
directly. He called me last night."
Andy was impressed. "No shit. Alexeyevich himself?"
"Yes ... no shit. It knocked me right out of bed, but
there is no doubt. It was him. Each of us has a code for such
direct contact. He knew mine. There are only two people in
the world who know that code, and I'm one of them. It was
his idea, but I think this was the first time it was ever used. In
any case it was Ivan Ivanovich ... I am sure."
Andy leaned over the bar toward her. "I know you are going
to tell me a story now, and I'm going to listen with great inter-
est, but no matter what you tell me, I am going to have to have
confirmation. From what you have told me so far, I'm going
to have to eyeball the man himself. There is no other way."
She answered quickly. "Granted. It will be done."
Andy was tingling inside at the prospect of meeting the
premier. He cleared his senses and lowered the stereo. He

138
David Saperstein
gestured to Sasha to sit on the couch, then seated himself at
the other end.
"Comfortable?" he asked. She nodded and began again.
"The premier has a situation that is beyond his control. It
is an internal situation. The code name is Flame. It deals with
things that we would call supernatural. Understand that for a
country without religion this comes very hard, but there is no
other explanation. We are dealing with a—I will use his
word—a dybbuk. That is what the premier said to me."
"That's not Russian. It's Yiddish. An evil spirit?"
"The premier is convinced that such a person, spirit, force
. . . whatever you want to call it . . . that it exists, and that it
lives now in the Soviet Union."
Andy leaned toward her with a small smile on his lips.
"Excuse me, dear, but has it occurred to you that Ivan
Ivanovich Alexeyevich has gone bananas?"
She remained serious.
"Andy, this morning I was visited by a man you know. A
man who is not supposed to be in this country. Nevertheless
we met at the Mayflower this morning, and he showed me a
file. The premier is not bananas. The premier is deeply
concerned. Not only for the Soviet Union, but for the peace
we now enjoy."
"Who is the man you saw today?"
"Peter Somoroff."
Andy whistled. "You tell me this—and he's still here?"
"Yes. He will see you tomorrow . . . if—if—I can con-
vince you, and he will also make arrangements for you to see
the premier."
This was the real thing, and it was big.
"Okay. Please go on. I'm hooked."
Their conversation lasted three hours. Sasha did most of
the talking, with Andy interrupting only to clarify certain
points. When Sasha finished Andy was as excited as he had
ever been in his life. Her final plea had brought tears. She
loved her country, and she was frightened. The premier was
right—things were out of control and beyond understanding
within the framework of a rational world. She recalled the
rabbi's words to the premier: "You are dealing with things
that you refuse to recognize. When you evicted God from
your midst you opened your door to evil. Why are you
surprised that it came in?"

26
America, being an open society, gives those who practice
espionage a fairly simple task. Peter Somoroff had to move
quickly after his final meeting with the premier. Time was
against them.
He now sat in room 1174 of the Mayflower Hotel in
Washington, D.C., just a few blocks from the White House.
If Sasha did not convince the American DIA agent, they
might soon be celebrating Somoroff's capture in that White
House. But so far things were going well. Sasha had checked
in each time with the correct message. The first call had come
from the restaurant in Georgetown. All she said was "blue."
The next call was four hours later from the American's
apartment. The message was "bright light." The final call
this morning at precisely 7:43 was "Flame." They would be
here at 9:15, and they would have thirty minutes to talk. Then
Peter had to leave. He looked at his watch. It was 9:10.
Four minutes later he left room 1174 and walked to room
1166. He opened the door, and Sasha took her gun away from
the American's temple. Andy Taft was sitting in a chair staring
at Peter Somoroff. When Andy spoke, Peter sensed the excite-
ment in his voice. "My God, it's actually you," said Andy.
"Sasha, now I believe you have a problem. Maybe we all do."
Peter Somoroff spoke quickly. "I am relieved to hear you
believe us. Sasha says you are one of the best. I will tell you
that we also have a file on you, and you are categorized as . . .
ah, what is the word ... an independent thinker. Most of the
time that is dangerous for us, but this time we gambled that your
independence could keep our secret ... for a while, anyway.
139

140
David Saperstein
Andy kept his eyes on the KGB chief. "If you think you've
bought me, you're way off base. You know I have to report
all of this."
"Yes. Shall we get down to business?"
"Not yet. I want something from you first."
Peter smiled. "Yes ... the negotiations begin."
Andy got up from the chair and walked over to Peter
Somoroff. He reached out and shook hands with the security
chief. He then asked Peter Somoroff to open his mouth to
further confirm his identity. Andy looked in to see the small
piece missing from the tip of Somoroff s tongue as the DIA
file had so stated. He was satisfied.
"Thanks. Now part two. How the hell did you get into the
country?"
Somoroff relaxed. "Good. If I tell you then can we get
down to cases?"
Peter spoke as he moved toward the window. "We have a
number of sleepers in America. That I am sure you know.
They are just plain American citizens, and most of them will
die having never been used. In cases of extreme emergency—
and this case is an emergency—we just have one of them take
a trip somewhere, and then we bring him in, to an embassy,
whatever. So it is simple for me to get his passport and ticket,
and I am through customs and immigration. Poof ... I am
here, and a loyal sleeper comes home."
"And how do you leave?"
"Ah, I thought you said we could get down to cases if I
answered your question. I did."
Andy realized that his excitement had made him phrase his
question improperly and that he had lost this round. He also
knew that there were at least five DIA agents in the hotel at
that moment. Peter Ilyavich Somoroff would be spending the
night courtesy of the DIA, so he played along.
"Okay, you're right. Now what?"
Peter moved toward the bed and sat. "I wanted you to see
me so that there would be no doubt in your mind that the
premier is serious. We need your help. We know that you
will have to report the happenings of last night and today to
your superiors. We expect that, and we expect that you will
be able to convince them that you should help us . . . help the
premier."
Andy nodded. "Go on."

RED DEVIL
141
"You are to arrange a meeting between you, the chief of
Israeli intelligence, and me. The stakes are simple. You will
convey the message that the lives of five million Jews depend
on his making that meeting."
"Those people don't respond well to threats. You know
that."
Somoroff held up his hand. "Please let me finish. We have
only a few moments, and then I must leave. You will tell him
that fact. Second, you will tell him that the Soviet KGB
wishes to enter into a joint operation with the Israelis—for the
benefit of both nations. You have heard the story from Sasha.
It is true. Third, you must not tell the reason for the meeting
to .the Israelis."
Andy stood up. "Hold it. You can't possibly mean that.
They just won't accept. That man—their Mossad chief—his
identity is super-secret. I'm sure that's a no-buts situation."
Somoroff continued as though he did not hear Andy. "Fi-
nally, you will give him this letter. The contents of the letter
are unknown to me. They are to have their laboratory people
open it and check to certify that it has not been opened
previously. You are to tell him that the security of the letter is
their code Kemiot. I believe it means amulet, or something
like that ... a charm. He will know. He will understand."
Andy took the letter and held it in his hand. It felt dangerous.
The envelope was the official stationery of the USSR. The entire
envelope was encased in a fine, almost silky, transparent film.
Peter Somoroff rose from the bed and walked toward the
door. "I must tell you one more thing. I am leaving, and you
will have to stay here for twenty minutes. Your colleagues are
already outside of my room, but we know that I am no longer
there. I will be out of the country by tomorrow morning. Sasha
will remain. She will go to your office with you if you wish."
Sasha protested. "Is that necessary, Comrade Somoroff?"
He answered directly. "Absolutely. You will now be the
contact. When the Israelis agree—and they will—we will talk
again."
Peter walked over to Sasha and kissed her lightly. He
shook hands with Taft, then turned and left the room. Andy
stood holding the envelope. A million thoughts raced through
his head. He noticed Sasha's gun drawn again. He told her to
put it away; he wasn't going anywhere. She didn't.

27
The wheels were set in motion. First the call from the office
stating that an American DIA agent had brought a letter for Gen-
eral Arie ben Kagan with specific instructions that code Kemiot
was to be used. That code was known only to the inner circle of
Israeli intelligence. The utmost care and security had to be fol-
lowed. It was required by the code that ben Kagan be informed
of its use. He immediately had the American checked out through
channels and then authorized the lab to examine the letter. It
would take ten hours for the examination to be completed. By
then he would have the information about the American. He left
instructions to be called when the letter was ready to be opened.
Kemiot is a Hebrew word frequently mentioned in Tal-
mudic literature. Its meaning was tied to the verb meaning to
bind, but the general use of the word had to do with amulets
and sacred ornamentation worn by the ancient and forbidden
gods. The use of the code by Israeli intelligence had come
from one place. The Soviet Union.
Arie ben Kagan cleared the lab after his people assured him
that the sealed envelope had not been compromised. They
also confirmed the watermark on the stationery as Official
Soviet—Diplomatic.
His hands were steady as he opened the letter with a sharp
knife, but his heart fluttered when he saw the signature at the
bottom of the letter. Ivan Ivanovich Alexeyevich. The letter
was written in longhand. The message was precise.
To the People of Israel:
It is not with humility but with pride that I write this
letter and ask you, in the name of God Almighty, to
142

RED DEVIL
143
heed its contents. Our nations could be no further apart,
even if we were at war. I cannot apologize for this
condition. It is sorrowful, and it is my sincere hope that
the coming days will see an end to animosity, and a new
beginning.
We knew nothing of Kemiot. Rabbi Posner, of the
great synagogue of Moscow, gave us the information.
He will arrive in Tel Aviv whenever you request his
presence.
We have discovered that an evil spirit, a demon, is in
our midst. He plans to destroy our nation and, with it,
much of the world.
I have learned too much to express in a letter; I feel
too much to do less. I beg your trust in this matter.
The American DIA agent, Andrew Taft, is authorized
to contact us. We wish you to meet, in Israel, with our
Chief of the KGB Investigative Section, Peter Ilyavich
Somoroff, three members of his staff, and Rabbi Isadore
Vogel, formerly of Minsk. They will have more details.
Rabbi Vogel has informed us that part of the solution to
this dreadful circumstance lies in Israel. He requests that
Rabbi Sholem Asher also attend the meeting.
We are but men and filled with centuries of mistrust
and suspicion. I put all of that aside. We are human. We
are threatened. I pray you will act with conscience and
deliberate speed.
In friendship extended,
Ivan Ivanovich Alexeyevich
Premier, USSR
It was signed in the premier's hand. Arie ben Kagan couldn't
breathe. He read the letter twice, then called Michael Gross,
his closest aide, into the lab.
"My god," said Michael after reading the letter, "can it
be true?"
Ben Kagan blinked and cleared his mind of a million
pulsing thoughts. "Get Rabbi Asher down here by morning.
And get me that DIA agent." Gross handed Arie the letter
and turned to leave. "Michael, one more thing. Pull the
complete file on Rabbi Posner—everything . . . dental rec-
ords, birth certificate, the works—and the file on Colonel

144
David Saperstein
Somoroff, too. Drop them at my office. I'll be working all
night."
Gross responded to the orders with a nod. "Shalom, Gen-
eral. I'll go up for Asher myself. He's at the dig under the
mosque."
"The Siloam tunnel?"
"I think so, General. I'll check the museum first."
Rabbi Asher's voice echoed in the cavern as Gross made
his way along the tunnel. Bare light bulbs illuminated the
smooth walls and dusty soil beneath his boots. He listened to
the great archaeologist as he approached the cavern.
"... captured by King David about one thousand bc. So
Solomon's Temple extended the city and elongated its shape
along the eastern ridge above us. In a way we are lucky that
Antiochus destroyed the temple, because in doing so, he
sealed this tunnel and the treasures it holds—"
Michael entered the chamber, disturbing the small group of
students who sat listening to Rabbi Asher. The rabbi turned
his attention to the intruder.
"May I help you, young man?"
"Rabbi Asher? I need you for a moment . . . alone."
"Who are you, may I ask?"
A few of the students stood and faced Gross.
"I am Captain Gross, aide to General Kagan in Tel Aviv.
The museum told me I would find you here."
The rabbi told his students to remain in the chamber. He
then led Gross back through the tunnel to the entrance below
the Old City Wall. The guards at the mouth of the tunnel
checked them and let them through the tunnel entrance, which
was in the rear of a coffeehouse.
"We can speak here, Captain Gross."
Michael checked behind him in the tunnel. The guards
were out of sight. He then opened the door leading to the
shop's storeroom. Empty too.
"I am sorry to disturb you, Rabbi, but you will have to
come to Tel Aviv with me—now."
"Just like that? Perhaps you have a reason for this journey?"
"I am to tell you very little."
To be sure of the proper words, Gross took out his note-
book and read the instructions. "General Arie ben Kagan said

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that I was to tell you that Kemiot requests your presence in
Tel Aviv!"
"That's impossible!"
"Well, Rabbi, I have lived in Israel all my life. Nothing is
impossible. Shall we go?"
"Let me tell my students I am leaving. Just give me five
minutes."
"Fine. But, please, don't say where you are going."
The helicopter ride from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv was less
than sixty kilometers, and within the hour Rabbi Asher began
the strangest journey of his life. Although it was a journey for
which he had prepared, he had never really believed it would
come to pass.
The preparation began, for Rabbi Asher, over seven centu-
ries before, when the great Jewish physician and philosopher
Maimonides, known also as Moses ben Maimon, wrote his
famous text denying the use of magic, demonology, and
conjuring. He stated that these ancient practices were no more
than base idolatry and forbidden in the Torah. From that time
on, the battle raged as to whether these practices are allowed
or prohibited under Jewish law and God's Law.
Rabbi Asher was born in Poland. He was ordained as a
rabbi in Bialystok in the Hasidic sect, whose people claim
direct descent from the Chaldean tribe of Abraham. Their
history and worship is filled with mysticism based on ancient
and Biblical texts. It was in the early days of his rabbinate
that Sholem Asher met Rabbi Isadore Vogel, also a Hasid.
They gathered with several other rabbis in Bialystok to choose
one rabbi who would go to Zefat, in Palestine, to study under
the followers of the famous Rabbi David ben Zimrah, a
sixteenth-century scholar, who refuted Maimonides' writings
and who, it is rumored, brought back the old ways and the
ancient rites of demonology, magic, and conjuring. Rabbi
Asher, then a young and zealous man, was chosen. He re-
turned to Poland a few times before the holocaust of World
War II and shared some of his knowledge with Rabbi Vogel.
They spoke of the unthinkable and of rituals that, when
practiced by the holy believers, could work miracles.
It was all very secretive. An underground was born at that
time, with the code name of Kemiot. Its purpose was to
transmit this forbidden information into Eastern Europe if and

146
David Saperstein
when it was needed. During World War II it became a
channel by which military information was passed. Later,
after the war, it was used to resettle Jews in the newly formed
State of Israel. In the modern era, Kemiot had been buried
and sealed in the minds of those few who remained under the
communist regimes and of one sect in Israel.
Now Rabbi Asher knew Kemiot had been resurrected and
that his knowledge and services were needed somewhere in
Eastern Europe. The day had come. He was ready.
"Do you know the contents of the letter?" General Kagan
sat at his apparently disorganized desk, puffing on an old
corncob pipe and staring into the eyes of the young DIA
agent.
Andy Taft was not sure that ben Kagan was the head of
Israeli intelligence, but he suspected this was the man.
"No, sir. They only asked me to deliver it."
Arie nodded. He passed a copy of the letter across the desk
to the American.
"This is a copy. The original has gone to the prime
minister."
After he read the letter, Andy placed it carefully on the
desk. "Wow! Do you believe it?"
"I will withhold judgment until we have checked further.
One thing is clear. They wish to have this meeting. Whether
we do is not my decision. You will find that your embassy
has temporarily attached you to this section as a liaison
officer. We wish to see Rabbi Posner in Israel as soon as
possible."
The buzzer on the general's desk console flashed.
"Excuse me," he said and picked up the receiver. The
voice at the other end told him that Captain Gross had arrived
with Rabbi Asher. "Fine. Have them wait in the conference
room, and bring those files in to me for a moment."
Ben Kagan stood. Andy Taft followed suit.
"Mr. Taft, do you know how Rabbi Posner will arrive?"
"No, sir. I am just to contact the KGB in Washington.
They did say he would be here within twenty-four hours.
They will notify the American Embassy of the details."
Kagan walked to the door as his secretary brought in two
files, one blue and one red.

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147
"Thank you, Shoshanna. Hold all my calls, except for the
prime minister's."
He then turned to Andy and extended his hand.
"Welcome to Israeli intelligence, Mr. Taft. Please take
steps to have Rabbi Posner come to us. We will expect him
tomorrow."
"Excellent. What about the others?"
"Mr. Taft, this is a risky part of the world. We are a small
nation, and therefore cautious. Let's have a talk with Rabbi
Posner first. I am sure the KGB expects that of us. When you
can confirm the details of his arrival, contact Captain Gross.
He will meet the rabbi and bring him here."
Ben Kagan gestured Andy toward the door. As Andy was
about to leave the room, the general stopped him.
"You have no doubts about seeing Somoroff in Washing-
ton? You are sure it was him?"
"Absolutely, General. And I believed him, too."
The general shook his head. "Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic."

28
Lod Airport was relatively quiet. Intermingled with travelers
were armed soldiers moving in groups of twos and threes,
their Uzi machine guns always present, always ready. Mi-
chael Gross flashed his ID and escorted Andy to the Swissair
gate. The red and white 747 stood off to the left, and a long
stream of passengers moved slowly toward the gate. Both
men scanned the column. Both strained to find the priest.
Andy saw him first but then became confused when three
other priests emerged from the forward door of the huge jet.
"I hope there isn't a convention of priests," he mused.
"There he is," said Michael. He pointed to a small, old
priest who, as arranged, walked slowly with a limp and was
aided by a heavy shillelagh-like cane. By design, they would
not approach him in the open. Israel is one of the few
countries in the world whose citizens are constantly on guard
within their own borders. Gross told Andy to keep an eye on
the old man while he slipped away for a few minutes. It
would take at least twenty minutes for the passengers to clear
customs and immigration. Gross had work to do. If the rabbi
had been followed or if his presence was known to the
various enemies of Israel, Michael wanted to know before
contact was made.
Rabbi Posner was in another world mentally. Here he stood
on the actual soil of Eretz Israel, the homeland, dressed
as a Catholic priest. He had always imagined he would drop
to his knees and kiss the ground if he were ever so fortunate
as to see Israel. But he concentrated on his limp and
handled his cane as though it had been an appendage for
148

RED DEVIL
149
many years. Still, tears filled his eyes and his heart beat
joyfully.
Colonel Somoroff had shown him the picture of the young
American DIA agent. The image was burned into his mind,
but the man was nowhere to be seen.
He approached the stern customs officer, noting the Star of
David on his uniform, and suppressed a strong desire to reach
across the desk and kiss the man. Do they realize, he thought,
what it means for me to see a Jewish soldier? The officer took
his Swiss passport and looked up.
"How long will you be in the country, Father?" The man
spoke perfect German.
"Three weeks," answered Posner, wondering if this man
knew who he really was and if his rusty German had fooled
the soldier.
"Have a nice visit. Shalom." He stamped the passport.
"Your luggage will be coming out over there." He gestured
toward a blue door. "Just go through."
On the other side of the door Andy Taft extended his hand
to the rabbi. It was a small room, bare and sterile white. For a
moment Rabbi Posner was disoriented and didn't recognize
the stranger.
"Rabbi Posner? Are you all right?" Andy spoke in English.
"Mr. Taft? Yes, Mr. Taft." Posner was relieved. He took
Andy's hand and shook it several times.
The rear door to the room opened, and Michael Gross
entered.
"Shalom aleichem, Rabbi. Welcome to Israel." He spoke
in Yiddish. The rabbi could no longer contain himself—he
burst into tears and hugged all six feet two inches of Captain
Gross. It was a scene that the intelligence officer had seen
many times. And each time it happened his eyes were never
dry.
The two rabbis sat across from each other later that after-
noon. Arie ben Kagan was satisfied that Rabbi Posner was
who he said he was. The dental records checked; the finger-
prints and the scars from Nazi beatings were correct. Kemiot
had come home. The link was made.
But all was not harmony. The rabbis were from different
schools of thought regarding the mystical aspects of Judaism.
Asher knew, by oaths taken long ago, that he could not

150
David Saperstein
convince this fellow rabbi and that it was dangerous even to
argue the point. Perhaps it had been a mistake to share the
Kemiot pipeline with the non-Hasidim. Arie ben Kagan set-
tled the argument quickly, without offending either man.
"We are not here to discuss the merits of rabbinical thought
and teaching, gentlemen. We have a rather momentous deci-
sion to make regarding our contact with the KGB and the
Soviet government. Rabbi Posner is Rabbi Posner, and from
what he has told me of Colonel Somoroff and of Rabbi
Vogel, I am just about convinced that this meeting should
take place. Do either of you have any objections?"
Rabbi Asher answered first. He spoke rapidly and with
firm conviction.
"I cannot make that judgment." He hesitated now, gather-
ing his thoughts so that his words would be effective. "And,
in the end, if I am convinced that there is truth in the story,
then we will have to convince my associates in Zefat. That
will not be an easy task."
It was an old story for ben Kagan. The religious against the
state. How many times had he fought with them? His concern
was always the survival of the state; their concern was always
on what they called a "higher plane" or, as one had said
before the Yom Kippur War, "from a higher authority." It
was at once their strength and their weakness. Was it better
that the Jews of Europe walked into the concentration camps
without a struggle? Should each have taken a Nazi with him?
Still, these rabbis like Asher felt they held the final answer to
the question. Perhaps they had some special link to the Al-
mighty. Arie ben Kagan still trusted his links to his agents in
Moscow, Washington, Cairo, Damascus, Tehran, and the rest
of the crazy world. They might not hold the final answer, but
until the world was ready to live and let live, he knew the
"final solution" to the "Jewish question" was alive and well
and living in many of these nations.
Rabbi Posner spoke slowly in Yiddish. "You ask me if I
believe this problem is real? I must say no, because I reject
the premise. But if you ask me whether Colonel Somoroff
and Rabbi Vogel believe it is real, then I must answer yes.
This Soviet is different. Perhaps he is mad, and perhaps
Vogel has been brainwashed by all those years in Siberia . . .
I don't know. But the business with Isadore Kantrowitz was
real, and the Menoffs are dead. It was enough for me to

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151
expose Kemiot. I say they are sincere—but I am not a
politician."
Ben Kagan studied the two men. He knew that Andy Taft
was waiting in the outer room for the signal to bring the
Soviets to Israel. The prime minister had met all night with
the cabinet. The arguments were heated. Twice ben Kagan
had been called into the Spartan room to be questioned by
shirtsleeved ministers. The last holdout was Ruth Goldstein,
Minister of Internal Affairs, and on paper ben Kagan's boss.
She was dead set against the meeting.
"Let those Soviet bastards stew in their own juices. I don't
believe this mystical crap for one minute. It's a trick to
discredit us. Besides, what can we do to help them anyway?"
The general could answer the question, but only in part.
"Madame Minister, in my interview with Rabbi Asher, he
told me there was—is—some possibility of helping the Soviet
premier."
"Can he assure that?"
"No. He must meet this Rabbi Vogel, and then he must
convince the others in Zefat to help."
"How?" she asked. "How could they help?"
"He won't say, Mrs. Goldstein. They are a very secret
group up there."
She knew ben Kagan was telling the truth and that she
would eventually be overruled by the rest of the cabinet. But
before she gave in, she fired one more shot.
"It has always seemed strange to me that we can know
what is happening in all the secret conclaves of all the capitals
of the world, yet we cannot know what a few old rabbis in
Zefat are up to."
She leaned back in her chair and lit a cigarette.
The prime minister, a quiet, soft-spoken man, who had
risen to the highest office in Israel through the tumultuous
politics of a nation under constant attack, leaned to his left
and tapped Ruth Goldstein on her hand, as a father might do
to a child.
"Ruth, therein lies our strength. If we ever come to the day
when we must spy on God and those who do His work, we
shall surely break the covenant of our people."
The woman could not hold back her smile. She crushed her
cigarette in the ashtray and then covered the prime minister's
hand with hers.

152
David Saperstein
"Well, Myron, there have been times in my life when I
wondered if that might not be a good idea. This business of
being chosen gets to be quite a burden from time to time."
A vote was promptly called, and Arie ben Kagan was given
the mandate to proceed within the guidelines he thought best
for the security of Israel. The operation was now in his hands.
He made the decision with the same assuredness as he gave
the order to destroy the Egyptian airfields in the Six-Day
War. Within hours Sasha Andreyev boarded the El A1 flight
at John F. Kennedy Airport in New York, and the special
Illutian aircraft assigned to the KGB filed a flight plan from
Moscow to Stockholm.
Project Flame was on the move from Moscow to Tel Aviv.

29
The small dacha was set back a kilometer from the dirt road.
It was another four kilometers to the blacktop and several
more until one reached the main road to Moscow. The frame
house gave the appearance of a gingerbread and vanilla cake
decoration as it sat surrounded by the new-fallen snow. A
wisp of smoke rose straight up from the chimney, indicating
an absence of wind. The two black official cars stood silent at
the front door, their drivers huddled in the small gatehouse
beyond the driveway.
As a disciple, Major Metsky was far more comfortable in
this place than in the GRU office to the south in Moscow.
Valarian was calmer here, more deliberate, and definitely
more powerful. This was sanctuary.
Anton sat in the large central room admiring Valya Pernick
as they waited for Valarian to dress. She was a handsome
woman, not beautiful but strong and feminine. She was dressed
entirely in black, as she had been when she killed young Peter
Somoroff, a silk blouse over a turtleneck sweater, long wool
pants, and sealskin boots. She wore no makeup. Her dark
round eyes leaped out of a pale, angular face. He fantasized,
imagining her long legs wrapped around his small body,
pumping furiously on the large black velvet bedspread in
Valarian's bedroom. He knew that Valarian had had sex with
her many times, as he had with her mother. Metsky suspected
that he had even slept with both women at once. She never
spoke of it. He considered whether a disciple could be sexu-
ally equal to the master.
153

154
David Saperstein
Valarian broke through his thoughts as he entered the
room. He was all business.
"Tell me what they did, Valya. Everything." He sat in the
large chair near the window farthest from the fireplace.
"Three of them went to Stockholm. Somoroff was still in
East Germany. They took a small jet. Our GRU people in
Sweden tracked them to Goteborg. From there they took a
ferry to Copenhagen, where Somoroff met them. They flew
SAS to Amsterdam and then KLM to Tel Aviv. At Schipol
they presented Israeli passports, and the Jews passed them
right through. It had obviously been arranged."
Valarian stared out the window at the winter landscape.
Since the ordeal with Somoroff he had rested at the dacha.
His body had recuperated from the battering, but valuable
time had been lost. Two weeks had passed.
"Who went from Moscow?"
"Somoroff s daughter, the KGB lieutenant Chomsky, and
the old Jew."
Valya looked at Major Metsky, indicating that he should
add his information to her story. He spoke calmly.
"I have traced the Jew. He was taken from Camp Eleven
in Tostuya three weeks ago. The authority was KGB, but the
signature was that of Sasha Andreyev, an agent assigned to
America. It must have been a forgery."
"It was no forgery," snapped Valarian. "I know that
bitch. She is a personal pet of the pig Alexeyevich." There
was venom in his voice.
"But, Colonel Valarian, she is still in Washington."
"She was here, I tell you!" he shouted. "She is part of
their gang now. Check with Washington again tonight. See if
she is still there. Please continue, Valya." His voice grew
softer. "They were met at Lod by an Israeli agent and
whisked away by helicopter transport. I believe Major Metsky
can tell you where they went."
Anton was proud of himself. He had alerted the Soviet fleet
radar ships in the Mediterranean and requested a complete log
of all Israeli air traffic from the time the KLM flight landed.
He now referred to the computer printout that he had removed
from his briefcase.
"Assuming that the time of takeoff of the helicopter from
Lod is accurate, we have seven helicopters in that area at the
given hour. Two went to Jerusalem, one returned to Lod,

RED DEVIL
155
three went south to Ashdod, Gaza, and Beersheba, and one
went north to Tiberias."
Valarian watched a hawk circle above the bare trees. Sud-
denly it swooped down out of sight but quickly rose again
with a small animal in its talons.
"They went to Tiberias," he said. "Now tell me about the
Jew."
"He is a rabbi named Vogel, Isadore Vogel, from Minsk.
You charged him, Colonel, and signed the complaint. His
wife and two children emigrated to Israel in 1977. They were
told he was dead."
"I should have destroyed him. He is a dangerous Jew."
It was clear to Valarian now. Vogel had instructed Somoroff
and taught him to inflict the punishment.
"When this is over I want that Jew alive," Valarian hissed.
"What steps have you taken at Lubyanka?"
"The wing is still under their security. Major ... ah"—
Metsky checked his files—"Rosteveli is in charge of the
section. He spends time with a Jewess . . ."—once again
he checked his notes—"named Fannie Beshevsky. She was
a friend of Kantrowitz. We can move on them at your
command."
"Good." Valarian was pleased. "Just keep them under
surveillance for now. What have you prepared in Israel?"
Major Metsky was proud of his foresight. He shuffled
through some papers and continued. "I have a strike team
ready to move immediately in Bint Jubayl, across the border
in Lebanon."
"PLO?"
"Yes. A1 Fatah. Tiger Cubs, all devoted."
"Good." Valarian stood. "Wait here. I will be back in a
short time."
He walked from the room into his bedroom and closed the
door. This windowless room was much smaller than the main
room, and without heat. He removed the covering from a
small, round table near the left of the bed. Inlaid on the
tabletop in black and ivory was a small pentangle, shaped
exactly like the chandelier that hung in his office. He re-
moved five black candles from a drawer in the table and
placed each on a point of the star. He touched one with his
jade and silver ring, and it burst into flame. He then gripped
the candle with both hands and stared into the flame. The

156
David Saperstein
flame grew more intense, and hot wax poured onto his hands.
When his hands were completely covered with wax he with-
drew them, scraped the wax, and rolled it between his palms.
His fingers worked quickly, manipulating the wax as a sculp-
tor would clay. His hands parted, and there, in his palm, was
the head and detailed face of a man. Valarian brought the
figure to his lips and blew softly into its mouth.
In the coffeehouse Three Figs, in the Arab section of Acre,
Achmed Sharit sat sipping his morning coffee and watching
the ship traffic across the Bay of Haifa in the direction of
Haifa. It was a warm, sunny morning. The old man felt his
shoulder tingle and immediately knew he had been sum-
moned. Within seconds he was on his feet and moving quickly,
despite his age, to his small flat in the basement of a rug
shop. The owner, his landlord, greeted him, but Achmed
pushed past the man without recognition.
"Salaam alecheem, Achmed," the shopowner shouted af-
ter him.
It fell on deaf ears. A moment later, Achmed fumbled with
the door lock and entered his tiny basement apartment. It was
dark and musty. He reached under his sleeping cot and un-
rolled a threadbare rug. It was marked with a red triangle,
within which was a backward C over three yellow dots. He
lay down on the carpet so that his body covered the arrowlike
triangle completely. Then he pulled his clothing down off his
shoulder, revealing the same mark as the carpet bore. His
head turned toward the marked shoulder, and his tongue slid
from his mouth to touch the backward C there.
His eyes glazed over, and he heard his master speak.
"Those who would destroy you are near Tiberias. Three or
four Soviets and an old rabbi. They are with Israeli agents.
Find them and tell me where they are. Do it by tonight."
Achmed felt the pain and delight that only a true disciple of
Satan may experience. The tip of his tongue burst into flame,
and he swallowed the flame as though it were the finest meal
he had ever eaten. Then he left for Tiberias after carefully
packing his rug in a weatherbeaten satchel.
Valarian returned to the room. "By tonight I hope to know
where they are in Israel. I want an immediate attack launched."
"Just tell me where they are," said Metsky, "and we will
get them."

RED DEVIL
157
Valarian noticed the large black limousine coming up the
driveway.
"You will have to go now," he said to Anton and Valya.
"Has the Moscow rabbi returned yet?"
"Yes," answered Metsky.
"Pick him up and hold him at GRU headquarters. It is time
we took a few hostages."
As Major Metsky and Valya Pernick left in their own cars,
each saw the heavy figure of Marshall Serge Malenkov enter
Valarian's dacha.

30
It was for more than security reasons that General Arie ben
Kagan chose Kibbutz Ginnosar as the meeting place. The
small settlement nestled on the shore of the Sea of Galilee,
which provided a shield from the east. The commando base at
Migdal, to the south, gave additional protection and crack
troops to add to the kibbutz defenses. Security was good.
The other reason was the Michael had informed him that
Rabbi Vogel's wife and children were members of this kibbutz.
The three Soviet visitors had been secluded in a special
army trailer, away from the main settlement on the shore of
the Sea. Gross had handled the arrangements. Now Michael
was on his way back from Tel Aviv with the final member of
the Soviet group who had arrived that evening.
But first, Arie had a mitzvah, a good deed, to perform. He
walked along the rock-lined path toward the cottage that
contained Rabbi Asher and Rabbi Vogel. It was a white
stucco house with a tile roof that served as a guest house for
the kibbutz. A faint smell of fried fish reached ben Kagan's
nostrils, and as he passed the guards after showing his ID, he
could see the rabbis sitting at a table on the porch eating
dinner. The light within the long shadows gave the setting a
conspiratorial feeling.
Rabbi Isadore Vogel had changed his drab Soviet clothes
for the khaki slacks and white shirt of a kibbutznik. He had
even obtained a blue and white yarmulke with a Star of David
knitted on the top. The two men were deep in discussion and
only noticed his approach as he ascended the three steps onto
the porch.
158

RED DEVIL
159
"Shalom, Rabbi Vogel. I am Arie ben Kagan. Welcome to
Israel!"
"Shalom aleichem, General. It is an honor to meet you."
Ben Kagan sat and took a pear from the fruit bowl on the
table. He took a deep bite and the juice ran down his chin.
"Only in Israel can we grow such fruit," he said as he
wiped his chin with a cloth napkin. Rabbi Asher laughed.
"The general is a farmer. He will tell you that it is because
we grow it with love that it is so sweet."
"And because we grow it on our own land," added ben
Kagan.
Vogel stared at Arie ben Kagan. Both Israelis could feel
the man's words before he said them, but both also knew that
they had to be said. Arie prolonged the moment by biting the
pear again. Then he spoke.
"Nu Sholem. ... So how is your old friend?"
"He has told me a great deal, but we have to hear more
from the Soviets. It sounds to me like they have uncovered a
nest of deadly vipers, maybe more.
Ben Kagan didn't want to get into the matter yet. He knew
that Vogel had been cleared by Asher, and he knew that the
two men had spent the afternoon discussing events in the
Soviet Union.
"May I speak?" asked Rabbi Vogel.
"It's a free country, Rabbi," joked Arie.
"Less than a month ago I lived in a small, cold room.
There were 478 cinder blocks surrounding me. Today I sit by
the shore of Galilee ..."
He fought back his emotion. "Excuse me." He reached
into his pocket, brought out a handkerchief, and blew his
nose. "It has been quite a trip. Overwhelming. When they
brought me to Moscow I asked about my family. It took
several days, but Colonel Somoroff finally was able to ascer-
tain that they had emigrated to Austria and possibly on to
Israel. We were waiting for word from the Relief Agency
when this trip came to pass."
Asher looked to ben Kagan, but the general remained
impassive.
"To be in Eretz Israel is beyond words for me, and to ask a
favor is perhaps . . . perhaps rude . . . but if it is possible, is
there some way to see if they are somewhere in Israel?"
"Would you like to see them now?" ben Kagan asked.

160
David Saperstein
"What did you say?" The rabbi thought that he hadn't
heard the officer correctly.
"Why don't we take a walk, Rabbi Vogel? It's a beautiful
kibbutz."
He got to his feet and leaned across the table to take
Vogel's arm. The rabbi was trembling. Arie steadied him as
they walked down the steps toward the main settlement. Two
guards with Uzis fell in behind them. A female sergeant with
her pistol case unsnapped walked off to their right.
"Did you say I could see my family now?" the stunned
rabbi asked.
"Well, in a few minutes. We have to walk down to that
third building on the left." He pointed to a row of Quonset-
type structures below them.
Selma Vogel washed the last dish and turned off the tap.
"David," she called. "It's your turn to dry."
A thirteen-year-old boy, tanned and handsome with blond
hair, stuck his head into the small kitchen.
"It's not my turn. Talia does it tonight."
"Talia has to study for her exams. You do it tonight, and
she will do it twice in a row."
"But, Mom—"
"No arguments, young man." Selma was firm. The years
in Israel had been good for her and for the children. She
thought often of her husband and how he would have so
enjoyed living here on the Galilee. The adjustment had been
hard at first. The fact that she spoke Hebrew helped.
When they had told her that Isadore was dead, she had no
reason to stay in the Soviet Union. Many times since then she
had thanked God for her courage to leave all behind and bring
her children to Israel. When they were bar and bas mitz-
vahed, she had cried for her lost husband and the joy he
would have had in seeing his children grow up so well.
David Vogel came into the kitchen reluctantly and reached
for a towel to begin drying the dishes. Selma also turned to
dry her hands and for a moment caught sight of two men
walking down the hill in the purple light of dusk. Strange, she
thought, when she saw the armed soldiers behind them. And
then for a moment—an elusive, wispy, ephemeral moment—
she thought . . . and then turned away from what could not
be.

RED DEVIL
161
Talia settled on the sofa with her geometry book on her lap
and her worksheets scattered on the floor. The yellow lamp
illuminated one side of her young face. She was deeply
immersed in her work but looked up when her mother entered
the room. The women smiled at each other. Talia's was a
beautiful smile. Her father's smile, thought Selma. Sym-
phonic music played softly on the radio. And then the image
of the old man on the hill came rushing back to her . . .
As she turned there was a knock on the door.
"Yes/" she screamed. "Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . .
She was running to the door. Talia was on her feet, the
textbook crashing to the floor. David came from the kitchen,
plate and towel in hand.
■ "Yitzak!" she screamed and threw open the door.
She was in his arms. "Oh ... oh, God . . . Yitzak . . ."
The children surrounded them. They engulfed each other
and fell to their knees in one embrace. A plate broke on the
wooden porch.
Arie ben Kagan signaled for the sergeant to place her men
near the house, and he walked, back up the hill to Rabbi
Asher.
And the fruit is also sweet from our tears, he thought as his
own fell on the sandy soil of the path.

31
The young Arab boy sat facing Achmed Sharit. He was the
third to return to the apartment in Tiberias. Two more were
still out scouting the surrounding settlements. As soon as the
boy finished his report, Achmed paid him and left the city in
his old Chevrolet. It was nearly 9:00 pm, and he knew he had
to contact Valarian quickly. The wrath of his master was to
be avoided at any cost. He had the information Valarian
wanted.
He drove southwest toward Mount Tabor. There was very
little traffic on the road. After five minutes without seeing
another vehicle, he pulled off the road among a stand of trees.
He took his satchel and walked up a hill, away from the road.
It was a clear, starry night. The air was crisp and cool.
He lay with his head to the north, once again covering the
red arrowhead on the blanket with his body. As soon as his
tongue touched the backward C on his shoulder he was in
contact with Valarian.
"I have found them, Master. They are in a kibbutz called
Ginnosar on the Sea of Galilee. It is a quiet place, but today
and tonight there have been helicopters landing and leaving.
Many soldiers from Migdal have also come to the kibbutz. A
great deal of activity."
He then waited for his reward, and as his tongue glowed
and flamed he sighed with joy.
"Rabbi Vogel will join us in the morning," announced
Arie ben Kagan to the three Soviets seated in front of him. He
then introduced Rabbi Asher to Peter Somoroff, Anya Somoroff,
162

RED DEVIL
163
and Leonid Chomsky. As they shook hands, the sound of the
military helicopter could be heard landing on the beach. Arie
continued after the introductions were completed. "The oth-
ers are here. They will be with us in a moment. If this
meeting goes well, then tomorrow I will take Colonel Somoroff
to the chief of our intelligence service. But first I must be
convinced. I trust you will understand our caution."
Peter Somoroff nodded his agreement. He expected to be
questioned before the most secret man in Israel was revealed
to him. General ben Kagan was known to him, to the KGB.
Though they spoke of him many times as an adversary, Peter
held the deepest professional admiration for General ben
Kagan's accomplishments.
, The sound of a jeep coming to a halt outside the trailer
announced the arrival of Captain Gross and Sasha Andreyev.
Now they could begin.
It was more of a negotiation than a conference. Arie asked
Peter Somoroff to relate the entire story, and it was recorded
on tape. He then asked each of the Soviets to tell their own
version of the story from the time they became involved to
the present moment. That too was taped. Then Rabbi Asher
began to question Somoroff.
"You say that you were able to inflict pain on Colonel
Valarian? Can you repeat the words that Rabbi Vogel taught
you and indicate when you blew the shofar?"
Somoroff did as Asher requested. He could never forget
those words.
"Now, if you can, will you do it once more, but this time
tell me how Colonel Valarian reacted after each command-
ment. Please take your time ... it is very important."
"Rabbi Asher, that is a day I will never forget. It is burned
into my memory, action by action."
Peter again related the events of Yom Kippur in Valarian's
office. No one other than Rabbi Vogel had heard the story
before this night. Peter had only told them that it had been an
amazing experience and that in time he would relate it to
them. When he finished ben Kagan had a new respect for the
KGB colonel. Rabbi Asher was the only one in the room who
took it in stride. He wanted more details.
"He did not bleed until you said, 'Honor thy father and thy
mother'?"
"That is correct."

164
David Saperstein
"Tell me how he bled again."
"From the nose and mouth."
"Not the eyes?"
Peter closed his eyes and conjured up the image of Valarian
at the moment he pronounced the fifth commandment. "Not
the eyes, Rabbi. I am sure."
"And what was his position on the floor after the last
commandment?"
Peter answered again. "He was lying on the floor in a
pile . . . with his legs drawn up and his arms crossed over
his face."
"Would you say that it was a fetal position? Think
carefully."
"Yes . . .no! Not fetal. His arms covered his face, not his
chest."
The rabbi smiled.
"Good . . . very good. One last question. When you left
his office, what did the secretary do?"
"Why do you ask?" Peter was curious.
Asher glanced over at Arie, but the general was speaking
already.
"Let us ask the questions, Colonel."
"Very well," Peter responded. "She said goodbye to me
as though nothing had happened. I thought surely she must
have heard the shofar and Valarian's screams, but she just sat
there typing, looked up as I came out of the office, and said
goodbye."
"Excellent," said Rabbi Asher. "She is not a disciple,
then. If it were so she would have been devastated by the
shofar."
"Is this important?" asked Michael Gross. He was caught
up in the story and forgot that ben Kagan had told him to
keep a low profile this first meeting. But Rabbi Asher was too
excited and answered quickly.
"Very important. If what they say is true about that Karkov
fellow, then there are only two disciples left in Russia. This
man does not take disciples quickly."
Now Arie's curiosity was also peaked.
"Why only two? You said he could have five."
"Yes." Rabbi Asher was standing and moving about the
room. "But he will always keep at least two disciples far
from him. They are his long-range eyes and ears, and through

RED DEVIL
165
them he can escape if necessary ..." His voice trailed off as
he realized he had said too much. Ben Kagan spoke to the
Soviets.
"Is there anything else to tell . . . anything you think is
important?"
Peter spoke up. "Yes, General. I have just spent several
days in East and West Germany and France. There is more to
the story, but ... no one in this room knows these new facts
except me. I will wait to see your superior to repeat that
information."
Gross showed his annoyance at the arrogant Soviet colonel.
"Touche, Colonel," said ben Kagan. "I will make my
report, and we shall see what tomorrow brings. Now, I think
we have all had a long day and face perhaps a longer one
tomorrow. Let's all rest." He stood and formally shook hands
with the Soviet visitors.
"General?" Somoroff asked as ben Kagan was at the door.
"Is Rabbi Vogel all right?"
Arie liked this Soviet. He was a compassionate man, as
Rabbi Posner had said.
"Yes, Colonel. He is fine. You may be pleased to know
that he is with his family tonight for the first time in over
twelve years."
A big smile came to Somoroff's face.
"Good, General. Excellent. I will sleep well tonight."
The movement of the A1 Fatah unit in the hills above the
kibbutz and the deliberate underwater swimming of the PLO
frogmen as they approached from the Galilee would give lie
to that statement.

32
Lubyanka had been quiet since the departure of the people to
Israel. Major Rosteveli had spent his time consolidating forces,
finishing security checks on all KGB people in the wing, and
interrogating the prisoners.
The morgue sergeant had told all he knew and was now
safely under lock and key in the cell section. Captain Vladi-
mir Zorbin, the Pushkin detective, had also been questioned
in great detail. He too was on Metsky's payroll and had had
no contact with Valarian. On the other hand, Dr. Brodsky,
the tall ex-Chief of Psychiatric Medicine, had been able to
identify at least one other enemy.
After Tania Karkov took her life, Brodsky had been under
the control of the KGB psychiatric unit. He had cracked
quickly, simply because he too had administered such interro-
gations, and he knew that no matter how strong the will,
eventually everyone broke under the strain. Many became
catatonic, useless vegetables for the rest of their lives. That
was a fate he didn't want, so he decided to cooperate as soon
as he saw that Somoroff had ordered the full treatment for
him.
Rosteveli was not surprised when Brodsky told him that
Dr. Karkov had mentioned a KGB captain whom Valarian
and Metsky supplied with young boys. From her description
Rosteveli knew it was Captain Viktor Servioff, an aide to
Peter Somoroff. Several things now made sense to the major,
including the death of Isadore Kantrowitz inside headquarters
and the facility with which Somoroff s phones had been
tapped.
166

RED DEVIL
167
He did not bring Servioff into Lubyanka immediately.
Colonel Somoroff had instructed him to clear all overt actions
with him unless it was critical. Servioff could wait, but
Rosteveli swore to deal with the captain himself when the
time came. He took Kantrowitz's death personally. Somehow
he would make up for the heartache it had caused his lover,
Fannie Beshevsky.
With everything secure in Lubyanka, he sent Captain Bonyon
to Leningrad in a military medivac aircraft to bring the se-
dated Pushkin police sergeant Zalitski and his victim, Marina
Grochenko, back to Moscow so that they too could be kept
under secure conditions.
All that remained was to have Rabbi Posner met at the
Moscow airport and kept under surveillance. He had arrived
from Israel that afternoon via Beruit on a Syrian airliner. The
old man who had entered Israel as an Irish priest on a
pilgrimage returned to the Soviet Union as a Moslem. He had
played his role well, and there was no incident at the airport.
Although Rabbi Posner could have remained in Israel, it was
his own choice to return to Moscow. He had a congregation,
small as it was, to serve. He felt that this was his place until
all Jews in the Soviet Union were safe. But that was a day he
feared he would never see.
When he arrived at the Great Synagogue of Moscow,
Rosteveli was waiting with Fannie Beshevsky. The major
dispersed several KGB men around and in the building, post-
ing two of them outside the door of the small apartment that
Rabbi Posner occupied. Fannie watched with amazement as
Rosteveli greeted the old man warmly.
"I didn't think you would want to come back, Rabbi," he
said.
Posner smiled and shrugged. "To tell the truth, I didn't.
But what would my congregation do without me?"
"You should have stayed there, Rabbi. It was safe," said
Fannie.
"And wonderful, Fannie—you should see it! Jewish sol-
diers . . . cities . . . farms—wonderful. Just wonderful."
"Did you see the others?" asked Rosteveli.
"No. I left before they came. I knew that the longer I
stayed, the harder it would be to leave. But one wonderful
thing I learned was that Rabbi Vogel's family is there. He
should be with them by now."

168
David Saperstein
Rosteveli was obviously pleased, and Fannie saw it in his
face. She took his arm and squeezed it. He was a little
embarrassed in front of the rabbi.
"You must be tired. I have my men all around here. No
one will be allowed to see you unless you clear it with
them."
The rabbi protested, but Rosteveli reminded him of poor
Isadore Kantrowitz and the unscrupulous men they were
battling.
"Do what the major asks," said Fannie, "please ... for
the congregation you came back to serve."
Rabbi Posner nodded his consent. "Fine. Perhaps I'll con-
vert a few of them before this is over."
They all laughed. Rabbi Posner yawned.
"You get some rest, Rabbi," commanded Rosteveli. "We'll
be in touch with you when we hear from Israel."
Fannie kissed Posner gently on the cheek with deep affec-
tion. "You have done a wonderful and courageous thing for
us, Rabbi. No one will ever forget."
Rabbi Posner laughed. "No one will ever know," he said
as he looked at Major Rosteveli. "Perhaps, Rabbi, perhaps.
Who knows what the days ahead will bring?"
"Good night, Major. Good night, Fannie." The man was
tired and showed his age.
The couple left the synagogue and drove toward Fannie's
apartment. As they left, a GRU corporal, slumped down in
the seat of his car, radioed his report to Major Metsky.
"The KGB major left with a woman. The rabbi is home,
but there are at least seven KGB men guarding him."
Metsky thought for a moment. "Keep up your surveillance
and report if anything changes."
He then called KGB headquarters and asked to be con-
nected to Captain Servioff.
"Viktor?"
"Major Metsky. I haven't heard from you in over a week.
It's quiet around here . . . boring, if you get my meaning?"
Metsky understood. "Yes. We will have to do something
about that. But first I have a little mission for you."
Several kilometers to the north, Colonel Nickolai Valarian
began the process of initiating a new disciple into his fold.
The large, meaty body of Marshall Serge Malenkov, General

RED DEVIL
169
Secretary of the Party, lay naked on the black velvet cover of
the bed. He was totally hypnotized and rigid. His breathing
was slow and labored, and deep sighs emanated from his
slightly parted lips. Five black candles were placed on the
small table in the room. Four of them were lit. The fifth was
without form, just a blob of wax.
Valarian studied the marshall. He circled the bed, reaching
toward the huge body, touching it from time to time as
though he were caressing a woman. He bent over the bed,
and his long tongue slid out of his mouth and licked the
marshall's shoulder. The big man shuddered and sighed. A
small mark, a backward C, remained on his shoulder, half-
way to the neck.
Valarian then went to the table and took the shapeless wax
in his hands. It immediately became soft, and he flattened it
into a circular sheet, taking care that it remained smooth. He
laid the flattened wax over the center of the table covering the
ivory pentangle. His eyes glowed deep red.
"I bring another to me."
The pentangle showed through the black wax as though it
were transparent.
"He, like all, comes with a free will."
The center of the wax rose in a bubble that took the shape
of the marshall's face. Valarian then touched the other four
candles with his finger and they burst into flame.
"Know him as your brother, protector of our way."
The bubble face, a duplicate of the sleeping Malenkov's,
slowly turned to face each of the candles. As it faced each,
that candle burned a little brighter than the rest.
When the face had been presented to all the candles,
Valarian carefully lifted the bubble and the remaining wax
and brought it over to the bed. He beckoned with his free
hand, and Malenkov sat upright. Then Valarian stretched the
base of the bubble and fit it over Marshall Malenkov's head,
like a mask. Inside, Malenkov's eyes popped open. He could
not breathe, and his eyes grew larger as he sucked for breath
that could not come through the tough wax. But he did not
struggle. His chest swelled as he silently gasped and sucked
at the pliable wax.
Valarian removed the black robe he wore and stood naked
before the large man with the black wax head. The colonel's

170
David Saperstein
body, like his face, was badly scarred from burns. He moved
to the bed and placed himself behind the seated marshall,
gently kneeling so that his head was above Malenkov's. Their
bodies touched. Malenkov stopped gasping and nestled back
into Valarian, who took the marshall's head in his hands
and bent it backward so that he looked down on it, upside
down.
"I am your nourishment. I am your life. Come to me and
you are with me forever."
Valarian slid his tongue through the wax into Malenkov's
mouth, breaking the seal. A rainbow of colored fluid dripped
down his tongue into the new disciple's mouth and through
his body, which began to glow with the same rainbow of
light.
The large marshall arched his back, as though in orgasm,
thrusting his pelvis toward the ceiling. Still Valarian kept his
tongue in the man's mouth, still the fluid flowed until it
seemed to fill Malenkov's body and began to spill out of his
mouth onto his black waxed face.
Valarian withdrew his tongue. He was in ecstasy. He
placed his jade and silver oriental ring, which had the
image of a dragon carved on it, on Malenkov's eyes, one at
a time. The ring melted the wax over the eyes. Valarian then
took the wax in his hands and lifted it from Malenkov's
head. The large man fell back on the bed, still in a coma-
like state.
Valarian removed the ring from the middle finger of his
right hand and placed it on his left thumb with the face
pointed downward. He pressed the ring into Malenkov's left
shoulder between the mark he had previously made and the
neck. Then he covered the ring with his other hand and
pressed hard. The marshall screamed. Valarian quickly slid
the ring, with both hands still pressing on it, down the
marshall's heavy body to his penis. A red scar was left
in the wake of the ring, stretching from the man's shoulder
to his genitalia. As soon as the ring touched his penis, the
screaming stopped and a sigh of pleasure came from him.
Valarian withdrew from the bed. Malenkov was in a deep
sleep. He went back to the small table and fashioned the wax
into a candle, carefully placing it at the fifth point of the
pentangle, recently vacated by Misha Karkov.

RED DEVIL	171
"And now you are mine forever, Marshall Serge Malenkov.
Forever."
He touched his hand to the wax, and it burst into flame like
the others. On the bed, the general secretary stirred as though
waking from a deep and restful sleep.

33
No one could approach Kibbutz Ginnosar undetected. It was
strategically located close to Syria. The approaches across the
Galilee were constantly monitored. Several sophisticated lis-
tening devices had been carefully placed to assure early warn-
ing of an attack on the kibbutz.
The pretty commando sergeant joined Arie ben Kagan,
Rabbi Asher, and Michael Gross as they crossed the center
compound after leaving the trailer.
"We have trouble, General," she reported.
"How much?" Arie asked as they continued to walk.
"Two A1 Fatah squads on the hill above the dock. One
more crossing the road to the south."
"Heavy weapons?"
"Yes, sir. Rockets and mortars. Snipers with night scopes.
Automatic weapons."
"Very well. They will wait until we are settled in for the
night."
He ordered Gross back to the trailer, instructing him to take
the Soviets to the bomb shelter under the main dining hall.
"Walk slowly, Michael. When you move them be sure it
looks casual. Don't group together. Keep close to the
buildings."
Gross stopped, bent to tie his shoe, then walked back
toward the trailer.
Ben Kagan continued walking with the sergeant.
"Tell Major Horowitz to disperse as planned. I want pris-
oners. Tell our snipers with the infrared scopes to stay in
place."
172

RED DEVIL
173
A beeper sounded on the sergeant's belt. She took a small
radio from her pocket.
"Steiner here."
A voice cracked back at her. "They are coming from the
sea, too. We have at least three frogmen heading toward the
trailer."
Ben Kagan smiled. Few people knew the extent of the
Israeli defense system. Every inch of border, every inch of
shoreline was monitored twenty-four hours a day, above and
below the surface.
"Tell them to put our own people in the water. I definitely
want one of those frogmen alive."
The sergeant relayed the order, then left the general as he
and Rabbi Asher continued toward their quarters in the guest
house.
Gross knocked on the trailer door, then opened it.
"Everyone get up quietly. No lights. We must leave
immediately."
None of the Soviets had gone to bed yet. Peter Somoroff
jumped to his feet as Gross turned out the lights.
"What's going on, Captain?" he demanded.
"Please, Colonel, we don't have much time. Our friends,
the PLO, are about to pay us a visit. We must leave now!"
As he spoke he heard the muffled sound of a mortar firing.
He sprang into action.
"Down on the floor. Fast!"
The round was long, exploding on the beach past the
trailer.
"Now, out of here-—quickly. The next round will be on
us."
They were out the door, following the Israeli captain as he
ran a zigzag course along the buildings toward the dining
hall.
When the mortar round exploded, Arie ben Kagan was
surprised. It was too early. He felt stupid. The longer they
remained at war with their neighbors, the less predictable and
more proficient the enemy became. The second round was a
direct hit on the trailer. He prayed that Gross had been
efficient.
Major Chaim Horowitz reacted fast. He was the com-
mander of a crack commando battalion. He crouched in a
bunker near the docks and barked orders into his walkie-talkie.

174
David Saperstein
"Get that mortar. I want all the snipers to concentrate on
it. And watch below the road. They have a rocket launcher
down there."
All of the lights were out in the kibbutz. Suddenly a flare
burst above the dock area, illuminating a group of Israeli
frogmen as they crouched adjusting their equipment. One by
one they fell to accurate rifle fire.
"Damn," Horowitz muttered to himself. Then he spoke
into the radio again.
"Avram . . . Avram? Where the hell are you?"
"We're behind them now, Chaim. They have begun early.
We're ready now."
"Then for God's sake hit them—hard—push them down to
us."
Avram Leiter immediately ordered his commandos into
action. They had taken positions behind the attackers, but
they were below them, firing up toward the top of the hill.
The enemy was prepared, and a whole squad opened fire
down on the commandos, pinning them in place.
Captain Leiter sized up the situation quickly. He was on
the radio again, crouching behind a large rock, cursing the
enemy.
"Honey Bear . . . Honey Bear . . . this is Stick. . . . Get
those gunships up here fast—and I mean fast ..."
Honey Bear was back to the captain immediately. He was
Lieutenant Jonas Balek, helicopter pilot and commander of
the two gunships that hovered three miles to the west of the
hill.
"Okay, Avram ... I copy. Here we come."
Even as Balek spoke, Avram could hear the whine of the
chopper motors, or at least he imagined he heard them. He
twisted over and watched for their approach. In less than
twenty seconds he spotted them rising over the hilltop behind
him.
Back on the dock the Israeli frogmen were all dead or
wounded. Major Horowitz watched the trailer take two direct
hits and disintegrate. Then rocket fire came from below the
road leading to the main gate of the kibbutz. Another flare
burst above the dock.
Anya Somoroff ran alongside Michael Gross. Peter Somoroff
and Sasha were close behind. Chomsky, who had never been
in combat before, took up the rear. He was frightened. The

RED DEVIL
175
smell of cordite and gunpowder filled the smoky air. The
light from the flares threw eerie shadows across the com-
pound. As the group passed a building that housed the fish
processing plant a rocket scored a direct hit. The concussion
threw Leonid to the ground, and he was splattered with
chunks of fish. At first he thought he was wounded, but when
he reached to touch his supposed wounds and felt and smelled
the source of his fear, it brought a smile to his lips.
Ahead of him, Michael Gross had thrown Anya Somoroff
to the ground and covered her with his body. Peter did the
same for Sasha. Thank you, thought Peter to himself when he
saw the courageous deed that Gross had performed
Arie ben Kagan and Rabbi Asher had never reached the
guest house. When the first mortar hit, Arie had grabbed the
rabbi and directed him toward the dining hall. As they ran
down the hill past the living quarters, General Kagan was
pleased to see that Selma Vogel was leading Rabbi Vogel and
their children toward safety, too. Both kids had their weapons
at port arms. The oldest, Talia, was firing her carbine up
toward the Arab positions as she ran. Before they reached the
dining hall, both children left their parents and moved to their
assigned positions inside the compound.
Now, with most of the young children and older people
safe in the shelter below the dining hall, General ben Kagan
took a position behind the water pump at the rear of the
building and watched Michael Gross and the Soviets ap-
proach. He was again pleased when they got up after the hit
on the fish factory. They were only fifty yards away when the
second rocket swooped into the compound and totally de-
stroyed the Vogel home.
From cover near the base of the hill, Avram Leiter blew his
whistle and his commandos withdrew away from the devastat-
ing Arab automatic weapons fire. Two of his soldiers were
hit. He screamed for the medics and directed them to the
wounded soldiers.
Lieutenant Jonas Balek banked his Cobra gunship to the
left and released a rocket package. Five seconds later the top
of the hill was an inferno. The machine gunners on both ships
raked the hilltop with thirty-caliber gunfire. The second gun-
ship, piloted by Lieutenant Miriam Felder—the famous "An-
gel of El 'Arish," who had been responsible for the evacuation
under fire of fifteen wounded tankers in the Yom Kippur

176
David Saperstein
War—banked off to the right and turned to face the hill from
below. She fired a cluster of phosphorus rockets directly at
the Arab positions, but as she fired, a ground-to-air missile
was launched by the A1 Fatah at her Cobra. Her rockets and
the missile exploded simultaneously. Jonas muttered a prayer
as he watched her gunship disintegrate and fall to the ground.
Then his radio crackled again, and Captain Leiter spoke.
Since he was on the opposite side of the hill he had not seen
Miriam's chopper go down.
"That did it, Jonas. Miriam nailed them. . . . We can take
it from here."
Jonas Balek had little time to answer the captain. Major
Horowitz was on the radio immediately.
"Jonas, get down toward the road. To the left. They have a
rocket launcher down there, and Steiner can't get to it. Copy?"
"Yes, sir," answered a stunned Jonas Balek. "Did you see
Miriam?''
Major Horowitz answered slowly and sadly. "Yes, I saw
her. . . . She's gone. She got them . . . God bless her."
Jonas swung his Cobra toward the road with a vengeance
as Captain Leiter signaled for his commandos to move up the
hill and clean out the remaining attackers.
The explosion on top of the hill and the destruction of the
gunship startled Peter Somoroff. He knew in his bones that
this attack was for his benefit . . . that it was meant to
destroy his mission. Michael Gross was on his feet pulling
Anya by the hand behind him and yelling back to the others.
"Let's move—that way ... to the dining hall. . . .
Hurry . . ."
Peter grabbed Sasha by the hand and followed. Leonid
Chomsky came from behind and took Sasha's other hand
when he noticed that she was bleeding from the leg. Even
though she was supported by both men, she fell as her right
leg buckled. Peter looked down and saw the blood. He mo-
tioned for Leonid to help him pick her up. Both men carried
her toward the dining hall.
When Major Horowitz saw Balek's gunship swoop down
below the main gate toward the road he felt better. Jonas
unleashed his second cluster of rockets and followed in with
napalm. That will take care of that, thought Horowitz, turning
his attention to the seashore. He knew the Arab frogmen were
still in the water and still a threat.

RED DEVIL
177
"Shmul," he called on the radio. "Shmul . . . what's your
position?"
Shmul Kantor—formerly Sam Kantor of Stamford, Con-
necticut—drifted with his engines off about three hundred
yards off the kibbutz dock. He was out of range of the
mortars, and the rocket squad that was below the kibbutz was
unable to see him. His powerful patrol boat had been placed
to intercept a possible escape route across the Galilee.
' 'I'm here, Major . . . due east about three hundred yards.''
"Good. They have three or four frogmen in the water.
Their last position was about seventy yards offshore directly
in front of the trailer."
"The trailer is gone," answered Shmul, "but I have the
position."
"Okay. Keep your engines off and watch the beach if you
can. I want those bastards to think we don't know about
them. I will move some troops to the beach as soon as that
rocket squad is silenced. How many frogmen do you have
aboard?"
"Two," answered Kantor.
"Good," replied the major. "Stand by, and be ready to
turn on your underwater lights."
Down near the road, three of Sergeant Steiner's squad were
wounded, two dead. The gunship had done the trick and
silenced the rocket launcher, but the enemy had taken defen-
sive positions. Several of them were still alive and hidden in
the rocks below the road. The young sergeant had a piece of
shrapnel in her left arm. As she bound the wound with a
khaki bandage, she motioned for her B team leader to join
her. He moved quickly among the rocks and was at her side
in a moment.
"You're hit?" asked the corporal.
"A nick, not serious . . . Listen. I want you to take your
squad and cover the road and below. Cut them off. Major
Horowitz wants some prisoners, so we will wait them out. As
long as the rocket is out of business, we can sit here. Okay?"
"I have only seven men left," answered the corporal, a
young sabra. He was enjoying the fight. "How many prison-
ers does he want?"
"A few—an officer is possible."
"You have it!" The corporal smiled and moved off to his

178
David Saperstein
men. In five minutes they were in position, and the young
corporal was making his plans to capture an Arab officer.
The kibbutz was suddenly as quiet as it had been before the
firefight began. The Soviets led by Michael Gross never made
it to the dining hall. The attack stopped when they were a few
yards short of their goal. General ben Kagan ran out to greet
them.
"Is she wounded?" he asked, motioning toward Sasha
Andreyev.
Peter answered. "Yes, in the leg. It missed the bone."
Arie knelt and examined the wound as Sasha sat on the
ground holding her left calf. Leonid knelt next to her, allow-
ing Sasha to squeeze him around the neck as the pain of the
wound grew more intense. Ben Kagan shouted for a medic.
"You'll be all right, Miss Andreyev," he said in a com-
forting voice. "It did miss the bone."
"Have they gone?" asked Anya, still shaken from the
action and holding on to Michael Gross.
"No . . .but they are subdued," answered ben Kagan.
The smoke was clearing from the compound. A few cracks
of gunfire came from the hill above. Peter Somoroff looked
up in that direction.
"Those are our weapons," assured ben Kagan. "Mopping
up."
People began to move about the kibbutz, clearing debris
and moving to new defensive positions outside the perimeter
of the compound. Peter was impressed with the efficiency of
the Israelis.
"You knew they were coming?" he asked ben Kagan.
"No ... but we knew when they arrived. How does it feel
to be fired upon with your own weapons, Colonel?"
"I recognized them—not pleasant." His voice drifted; he
didn't know exactly what to say.
"Let's have a cup of coffee and unwind, if we can," said
Arie. A medical crew had arrived and was removing Sasha,
now on a stretcher, toward the kibbutz infirmary. Leonid
started to go with her, but Michael stopped him.
"She will be okay, Lieutenant. It's better if you stay with
us." As he started to object a burst of gunfire was heard from
the road below.
"Isn't it over?" asked Chomsky.
"It's never over," answered Gross.

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The group moved quickly toward the dining hall.
Major Horowitz was now on the beach directing a squad of
men to positions along the shoreline.
"Stay down and watch for breaks in the surface. Keep flat.
Look for bubbles . . . any disturbance."
Offshore, the three frogmen were confused. The firing had
stopped too soon, before they were able to reach the beach.
They lay on the sandy bottom communicating with hand
signals and by touch. The leader, a stocky man, fumbled
along his weighted belt and removed a small flashlight. He
cupped the lens in his hand and lit it. He checked his watch.
It was too soon for the fight to be over. Either the early attack
had taken the Jews by surprise, or ... or they had been
ready. In either case he had to know. After turning out the
light he motioned for one of his men to move toward the
beach. The frogman swam slowly ahead. The two others
followed. They had trained as a unit and could anticipate each
other with certainty. Their cautious movements were rehearsed.
Below the road, Corporal Ahron ben Levi finished placing
his squad in position. The road was blocked and the ground
below the Arab position sealed off. A squad of Captain
Leiter's men had joined his own. Seventeen Israeli comman-
dos had the enemy trapped, with the only route of escape
toward the sea. Lying flat, Corporal ben Levi slipped his
cartridge belt off and loosened the sling on his Uzi machine
gun. His face was blackened and glistened from sweat and
grease. He tucked his blond hair under the wool stocking cap
and removed his boots. Then he checked himself for any
loose or shiny objects. Satisfied, he crawled over to a com-
mando nearby.
"David," he whispered.
A commando peeked out of a foxhole. "Ahron? That
you?"
"Yes. Look, I'm going in there to have a look at them.
You take the squad. Just hold your position, and if any of
them run, try to grab one—but don't let any get away . . .
okay?"
"You sure you should go in there? We have them trapped . . .
why don't we just wait?"
"Just do as I say. I have my reasons."

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David Saperstein
David Blumberg knew his squad leader well. Ahron ben
Levi's brother had been a hero of the Six-Day War, and the
younger ben Levi's ego drove him to top his brother. The
other soldiers in the unit liked the young, blond corporal, but
they thought he was slightly crazy when it came to heroics.
He took too many chances, but always with his own life; he
never endangered his men.
"Be careful," chided Blumberg. "Those are PLO Tiger
Cubs out there—they love to castrate Jews."
Ahron smiled and took a halfhearted swing at David.
"You just watch the perimeter and keep them in there. I'll be
back."
He crawled off toward the Arab positions as David Blumberg
moved in an opposite direction to warn the others that Ahron
was going in.
The lead frogman carefully broke the surface and looked
toward the beach. He was in four feet of water and his
flippers rested gently on the sandy bottom. He slid off his
mask and peered into the darkness. Beyond the beach he
watched the activity inside the kibbutz compound. The Israe-
li's had beaten off the attack, he knew that immediately. He
slipped on his mask and dropped under the surface to join his
companions.
Shmul's voice on the radio gave Horowitz the message. "I
spotted one of them about thirty yards offshore, just in front
of the trailer area, Major."
Major Horowitz trained his infrared binoculars toward the
designated area and saw the water ripple as the frogman
dipped under the surface.
"Okay, Shmul ... we have them . . . about thirty yards
off the trailer. Do you copy?"
"Yes, Major. I have them in my scope."
"Good. Okay, let's go. Try to get me a prisoner."
Shmul Kantor turned the ignition and the twin diesels
roared into action. He hit a switch on the control panel and
the underwater lights flashed on, illuminating the water in
front of the patrol boat for twenty yards. He threw the clutch,
and the sleek speedboat leaped ahead. Within seconds it was
up to forty knots, heading straight for the beach in front of the
destroyed trailer. At the same moment, large spotlights were
turned on above the beach and aimed at the exact spot where

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181
the frogman was spotted. A loud siren sounded to add to the
confusion.
Below the water, the frogmen were confused. Their leader
knew they had been spotted—they had to get out of the lights
and into deeper water fast. Then he heard and felt the sound
of the patrol boat. He spun around to see the underwater
lights coming straight for him and his men. He tried to get
their attention, but they panicked and were swimming franti-
cally away from the oncoming speedboat. He flicked his
flippers and dove to the bottom, where he dug rapidly into the
sand and, lying on his back, began to cover himself with sand
and rocks.
Above, Shmul Kantor saw the two frogmen swimming
away from him. He slowed the engines and, keeping them in
his light, signaled for the two Israeli frogmen to get ready to
drop over the side. Before he could position the boat, how-
ever, the Arabs turned and, realizing they were trapped,
surfaced and began firing at the boat. Shmul cursed them and
ducked. In a few seconds both frogmen were dead from
sniper fire from the shore. He eased the boat near the bodies
and ordered the Israeli frogmen to pick them up. When the
bodies were aboard he turned off the underwater lights and
radioed to Major Horowitz.
"We have two of them—dead. Your guys are trigger-
happy over there."
"They had orders, Shmul. You okay?"
"We're all right. I'm going to leave our men out here for a
while, just in case there are some more. Turn out those
spotlights.''
"Good idea . . . but do it quietly. They may be watching."
Shmul spoke to the two Israeli frogmen for a moment and
turned the patrol boat parallel to the shore. They were in
darkness again. He lined the boat up with the destroyed trailer
and then dropped the frogmen over the side away from the
shoreline. The two men slipped into the water quietly and
sank to the bottom. One of them held a small sonar device,
pointing it toward the shoreline.
Arie ben Kagan sat with the Soviets in the dining hall and
sipped his coffee. He had a radio nearby and listened to
Major Horowitz and the patrol boat. Somoroff was fascinated
at the sophistication and coordination of the Israelis. Chomsky

182
David Saperstein
glanced around the large hall and watched groups of comman-
dos as they sat and relaxed after the firefight. He felt a new
respect for a people he had always been told were cowards.
He now knew that was a lie, and he wondered how Soviet
soldiers would fare against these tough commandos.
At a table nearby, Michael Gross brought Anya Somoroff a
cup of tea and continued to calm her. She was quite pretty.
Gross was attracted to her. He spoke to her in Russian for the
first time. Before this he had only spoken English.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
She answered, "Yes, thanks," and then realized he had
spoken her language. "You speak Russian?" she immedi-
ately said.
"Yes, Miss Somoroff. My grandfather was from Kiev."
"Does this kind of thing happen often here?" she asked.
Her voice was still subdued and her legs shook slightly.
"Not often, but the potential is always there."
"How do you live with it?"
"We live. Someday there will be peace."
"It's awful." She was sincere. He felt her compassion and
liked her even more.
Corporal Ahron ben Levi passed his second Arab. He
wanted an officer, and both men had obviously been too
careless to hold a rank. He lay under an outcropping of
porous rock and listened carefully. The noise from the beach
had stopped, and he knew he had to be extra-quiet now. Off
to his left he heard a body shift position. Then, from the same
direction a soft whisper in Arabic, which he understood.
"Ali . . . pass the word. Three minutes and we will break
toward the road. On my command."
Got you, you bastard, thought ben Levi. He slid a black-
jack from his sock and twisted the leather strap around his
right hand. Then he began to count seconds off to himself.
Around him he heard the Tiger Cubs preparing to make a run
for it. He marked their positions and prayed that his squad
was ready for their rush. His only interest was in the man off
to his left. The Israeli corporal judged that the man would be
first up and would run right, toward the road. That meant he
would pass just above the outcropping where ben Levi would
be a one-man reception committee.

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183
On the sea floor, the frogman leader carefully brushed the
sand and rocks from his rubber suit. Several minutes had
passed, and the silence reassured him that the Israelis had
left. The darkness was friendly. He oriented himself away
from the shoreline and began to swim slowly out to sea.
When the Israeli frogmen grabbed him he thought for a
moment that he had hit a rock or a fish. Then he felt their
hands and knew he had been trapped. Both Israelis gripped
the frogman firmly and rushed him toward the surface. As
they broke through into the night, air they felt their prisoner go
limp in their hands. He had swallowed his poison capsule and
died instantly. One of them shouted toward the shore, and the
spotlights picked up the sight of the frogmen as they pulled
the dead man toward the beach.
Avram Leiter completed the mop-up on the hill. There
were no prisoners. Most of the invaders were burned beyond
recognition from the phosphorus rockets Miriam had fired
from her gunship, before she was hit by the missile. He
radioed the news to Major Horowitz, then set up a perimeter
of defense and walked down toward the kibbutz.
As ben Levi's counting reached two minutes and fifty
seconds, he heard the Arab officer rise and issue a command.
The remaining A1 Fatah were on their feet all around him
opening fire toward the road and running in that direction. He
immediately heard David Blumberg's squad fire back. Good,
he thought. That will keep them busy. He crouched, sensing
the approach of the Arab officer. At the moment of truth he
leaped up and knocked the man down. Then he swung the
blackjack wildly in the direction of the man's head. Before
the stunned Arab could regain his footing, ben Levi heard the
crunch of his weapon as it made contact. He then draped
himself over the unconscious man and waited for the firing to
stop. Ten minutes later he yelled toward the road for David
Blumberg to bring a stretcher. He had Major Horowitz's
prisoner.
Down on the beach, in the harsh spotlights, Major Horo-
witz pulled the mask from the dead frogman. His first sur-
prise was that the man was older than one might expect. The

184
David Saperstein
second was that he had blond hair and blue eyes. Not very
typical for an Arab.
"And who are you, my little dead water baby?" Horowitz
spoke aloud. "Did they send a Soviet to kill Soviets?"
He ordered two men to take the dead man to the infirmary,
then he turned to his second-in-command.
"Secure the beach and take care of those men on the dock.
Tell Shmul to patrol for another hour and then have him
report to me in the armory. I'll be in the dining hall for a
while if you need me." Then he activated the radio. "Ser-
geant Steiner? How is it?"
"Under control, Major. They tried to break out, but we
stopped them."
"Any prisoners?"
"Yes, sir. Three. Two Cubs, wounded, and an officer with
a headache."
"Good. Bring them to the armory. I'll be along in a few
minutes."
He walked briskly toward the dining hall to report to
General ben Kagan.

34
DIA headquarters in Washington had been appraised of the
raid on Kibbutz Ginnosar. Andy Taft waited in the American
Embassy in Tel Aviv for their reply. He wanted to get up to
Galilee fast once he heard that Sasha Andreyev had been
wounded. He was growing fond of her.
The message came via satellite just before noon. Andy
waited with the cryptographer and read the transmission as it
was decoded.
RE GINNOSAR ATTACK. STRONG DIPLOMATIC
OBJECTIONS WILL BE RAISED THIS PM AT UNITED
NATIONS. PRESS INFORMED OF DETAILS. EX-
PECT HEAVY COVERAGE. TWENTY-EIGHT
SENATORS SENDING STRONG MESSAGE TO SO-
VIET TRADE MISSION. ADVISE PROGRESS OF
PROJECT FLAME AS IT DEVELOPS. SIGNED—
BURGESS/COUNTERSIGNED—SUPERBOWL
The countersignature meant that the chief of DIA was
personally involved in Flame. Andy put the message in his
safe and called Israeli intelligence to request a helicopter to
take him up to Galilee. An hour later he was dropped off on
the beach near the dock at Kibbutz Ginnosar.
Earlier that morning, while Major Horowitz was question-
ing the Arab officer, General ben Kagan ate breakfast with
Peter Somoroff. Afterward they stopped by the infirmary to
see how Sasha was feeling. She was still asleep, but the
185

186
David Saperstein
doctor told them she would be able to move around by
evening.
Ben Kagan then took Colonel Somoroff to view the body
of the dead frogman.
"We don't think he's an Arab, Colonel."
"Who do you think he is?"
"A Soviet, to be honest." Ben Kagan studied the KGB
officer.
"General, anything is possible in this world. Perhaps I can
help you to identify him?"
Ben Kagan was delighted. He had hoped the colonel would
offer his help, but he knew it was a long shot.
"Perhaps you can," Arie answered quickly. "We will get
you a set of his fingerprints and a complete set of dental
x-rays. Then when you return to the Soviet Union you can
trace him . . . if he is one of your people."
"I doubt that he is KGB," said Peter. "We don't use
frogmen in our line of work—not on staff, anyway." He
smiled at ben Kagan and continued. "Might I make a
suggestion?"
"Please."
"Why not have Mr. Taft send the data to Washington?
They can pass it on to Miss Andreyev's contact at the Soviet
Embassy. He will be able to order a computer search of our
military—I suspect the Navy will be most fruitful—and get an
answer for us tomorrow."
Arie put his hand on Somoroff's shoulder. "I had hoped
you would suggest something like that. Thank you."
"There are no thanks necessary. I want to know if he is a
Soviet as much as you do."
"I think it's time for you to meet the head of the Mossad,"
ben Kagan said to Somoroff. He motioned him toward the
door. Both men left the infirmary and walked up the hill
toward a small building beyond the guest house.
Once inside the one-room house, ben Kagan closed the
door and turned to face Peter Somoroff.
"This is the meeting you wanted," he said, staring directly
into the Soviet's eyes.
"It's you?" Peter was surprised.
"Yes. A few months ago there would have been another
man in this room. Now he lies in a small cemetery near
Beersheba. An old clockmaker who died in his sleep. Perhaps

RED DEVIL
187
his countrymen will never know how much he did for
Israel."
"We are in a sad business, General."
"Yes, well ... So it is my decision. I believe you. I
believe your story. We will try to help the premier."
"Thank you."
"All I can do is hope to arrange for us to have a hearing in
Zefat. Rabbi Asher's people are there. It's all very secret—
even to us—but they are the ones to help you ... if they
will. I can't promise anything. I can't order them to help."
"May I ask why?" Somoroff felt slightly defeated.
"They live in another world. Sometimes I think that the
religious fanatics are as much trouble as you atheists. There is
no middle ground. They live a life of mystical seclusion. This
group in Zefat is the most secretive. We can only try."
"When can I see them?"
"Tomorrow. We will travel up there today, but I know that
Miss Andreyev will have to remain. Also your daughter.
They will not allow women. They will not allow Lieutenant
Chomsky either. It will be you and me. Vogel and Asher will
go ahead of us."
"Fine."
"I want them to go down to Tel Aviv as soon as Miss
Andreyev can travel. Captain Gross will take care of it."
"He is a brave man," said Somoroff. "He took good care
of Anya last night. I appreciate that."
"Yes. He is good. I also think he is getting a little sweet
on your daughter . . . if I may say so?"
Somoroff laughed. The general certainly spoke his mind.
"I noticed that myself, General. Imagine a colonel in the
KGB with a Jewish son-in-law in Israeli intelligence? What is
the world coming to?"
"Perhaps a better place, Colonel. . . . It's a thought."
Peter looked at the man who had revealed one of the most
closely guarded secrets in the State of Israel to him moments
ago. He genuinely liked him and had the deepest respect for
him, too.
"Perhaps it is becoming a better world, General," he
responded, "and maybe we are going to help it along in that
direction."
"Maybe ..." ben Kagan remarked softly. "Maybe . . ."

188
David Saperstein
They left the small house and walked down toward the
guest house where Rabbi Sholem Asher waited with Rabbi
Vogel.
On the opposite side of the small house a section of siding
slid open, and a small man, bald except for a rim of white
hair, wearing a grey shirt and black work pants, slipped out
of the hidden opening. Although the house appeared to have
only one room, there was actually a small narrow enclosure
that ran its length. Anyone inside that enclosure could hear
the conversation in the house.
The old man walked slowly away in the opposite direction
from ben Kagan and Somoroff. He was pleased with his
subordinate's performance. No, he mused, I am not a
clockmaker any more . . . and I am certainly not dead yet . . .
but it is true that when the time comes, I will be buried
near Beersheba. Until that day he would remain the most
secret man in Israel and, as the head of the legendary Mossad,
one of the most powerful.
Michael Gross walked along the beach with Anya Somoroff.
The sun was warm, the water calm and smooth. The boats
had long since left the dock and were out fishing on the
Galilee. Only Shmul Kantor's patrol boat remained moored at
the end of the dock. Two crewmen were on duty, operating
the boat's radar and sonar.
"Do you know about this place?" asked Michael, sweep-
ing his hand out toward the sea.
"You mean the Galilee? Yes, I know about it. It was
where Jesus lived and performed his miracles." Anya would
never forget the stories her grandmother had told about Jesus
and the Holy Land. She would tell the old lady about her visit
someday, and she knew the woman would delight in knowing
her grandchild had actually seen the blessed place.
"Are you a religious person?" Gross was curious.
"No," answered Anya, "not at all. But my grandmother
is. She goes to church every day. She prays for my brother."
Anya stopped. It was the first time she had thought of young
Peter Somoroff in several days. She felt suddenly very sad.
Michael didn't understand. "Is something wrong? Did I
say something?"
"I was just thinking about my brother . . . about his

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189
dying ..." She began to walk again. "It's so calm and beautiful
here this morning, so peaceful ... I forgot about last night
for a moment. I forgot about a lot of things." She looked at
Michael.
"Was he a good man, your brother?"
Anya thought it was a strange question. "What do you
mean? He was my brother. I loved him."
"I just wondered if you knew him. Your father said that he
was stationed far to the east and that you were in school . . .
so I just wondered if you had time to know him."
"It's a strange question."
"Yes. I—" Gross hesitated. He wasn't sure how the pretty
Soviet would take what he wanted to say. He wasn't sure if
he should say it at all because it went against everything he
had learned and felt about the Soviets. He stopped and sat
down on the warm sand.
"Come," he said as he reached out his hand to Anya. "Sit
down for a moment. We have time."
Anya sat beside him. Michael kept her hand in his. She
didn't pull away. It felt good to her.
"Your father and General ben Kagan will share many
secrets in the next few days. Many things that even I don't
know about."
"Me, too," said Anya. "I'm not in the KGB, you know."
"I know. Let me talk for a minute. It's that I have spent
time traveling to many places ... I have been a busy man. A
man with a purpose, with a country to defend. I think you
understand that now."
Anya nodded and looked down the beach at the destroyed
trailer.
"I understand a lot more than I did yesterday."
"Good. I asked you about your brother because I—we—
forget that our enemies are people sometimes . . . that they
have families . . . that they hurt like we do. They are our
enemies, so who cares?"
He sifted the bright sand through his large hand and gently
squeezed her with his other hand.
"You care," she said.
He looked at her and frowned. "No. Not really. I don't
care about those bodies we brought in after the attack. They
are the enemy, and they wish to destroy us. If their wives and

190
David Saperstein
mothers weep today, I don't care. We lost twelve people last
night. There are wives and mothers weeping here, too."
"So what are you trying to say, Michael? I am an enemy
too."
"That's the problem. Are you? Your country is, I'm sure
of that, but . . . are you? Here we sit by Galilee, and you tell
me that your grandmother told you about God and Jesus—it
doesn't make any sense to me."
"What doesn't make sense, Michael? Say what you mean!"
"I can't. I don't know what I mean."
"Maybe you don't want to know."
Anya released his hand from hers. She stood and looked
down at him.
"I like you, Michael, and it is confusing to me, too. But I
can say it."
He stood quickly and grabbed her by the shoulders.
"You can say it because you don't have to kill people
tomorrow. I may have to, and maybe it will be a Soviet. It
might even have been your brother, if he were alive. Don't
you see that?"
She looked up at the tall Israeli and saw that his eyes were
filled with tears. There was anguish on his face. She slid her
body toward him and he embraced her.
"Yes, I see that," she whispered, "but you didn't kill
him. A Soviet did. Can't you accept the world the way it is?"
He held her away from him and looked at her young face.
He felt himself drawn to her beauty.
"I accept it, believe me ... I accept it. But the world you
know, the world they have taught you about—it isn't the way
things really are. Last night you saw the world as I know it,
and it frightened you. Those were Soviet weapons they were
firing at us . . . Soviet mortars . . . Soviet rockets. That is
the world as I know it."
"And if you had to kill my brother—knowing he was my
brother—would you?" she asked.
He answered without hesitation. "Yes. If he threatened my
country, yes."
Anya moved away from him. She was frightened again.
She was also sad and frustrated.
The moment was interrupted by the sound of an approach-
ing helicopter. When Taft disembarked moments later, Gross
went to greet him. Anya turned away and walked up the

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191
beach toward the infirmary. Perhaps Sasha needed her. She
knew that Michael certainly didn't.
Leonid sat on the hospital cot watching Sasha eat lunch.
The Israeli nurse had just left the room, and they were alone.
"Is there much pain?" He was concerned.
"No. They gave me a shot." She tasted the broiled fish. It
was good.
"Do you want a taste?" she offered.
"No, thanks. I'm not hungry."
"The battle bothered you?" It was a friendly question, but
Leonid was offended.
"What is that supposed to mean?" he snapped.
"Nothing, Leonid. It just scared the hell out of me. I was
never near combat before, not a firefight anyway. Were
you?"
"No." His tone softened. "It was frightening, wasn't it? It
wasn't that I was scared . . . just overwhelmed a little. They
were trying to kill us. I mean it was aimed at us specifically.
Colonel Somoroff is sure of that."
The sun's rays filtered through the plain white curtains that
covered the window of the stark, white room. The light
bounced off the walls and brightened everything. It gave the
room an antiseptic look, clean and sterile.
Sasha swallowed some food. She studied Chomsky. She
thought it strange that two KGB agents, highly trained in the
art of interrogation, could not get one another to speak the
truth. The atmosphere of the room demanded truth.
"How did they know we were here?" she asked.
"The Israelis don't know. They feel that the prisoners
they took really don't know either."
He reached into his pocket and took out a pack of Ameri-
can cigarettes.
"Where did you get those?" she asked. He offered one and
she took it.
"Captain Gross gave them to me this morning. I like
him."
"Yes," she said, "I like him, too. Did you see how he
protected Anya last night? That was brave."
"Do you think I am a coward?" He was angry.
"Leonid, please ... it has nothing to do with you. Being

192
David Saperstein
in combat for the first time has to be frightening. I admit it,
why can't you?"
Chomsky got off the bed and walked to the window. He
watched Anya walking toward the infirmary from the beach.
"Anya's coming. Your American friend just arrived in that
helicopter. Gross is with him."
Sasha Andreyev set aside her tray and lit the cigarette.
"Leonid, before she comes, tell me what is on your mind.
Please."
He looked at her. The last thing he wanted to do was admit
his feelings about being afraid last night. Yet he felt he had to
talk to somebody.
"I was frightened last night. When I thought I was hit I
almost panicked. Then when I saw it was just pieces of fish I
felt stupid . . . like a coward."
"You aren't a coward. You came and helped me when you
saw I was hurt. That's not a coward's way. Don't you see
that?"
"There's more. Later, when we were in the dining hall I
watched the Israelis, the commandos. They are without fear . . .
killers."
"I disagree," she answered firmly. "They have a purpose
and soil to defend. They have no choice but to fight bravely."
"There is always a choice. I was in Kabul for two weeks. I
saw our soldiers there. I didn't see any combat, but the
Afghan tribesmen gave them a battle. One night I went out
and got drunk with a few officers from the GRU. They talked
about the resistance those shepherds put up against our elite
troops. It was fearful. They captured some and interrogated
them for days. They never broke."
"What has that to do with these Israelis?"
"I looked into their eyes last night. There was a determina-
tion there that was like the officers in Afghanistan described."
Sasha sat up in bed. She had missed something, and she
felt as though she had been seduced by the cordiality of the
Israelis.
"You mean," she began, "that this is the enemy and we
are in his midst? I know about that. I've been in America for
two years."
He moved close to the bed and glared at her. "No. Not like
the Americans. We will never fight the Americans. But some-

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day we may have to fight these people, and I don't think we
could win—or if we did, we would pay a terrible price."
"But we would win." She was definite.
"Maybe. But remember Colonel Valarian and the story
that Colonel Somoroff told about his visit to the GRU office.
That is not stuff of this earth—it is supernatural."
"So you don't like the idea of coming here and asking
these people to help us?"
"No. Can't you see it?" He was intense.
"See what, Leonid? Say it!"
He put his cigarette out and looked at Sasha. He began, "If
Valarian is a supernatural being, or thing, or even the devil
himself, then hasn't it occurred to you that his opposite might
also exist? I am talking about God."
Sasha was shocked at the word. It had never occurred to
her. It wasn't part of her vocabulary.
Leonid continued, "And what frightens me, my dear fel-
low communist, is that if this God exists, then surely it was
He whom I saw in the faces of those soldiers. Perhaps they
are chosen people . . . perhaps He walks with them. Think
about that, Comrade!"
Anya Somoroff entered the room and was confronted by
two stunned faces staring at her.
"Hi. You two look just like you just saw a ghost," she
joked.
They were not in a joking mood.
Michael Gross and Andy Taft joined ben Kagan and Peter
Somoroff at the guest house. They were just finishing their
conversation with Rabbi Vogel and Rabbi Asher, who were
about to leave for Zefat.
"I'll call you as soon as I have an answer," Asher said as
he shook Arie's hand. Then he reached his hand to Peter
Somoroff and grasped his firmly. Vogel did the same.
"Colonel, I hope my call is good news. I promise that I
will try to convince them to see you, to hear your case. Until
then, shalom."
"Shalom," answered Peter. "And thank you."
"How is Sasha?" Andy asked General Kagan after greet-
ings were exchanged.
"She is fine. I expect she will be up and around later."
"Good," he said. "I have some news for you."

194
David Saperstein
He handed Arie a copy of the DIA message without signa-
tures. Ben Kagan read it carefully and passed it to Peter
Somoroff.
"This should give the premier some more ammunition
against Marshall Malenkov."
Peter read the message, then spoke. "It will not do much.
This is PLO business, not Soviet. There will be a denial of
involvement, the usual."
"Not if we can identify that frogman as a Soviet."
"What frogman?" asked Taft. "You didn't tell me any-
thing about a frogman, Michael," he said to Gross.
Gross didn't answer, deferring to the general.
"We don't know who he is," said Peter Somoroff. "I
suggested that the general give you the man's fingerprints and
dental x-rays. You can send them to Washington and they can
be passed to our embassy there. Perhaps he can be identified.
If he is a Soviet, then the military computer will seek him out
for us."
"You mean Valarian's record section?" Andy asked
sarcastically.
"No, Mr. Taft," answered Peter. "This man is not in the
Army. I am sure, if he is a Soviet, that he came from the
Navy. Colonel Valarian won't see the request for several
days."
"Fine," said Andy. "I want to see Sasha for a few min-
utes. Michael tells me that we are going back to Tel Aviv
tonight."
"Colonel Somoroff and I will remain here overnight. The
others will go back with you," answered Arie.
"Very good. If you have that material for me when we
leave, I'll get it on the satellite tonight. We should have an
answer in two days at the outside."
Arie sent Michael off to get the prints and x-rays. Andy
went down to the infirmary to see Sasha. The remaining two
men sat on the guest house porch, preferring to keep out of
the sun. Peter watched Andy and Michael walk together.
"We have a good group here, General."
"Yes, excellent. Now let's hope that Rabbi Asher can
convince those fanatics in Zefat how good we really are."
"Rabbi Vogel was there for some of it. They'll have to
believe him." Peter sounded hopeful.
"Vogel has spent twelve years in your prisons. These men

RED DEVIL
195
may live secluded lives, but they are not fools. They will test
him severely. I hope he has the strength."
"Does he really have to go with us now?" Peter asked.
"One night interrupted by an attack isn't much of a reunion
after twelve years."
Arie looked at the Soviet and smiled. "My dear Colonel
Somoroff, without Rabbi Vogel there is no story. Asher alone
could not convince them."
As ben Kagan fell silent, Peter watched Asher and Vogel
get into a small truck and drive away toward Zefat.

35
The room was still dark although it was nearly eight am.
Major Rosteveli slept comfortably in Fannie Beshevsky's arms,
his head resting on her matronly bosom. The phone startled
him. It took a moment to orient himself in the darkness.
Fannie stirred and hugged his face into her.
"That might be for me, Fannie."
She slid her body across his and reached for the persistent
phone.
"Hello," she said sleepily. Then she was suddenly awake.
It was Meyer Plotkin, one of the leaders of the Synagogue.
She listened intently for a moment, then spoke. "I'll be there
as soon as I can. Don't do anything."
She hung up. Rosteveli reached over and turned on the
bedside lamp. "What is it, Fannie? What's wrong?"
Her face was white. Her breath was labored. He held her
and tried to calm her.
"Tell me."
"That was Meyer Plotkin, the shamus—he takes care of
the Synagogue every morning. He said that it has been dese-
crated. Rabbi Posner is gone. His apartment has been ravaged."
"What about the guards?" asked Rosteveli.
"They're dead. All of them deadV' she screamed in terror.
Serge Rosteveli was on his feet in a leap. "Get dressed.
Fast."
He went to the phone and called Lubyanka. Captain Bonyon
answered the private line.
"Bonyon? Take a squad of men and get over to the Syna-
gogue. Take a medical team, too. Don't ask me any ques-
196

RED DEVIL
197
tions, just listen and do as I say. I want the place sealed off.
No police. No GRU. No one except our people. I'll be there
in twenty minutes."
When he hung up he saw that Fannie had not moved from
the bed.
"Fannie," he shouted, "get dressed. We have to find out
what happened."
The woman shook herself back to reality and began to
dress. "They took Rabbi Posner, didn't they," she said
quietly.
"We can't be sure, darling. We have to see for ourselves."
When Rosteveli and Fannie arrived, Captain Bonyon had
done as ordered. They found him in the sanctuary, standing
amid overturned benches. The Torah scrolls were unwound,
torn, and scattered around the room. The word Yevrei, Rus-
sian for Jew, was painted on the walls and over the ark. The
captain had moved the dead KGB guards into the sanctuary
and covered them with sheets from Rabbi Posner's apartment.
Fanny was devastated. Rosteveli talked quietly to Bonyon.
"Is there any sign of the rabbi?" he asked the stunned
captain.
"No, sir. We searched the entire building. We only found
those bodies," he answered, pointing to the corpses placed
neatly in a row against the front wall.
The major glanced at the bodies. He fought to contain his
anger.
Fannie bent down near one of the Torah scrolls and began
to roll it up onto its spindle.
"I want to show you something, Major," said Bonyon,
walking toward the dead KGB men. Rosteveli followed.
When they reached the first body the captain bent over and
removed the sheet covering the corpse. It was the detail
corporal, hand-picked by the major. The man's throat had
been cut and his tongue removed. He was naked, and on his
stomach a Star of David was carved into his skin.
"Just like the Grochenko woman in Leningrad," remarked
Bonyon.
"Are they all like this?" asked Rosteveli.
"Yes, sir. All six."
While he spoke Fannie took the scroll and walked to the
ark to replace it. She held it in one arm while she opened the
ark doors with her other hand.

198
David Saperstein
"Six you say?" questioned the major. "There were seven
men assigned to this detail."
Then Fannie screamed. The seventh man was stuffed into
the ark. He too was naked and the star was carved on his
abdomen. He also had the word Yevrei carved on his forehead.
Hatred welled up in Rosteveli as he held Fannie, trying to
calm her hysterics.
"Captain," he called. "Get that man out of there and have
someone take Mrs. Beshevsky to Lubyanka. I want her under
our protection. Then get some more men down here to clean
this place up. But keep it sealed."
He guided Fannie to the captain, then walked toward the
front door.
"Major?" said Bonyon. "Where are you going?"
"To finish some old business. I'll see you later." He
closed the door behind him, keeping the image of Isadore
Kantrowitz sneaking through the same door, in his mind's
eye.
Five candles flickered in the black chandelier above
Valarian's desk. The old rabbi lay on the floor in front of
him. His arms were bound tightly. He bled from a bad head
wound. Valarian was pleased.
"Stand up, Jew," he commanded.
Posner didn't move. Even if he wanted to obey he did not
have the strength to get up. The people who had roused him
from his bed were brutal. He was sure ribs were broken, and
he suspected his left ankle was also badly injured.
Valarian moved around in front of his desk and kicked the
rabbi.
"Get up I said, you obscenity!"
"I can't," Posner answered weakly.
Valarian reached his foot out and hooked it beneath Posner's
shoulder, then flipped him over on his back. The rabbi screamed
with pain.
"Before I destroy you, you will tell me what your Jew-
loving friends were doing in Palestine. They are dead now, so
it doesn't matter."
"Dead?" Posner muttered. "Dead?"
"What were they doing there?" Valarian demanded.
"I don't know. I was only a go-between."
"Liar!" he bellowed.

RED DEVIL
199
Then one of the candles above him began to glow. A
disciple was calling.
"Metsky," he shouted.
The major promptly opened the office door and entered the
cold room. "Take this garbage downstairs and lock him up. I
will deal with him later."
Metsky pulled Posner to his feet and dragged him out of
the office. Valarian went to his shiny desk and lay down to
receive his disciple's message. A few moments later, when
Achmed Sharit reported the failure of the mission, he was
glad he had kept the rabbi alive. Sharit then felt his master's
wrath.
A cold chill gripped Viktor Servioff when he heard the
pounding on his door. No one knew he was home. It was
midday. The young boy who lay next to him was also startled.
"Who is it?" Servioff shouted.
"I'm afraid," said the boy. He got out of bed and began to
search for his clothing.
"Stay here," commanded the KGB captain. "Who is it?"
The pounding continued. Servioff got out of bed and put on
a robe. The pounding grew louder. He was afraid his neigh-
bors would begin to complain. He moved quickly to the door
and unlatched the bolt.
As soon as the door was free, Rosteveli burst into the
room. The force of his entrance threw Servioff to the floor.
Rosteveli was on top of him in a flash, smashing him in the
face with his large fist. The big Georgian was incensed.
"You filth. I'll kill you, you miserable deviate."
The young boy, now dressed, tried to run past the major to
the door, but Rosteveli caught him with one hand and threw
him across the room, back toward the bedroom. The boy
stayed where he fell, in a state of fright.
Rosteveli stood and pulled Servioff to his feet. The captain
trembled in front of the large man.
"Major Rosteveli . . . what is it? Why are you doing
this?" he whined.
Rosteveli reached down and grabbed him by the balls and
twisted.
"I will only ask you once, so you better give me the truth,
or I will rip them off.''
The pain was extreme. Servioff s face contorted in agony.

200
David Saperstein
"What . . . what?"
"Who told you to go to the Synagogue last night?"
"What . . . what synagogue ... I don't—"
That was all he could say. Rosteveli squeezed and pulled at
the same time, then threw the KGB captain against the wall
on top of the boy.
The boy whimpered, but did not move.
Rosteveli took a knife from his pocket and opened it slowly.
"I am going to cut them out, one at a time. And you are
going to eat them in front of your littie lover here. Do you
hear me?"
With all the pain, Viktor Servioff knew that the major
meant to do what he said. He was panicked. His body began
to shake uncontrollably. The boy slid out from under him.
"Stay where you are, sonny," the major commanded.
"Stay with your playmate. I'll deal with you later."
Then Rosteveli had an idea. He grabbed the boy and held
him by the hair.
"How would you like to be castrated, little man?"
"Please . . . please . . ."the boy whimpered. "I didn't do
anything . . . please ..."
"Who sent you here?"
"No one," he answered innocently. "I come here often.
By myself."
The major grabbed the boy's pants and pulled them down
in one quick motion. He pointed the knife directly toward his
hairless crotch.
"You are about to be a soprano for the rest of your life, my
little liar. Is a lie worth that?"
"No . . . please no . . ." The boy looked at Servioff,
lying helpless on the floor beneath him.
"Then tell me who sent you here. Now!"
"Major Metsky—he sent me. He always sends me."
Rosteveli remembered the short GRU major from the Syna-
gogue. He shoved the boy aside and bent down over Servioff.
"So it was Metsky. Servioff, you're a dead man. Get
dressed."
He kicked the captain into action, handcuffing him to the
frightened boy before they left. An hour later Rosteveli sent a
prearranged message to Sasha Andreyev via the embassy in
Washington. "Call home. Flame is burning."

36
The road north to Zefat was scenic. Mount Tabor rose above
off to their left. Since it was a clear day, the highest mountain
in Israel, snow-capped Mount Atzmon, stood out majestically
in front of them. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows
along the highway.
They had left Kibbutz Ginnosar after the Chinook helicopter
took off with the rest of the group. Sasha was able to travel,
and though Chomsky took their parting uneasily, he accepted
Somoroff s order without argument. Peter knew Chomsky had
something on his mind, but there was no time for discussion.
He also sensed a strain between Gross and his daughter. Perhaps
it was just the raid last night. Everyone's nerves were on edge.
An hour later they entered Zefat and drove directly to the
building that housed the ultrareligious sect that followed the
teachings of the ancient Rabbi David ben Zimrah.
The house was in an old part of Zefat where the architec-
ture was mixed with Spanish and Moorish influences. Peter
felt as though he were traveling back in time, to a long-
forgotten world. It made him uneasy.
It was an old house, very worn. There were no lights
visible from the narrow street. Ben Kagan parked the jeep in
an alley adjacent to the house and turned the motor off.
Suddenly there was absolute silence. Arie and Peter sat for a
moment listening to nothing. It was eerie. Far down the alley,
a door opened and warm light poured out against the wall,
now blue after sunset. The familiar figure of Rabbi Sholem
Asher came toward them. He carried an oil lantern and
walked slowly until he stopped in front of the jeep.
201

202
David Saperstein
"How was the trip?" he asked.
Peter and Arie got out of the jeep and came around to greet
him.
"Peaceful, Rabbi. And how are you?" Arie asked.
"All things considered, I'm fine."
"Did they give you a hard time?" asked ben Kagan.
"Not as hard as they will give you and our Soviet friend
here. They were upset that I didn't come through the proper
channels, but they seemed to accept my explanation and
Vogel's tale. The attack last night did the trick, I think. Come
on, let's go."
"Now?" asked Peter, surprised that it was happening so
fast. He had expected to spend the night in Zefat and present
his case tomorrow.
"Right now. They are waiting. Do you have everything
you need, Colonel Somoroff?"
Peter carried his attache case and the small leather bag he
had so carefully protected throughout the journey. It was
evidence that surely would convince the rabbis, or so he
hoped.
The five men seemed to be part of the room, frozen in their
places at the end of the table. The room itself was dimly lit.
Only three oil lamps burned on the far wall behind the old
men. The other walls were not visible. Peter surmised that the
room was larger than it now appeared.
The introductions were formal and in Hebrew. Peter under-
stood only a few Hebrew words, but he distinctly heard ben
Kagan's name and his own spoken. The man on the far left
spoke first. His English was precise.
"We will speak in English, Colonel Somoroff. If during
this meeting we must defer to Hebrew, please understand that
it will be for clarification, not for secrecy. Also, we would
like you, and General ben Kagan, to understand that we are
not impressed by the plea of your premier. You are here
because Rabbi Asher has been convinced that your experience
with the man you call Valarian contains a certain particle of
truth."
"It is all true," Peter interrupted.
The old man in the center turned his gaze to Peter Somoroff.
Never in all his years of confrontation with men of power had
Peter seen such eyes. They were deep black pools that burned
right through him, as though they were lasers.

RED DEVIL
203
"Colonel." The old man's baritone voice cut through the
air like a sword. "I am Rabbi Levi Lemach ben Abraham. I
want you to understand that it was you who requested our
council. This is our temple. These are our ways. General ben
Kagan will tell you that he has never been here. Very few
have. Many believe this is a place to be feared, to be avoided.
Perhaps they are correct in that assumption. In any case, we
do not assume truth, we search for it and try, with humility,
to understand its meaning. Now, please sit down and tell us
your story. Be precise. Take your time."
As Peter sat down in the chair at the end opposite Rabbi
Abraham, he studied the other men from the temple. The man
who had spoken first was the youngest. His beard was dark
and not as long as the others'. Rabbi Abraham had a snow-
white beard and a marvelous mane of long white hair. He
wore a black skullcap. The two men to his left also had white
beards. Both looked frail. One was nearly bald. They wore
black, shawl-like coverings over their heads. The fifth man
had dark, almost black skin. His beard was a mixture of grey
and black, yet his eyes were light blue. He wore a small miter
on his head. Peter could not make out the rest of their
clothing. General ben Kagan sat to Peter's left. Rabbi Asher
sat on his right, between Somoroff and the old men.
Peter spoke after all were seated. "Where would you like
me to begin, Rabbi?" He addressed his question to Rabbi ben
Abraham.
"Start with this man Menoff and the file. That was the
beginning for you, wasn't it?"
Peter prepared to begin, then realized that someone was
missing. "May I ask where Rabbi Vogel is?"
"He will join us later, if we need him." The answer was
final.
Peter began. It took two hours to tell the complete story.
He was careful and precise, referring to his notes several
times. The rabbis never moved. They never took their eyes
from his face. They never interrupted Peter, nor did they
show any sign of acknowledgment. Yet Peter was sure that
each of them could repeat his tale verbatim. He had never
witnessed such concentration. It was as though he were speak-
ing into a human sponge that absorbed words and stored them
neatly within a billion cells.
When Peter had completed the story he carefully checked

204
David Saperstein
his notes to be sure he had covered everything. Satisfied, he
looked at Rabbi Abraham.
"That is all?" questioned the old man.
"No, Rabbi, there is more, but before I go on I would like
to know what you think about Valarian."
The man with the miter spoke rapidly in Hebrew to Rabbi
Abraham. Rabbi Asher entered the conversation. Peter under-
stood none of it, and ben Kagan saw his confusion. He leaned
over to Peter and tried a simultaneous translation.
"That one wants to throw you out. He says you are rude
. . . no, excuse me, godless and lost and stupid. Sorry,
Colonel. Asher is speaking on your behalf. The old man
wants to know what you have in the leather case. . . . The
other one isn't convinced, but Rabbi Abraham is curious. . . .
Asher has told them you have told us that there is more . . .
so . . . okay."
Rabbi Asher turned to Peter Somoroff. He was not friendly.
"Colonel Somoroff, Rabbi Zahor thinks you are a fool not
to obey Rabbi Abraham's instructions, and he is annoyed
with you. I suggest—"
Before Asher could finish his statement, Peter stood and
faced the dark-skinned rabbi with the miter.
"Rabbi, I am sorry that I offended you, and I apologize for
my actions. I have lost my son, my only son, to this maniac.
I have come to believe things that I would never, in my
wildest dreams, have imagined could be true. I have seen,
with my own eyes, the power of God, of God Almighty at
work through my prayers . . . your prayers. I am a desperate
man representing the leader of my country, who is more
desperate than you can imagine. If I am anxious, please
understand my impatience, but I must learn some things so
that the rest of the story can make sense to me as well as to
you. If that is being a fool, then please, I beg you, give a fool
the benefit of the doubt."
Rabbi Zahor's expression did not change. Rabbi Abraham
smiled. Then he raised his hands, palms out, toward Peter
and spoke. "Please calm down, Colonel Somoroff. I will
answer your question."
Rabbi Abraham stood and walked to the wall behind the
table. He took one of the oil lamps and motioned to Peter to
join him as he walked toward the wall on Peter's right. As the
rabbi neared the wall, Peter came close to him. The man was

RED DEVIL
205
taller than Peter. His black robes touched the floor. Peter
looked at the wall where the lamp cast its light. He nearly lost
his breath. There, in plain sight, was the acrostic he had
found on the wall of Celia and Boris Menoff's apartment.
Although the letters were ancient Hebrew he knew it was the
acrostic. Beneath it were several Hebrew words. The rabbi
saw the recognition and confusion in Peter's face. His long
white fingers pointed to the acrostic and then to the Hebrew
words.
"This is the same as you found in your friend's apartment.
This is the name of a spirit, Beelzebub. He is a subprince."
His hand moved to the next word, which was smaller than the
name of Beelzebub. The lamp showed several words of the
same size in a column below. The rabbi translated the names.
"Alcanor, Diralisen, Ergamen, Lamalon, Tachan, Tromes,
Nominon . . ." He reached the bottom of the column and
pointed to the next column.
"Amatia, Licanen, Gotifan, Igurim, Ikonok, Balfori,
lamia ..."
That column was finished and he moved to another. In all
there were forty-nine names under that of Beelzebub.
"These are the servants of the spirit subprince Beelzebub.
They serve him. They are his slaves, in a manner of speak-
ing, and he can impart great power to them, if he wishes."
The rabbi lifted the lamp so that it illuminated the wall
above the acrostic. There Peter saw a name larger than the
rest.
"Who is that?" he asked.
"That is Belial, one of the four high princes. The superior
spirits. Beelzebub serves him. He is a very powerful spirit,
and one of darkness."
"Is he the devil?" Peter was caught up in a current from
which he could not escape, as though it were a magnet
drawing him to the wall and to the power that he knew it
held.
"The devil is a Christian belief. You might say, or could
say, that this is the devil, as you know it. That is not as we
know it. Come around the room with me and I will show you
many devils."
He moved along the wall and Peter saw acrostic after
acrostic, each with a Hebrew word above it, each with a
single word below it, each with a list of names below that.

206
David Saperstein
Some were joined by lines etched into the ancient stone.
Others were written in a different script, and many different
colors served as background to the names. Once in a while
Rabbi Abraham would stop and translate a few of the names.
"Habhi, Enaia, Plirok, Molin . . . Astarot, a subprince . . .
Ethan, Buk, Semlin . . . Amodeus, a subprince . . . Goleg,
Pachei . . . Magot, a subprince ..."
The old man came to a halt near a very large acrostic. He
lifted the lamp so that the name above it was clear.
"This is an old friend of the Christian world—Shaytan—
Satan. He is a prince. There are four dark princes—Lucifer,
Leviathan, Belial, and our friend here, Satan."
"Then the devil is not just one spirit?" Peter was totally
absorbed.
"Let's sit down and talk a little, Colonel Somoroff. Per-
haps you would like some tea?"
They walked back to the table, and the rabbi replaced the
oil lamp on the wall. He spoke to Rabbi Asher, and Sholem
left the room.
Peter returned to his chair to find Arie ben Kagan looking
like he had seen a ghost.
"That's something!" said Peter.
"It gives me the creeps. I don't care for this world of
theirs."
"We have to believe it is the world as it really is, yours
and mine," Rabbi Abraham said. "You just refuse to give it
any attention. But no matter. We are here when we are
needed. Now, Colonel Somoroff, let me answer your ques-
tion about this Valarian. From what you and Rabbi Vogel
have told us, he could be any one of these spirits. Perhaps
even one of the subprinces. I believe he is one of the dark
ones, one of those fallen from the grace of God, may His
name be praised forever. Ah, here is the tea."
Sholem Asher entered the room with a heavy silver tea
service. Peter was startled by the beauty of the pot and the
delicate china cups.
"We are not totally uncivilized," joked Rabbi Zahor, in a
gesture of forgiving Somoroff. Peter accepted the gesture
with a nod. When the tea had been served they settled down
again. Rabbi Abraham continued.
"So, Colonel, when we ask for all you know, we do so
only because the possibilities are many. We knew that from

RED DEVIL
207
Rabbi Vogel. He was unable to narrow it down. He did not
have enough information. Anything else you can tell us will
help."
Once again, everyone in the room concentrated on the
KGB colonel. As he was about to speak, Rabbi Vogel entered
the room and sat between ben Kagan and the two younger
rabbis, directly across the table from Rabbi Asher. Peter
acknowledged Vogel and began to speak.
"Before we came here, to Israel, I separated from our
group for approximately two weeks. Something was bother-
ing me about Menoff s file and the business of the missing
Captain Barnowski. I told you I had gone to see his wife in
Gorki and that Valarian had refused to remove the disgrace of
calling him a deserter from the military records. I went back
to Gorki and visited Barnowski's wife once again. This time I
brought an enhanced photograph of Valarian. We do that by
computer. She was sure it was a picture of her husband, even
though Valarian is badly scarred from burns. But why, I
thought, would Barnowski change his name and identity and,
more important, desert this woman whom he loved so dearly?
It puzzled me. Yet she insisted it was a picture of her
husband. I could not shake her from that conviction."
Peter sipped his tea and turned to ben Kagan. "Now,
General, I will share a KGB secret with you. We have been
doing a great deal of work with ESP—extra sensory percep-
tion. We have identified certain people we call sensitives—
mediums, if you like. Some of the work has been quite
promising. In any case, I returned to Moscow and borrowed
one of these subjects."
He turned back to the five rabbis. Their expressions told
him that they were extremely interested.
"Her name is Natasha Zelenko. She is a very accomplished
medium. I took her to Volgograd, which was Stalingrad until
we renamed it in 1961. There is a great memorial hall there
called Mamayev. It is a huge monument with an eternal
flame. The names of twenty million heroes of the Soviet
Union who died for their country cover the walls. It is a
stirring place, visited .by millions of Soviets every year. It is a
place of sadness, courage, and pride. Captain Barnowski's
name is not there. I thought that Natasha might be able to tell
me if his spirit was there. She could not, though she tried for
five hours. It was a terribly wearing experience for her be-

208
David Saperstein
cause she told me that many spirits filled the hall. We stayed
overnight in Volgograd. Having researched Barnowski, I know
he had disappeared in the battle for the city. The next morn-
ing we visited the battle area where his unit fought. It was on
Mamayev Hill. It is now a park. A few momentos of the war
still remain. There was a concrete bunker, overgrown and
decaying, in the middle of a field. Natasha Zelenko was
drawn to it like a magnet. I had to run to keep up with her.
When we got to the bunker she kept turning in a circle
saying, 'He is here. . . . Someone is here . . . was here . . .
but it is wrong.' She went to the bunker and began to rub the
worn concrete. Then she began to scratch at it, clawing like a
dog trying to dig up a bone. 'In here . . . it is in here . . .' "
She was trembling but very excited, very agitated. I ran back
to the car and brought the tire iron. I used it to dig into the
old doorway of the bunker. It took nearly an hour, but we got
inside. Natasha shook violently once inside. When I tried to
calm her she pushed me away. There was horror on her face.
She suddenly screamed and ran out. I found her on the
ground, exhausted."
Rabbi Abraham muttered a prayer to himself. Peter noticed
it.
" 'He is in there,' she told me. 'But there are two of them.
Not really two of them, because they are the same. One is
German,' she said. 'An officer, but not just a German. He is
also a Turk. There are three, four, all mixed together.' It
didn't make any sense to her, but it was all she could tell me.
She said the German was the strongest, except that Barnowski
was nearby, too. She told me it was a very high-ranking
German officer. That was all she could tell me, and truthfully
I was afraid for her health. She was exhausted. I sent her
back to Moscow, and I stayed in Volgograd, using the KGB
computer there to find out what German units were in the area
during that battle. Then I got lucky. On the day that Barnowski
disappeared from his unit, a report was filed that the body of
a German colonel, an SS colonel, was found in the area. He
was identified as Waffen SS Colonel Wilhelm Hendricks, a
Nazi of very high stature and a man who was extremely close
to Hitler himself."
Now ben Kagan reached over and touched Peter's arm,
interrupting him.

RED DEVIL
209
"Wilhelm Hendricks, you say? He is one of those still on
the top of the Mossad list.''
"Well, you may remove him, General. He is dead."
"Please continue," asked Rabbi Zahor, now extremely
interested.
"I contacted our office in East Berlin, and while I flew
there, they dug up the files on Colonel Hendricks."
Peter reached into his attache case and took out a folder.
He passed a large black and white photograph across the table
to Rabbi Abraham. He held another in his hand.
"That is the enhanced photograph of Nickolai Valarian.
This," he said as he passed the second photograph to the
rabbi, "is an enhanced photograph of the infamous SS Colo-
nel Hendricks."
The other rabbis leaned toward Rabbi Abraham and exam-
ined the pictures.
"It is the same man," said Rabbi Abraham slowly.
"The German is bumed, just like Valarian," commented
Rabbi Zahor.
"May I see those?" asked ben Kagan. The photos were
passed to him, and he studied them carefully.
"Yes," he said, "I would say the resemblance is uncanny.
But many people look alike."
Peter was not happy with ben Kagan's skepticism, but he
continued with his story.
"Not only do the two men resemble each other, but their
stories are strangely similar. Valarian was found badly wounded
with bums near Volgograd. We don't know exactly where,
but let us assume it was near the bunker. His records begin
there. There is no record of the man before that time. Suppos-
edly all his records were destroyed in the fires in Leningrad.
Colonel Hendricks, also badly bumed, was from Mainz, in
West Germany, or so the records say. He received his bums
in quite a different place. The SS records show that he was in
combat in Turkey during World War One and was found
wounded and bumed near the city of Istanbul. The German
officers ran the Turkish Army, but when the war in Europe
went against them, they pulled all of their officers out of
Turkey. Hendricks was one of those officers—but his records
in Mainz were destroyed by a fire in the city hall. So, like
Valarian, his life begins for us when he is returned from
Turkey badly wounded and bumed. His rise with Hitler is

210
David Saperstein
documented, and his anti-Semitic activities are well known.
Coincidence, General ben Kagan?"
The Mossad chief shrugged. Peter smiled. He now reached
into his attache case and withdrew still another photograph.
He passed it to Arie, who examined it and passed it on to
Rabbi Abraham. It too was an enhanced photo. The rabbi
who sat to the left of Rabbi Abraham took it and lifted it close
to his face. He peered into the picture, then looked down the
table at Somoroff and put the photo down. But he said
nothing.
"Who do you think that is?" Peter asked aloud.
"It is Valarian," said ben Kagan. He stood and placed the
new photo next to the picture of Valarian. "See, the face is
the same."
"No," said Rabbi Abraham, "I would say it is Hendricks.
Look at the eyes and the scar on the nostrils. It is the
German?" He looked to Peter for confirmation.
"It is neither!" said Peter firmly. He reached across the
table and placed the three pictures side by side facing Rabbi
Abraham.
"Gentlemen, no matter what you may think of the KGB,
and I make no excuses, some of us are just ordinary police-
men. I have been called a boring, plodding detective many
times. But that training is extremely useful."
He reached into his attache case and removed a small
notebook, opening it and checking some notes.
"When you have a difficult case, the first thing you look
for are consistencies. Facts that appear and reappear. They
are the best link to the truth. Here I have a Soviet named
Valarian who is burned and without any previous record." He
pointed to the photo of Valarian.
"Here I have Hendricks, who was killed near the place that
Valarian first appears . . . according to the record." He
pointed to the photo of Hendricks.
"And here," he said, pointing to the third photo, "we
have not Valarian, General ... not Hendricks, Rabbi Abra-
ham ... but General Mustafa Ismet Bayar, adviser to Abdul-
Hamid the Second and Mehmed the Fifth, rulers of the Ottoman
Empire. He was a butcher, responsible for the brutal slaughter
of Serbians, Bulgarians, Russians, and along with them, as
many Jews as he could lay his hands on."
"How do you know this?" asked a stunned ben Kagan.

RED DEVIL
211
Before Peter could answer, the rabbi who had closely
examined the photo spoke.
"Because, as Colonel Somoroff told us, he is a detective. I
will venture a guess that this General Bayar was killed near
the place where the burned young Hendricks was found."
"In the same building in Istanbul, Rabbi," answered Peter.
Satisfaction filled his voice.
"And the picture?" asked Rabbi Abraham.
"Once you know what you are looking for, once a pattern
emerges, the rest is easy. It took three days for our embassy
in Turkey to supply it. While they searched, I began to track
down the history of General Bayar. Do any of you want to
guess what I found?"
The rabbi on Abraham's left spoke again. His name was
Rabbi Malachi.
"Of course you found that he was also burned in war and
that no previous record existed."
"Exactly. He supposedly came from the seaport of Izmir.
But there I lost track of his history."
"Where was he found burned?" asked Rabbi Zahor.
"That is the problem. His family were sea captains. Ship
owners of some kind. The records are very bad. He arrived in
Izmir aboard a Syrian ship in or about 1863. The ship was
called the Tortus. It was a merchant vessel, but I believe it
was a slaver—a ship that carried slaves to America."
"America?" Rabbi Zahor whispered. "Can you trace it?"
"Do you think it is necessary, Rabbi Zahor?" Peter asked.
Rabbi Abraham spoke. "No, Colonel Somoroff. I do not
believe it is necessary. In any case I am sure that you will
find a similar circumstance regarding the birth of Mustafa
Ismet Bayar, but I doubt if there will be any photographs.
You have made your point, and you have made it well. Is
there anything else you have to say?"
Peter reached over and picked up the leather bag he had
carried. He carefully opened the drawstring and removed an
object wrapped in burlap. He gently placed the burlap on the
table and unfolded the cloth. From within the folds he removed
two pieces of shiny mahogany. He placed them side by side
in front of the rabbis. On each was a small mark, an impression
in the wood, much like a seal in wax.
"I went to Mainz and tracked down Wilhelm Hendricks's
house. It had survived the bombing of World War Two and is

212
David Saperstein
now owned by a very nice automobile salesman and his
family. They have completely redecorated. Actually the house
has been occupied by several different families since the war.
Still, I am a detective, so I asked if I could have a look
around. It took more than an hour, but I found one of these
marks in the wood over the door that supposedly led to the
colonel's bedroom. The people were kind enough to let me
remove the section of wood. The other piece comes from the
doorway of General Bayar's bedroom in Izmir. That house is
also intact. It was luck."
Rabbi Asher reached for one of the pieces of wood. He
passed it to Vogel. The other rabbis examined the mark very
carefully, muttering to each other in Hebrew as it went from
hand to hand.
"Do you know what this is?" asked Rabbi Levi Lemach
ben Abraham.
"Yes. I have seen it before," answered Somoroff.
"Where?" The old man leaned forward, and Peter sensed
that he had come to a critical juncture in the meeting. He took
the piece of wood from Rabbi Vogel, placing it in front of
him and taking one last look at it before he answered. The
mark was worn, but there was no mistaking its form—clearly
the outline of a dragon, a Chinese dragon, impressed into the
wood. It was the same dragon he had seen carved into the
jade and silver ring that Valarian wore.
"Valarian wears this symbol on a ring."
"Where does he wear this ring?" the old rabbi asked.
"On his right hand, middle finger."
"Ahhhh." Rabbi Abraham sighed. He leaned back in his
chair, folded his hands in his lap, and closed his eyes. His
head nodded slowly. The others watched him intensely. Peter
felt his heart skip several beats. Then Rabbi Abraham opened
his eyes and reached his hand across the table to Peter Somoroff.
"You are a brave man, Colonel Somoroff, and a most
intelligent one, too. Come with me, please."
The old man stood, took a lamp again from the wall, and led
Peter through the door out into a hallway. The others all remained
behind. Peter stayed close behind the rabbi, who led the way up
a flight of stairs to the second floor of the temple. They then
walked down another hallway and stopped in front of a large,
heavy mahogany door. The old man reached under his cloak
and removed an ancient key, which he used to unlock the door.

RED DEVIL
213
The room was dark. Rabbi Abraham moved carefully with
the lamp in front of him after telling Peter to remain near the
door. He lit three oil lamps in the front of the small room.
Peter's eyes adjusted slowly to the new light, which was
brighter than the lamp that the rabbi held.
"Come over to me," commanded Rabbi Abraham.
As he walked toward the bright lamps, his eyes caught
sight of a glittering object below them. Nearing the rabbi,
Peter saw a cluster of jewels, spread out on a table that was
covered with fine white cloth. As he came closer he saw that
the jewels were set into what appeared to be a breastplate
made of hammered gold. He stopped next to the rabbi and
beheld a large table on which were spread various robes,
miters, jeweled clasps, gold chains, and ornaments. It was a
spectacular sight. The robes were blue and purple, made with
intricate craftsmanship. Other pieces were scarlet, and still
others brilliant white and deep blue, edged with gold thread.
The rabbi looked at Peter. "No outsider has ever seen this
before. It is our greatest treasure and, we believe, a gift from
God, Holiness unto Him."
"What is it all?"
"Have you ever read the Bible, Colonel Somoroff?"
"Long ago. The New Testament, but I don't remember
anything."
The rabbi led Peter to a wooden stand, upon which a large
and very old Bible rested. Rabbi Abraham opened the book to
Exodus Chapter 28. The words appeared to be hand-lettered
in Hebrew; actually, as Peter learned later, they were Aramaic.
"Let me translate this for you. Hold the lamp for me,
please."
The rabbi's finger moved across the words as he translated
them into English. He spoke slowly, with a deep, rich voice.
"And take thou unto thee Aaron thy brother, and his sons
with him, from among the children of Israel, that he may
minister unto me in the priest's office, even Aaron Nadab and
Abihu, Eleazer and Ithamar, Aaron's sons. And thou shalt make
holy garments for Aaron thy brother for glory and for beauty.''
Rabbi Abraham went on to read the incredibly detailed
instructions for fashioning Aaron's garments and breastplate—
meticulously laid out in that ancient holy book. Peter stood
throughout it all, completely enthralled.
Finally, the rabbi closed the book slowly, then bent and

kissed the ancient cover. He straightened up and turned to
Peter Somoroff.
"That is the word of God, praised be His name forever and
ever, as He gave it unto Moses and the children of Israel. We
are those children. . . . We are Israel today, risen out of the
ashes once again."
He moved past Peter back toward the table that held the
marvelous breastplate and garments. Now Peter saw all of
those things that the Bible spoke of, and he was amazed that
he remembered each and every item. There was the miter
with the plate of pure gold, inscribed in Hebrew and set on
blue lace. The breastplate contained twelve gemstones, each
different, each meticulously inscribed with Hebrew writing.
"The copies are exact, Rabbi Abraham. Just like it said in
the Bible."
The tall old man looked down at Peter with a smile. His
hands touched his long white beard. He stroked it.
"But, Colonel Somoroff, you miss the point. These are not
copies. These are the originals."
His hand pointed toward the ceiling in a gesture of victory.
"But how?" asked Peter.
"By the grace of God, and a brilliant archaeologist named
Sholem Asher."
Peter felt understanding growing in him, but the rabbi was
not yet finished. He guided Peter to the far wall and held the
lamp up to it. There he saw row upon row of symbols, above
the numerical acrostic that Rabbi Vogel had drawn upon
Misha Karkov's head in Lubyanka. To the left of the sym-
bols, in a box surrounded by a rainbow of brilliant colors,
was the Chinese dragon, an exact copy of those on the wood
he had removed from the Nazi's door frame and the Turkish
general's house. But this dragon was carved in a piece of
jade, just like Valarian's ring.
^XM^ZXtVJVXX
214
David Saperstein

37
The great doors of the hall were closed and the Council of
Ministers of the Supreme Soviet was officially in session.
This was a special meeting called by the General Secretary of
the Party Marshall Malenkov, and although Premier Alexeyevich
objected privately to the other ministers, he was unable to
overrule Malenkov's request.
Ivan Alexeyevich counted his support around the large
square table. He knew he would lose the day. The corpulent
general secretary wasted no time in getting down to business.
It had all been planned the day before when he met with
Nickolai Valarian at GRU headquarters. The marshall had
adjusted to his master quickly. The rewards were most plea-
surable. He reveled in his new-found power. But he also
understood that the master could punish as intensely as he
could reward.
"The business of this meeting," he began, "is simple, and
I might add, long overdue. We all mourn the loss of our
comrade, Boris Menoff, and the untimely death of his wife.
He will always be remembered for his great contributions to
our nation. But his ministry is unfilled, and we must get on
with the business of guiding the Soviet Union's glorious
destiny."
The premier observed his adversary with great interest.
Something about him was different, changed. It was subtle,
yet it was there. He wondered if the other ministers noticed it
too. Malenkov seemed younger, stronger. His aging skin
looked smoother and firmer. His eyes, lately milky with age,
were now clear and intense. Malenkov stared at the premier
215

216
David Saperstein
as he spoke, and Alexeyevich was forced to look away from
his gaze.
"My recommendation is therefore that we now appoint a
new Minister of the Interior. I wish to nominate Colonel
Nickolai Valarian, Chief of Security and Records, GRU, and
a hero of the Soviet Union. May I have your comments?"
The first to speak was General Josef Porikin, head of the
KGB. He was Peter Somoroff s superior and an old friend of
Premier Alexeyevich.
"Marshall Malenkov, with all respect, this post has always
been the province of the KGB. I am familiar with Colonel
Valarian, and although I respect his zeal and efficiency, I feel
he is not the caliber of man to sit on this august council."
"Thank you," said Malenkov, immediately ignoring
Porikin's remarks. "Does anyone else have a comment?"
Premier Alexeyevich waited for a moment, hoping that one
of the other ministers would speak out. No one did. Malenkov
had them in his pocket. The battle was lost before it began,
but before giving up, the premier decided to go on the record
against Valarian.
"I have a few words to say on this matter, Comrades," he
began, "and I hope that you will weigh my words carefully.
With all respect to my old and dear friend, Marshall Malenkov,
I too must disagree with his choice for this most critical
position. I stress critical, because we must face the fact that
the world is changing rapidly and our adversaries grow bolder
every day. This ministry in times past was totally involved
with the internal affairs of our great country. What it did was
not seen by the outside world. Today things are different. No
matter how we try, the world watches us and knows what is
happening inside our borders. Dissidents arise at every turn.
The population demands more goods and services; they are
aware of the living standards of other nations, especially in
America and western Europe. We are watched and scruti-
nized. To appoint Valarian is to wave a bloody flag at our
enemies and give them grist for their propaganda mills. I
speak mostly of his brutal treatment of Soviet Jews. The
American press has had a steady flow of information about
him, and in my opinion his appointment would signal that we
condone the oppression he advocates."
His words fell heavily upon the meeting. Their impact was
solid and sensible to many of the rulers of the USSR.

RED DEVIL
217
Malenkov sat unmoved.
"Premier Alexeyevich, I respect your opinion. But I dis-
agree for exactly the reasons you have just stated. I am tired
of having the western nations, and especially America, dictate
policy in this room. They are our enemy. Have we forgotten
Premier Khrushchev's promise to bury them? Have we grown
soft and afraid of our own beliefs?"
The big man slammed his fist down on the table, shaking it
and spilling several water glasses nearby.
"I am fed up with this business. It is time that we assert
ourselves again. No one objected when we dealt with the
Czechs or the Hungarians or the Poles. There was no disaster
when we extracted our price from the Americans in Vietnam.
When we roared into Afghanistan the world squeaked back at
us. What we do inside our own country is really of little
consequence to the capitalists. They are too busy looking
after their own interests."
"We have heard this argument many times in this room,
Marshall Malenkov," answered Alexeyevich. "But you ig-
nore the truth when you disregard our dependence on their
technology, their wheat, their money. The world grows smaller.
We cannot hide behind our borders when it is convenient."
Malenkov stood at the end of the table opposite the pre-
mier. The rotund man seemed taller than usual. His presence
loomed over the entire assembly. He spoke slowly, with a
menacing tone in his voice.
"We have never hidden, Comrade Alexeyevich. But our
business is just that, our business. A man of Valarian's
strength is just what we need to move away from this obscene
dependence you speak about. I for one deny it. I refuse to
have it direct our destiny. It is time that we assert ourselves to
the full measure of our potential. I curse this policy of
appeasement, and I curse those who would lie down and have
us surrender our destiny."
He sat down facing the premier and folded his meaty arms
across his chest in defiance.
Ten minutes later Nickolai Valarian became the Minister of
the Interior of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics—and
moved one step closer to the chaos he had preordained.
Malenkov called Valarian personally and, in the presence of
the Council, congratulated and welcomed him. As Malenkov

218
David Saperstein
walked from the meeting room, he experienced his master's
reward pulsing through his body. Ecstasy filled his senses.
Rabbi Posner was near death. The GRU major stood over
him defiantly.
"There are many places left on your body to cause you
more pain, Jew," Major Metsky said. "Many more places. I
will continue, or you can die now in peace. The choice is
yours."
His words sounded far away to Posner, as if in an echo
chamber. He wanted no more pain. His will to resist was
gone.
"What do you want?" he whispered.
"Where are they going in Israel? Who are they going to
see?"
"Don't know . . . Vogel used . . . Kemiot . . . spoke of
Zefat . . . Kemiot . . ."
"What is Kemiot?"
"To the old ones . . . Hassidim . . . from ben Zimrah . . .
please ... no more . . ."
Metsky felt Valarian call, and he left Posner bleeding on
the floor of the damp cell. He slammed the door, putting the
room into total darkness. The rabbi tried to drag himself to
the cot but was unable to move. He felt a sensation growing
in his chest. It became intense rapidly. Pains shot through his
left arm and leg. His back arched.
"Oh ... oh ..." he gasped, feeling his heart beating
wildly. "God forgive me," he muttered. "Shema Yisraeil:
Adonai Eloheinu . . . Adonai ..."
His heart stopped and he died.
After Metsky delivered Posner's words to Valarian, the
colonel dismissed him. There was much to do. Marshall
Malenkov had told him of General Porikin's objection to his
nomination. Valarian was now Porikin's superior insofar as
KGB operations within the Soviet Union were concerned. But
before he dealt with the KGB chief, he had to know what
Somoroff had accomplished in Israel. He contacted Achmed
Sharit in Acre immediately. The old Arab was delighted at
being able to serve his master so soon after the failure of the
attack on Ginnosar.
"You will go to Zefat, to the place of the old Jews of

RED DEVIL
219
Zimrah. Tell me if Somoroff is there. Find out all you can.
Kill him if you can."
Valarian had two disciples outside the Soviet Union. Achmed
Sharit had been in the holy land for a very long time. A
disciple was always kept there since the days of Rabbi Jesus
and his confrontation with a prince of darkness. It was a
troublesome place for Valarian. He needed eyes there at all
times.
Sharit was uneasy when he heard that he must go to Zefat.
He had been in the city before, and it caused him great
discomfort. Something had existed in Zefat in the last few
years that was most disturbing. He was weak and unsure of
himself in Zefat. But his master commanded. There was no
alternative but to obey.
"I will be there before dawn, Master. I know the place of
the Zimrah."
"Contact me as soon as you know anything," said Valarian.
He broke off the contact with a small reward for Sharit. Then
he placed a call to General Porikin and requested that the
KGB chief visit him that afternoon. When the general begged
a delay due to illness in his family, Valarian insisted that the
matter to be discussed was far more important than Porikin's
domestic problems, causing the general to feel hatred for
Valarian. It was exactly what the new minister wanted Porikin
to feel. It would make their confrontation more agitated, and
that meant the general would be more easily controlled by
Valarian's will.
The KGB chief was in Valarian's office within an hour. It
was his first visit to the newly appointed minister's sanctuary.
"You should speak to the building superintendent," Porikin
suggested after greetings had been exchanged. "I'm sure they
can supply more heat to this office."
"The temperature is exactly the way I want it, General,"
Valarian answered.
"To each his own, Commissar. Now what can I do for
you?" There was sarcasm in his voice.
"A few small but nevertheless important matters concern-
ing the operations of the KGB."
"I am sure that you understand, Colonel Valarian," the
general replied quickly, "that the affairs of the KGB are
totally under my jurisdiction. I report to the premier directly."
"Yes, of course, General. I am only concerned with the

220
David Saperstein
operations as they apply internally to the Soviet Union. Those
operations are under my jurisdiction, as I understand my
duties."
"What operations concern you?" The general was curt.
Valarian smiled and leaned forward in his chair, placing his
scarred hands palm down on the shiny desk.
"Please understand, General Porikin, that I am not a politi-
cian. I am a soldier accustomed to taking and giving orders
and carrying out my duties as efficiently as possible. I under-
stand that certain members of the Council of Ministers were
. . . shall we say . . . opposed to my appointment to this
post. That is understandable, and I bear no malice toward this
opposition. I am informed that even our great premier had
reservations about me."
General Porikin was surprised at the reasonable tone of
Valarian's voice, but he remained wary, knowing full well
the sadistic reputation he enjoyed.
"That is to be expected, as you say. Now what operations
of the KGB concern you?"
Valarian slid a folder containing a computer printout from
the narrow center drawer of his desk. He opened the folder
and pretended to read the printout for a moment. After several
seconds had passed he looked up at General Porikin.
"I am aware that the KGB maintains a wing of Lubyanka
under its total control. I wish that control to be transferred to
my ministry today."
"That wing is used strictly for international purposes,
Colonel."
"And if I could prove to you that what you say is not the
case?"
"That is not possible."
"Ah, General, but I have proof that it is not only possible,
but that it is being used to subvert the policies of our
government!"
His words were strong and threatening.
"I will look into the matter immediately. Is there anything
else?"
"Yes, General Porikin. Are you familiar with the activities
of . . ."—Valarian looked at the printout once again—"of a
Colonel Somoroff?"
"I am. He is in charge of the Moscow Bureau of the KGB

RED DEVIL
221
and certain international assignments that I am not free to
discuss."
"With Israel?"
Porikin was stunned.
"Israel? What the hell are you talking about?"
Valarian stood and leaned across the desk, pointing a finger
at the powerful general.
"I have no interest in your activities outside the Soviet
Union, General Porikin. Not yet anyway. But if I were you I
would have a meeting with Premier Alexeyevich as soon as
possible and pose the question to him."
Valarian sat down and put the file away. He reached for his
communications console and buzzed his secretary.
"I expect to take control of the Lubyanka wing tomorrow
morning. My men will be there at eight am. If Colonel
Somoroff's visit to Israel is international KGB business, then
it is not my affair. I will inform the Council of Ministers of
this adventure in any case, because I believe they have the
right to know that someone in our government is carrying on
relations with a sworn enemy of the Soviet Union. Good
afternoon."'
An hour later General Porikin left the premier's office in a
state of shock. As much as he admired and supported Ivan
Ivanovich Alexeyevich, he was certain that the man had lost
his senses. He could not deny Valarian access to Lubyanka.
The premier told him that he was unable to move against
Valarian until Peter Somoroff returned from Israel. All that
the general could do was to warn Major Rosteveli. The
premier had begged him to lend the operations whatever
support he could, but only with unofficial sanction. It was
completely off the record. Porikin liked Somoroff. He had
also been a good friend of Boris Menoff. He left the Kremlin
and instructed his driver to go directly to Lubyanka. Major
Rosteveli had a great deal of explaining to do in the next few
hours.
As he left the Kremlin walls behind he did not notice the
dark blue Skoda, driven by Valya Pemick, following him.

38
For centuries Zefat was predominately an Arab city. During
the war of independence for the State of Israel, it was a bitter
battleground. The Israelis prevailed after a long conflict.
It is in a beautiful part of Galilee. The spectacular light, a
strong blue-white, has made it a mecca for artists and crafts-
men of all types. But Zefat is also a city of mystical heritage.
It is an ancient city, said to be one of the holiest places in
Israel, and a center of learning for centuries. The modern
code of Jewish law, Shulhan Aruk, was written in Zefat by
Joseph Caro. In the sixteenth century it was the home of the
Kabbalists, led by the famous Rabbi Hayyim ben Joseph
Vital. Here art and mysticism blend against a background of
tourists enjoying the climate and beauty of the city.
Achmed Sharit parked his old Chevy in the municipal lot
near the entrance to the old part of Zefat. It was morning. He
appeared to be an average tourist, wearing walking shorts and
a straw hat with his hair tucked under, clean-shaven, with the
ever-present 35 millimeter camera slung around his neck. He
wore a blue denim shirt and matching blue jogging shoes. At
first glance he was just another schoolteacher or businessman
on holiday. For several minutes he lingered near the tourist
information booth, examining brochures and clicking photo-
graphs of the nearby buildings. Then he sauntered slowly
toward the narrow street and entered the old city.
Rabbi Abraham and Peter Somoroff had returned to the
conference room and continued their discussion throughout
the night. Questions had been answered, schedules discussed
222

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223
and revised, plans drawn and confirmed. Rabbi Abraham
announced that he was convinced of the validity of Somoroff's
story and Boris Menoff's suspicions. The rabbis then said a
prayer for the departed Menoffs and, with Peter's permission,
another for his son. Afterward, Peter asked the first question.
"Can you identify which of the spirits is Valarian?" he
asked, gesturing to the columns of names on the walls.
"Not with certainty," answered Rabbi Abraham. "The
ring is a clue that he may be one of the subprinces, and if that
is the case we must be very careful because then we are
dealing with a very powerful spirit. There are eight subprinces,
and they serve the highest of the fallen angels."
"Fallen angels?" questioned Peter.
"Archangels. There are four of them—Lucifer, Leviathan,
Satan, and Belial. The subprinces, two at a time, serve these
dark and fallen archangels. Lucifer is served by Astarot and
Oriens, Leviathan is served by Magot and Piamon, Satan by
Asmodeus and Ariton, and Belial by Beelzebub and Amaimon."
As he spoke, Rabbi Abraham pointed out each name to Peter
where they were listed on the walls above and below the
acrostics.
"Could it be that Valarian is one of the archangels?" Peter
asked.
Rabbi Zahor drew in his breath and muttered a silent
prayer. Rabbi Abraham's voice dropped an octave lower than
normal, and it sounded cold.
"Pray with all your might that such a thing is not true. To
confront one of those cursed spirits is to stand at the very
brink of iniquity. It is to look into damnation itself and see
the awesome power of God, may His name be blessed forever
and ever."
All in the room muttered, "Amen."
"Then how will you know which of these is Valarian?
There are hundreds on these walls." Peter was lost in a world
he didn't comprehend.
Rabbi Abraham spoke patiently to the Soviet. "The mark
on Misha Karkov's shoulder you spoke about, the red triangle
with the backward C, is a clue. From Rabbi Vogel's descrip-
tion of his contact, although Vogel is not trained, I believe we
can eliminate those who serve the archangel Lucifer. He is
always associated with light and fire. I have heard nothing of
flames or heat in your story. As a matter of fact you said that

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David Saperstein
Valarian's office was a very cold place. So I think we can
count Lucifer's followers out of our contemplations. Levia-
than's, too, do not fit into the mold of the man you have
described. He is a creature of the sea and water, of flood and
famine. That leaves the followers of Satan and Belial to
consider."
"Does it matter which one?" Peter asked naively.
Rabbi Zahor smiled and answered. "It matters a great deal.
These archangels have experienced God's wrath, blessed be
His name forever, because each has defied the Lord's word
and commandment. Each has been given a different punish-
ment for falling from His grace. The powers granted to the
fallen archangels, their subprinces, and their servants are only
granted by God's grace, blessed is He."
"I don't understand," interrupted Peter. "How can God
grant them power if he has cast them out? It doesn't make
sense."
"Colonel," Rabbi Malachi's tone was tutorial, "no matter
who has controlled this land, our temple has been in Zefat for
more than five hundred years. In that time we have learned
that man's assessment of what makes sense, and God's as-
sessment, may He reign forever, are two different matters.
The very name Israel means God strives. We do not question
His ways, blessed is He, but yearn only to understand what
He wishes to reveal and act upon what He guides us to. Can
you understand that?"
Peter just spread his hands, acquiescing to the rabbi's
words, which he had no background to deny. It was beyond
his grasp.
"Let me explain it in a different way," said Rabbi Abra-
ham patiently. "In this house, this temple, are records dating
back more than four thousand years. We study them every
day and ponder their meaning. It has been the work of our
temple for centuries, always against the background of our
devotion to God and to His law. Since creation, many have
fallen from God's grace. Their souls have been cast to the
fallen archangels, bound forever to do their bidding. But
all—all that occurs in heaven and on earth—all is under the
direction and plan of the Lord, blessed is He. The fact that He
has placed evil and temptation before us is not a new thought
or fact. The definition of what is evil has always been the
province of man upon earth. We can only ponder right and

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225
wrong and remain pure and true to the laws that God has
given. The doubters can ask, who says that God gave us these
laws? Prove it to me. We cannot prove it in the modern
sense. It requires an act of faith. Without that faith, any
definition of good and evil is impossible. We, as Jews, have
kept a faith we believe is true and acted upon it. We have
never attempted to convert others to our beliefs. We have
paid dearly in blood for our faith. Yet we prevail. We sur-
vive. That is witness enough for us. We pray continually that
God, may His name be blessed forever, will someday reveal
Himself to the world and pass His word to all. Until that time
we can only remain constant in our devotion and steadfast in
our belief. We do not ask the world to follow us, but from
time to time, as you are a witness, some have come seeking
our help."
Peter nodded, knowing that he was the only non-Jew in the
room. How much had he missed, he wondered, in casting out
thoughts of God and religion in return for the Soviet state?
"What will happen now?" Peter asked, accepting their
statements.
"We will need some time to identify the spirit that is
Valarian and to prepare Rabbi Asher for his journey to the
Soviet Union. You can return to Tel Aviv and make your
arrangements for the trip with our most able General ben
Kagan and his organization."
It was to be Rabbi Sholem Asher who would confront
Valarian and deal with the spirit that inhabited that body. Any
one of the five older rabbis would have been able to perform
this function, but because of the arduous journey and the
physical stamina required in the process, a younger man
would better serve the cause. Part of Asher's daily life was to
keep himself prepared to perform the rites that were needed to
confront the fallen spirits. This meant physical fitness, piety
and prayer, and strict adherence to the commandments and
Talmudic law. But Asher also held a special place in the
temple founded by Rabbi David ben Zimrah four centuries
ago because he had discovered some of its most cherished
artifacts, the robes and breastplate and miter of Aaron.
Nowhere in the world does a more intricate and frustrating
road map to the past exist than in Israel. More than a map, an
entire book, the Holy Bible, is filled with places and events

226
David Saperstein
that actually existed and happened in this diminutive country.
So much to explore in so small a space. Yet the surface has
hardly been scratched. Over the centuries, destruction, loot-
ing, and foreign occupation have desecrated many of the
places and turned biblical history to dust. The constant trans-
lation and retranslation of biblical text has obfuscated true
meaning and design. Only with the discovery of the famous
Dead Sea Scrolls were the students of the Bible able to begin
to reconstruct the actual map of the ancient land. Rabbi Asher
was one of those scholars, who centered his efforts in particu-
lar on the elusive travels of Aaron, brother of Moses and the
acknowledged first priest of the nation of the Israelites after
their escape from years of bondage in Egypt. It was Aaron
and the sons of Aaron, of the tribe of Levi, who were the
priests of the new nation. The priestly clothes, breastplate,
and miter, as described in the Book of Exodus, were lost at
the time of the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonian
king, Nebuchadnezzar. They never surfaced after that. After
the Six-Day War, Israeli troops occupied all of Jerusalem for
the first time since the tiny state was born, and the Jews were
in total control of their most holy place. Sholem Asher led
one of the first archaeological teams into the city and person-
ally supervised the careful restoration of the famous Western
Wall, all that was left of the previously destroyed Temple of
Solomon.
Six years after the occupation of the old city, Asher began
a dig near the base of the wall. The exact spot was deter-
mined from records discovered in Crete and Tyre regarding
the famous temple. These little-known military records were
part of a naval log kept by the Greek admiral Theacus, whose
job it was to keep Alexander the Great's Army supplied
during the long Mideast campaign of conquest. The place of
the dig had been a supply depot. Asher hoped to find rem-
nants of Greek occupation. Some were found, but the most
extraordinary find was a tunnel that wound under the old
temple grounds and out toward the Moslem holy place known
as the Dome of the Rock. Its existence was kept secret for six
months while Asher and his crew of students carefully exca-
vated as much of the tunnel as they could without causing a
disastrous cave-in. Their digging came to an abrupt halt when
they discovered they were directly below the famous Moslem
shrine. In fact, had they continued, it was believed they

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227
would have caused the collapse of the mosque that shelters
the Rock, from which it is said Muhammad ascended to
heaven. Some also believe it is the sacrificial rock upon
which the patriarch Abraham was to sacrifice his only son
Isaac when the Lord tested his faith.
It was on the last day of their dig, when the tunnel was to
be sealed, that Rabbi Sholem Asher discovered a chamber
revealed by workmen installing support beams. The discovery
was made in the late afternoon. Rabbi Asher was the only
member of the archaeological team on the site at that time.
When he realized what the chamber contained he emptied the
tunnel of all the workers. Then he quickly sent word to three
of his most trusted assistants, who were at the dig in twenty
minutes. It took several hours to prepare the discovery for
shipment, but Sholem knew what he had found was of great
importance to the rabbis at Zefat. The entire chamber was
emptied and crated by only four people, Asher and the stu-
dents. They brought the crates out of the tunnel that night and
drove directly to Zefat. Fortunately for Asher, Israel was
engaged in the Yom Kippur War at the time, and though he
drove the treasure out of Jerusalem under the watchful eyes of
Israeli soldiers, it was never searched, nor was his trip to
Zefat questioned. By giving the vestments to the rabbis,
Sholem Asher had supplied a most powerful tool for their
work. Rabbi Levi Lemach ben Abraham felt it was certainly
God's design that one of their own, namely Rabbi Asher, had
made the discovery. Now the priestly garb, so carefully de-
signed as commanded by God, was in the hands of the people
who knew its meaning and how to use it.
The five rabbis, Asher, Vogel, ben Kagan, and Peter com-
pleted their meeting and retired outside to an inner patio for
breakfast. Peter and Arie would drive Rabbi Vogel back to
Kibbutz Ginnosar where they would call Mossad headquarters
and request a helicopter pickup. Peter was surprised at his
appetite, thinking that the night's excitement would make it
impossible to eat. He ate three eggs and toast and drank local
fresh-squeezed orange juice and several cups of coffee. He sat
with Rabbi Abraham, listening as the old man talked about
the early origins of their belief and how the sect came into
existence, about the ridicule and persecution they received,
even from other Jews, and about a few triumphs over the dark
spirits that they had enjoyed. Their greatest excitement had

228
David Saperstein
come with the discovery of Aaron's garments. Rabbi Abra-
ham believed that they were sent to them at that special time
for a definite purpose. He quietly informed Peter Somoroff
that he believed this was the time, especially if the spirit was
a subprince. The priestly garments of Aaron would drive
Valarian from the Soviet Union. "But can they never be
destroyed?" questioned Peter.
"When it comes to the will of God, blessed be He, we
cannot use the word never. Our judgment, according to the
ancient writings, is that God has put the archangels of dark-
ness and their servant spirits in our midst for His own pur-
poses. Only He may destroy them. Remember that at one
time, so it is written, they were close to Him and were
numbered among his most faithful servants. Their ways are
their punishment. We can only be God's instruments on
earth—" The old man was about to continue when something
stopped him in midsentence. He shuddered. Rabbi Zahor
stood at the far end of the patio, poised to move like a cat.
Rabbi Malachi was also on his feet and alert. The youngest
rabbi, David Hashomer, and the fifth one, Rabbi Solomon
ben Levi, also stood, their faces turned in the direction of the
street beyond the patio wall.
"What is it?" asked Peter of General ben Kagan.
"I don't know. They all felt something at the same time,"
he answered, then got to his feet and touched Rabbi Asher on
the shoulder.
"What is it, Sholem?"
Asher raised his hand, gesturing to Arie to be silent. Only
the sounds of a few songbirds and the faint noise of the
distant city traffic echoed inside the patio walls. Rabbi Abra-
ham motioned to Solomon ben Levi and David Hashomer.
Both rabbis acknowledged his unspoken command and left
the patio quickly. Rabbi Abraham gestured to Rabbi Zahor,
and he too left, moving in the opposite direction through the
kitchen toward the street. Then Rabbi Abraham whispered
into Sholem Asher's ear, and he too quickly left the patio,
with Rabbi Vogel close behind. The old man gestured for
Peter and Arie to be seated. Rabbi Malachi remained stand-
ing. He positioned himself near the entrance to the patio and
blocked the doorway with his body and flowing robes by
stretching his arms outward. Then Rabbi Abraham sat down.
"Let us finish our breakfast," he said in a voice louder

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229
than usual. "We have a great deal of work to do in the next
few days."
Peter began to speak, but the rabbi put his finger to his
lips, telling Peter to be silent. He seemed to be counting to
himself. Arie looked at Peter and shrugged, not knowing
what was happening. Suddenly Rabbi Abraham was on his
feet, his hands outstretched, his face lifted toward the sky. As
he spoke Arie translated for Peter. It was an old prayer that
ben Kagan knew by heart, Isaiah 45:18.
"For thus saith the Lord that created the heavens; God
himself that formed the earth and made it; he hath established
it, he created it not in vain, he formed it to be inhabited: I am
the Lord; and there is none else. ... I am the Lord; and
there is none else. ... I am the Lord; and there is none
else. . . ."
He kept repeating the last line of the prayer over and over,
louder and louder.
Then Peter heard a yell of pain coming from the street
beyond the patio. A man was running and screaming. There
were sounds of a scuffle and more yelling. Then silence.
Rabbi Abraham relaxed and smiled, turning his head toward
Peter and Arie.
"Today is a wonderful day, my friends. God has sent us a
great gift. Let us have a look.''
He led them past Rabbi Malachi, back to the meeting
room. Ahead in the hallway, Peter saw the other rabbis firmly
holding a man who looked to be a tourist. Rabbi Zahor and
Rabbi Hashomer each held an arm, Rabbi ben Levi and Rabbi
Vogel each held a leg, and strangest of all, Rabbi Asher
gripped the man's mouth, his fingers spreading the jaws
open. Then Peter saw that the man's tongue was lashing
about Asher's hands. It was a long tongue, and each time it
struck Sholem it left a trail of blood oozing from the rabbi's
hands.
"What in God's name!" exclaimed ben Kagan as they
followed the group into the meeting room. The struggling
man was thrown on the table but still restrained. Rabbi Abra-
ham went immediately to the man's neck and ripped his shirt
away.
"Come over here, Colonel Somoroff. Look at this. God
has truly sent us a precious gift, and we know how to deal
with it, praised be His name!"

230
David Saperstein
There on the man's shoulder was the red arrowhead and
backward C, an exact duplicate of the mark Peter had seen on
Misha Karkov in Lubyanka.
"A disciple," he exclaimed. "You have caught a disciple."
"Yes. Do you know him?"
Peter studied the man carefully. He wanted to be sure.
"No," he said firmly. "I have never seen him before."
In the pause that followed, the man's tongue extended to an
impossible length, reaching for the mark on his shoulder.
Rabbi Abraham saw this and grabbed the tongue firmly in his
hand. It glowed and burned. Peter smelled burning flesh, but
the old man held on tightly.
"Malachi," he yelled. "Bring me the knife."
The fifth rabbi entered the room in a split second, his hand
fumbling under his robe. He ran toward Rabbi Abraham and
handed him a dagger. Peter noticed the now-familiar twelve
stones in the handle—like those of Aaron's breastplate—as
Rabbi Abraham gripped the knife and raised it above his
head. His other hand still held the prisoner's red-hot tongue.
"Thou has forgiven the iniquity of the people; thou hast
covered all their sins. Selah!"
He pulled the tongue upward, causing the man's head to
leave the table. It was incredibly long, over two feet. With
one swift motion Rabbi Abraham sliced through the fleshy
tongue near to the man's mouth. Blood gushed red, then it
became all colors of the rainbow, flowing onto the man's face
and then onto the table. The fluid glowed and sizzled as it
spread.
"That thy way may be known upon earth; thy health
among nations." Everyone in the room said a loud "Amen."
"Amen," said Peter, too.
In the GRU headquarters building across from Petrovisky
Park, Nickolai Valarian, newly appointed Minister of the
Interior of the Soviet Union, watched in horror as one of the
candles above him burned brighter than normal. The flame
shot up in the air, almost touching the ceiling. Blood dripped
slowly from his mouth onto the brilliant mahogany desk.
Then it began to gush and spurt, splattering onto the surface
in front of him. He could not control it. His mind and powers
were totally absorbed in the excruciating pain that emanated
from his mouth.

RED DEVIL
231
It stopped only when Rabbi Abraham in Zefat heated the
knife blade and cauterized the prisoner's wound. He did not
want the man to bleed to death. He had much use for a live
disciple, and Valarian knew that until Achmed Sharit was
dead, he would have no peace.

39
Tel Aviv is a modern city, a jewel set on the shore of the
Mediterranean. Several high-rise buildings, steel and glass,
soar skyward in the bright Middle-East sunlight. The Mossad,
Israel's fabled intelligence agency, occupies the top three
floors of one such building. It is the nerve center of one of the
finest intelligence-gathering organizations in the world. Sev-
eral times the American CIA and the British MI5 has been
indebted to the Mossad for hard information they were unable
to gather.
On the top floor of Mossad headquarters there are five
well-furnished apartments, as well as executive offices and
the high-tech communications center. It was here that Sasha
Andreyev, Anya Somoroff, and Leonid Chomsky stayed while
Somoroff was in Zefat. Sasha continued to receive medical
treatment for her wound, which had become infected. She
was confined to bed. Leonid spent a great deal of time with
her during those two days while they waited for Somoroff's
return. Anya was a different story. She was in love with
Michael Gross, and he was in love with her.
It was a new experience. Anya had been an exceptional
student in secondary school. She spent most of her free time
at the Polytechnic Museum, situated quite near Lubyanka on
the south side of Dzerzhinsky Square. After finishing second-
ary school with honors, and because her father was a high-
ranking official, she was chosen to attend the famous
Polytechnical Institute in Omsk. Her area of concentration
was chemistry with a minor program in solid-fuel rocket
engine design. All of her young life had been devoted to
232

RED DEVIL
233
science and the precise discipline that accompanies such work.
Love was a new sensation. She could not control her feelings
as she might control a laboratory experiment. The result was
a Ping-Pong effect where she constantly moved from deep
emotion to total rejection of her feelings. It was beginning to
wear her down.
Michael Gross, on the other hand, had been in love before.
Tragically, his first love, and wife, had been killed when her
truck, delivering vegetables from a kibbutz where they lived,
ran over a land mine. She was critically wounded but lingered
in the hospital for two weeks before dying. The experience
left Michael bitter and angry. Shortly after her death he
applied for active duty in the Army and was recruited by the
Mossad one year after that. He spoke several languages, a
natural talent that Mossad put to use immediately. They
taught him several more, enabling him to work in such di-
verse places as Algeria, South Africa, the Soviet Union, and
China. He was one of their top agents, but he also possessed
good managerial skills. This talent led General ben Kagan to
offer Gross the job of Assistant Manager of Operations. It
meant less travel. After all the years of dangerous living and
occasional killing, Michael jumped at the opportunity. The
pain of his wife's death had faded, leaving fond memories
and an occasional ache. A little-known fact about Michael
Gross's exploits on behalf of the Mossad was that despite his
youth and because of his fluency in Spanish, he became one
of the front men in the famous snatch of Adolf Eichmann in
Argentina.
Now he sat on Anya's bed, high above Tel Aviv, those
exploits far from his thoughts. He watched the lovely young
Soviet woman move from the window and sit in the armchair
next to a small telephone table.
"Can't you relax for a moment?" he asked in a soft voice.
"You keep moving around the room like an imprisoned
animal. What is it?"
Anya was not ready to tell him how she felt. She didn't
want to appear weak or dependent to the handsome Israeli.
Yet something inside cried out for her to embrace him and tell
him that she loved him. It was unbearable to the point of
distraction. Reaching for an answer to explain her nervous
state, she replied, "I'm just worried about my father."

234
David Saperstein
"He will be here soon. I sent a helicopter up to Galilee for
them. Relax, they are fine. They said it went very well."
She didn't respond but folded her hands in her lap and
nodded. A moment later she was on her feet again, walking
to the window. She watched the busy Tel Aviv traffic below
but saw nothing. Then she felt Michael standing behind her.
As he spoke she turned to look at him, not realizing he was
very close. Their bodies touched. She could not pull back
because she was against the window. He didn't give ground
either.
"Anya," he whispered, "why do you avoid me?"
Stunned by his tone, she pushed past him and moved to the
other side of the room.
"I'm not avoiding you. What makes you think I'm avoid-
ing you?"
"You keep running around this room like a rabbit. Stop for
a moment!"
Anya caught herself and made a conscious effort to calm
down. She sat on the bed, folding her hands in her lap.
"Michael, please sit down. You make me nervous."
"No," he answered, looming over her as he moved to her
side.
"I don't want to sit down."
"Michael, please!" she commanded.
"Okay, okay, I'll sit." He started to sit next to her.
"Not here. Go sit in the chair," she said, pointing to the
armchair.
"I sit on the bed, you sit in the chair . . . you sit on the
bed, I sit in the chair. What are we playing here, musical
chairs?" He laughed and sat in the chair.
"Okay. So now I am in the chair and you are on the bed.
Are you comfortable?"
"You are making fun of me. I don't like it," she answered.
He leaned forward, his large hands outstretched. "What do
you want, Anya? Can't you tell me?"
"What do you want?" she replied.
"To make love to you," he answered quickly and firmly.
She was shocked. She flushed with excitement. But she
was not angry.
"Ha." It sounded hollow and false. "What a thing to say.
It's so rude."
"What do you know about it? I say what I feel and you

RED DEVIL
235
laugh. Rude? You think it is rude to tell someone that I love
her?"
"You didn't say that. You said that you wanted to make
love to me."
"It's the same thing, little Russian."
"That's not the way I was taught!"
"So," he said, leaning back in the chair, "tell me what
you were taught. I can always learn. Israelis are a very
learning people."
"What can I tell you? Love is not just making love . . . it's
caring and working together for a goal. It's respect and
children. A home. Those things. Not just the bed."
"You do all this with a stranger?" he questioned.
"No, of course not. People have to get to know one
another. Have common interests. Common beliefs."
"Ah," he said, pointing his large index finger upward.
"Ah . . . now we are getting somewhere. It's because I said I
would have to kill your brother, may he rest in peace, if it
were necessary. You think we have little in common? That,
my dear Anya, is bullshit. Let me tell you about what I tried
to say on the beach the other day. I was talking about the
business of survival. It's a business everyone in this country
works very hard at—we have to, you know. Tell me, Anya,
those rocket engines you design in Omsk—are any of them
going to transport atomic bombs to Israel someday?"
"What are you talking about? What bombs?"
"The nuclear weapons that sit on top of your rockets. You
do design engines, don't you?"
"How do you know? Who told you that?" She was surprised.
"This is Israel, litile Anya, and you are sitting inside the
headquarters of the Mossad. Central intelligence, you know
about that. You should, your father is a big fan of ours."
"My father doesn't tell me his business."
"Well, his business is our business, and we have a very fat
file in the computer downstairs that tells me all about him and
his family . . . and what they do . . . and where they are. But
it doesn't tell me what they think or how beautiful they are
inside. You are beautiful inside, you know. And outside it
isn't too bad either. So that's who told me, a printout from a
computer."
"You think I'm beautiful inside?" she asked, her voice

236
David Saperstein
softening. "Even when I build rockets that could bring death
to your country?"
"That's something neither of us can do anything about.
Why don't we both stop talking about death and think a little
about life?" Michael pleaded.
Anya studied him, her large brown eyes examining his
rough face inch by inch. What did she feel for this man?
What was it about him that caused the lightness inside, the
rush of adrenaline, the shaking? Are you my love, she won-
dered? Can I be in love with you? You are almost twice my
age. As she thought and looked, he stood and came to the
bed. He was beside her before she realized it, his hand
outstretched to her.
"Anya," he was whispering again. "Anya. Stop being a
scientist for a moment. Stop being a Soviet for a moment. Let
me love you. Let us be human, nothing more."
Her hand touched his, and like a flower it was held in his
large petal-like fingers as they closed about hers. She was
lifted to her feet and engulfed in his embrace. His hands slid
up and held her head in a gentle cradle. She relaxed into
them, feeling their strength and warmth as they pulled her
mouth toward his. It was a soft, caring kiss, followed by a
longer, stronger kiss, which was followed by a passion that
she had only read about in novels her grandmother kept
secreted in the old breakfront in her room. Anya was Natasha
in War and Peace, swept into her forbidden lover's arms by
circumstances beyond their control. To hell with the world,
she thought, this is a man, my man, and he is now and with
me. And I will be with him.
Moments later they were in bed, lost within each other,
exploring new-found sensations of love.
"I have never done this," she whispered, her words com-
ing as she exhaled rapidly.
"And I have never done this with you either, Anya. But it
will be good, I promise you."
"I love you, Michael."
"And I love you," he answered, holding and touching her
gently, aware that this was her first experience and wanting it
to be perfect.
Perhaps perfection was not reached, he thought later, but
they certainly came close. But the helicopter landed on the
roof above them after only an hour of lovemaking. It brought

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237
with it the shudder of reality and the awareness of difficult
days ahead.
Three rooms away from where the lovers lay, Leonid
Chomsky and Sasha Andreyev also heard the helicopter ar-
rive. Leonid went to the door, but it was locked. He would
have to use the phone to call the guard at the end of the hall.
Even though they were guests of the Mossad, their move-
ments were restricted. Whenever they wished to move around
or go outside, an agent was assigned to accompany them.
Leonid went to the phone. Sasha stopped him.
"It may not be Colonel Somoroff. Why don't you wait and
see?"
"He was due about now. Gross said they were coming at
about three. It's almost three," he said looking at his watch.
"They will come for us when they are ready. I'd like to
have your company, if you don't mind."
Leonid didn't mind at all. He liked Sasha. She had been an
excellent sounding board for him. They had discussed his
feelings about the Israelis in great detail. Much of what she
said made sense. He wanted more than ever to continue his
training so that he could get assignments outside the Soviet
Union. It was apparent to him that there was much to see in
the rest of the world and much to learn. He envied her
wisdom and experience.
The sound of the door opening interrupted his thoughts.
Andy Taft entered the room.
"Good afternoon." Andy greeted both of them. "How's
the patient?"
Sasha acknowledged him with a smile and a gallant wave
of her hand. "Mending, Comrade Taft. It must be the chicken
soup." It was obviously an American joke, which Chomsky
didn't understand. He always felt alienated from Sasha when
she and Andy talked about American things and customs. But
the explanations never made much sense to him, so he had
stopped asking and just accepted their private jokes.
"Good," said Andy, bending and kissing her hand. "You
look beautiful."
"Why thank you, Mr. Taft. You're so very kind." She
now spoke with the funny slow accent that Leonid understood
was Southern American.

238
David Saperstein
"My pleasure, darling, and may I say an honor?" Andy
too affected the accent. Leonid grew impatient.
"Have you heard from Washington?" He interrupted their
game. Andy turned to him and was all business.
"Yes. Good news . . . and bad news. Your people have
identified the frogman. He is from a unit stationed in" —Andy
referred to notes written in a small leather-bound pad he
carried in his coat pocket—"Vladivostok. The naval base.
Ninth Submarine Attack Group. He's a bit of a hero. The
records show he led the underwater demolition teams that
helped clear Haiphong Harbor for the North Vietnamese after
we mined it, in the good old days."
Leonid wasn't smiling. Andy continued.
"His name is—was—Yuri Danoloff. He was a captain. As
far as the Eastern Command knows he is on special assign-
ment to the GRU. Fancy that. Oh yes, he spoke Arabic and
Farsi." Andy closed the notebook, letting Leonid know that
was all he had to tell.
"Colonel Somoroff and General ben Kagan have just ar-
rived, so I think we will have a meeting soon. Have you seen
Gross around?"
"No," said Sasha. "Andy," she continued, "were there
any messages for me from the embassy?"
"Oh, thanks for reminding me. They said to tell you that
there was an inquiry from Major Metsky of GRU regarding
your whereabouts a month ago. They said they told him that
you were, and continue to be, in Washington."
"So he knows about my involvement," she mused almost
to herself. But she was not disturbed. "We better tell Colonel
Somoroff about that," she told Andy.
"Fine," he said. Then addressing Leonid, he continued,
"I'm going to catch up with ben Kagan and your boss now.
Do you want to come along?"
Leonid looked at Sasha. She waved him off.
"Go ahead. I want to get some sleep. The more I rest, the
sooner I'll be out of here and back in the thick of things."
Andy let Chomsky go through the door first, then closed it
and casually locked the outside bolt. He caught Leonid look-
ing at him, put his arm around the young KGB officer, and
guided him down the hall, saying, "Orders are orders, my
friend. When in Rome, one follows the Romans' wishes . . .

RED DEVIL
239
or something like that. Let's see what the big boys have been
up to."
He slid his arm from Leonid's shoulder and headed for ben
Kagan's office. As they passed Anya's room the door opened
and Michael Gross exited, nearly knocking them over.
"Hey, honk before you turn, Michael," Andy joked.
Gross closed the door quickly and by habit fastened the
bolt. Leonid Chomsky studied the big Israeli's face, but it
was noncommittal.
"Where are you headed?" Gross asked.
"To see the boss," Leonid responded. "Both our bosses.
They're back."
"Yes, I heard the chopper. Okay, let's go."
The three men walked briskly toward ben Kagan's office.
Leonid looked back at Anya's room just once.

40
Major Anton Metsky stared at the empty corridor. The guard
station was deserted, and all the rooms were bare. Even the
furniture was gone. The men he had sent to inspect the
holding cells reported that they too were empty. The entire
KGB unit assigned to this wing of Lubyanka had disappeared.
The master will be furious, thought Metsky, but it is not my
fault this time.
The night before, Valya Pernick reported that General Porikin
had gone directly from the Kremlin to Lubyanka, but when
Metsky tried to contact Valarian he was unable to reach him.
He tried by phone, he tried the dacha, he even went to his
own quarters and attempted contact through the mark on his
shoulder. But when his tongue touched the backward C it
bled profusely, causing him great pain. He then went to
Valarian's office at GRU headquarters, but the master was
not there. However Metsky did notice that one of the candles
in the chandelier had turned upside down and was burning
brightly. He knew that a disciple must be in trouble, and that
that was what was distracting Valarian. Still Metsky would
not make the decision to move against the KGB unless Valarian
ordered it. So he waited until morning and followed the
original instructions, but it was too late. Porikin must have
warned Rosteveli and moved the section to a safe place
during the night. He withdrew his men, leaving two behind
just in case someone returned, but he knew it was a long shot.
Once he was back in his staff car he telephoned Valarian and
told him the bad news. The master was still distracted and
ordered him back to headquarters.
240

RED DEVIL
241
After finishing with Metsky on the telephone, Valarian
turned back to face Valya Pernick. The bleeding had stopped,
but the pain was still with him. He spoke slowly.
"Our brother in Palestine is trapped. The Jews in Zefat
have him, and there is little I can do for the time being. If I
were there it would be a different story, but I cannot go at this
time. You will have to go in my place."
"Yes, Master," she replied eagerly. "Whatever you
command."
"These old Jews have some power over us. They cannot
stop us, but they know many of our ways. They must be
destroyed. I should have done it long ago."
"I will do it now," she said with conviction.
"Don't misjudge them. You must be very careful. Once
long ago, their kind drove me out of that place. I have sworn
to return and destroy them. Soon the time will be right, and
this country, the Soviet Union, will be my instrument. I
almost succeeded with the Germans. This time we will not
fail. Then only those Jews in America will be left, and they
will go quickly. When it is done, my brothers and I and all
that follow us will inherit this earthly domain."
Valya beamed with joy at Valarian's words. This was the
promise made to all disciples. This was the covenant of the
fallen archangels.
"Before you leave the Soviet Union I will give you my
seed. You will bear a child and give birth in Palestine.
Nurture it. Name it Sifon, follower of Asmodeus and Ariton.
He will be our instrument from the inside when we attack."
It was the highest achievement that a female disciple could
attain—to bear a son for her master. Valya was filled with
anticipation. Valarian stood, after first removing a packet of
papers from his middle drawer.
"These will enable you to enter this accursed Israel. Now
we will go to the dacha to conceive the child."
To Valarian it was a task to be done. To Valya it was
the supreme act of her life. As they drove north on the
Leningrad Road past the Frunze Central Airfield, Valya
trembled with excitement. Valarian's thoughts were concen-
trated on the suffering of Achmed Sharit. He silently cursed
Peter Somoroff. Driven by hatred, he swore to kill this KBG
adversary whom he had so badly underestimated. Then he
cursed God.

242
David Saperstein
The effort expended during the night had exhausted every-
one in the section. Major Rosteveli was proud of the group
and had told them so before his own exhaustion forced him to
sleep. General Porikin's reaction to the operation was very
negative. Rosteveli had no choice but to call the premier to
discuss Valarian's order for the GRU to take over the KGB
Lubyanka wing. He had been careful to assure the premier
that he was calling only because Peter Somoroff had left strict
orders not to jeopardize the operation under any circum-
stances. The premier thanked him and then spoke to General
Porikin for ten minutes. After that conversation Porikin or-
dered Rosteveli to be ready to move the entire operation in
two hours. The highest-ranking KGB official had joined the
group.
Like thieves in the night, they moved by truck and bus
across Dzerzhinsky Square, past the Bolshoi and the Lenin
State Library, across the Kamenny Bridge south to the old
Donskoy Monastery. They settled in the basement of the old
orthodox stronghold, which had become the Architectural
Museum. The KGB kept the basement as a place for secret
interrogation, and lately as a holding prison for political
dissidents before their trials. The move was only temporary
until safer accommodations could be secured outside of
Moscow.
Rosteveli slept for three hours. He had asked General
Porikin to advise the embassy in Washington of the move, so
that they could pass the information to the DIA contact. He
hoped that Colonel Somoroff would contact him soon.
Captain Bonyon had not yet slept. He supervised the guard
roster and made sure that the prisoners—Dr. Brodsky, the
two policemen from Pushkin, the morgue sergeant, and espe-
cially Captain Servioff—were under lock and key and secure.
Fannie Beshevsky and Marina Grochenko became roommates.
There just wasn't enough room otherwise. The two women
liked each other and seemed happy with the arrangement.
Fannie took it upon herself to nurse the young ballet dancer,
who still required sedation from time to time. Marina was
healing. The bone grafts and kneecap replacements were
successful. She could never dance ballet again, but she would
walk.
There was no trace of Rabbi Posner. Serge Rosteveli feared

RED DEVIL
243
the worst for the old man, but he kept his thoughts to himself,
not wanting to upset Fannie. Bonyon reported to the major.
"We have the floor secured. I have plainclothes men in the
museum."
"How many?"
"Six, Major. I also have men in cars outside the monastery
walls. General Porikin is arranging for the museum to be
closed this week. He is sending a squad of his men. They will
pose as workmen doing repairs."
"Are you satisfied?" the major questioned. He had grown
to admire the efficiency of the Army officer.
"Yes, sir. I think we can hold off detection for a while, but
I will feel much better when we are out of the city."
"What about secure phones?"
"General Porikin suggested that we use the museum phones.
There would be no reason for them to be tapped, and it would
seem like business as usual. Anyone tapping the phones will
have discovered us. By then secure phones won't matter."
Rosteveli agreed. There was little he could do now, except
wait for Somoroff to contact them.
"Tell the men they are restricted to the grounds for now.
There will be no contact with our headquarters until I sweat
that bastard Servioff and find out who else in our group is
working for Valarian and Metsky."
The rabbis had gone through almost half the rituals used to
detect and identify particular spirit servants of the subprinces
and archangels. Each archangel had two subprinces that served
them. Each subprince had a number of spirits serving him,
each with particular talents and powers, but all subservient to
the dark princes. Having decided that Valarian was a follower
of either Satan or Belial, the field was narrowed, but it still
left over one hundred possible spirit servants to check. The
process was well worth the effort, because once they could
identify the servant, then they could identify the subprince
and the archangel that controlled it. Knowing this, they would
prepare Asher with the proper prayers and rituals.
Rabbi Levi Lemach ben Abraham worked to identify the
spirit, assisted by Rabbi Zahor. In a room above them, Rab-
bis Malachi and Solomon ben Levi began to prepare Rabbi
Sholem Asher for his confrontation with Valarian. Although
Peter and Arie had returned Rabbi Vogel to Kibbutz Ginnosar,

244
David Saperstein
that had only been a guise. Within hours, as prearranged,
Vogel was back in Zefat taking the holy vows of the sect and
receiving the same instruction and training as Asher. It was a
rule of the sect of David ben Zimrah that at least two men be
so prepared at all times.
Rabbi Abraham sat at a small table in a Spartan room. He
closed the book of spirits that follow the subprinces Beelzebub
and Amaimon.
"That is the last of the servants of Belial," he said to
Rabbi Zahor.
"Then it is Satan's servant we seek," answered the dark
rabbi.
"It would seem so," said Rabbi Abraham. "Perhaps we
have missed something here."
He watched the prisoner carefully. Sharit was awake. The
bleeding had stopped. He hung upside down from a chain
fastened to the stone ceiling.
"Turn him toward those that follow Asmodeus and Ariton,"
he commanded.
Rabbi Zahor unhitched a pully attached to the chain and
slowly turned the disciple to the left, stopping when Sharit's
head faced the wall bearing the acrostic and names that Rabbi
Abraham had specified. Then the old man took the next book
of spirits, the third on the table, and began the ritual. The title
of the book read, The Third Book of Sacred Magic Given by
God unto Moses, Aaron, David, Solomon, Saints, Patriarchs,
and Prophets, Which Teacheth Divine Wisdom. He opened
the book and began the prayers.
"We have faithfully observed that which hath been taught
unto us, and have with a good will obeyed the command-
ments of God. Be certain that this veritable and loyal wisdom
accorded to us by His grace shall render the perfidious Satan
to be our slave together with his pestiferous generation, for
they can not do otherwise. We command this sacred operation
in His name, blessed be He, knowing this power is granted
for fear of God, in no way used for evil. God the eternal hath
wished herein to leave us our free will, but woe unto him who
shall abuse His divine grace."
He motioned to Rabbi Zahor, who took a pointed silver
instrument with the twelve jewels set in the handle from a
purple case on the small table. The dark rabbi dipped the
point into a bowl of water and prayed.

RED DEVIL
245
"Let the fear of God be ever before the eyes and heart of
him who shall possess this divine wisdom and sacred magic."
He then dipped the point of the instrument in a silver bowl
filled with oil. Again he prayed as he lifted the jeweled knife
and pointed it at Sharit's back.
"To know all manner of things past and future, which be
not however directiy opposed to God and to His most holy
will."
He moved quickly to the hanging prisoner and with the
instrument drew an acrostic on his back in blood.
s	A	T	A	N	
A	D	A	M	A	
T	A	6	A	T	
A	M	A	D	A	
N	A	T	A	S	
When the last letter had been drawn in the lower right-hand
box, Sharit's body shuddered and jerked like a fish on a hook
out of water. Rabbi Zahor stepped back. Rabbi Abraham
nodded. Now they were getting somewhere. But still he was
troubled.
The first thing that Leonid Chomsky noticed about Peter
Somoroff was that he had aged. In just a few days his boss
seemed ten years older. The colonel's dark hair had been
greying, but now Leonid noticed new streaks of white along
the temples. The most striking change was around Somoroff's
eyes. There were lines and cracks, crow's-feet deep and long,
radiating along his high cheekbones toward his ears.
They sat casually in ben Kagan's corner office. The after-
noon sun poured brightly into the large room, making ben
Kagan's body a filmy silhouette as he stood against the
window.
Andy Taft sat on the sofa with Leonid Chomsky. Michael
Gross took a chair near the communications console on his
boss's desk. Peter Somoroff stood near the Mossad chief.
"Before we finalize our plans," began Peter, "have we
any information from Washington?" He spoke directly to the

246
David Saperstein
DIA agent. "Yes, sir," answered Andy, taking out his note-
book and reading his notes aloud.
Peter had no reaction, except a quick glance to Chomsky.
"Second, Major Metsky has made inquiries in Washington
about Sasha Andreyev. He was especially interested in her
whereabouts during the time she was in the Soviet Union
working with you. The embassy covered for her. They told
Metsky that she was in Washington then and that she still is
there."
"Good," said Peter. "Does Sasha know this?"
"Yes, sir," answered Leonid, trying to show his boss that
he had been working while he was away. Andy understood
the young Soviet's need and nodded in agreement.
"There was another message for you, Colonel, addressed
to Sasha." Andy read from the notebook to be sure of his
accuracy. "Flame is burning," said the American.
Peter was alert. He looked at Chomsky, but obviously the
message was news to him also.
"Say that again," Somoroff commanded.
"Call home. Flame is burning. That was the entire mes-
sage. What does it mean?"
"It means that Major Rosteveli has a serious problem.
When did it come in?"
"This morning."
Peter turned to General ben Kagan. He was obviously
agitated. "Is there any way we can get a telephone line
patched into the Soviet Union from here?" His tone was an
urgent command to the Israeli general.
"It is possible," answered Arie calmly, "but you will have
to tell me what this is about. I will request a line on the
American satellite, and you can be sure that they will record
the conversation. Let's be sure the call is absolutely necessary."
"Rosteveli wouldn't call unless it was a crisis. I must
speak to him as soon as possible."
"Do you have the number?" ben Kagan asked.
Peter gave him the secure number at the wing in Lubyanka.
Ben Kagan instructed Gross to have the call placed and
patched into his office. Gross left the meeting on the run. The
call would have to be placed on a special phone hookup, and
Michael was one of the few people who knew the code to
connect with the American satellite.

RED DEVIL
247
A moment after Gross left, ben Kagan's phone rang. The
general answered, then put the call on hold.
"It's for you, Andy. There's a messenger from your em-
bassy downstairs. He has an urgent communique for you.
You better go down and get it." Andy left quickly. Ben
Kagan told the front-desk guard to hold the messenger there
for Mr. Taft.
Five minutes later Gross canceled his first call and began to
make the connection for Peter Somoroff to talk to Major
Rosteveli. It was the first time that the CIA, DIA, KGB, and
Mossad had knowingly shared a phone line. Usually they
tried to listen in on one another's conversations. Arie ben
Kagan was amused at the irony.
As Somoroff spoke rapidly in Russian to Major Rosteveli,
the others in the room listened silently. Andy, who had
returned to the office, was the only one who did not under-
stand fluent Russian, so Chomsky translated Peter's side of
the conversation for him. They were all able to get the gist of
things. Gross was particularly upset when he surmised that
Rabbi Posner was missing. Peter told Rosteveli that he would
be back in the Soviet Union in no less than two days and that
the KGB major should keep an extremely low profile. He
ordered Rosteveli to leave the interrogation of Captain Servioff
to him, and under no circumstances was he to harm the KGB
traitor. Peter knew that Servioff was an important link to
Valarian, and especially to Metsky. Homosexuality is a crime
in the Soviet Union, and the punishment is severe. Peter
could make a case against Metsky by breaking Servioff and
put the GRU major in prison for a long time.
After the call was completed, Peter Somoroff briefed ev-
eryone on the recent events in the Soviet Union.
"I think we have to move quickly," he told ben Kagan.
Throughout the trip back to Tel Aviv, and during the meet-
ing, ben Kagan had been quiet, letting the Soviet colonel give
orders and direct the course of events. Now Arie's tone of
voice changed. He became the chief of the Mossad again,
totally in command.
"Colonel Somoroff, before you leap ahead to what you
perceive as the plan of action, let me remind you that al-
though we have cooperated thus far in aiding Premier
Alexeyevich with this problem, we still have to clear our
actions with my prime minister. Let us not forget that our

248
David Saperstein
countries are basically at war and that there are no official
relations between us."
The events of the past few days had distracted Peter
Somoroff. He was so involved with the A1 Fatah attack, the
rabbis in Zefat and the progress they had apparently made,
that he momentarily had forgotten where he was and under
what circumstances he had been allowed into Israel.
"Forgive me, General ben Kagan," he began formally. "I
have been swept up in the events. I am, of course, your
guest, and you correctly remind me of the political implica-
tions of this visit. How shall we proceed?"
The Israeli intelligence chief was not without compassion
for the Soviet problem. He'd vowed to pursue it to a conclu-
sion. But he still had to extract whatever his government
wished from the Soviet premier. It was, after all, the rationale
behind allowing the KGB into Israel in the first place.
"I will request a meeting with the prime minister this
evening. I hope to have an answer for you in the morning.
Until then, please accept the hospitality of the Mossad. Un-
fortunately you will have to remain on these premises until
further notice. Michael," he said as he prepared to telephone
the prime minister, "please make Colonel Somoroff comfort-
able and see that the others have whatever they need. Then
come back here."
Gross stood. The others sensed their dismissal and began to
leave the office.
"Mr. Taft," General ben Kagan said, "can you remain
here for a few moments?"
Andy sat down. Leonid and Peter left with Gross. After the
door was closed the general turned his attention to the young
DIA agent.
"Mr. Taft, let us assume that a satisfactory political ar-
rangement can be reached with Premier Alexeyevich, or at
least that he will be willing to discuss the matter with the
prime minister. Therefore a meeting will have to be arranged.
It is implied in the premier's letter."
"I drew the same inference, General."
"Good. I would like you to arrange a meeting place out-
side of Israel but close enough to both the Soviet Union and
Israel so that the heads of state can get to the destination
quickly and undetected."

RED DEVIL
249
"That means either Europe or North Africa." Andy was
tracking ben Kagan accurately.
"Precisely. Any ideas?"
"We cooperate with the CIA. They control most of the
safe houses in both places. I think we can arrange something
in Morocco, Algeria, or France."
"My choice would be France, Mr. Taft." The general's
response was quick.
"I'll get right on it. How do you want to handle the
security?"
"You arrange that with your people. I am sure the KGB
will want their own people on the site, too. We will match
them with my people."
"How many can you bring?"
"That will depend on the Soviets. From what I can see,
there are not too many KGB agents involved in the matter.
Your group should be responsible for the major share of
security."
"What about travel arrangements?"
"Let the Soviets take care of their own. I will get the prime
minister into France. We have a trade mission up there now."
A few moments later Andy headed for the American Em-
bassy. General ben Kagan called the prime minister and made
an appointment to see him later that evening.
The dacha was dark. Valya Pernick lay on the black satin
cover of Valarian's bed. She was completely nude and in a
trance. The small table containing the disciples' candles had
been moved to the foot of the bed. One of the candles burned
dimly upside down. Sharit was still a prisoner. Valya's candle
had been moved to the center of the pentangle. Its flame was
long and straight, burning to a narrow taper ten inches high.
Valarian entered the room, dressed in a long black robe. He
wore a cardinal red miter with a backward C embroidered on
the front. The shape of the arrowhead and miter were the
same. As he crossed the room to the foot of the bed, the
candlelight illuminated fine needlework on the robe, similar
in quality to the work done on Aaron's robes and vestments.
However the symbols woven into this robe were oriental in
design. The dragon on his ring was duplicated on the back of
the robe. He raised his hands over the candle representing
Valya, and the flame grew higher and more intense. On the

250
David Saperstein
bed, Valya arched her back. Her lips parted and her long
tongue licked wildly out in front of her. Rainbow-colored
spittle dripped from it. She moaned.
Valarian's hands moved down into the flame of her candle
and parted it so that it now formed a V. Simultaneously,
Valya's legs parted, exposing her vagina, swollen and drip-
ping with multicolored ooze. Her moaning grew louder and
more intense. Valarian moved from the parted flame and slid
onto the foot of the bed. He opened his robe to lie on top of
Valya, covering her completely. He entered her quickly,
without passion or emotion. Valya's tongue reached up to-
ward him. He opened his mouth and allowed her tongue to
enter, sucking it so that her head was lifted from the black
satin bed. Her tongue turned bright red, then black. With one
hard thrust he deposited his seed in her, then disengaged. He
moved back to the table and closed the parted flame. Valya's
legs also closed. Valarian put her candle back outside the
pentangle in its proper place. It returned to normal size. Then
the master gazed at Shark's upside-down candle and pondered
his next move.
Valya slept, but now she was two. Inside her womb,
already attached and being nurtured, was a tiny fetus. It
would grow rapidly, coming to term in a few short weeks. Its
power would be awesome enough to wreak havoc on the Jews
of Israel, and it would forever be part of Valarian and his
followers of iniquity.
Back at Zefat, Rabbi Abraham knew something was terri-
bly wrong. The prisoner was not revealed. His identity re-
mained a secret. He had gone through the list and ceremony
for all the servants of the final two subprinces, Asmodeus and
Ariton. There had been no reaction. Sharit had an erection for
a few moments, but that made no sense to the old rabbi.
"Who are you?" Rabbi Abraham muttered to himself.
Then in a blinding flash, the rabbi knew the answer.
"Quickly," he said to Rabbi Zahor. "We have been de-
ceived by our own stupidity. This is not just a servant.
Quickly. We can lose him if we make a mistake. Step away
and bring me the ram's hom."
Sharit lifted his head and stared at the rabbi. His eyes were
bright red and glowing with hatred. His mouth opened, and
although his tongue had been removed words still came forth.

RED DEVIL
251
"Yes, Jew. You have made a mistake. I am not a servant
of princes—/ am a subprince!"
The chain burst into thousands of pieces, and the naked
prisoner flipped and landed on the floor upright. His mouth
remained open, and the words, spoken as though from within
a deep subterranean cavern, echoed out at Rabbi Abraham.
"I am Asmodeus, subprince of the archangels!" He spread
his arms. "This is my domain. It was I who built your temple
in Jerusalem, it was I who should be the rightful ruler of
Israel. You vermin, descendant of Solomon who exiled me
unto Egypt. I am returned to claim my birthright. The day is
near.''
Laughter echoed from the empty mouth. Rabbi Zahor en-
tered the room carrying a large and ancient shofar.
"Do it now!" screamed Rabbi Abraham. "For the sake of
God!"
Rabbi Zahor lifted the horn to his lips and sounded a blast
that shook the room. But it was too late. The body of
Achmed Sharit lay dead on the floor. The spirit of the evil
subprince Asmodeus was gone.
Back at the dacha Valarian watched the upside-down can-
dle flame die. The black wax melted into an indistinguishable
lump at the corner of the pentangle.
"Be patient, Asmodeus, my son," he said. "You shall
again reign over all Israel."

41
The lobby of the ultramodern Hotel Meridien had taken the
look of a World War I airplane hangar. Five vintage bi- and
tri-wing planes had been placed on display in the lobby. The
famous French Air Show was in progress at Le Bourget
Airport to the north and Orly to the south. By invitation, an
Israeli trade mission was present. The prime minister had
arrived undetected and in disguise as a member of the mis-
sion. Captain Gross would handle transportation and security
to the meeting place for the prime minister.
The words Sopwith Camel went through ben Kagan's head
as he walked to the crowded registration desk. What a circus,
he thought. He registered under the name of Richard Hender-
son and presented an American passport to the desk clerk,
who would hold it for a few hours while it was checked with
customs and the French Surete. Arie followed the bellboy to
the elevators and then up to his suite.
When he was alone, Arie checked his watch and swept the
room for bugs. There was no reason for the room to be
bugged, but years of discipline made the act second nature to
Mossad agents wherever they went. Satisfied, he turned on
the TV and phoned a local number.
"Hi. Dick Henderson here," he said in an affected
midwestern American accent. "I'm calling for Bill Green."
The voice at the other end said, "I believe Mr. Green is at
lunch. May he return your call?"
"No, I'll phone tomorrow if it doesn't rain." Arie hung
up. Three minutes later his phone rang.
252

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"Dick," said the caller, "welcome to Paris. How was the
trip?"
"Fine. Just fine. I have the samples. When do you want to
meet?"
"I have meetings all afternoon. But dinner is good, okay?"
Mr. Green, otherwise known as Andy Taft, followed the
prearranged conversation accurately.
"Dinner is fine, Bill."
"Good. I'll pick you up at eight. Okay?"
"Great." Arie hung up and lay back on the bed. He had
time for a nap, knowing the night ahead would be long and
arduous. Before he slept, the events of the past few days
filtered through his mind like a high-speed newsreel. He still
found it hard to believe that his prime minister and the
premier of the Soviet Union were about to meet. He also
sensed that the rabbis in Zefat had not told him everything.
He had met with the prime minister at 8:00 on the evening
of his return from Zefat with Peter Somoroff. The Israeli
leader requested that ben Kagan's superior, the diminutive
clockmaker from Beersheba, also be present at the meeting.
But it was Arie ben Kagan's show. He convinced both men
that the Soviet premier's problem was within the scope of the
Zefat sect, and although he couldn't assure success, he did
feel that there was a basis for negotiation with the Soviet
leader.
"How much do you feel we can extract from the Soviets?"
the prime minister had asked.
"Who can say?" answered Arie. "I believe it depends
finally on your judgment, if you decide to meet with
Alexeyevich."
"I have no doubt that I will request such a meeting. I am
only concerned to the extent that we have the ability to
deliver a solution."
The wily chief of the Mossad spoke carefully. "Mr. Prime
Minister, if I may share an opinion?"
"Certainly," said the Israeli leader, who, among few of
his countrymen, knew the power this little old man con-
trolled. "That is why I wanted you here."
"It seems to me that we have to go along with General ben
Kagan's assessment of this situation. The rabbis in Zefat have
agreed to allow Rabbi Asher to confront Valarian. They must

254
David Saperstein
therefore feel that he can be effective. That business is beyond
my understanding, but if that is the tool we must use, then let
us use it. The negotiations with the Soviet premier must be
based on the attempt, not the success, of our Rabbi Asher.
Let's not promise what we cannot deliver."
"Then you recommend," said the prime minister, "if I
understand you correctly, that we base our demands on our
cooperation only. And if we succeed, then we will have even
stronger cards to play later."
The old man nodded his agreement.
"Done!" said the prime minister. "General ben Kagan,
you will make all the necessary arrangements?"
The meeting was adjourned. Ben Kagan spent most of the
night planning the logistics with Michael Gross. By morning
they were ready to present the plan to Colonel Peter Somoroff
and the Soviet agents.
Before the meeting, ben Kagan contacted Taft regarding
the safe house in France. The DIA had assured Andy that a
small chateau north of Paris would be perfect. Several agents
had begun clearing the area. Others were en route from the
United States to supplement the DIA's European section. The
president of the United States had been briefed that night
regarding the whole fantastic story, and he had ordered a
special watch room set up in the Executive Office building
basement to monitor the operation from the American point of
view.
Peter Somoroff studied the plan silently as he sat reading in
ben Kagan's office. Leonid, Sasha, and Andy also had cop-
ies. Gross had committed it to memory. Anya Somoroff did
not attend the meeting. Peter felt that the less she knew, the
better off she would be in case of capture. He looked up from
the plan folder as he finished.
"Excellent, General," he began. "The only factor that we
cannot know until I return to Moscow is whether Premier
Alexeyevich is able to travel on such short notice. However, I
can see him immediately upon my return and notify our
embassy in Washington. The French Air Show will supply a
good cover."
Arie interrupted him. "I think we will have to establish
direct communications. If all goes well and the big shots can
work out an agreement, then we will have to move swiftly.

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255
Andy," he said to the young American, "you said that the
president has established a situation room in Washington?''
"Yes, sir," answered Andy.
"I assume that involves a direct and secure satellite linkage?"
"Yes, General. That traffic is not on the NATO channels.
We are using a sideband on the Tyros weather satellite system."
"Excellent. Our weather people have access to those fre-
quencies. If your people can link the KGB section of the
Soviet Embassy in Washington to the situation room, we can
establish direct contact with Moscow, Paris and Tel Aviv
from here."
Peter shook his head in amazement at the intellect dis-
played by ben Kagan and at his grasp of technical capabilities.
"No problem, General," answered Andy, "as long as the
president clears it."
"Does he have to know?" asked ben Kagan.
"That's not my decision. I'll suggest it, but remember I
have a boss in Washington, and he is answerable to the
president."
"Fair enough," said the Israeli. "Other than that, if there
are no objections, I think that Project Flame should begin to
move to Paris." He looked around the room. Leonid Chomsky
spoke.
"What about Sasha? She is still unable to travel."
Arie thought for a moment, then answered the young KGB
lieutenant. "Miss Andreyev's presence is not required in
Paris. Once we decide our next move, she can be notified
through Mossad headquarters. Perhaps it will be best if she
returns to Washington. You did say that GRU Major Metsky
was inquiring after her, didn't you? It would be good for him
to find her there."
Everyone agreed, including Sasha, who was still weak
from her wound.
Michael Gross's security force would leave for Paris imme-
diately and link with the DIA. Leonid and Anya would fly to
Athens with Polish passports and then back to Paris. They
would pose as newly weds. Taft would leave immediately for
Paris under one of his regular covers, that of Bill Green,
American businessman stationed in Paris. The DIA main-
tained an office on Rue Washington. He would be accompa-
nied by the firm's Middle-East representative, known to this
group as Rabbi Sholem Asher. Arrangements would be made

256
David Saperstein
under a NATO diplomatic agreement for them to bring lug-
gage through customs without inspection; therefore it would
guarantee safe entry for the priceless vestments of Aaron that
Asher would need if he were to go on to the Soviet Union.
General ben Kagan would go to Paris only after he had
received confirmation from Peter Somoroff on the Tyros link.
Once confirmed, Gross and the prime minister would become
part of the trade mission to the air show. Finally, Peter
Somoroff would be on his way to Moscow, via Rome, in a
few hours.
After everyone had left his office, ben Kagan ordered a
helicopter. Twenty minutes later he lifted off the Mossad
rooftop and instructed the pilot to radio a flight plan to Zefat.
The one disturbing fact that he had told no one was that Rabbi
Abraham had contacted him and urged that he come as quickly
as possible to the old temple in Galilee. There was a new
problem, and it was important.
He reached Zefat at midday. A jeep and driver were wait-
ing for him at the small tactical air base outside the city of
artists. The driver waited in the narrow alleyway alongside
the temple, as Rabbi Solomon ben Levi met Arie at the side
door and silently escorted him through the cool dark hallways
to Rabbi Abraham's private study in a sparsely furnished cell
in the basement of the temple.
The old man dismissed Rabbi ben Levi and immediately
got down to business.
"Thank you for coming so quickly, General. We have a
much larger problem, I fear, than what was originally antici-
pated. First let me ask you if the prime minister has agreed to
meet with the Soviet premier."
Arie had originally planned to keep that information top
secret until the final arrangements were completed, and then
only those with a definite need to know were to receive the
information. The rabbis in Zefat were not on his list of people
to be informed. Rabbi Asher would be in Paris with all the
tools necessary for his mission to Moscow. The Zefat rabbis
could infer that the deal was struck, but they would not know
with certainty until the deed was done.
"I will have to defer an answer to that question, Rabbi
Abraham," began Arie, "until I know what the new problem
is and how it affects our operation."
The old rabbi, although native to Israel, had not been a

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recluse. In his younger years he had traveled throughout the
world, serving those in need of the particular talents and
knowledge possessed by the followers of Rabbi David ben
Zimrah. In fact, these followers had been worldwide travelers
since the sixteenth century, for theirs was work that never
ceased. The archangels of darkness had many disciples and
servants. Their travels and accomplishments were recorded
and kept in the temple archives. Even a cursory reading
would show that many cases involved extremely delicate
political and diplomatic negotiations. Rabbi Abraham under-
stood ben Kagan's hesitancy.
"I will not argue with you, General. The security of your
work is as necessary as our own self-imposed secrecy. There
are disturbing facts in this matter that I cannot really explain
clearly. I just don't know for a fact that what I suspect is
really true. Rabbi Asher knows what to look for, and when he
is convinced that my suspicions are correct, he will inform
you, and we will know what to do. But in order to be
prepared, I must request that you obtain clearance for Rabbi
Zahor and Rabbi Hashomer to enter the People's Republic of
China."
The madness grows, thought ben Kagan. First the Soviet
Union, now China.
"May I ask why, Rabbi?"
The old man saw how perplexed the Mossad general was.
He knew he would have to reveal the awesome possibility of
Valarian's true identity.
"The prisoner we took the other day is dead. His life was
taken by the spirit that controlled him. I believe that spirit is
Valarian. But we think that we were able to identify the spirit
that inhabited the body of our prisoner. This means that his
birth—and I am talking about the body we captured, not the
spirit that inhabited it—was not of Jewish or Moslem sanc-
tion. Yet he was native to this land. The spirit that possessed
him was most powerful. I believe it was that of a subprince,
who, as I explained the other night, are among the most high
in this order of evil. They are answerable only to the dark
archangels themselves. We believe this man was possessed by
Asmodeus, servant to Shaytan himself."
General ben Kagan chose his next question carefully. Some-
how he sensed that the Soviet premier's problem had taken on
new, ominous proportions.

258
David Saperstein
"Are you saying that Valarian is Satan himself?"
"I am saying that this might, and I stress might, be the
case." Rabbi Abraham's words were firm.
"What has China to do with all of this speculation?"
"That is a long and complex story. Colonel Somoroff
brought us many clues. The prisoner added to our knowledge.
You must understand—and this is most important—that where
one of the four dark archangels are involved directly, and this
is truly a rare occurrence, there is always subterfuge, deceit,
guile ... in other words, things-may not be what they appear
to be. But let us assume that Valarian is Shaytan himself. We
must then assume that he has revealed his presence for a most
evil reason."
Arie interrupted, a fear growing inside needing to be ex-
pressed. "Excuse me. Are you saying that he has planned all
of this? That we are being led into a trap?"
"Not necessarily. But it is possible. With a fallen archan-
gel anything is possible. Only God, blessed is He, knows the
truth."
Ben Kagan's mind raced with a hundred new thoughts.
Had Somoroff duped them? Was the prime minister in dan-
ger? Was the premier himself a follower of Valarian? Was it
all a fabrication to embarrass Israel—or worse . . . ? The
knot in his stomach grew tighter.
Again, Rabbi Abraham was able to read Arie's emotions.
"Be calm, General. There are positive facts that we cannot
refute. The experiences of Colonel Somoroff and Rabbi Vogel,
I am convinced, are true. Our own experience with our
prisoner is not a figment of imagination. I was in the room. I
confronted the spirit, and although we have never ourselves
seen a subprince, we have in our possession many records of
our forebears experiencing similar spirits. This knowledge
protected us. The spirit Asmodeus was driven from here. He
cannot, or he will not, inhabit just any body. His needs and
services to the archangels of darkness are special. He must
have a special body."
"What kind of body?" Arie asked, the intelligence officer
in him gaining control of his emotions.
"One bom of a disciple, a spirit servant. One conceived by
the dark archangel himself."
"A child of Satan?"

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259
"Exactly. We will not have to worry about Asmodeus for
several weeks."
"You mean the child has been conceived for some time?"
"No," said the rabbi patiently. "It is, or was, conceived
only when Shaytan knew that we could hold our prisoner
indefinitely. It was then that he destroyed the body of this evil
man and ordered Asmodeus out. We can assume another
child grows in an unholy womb somewhere in the world."
"Can it be here?" Then Arie remembered the old man's
request for entry into China. "In China?"
"No," Abraham answered quickly. "It will not be in
China. It may very well be here. Learn from Peter Somoroff's
tale of this man, this spirit that inhabits Valarian. We know
his must be the body of the missing Captain Barnowski. And
before that the Nazi Hendricks, and before that the Ottoman
butcher Bayar. He appears where Jews are slaughtered in
great numbers. Shaytan is peculiar that way. His brothers,
Lucifer, Leviathan, and Belial, the other dark archangels,
have other missions in this world. Shaytan pursues us because
of our covenant with God, king of the universe. He attacks
God through our persecution. Once in a while he will stir up
evil and hatred for other causes. It is possible he was a slaver
in America and fomented the evil of their Civil War and the
persecution of the black man. But we are his target. From that
he has never wavered since we drove him out of this land
when the Rabbi Jesus refused his temptations."
It was the first time in his life that Arie ben Kagan had ever
heard a rabbi refer to Jesus Christ as a rabbi, or in any way tie
him to the Jewish faith. He was stunned.
"There is more for you to know," the old man continued.
"Although we seem a small sect, few in numbers, we
reach throughout the world and are in constant contact with
followers and believers in all lands. This is one of our great
strengths, and one of our deepest secrets. I trust you will keep
it thus?"
"Of course," answered Arie. "What about China? Why
there?"
"Our contacts in China have always believed that this one,
Shaytan, originated in their land. Recent facts have been
discovered to support this belief. I cannot go into details. We
do not have the time. But if Valarian is the archangel Shaytan,
then we must be prepared to trap him, capture him, and

260
David Saperstein
remove him to a specified location deep inside China. Rabbi
Zahor and Rabbi Hashomer must be allowed to prepare the
way as a contingency. I cannot stress the importance of this
matter too strongly. For you, it must be an act of faith."
Ben Kagan knew there was no point in argument. He had
been warned of possible deception, and he would be on his
guard from this moment on, watching Somoroff and the
Soviets with new eyes. He would instruct Michael Gross to
dispatch a secret force, unbeknownst to the DIA and KGB, to
Paris for further security.
"When do you want the rabbis in China?" he asked,
implying acceptance of the rabbi's story.
"Immediately. Whatever their route, they must get to the
city of Sian as quickly as possible. Once there they will know
where to go and whom to contact. I can say no more."
Ben Kagan sensed the meeting was over. He had one more
question. "Rabbi, let me be frank. If we assume that Valarian
is Satan himself, can you guarantee control over him?"
"Ours is not a business of guarantees," the old man
answered. "We are only instruments of God, blessed is He.
He will guide us and He will make us strong ... if that is
His will. One thing I can say that I do believe—Valarian has
no idea that we have the ancient vestments of Aaron. They
are our strength. He has miscalculated, and God has allowed
us what appears to be a moment of possible triumph. We
must take it. We cannot question its wisdom. To have the
covenant is to be prepared to act!"
The tall glass window in his room glowed with the night
lights of Paris. Arie was not sure whether he had slept or only
daydreamed through the three hours that had passed since he
had spoken to Andy Taft. It was nearly 7:00 pm. He would
take a shower, have a drink at the crowded bar in the lobby,
and meet the young DIA agent outside the hotel under the
gleaming chrome and glass canopy that extended in front of
the hydraulic and electric sliding doors of the Hotel Meridien.
As he prepared for the night ahead, Rabbi David Hashomer,
his skin darkened with makeup, and Rabbi Zahor, a man of
Yemenite birth who needed no makeup, joined a group of
Egyptian engineers boarding the special Boeing 747 for the
long trip to China. It had required a personal scrambler call

RED DEVIL
261
from the Israeli prime minister to the Egyptian president to
arrange the cover and the trip. Incongruous nations were
joining forces, and that made General ben Kagan feel a little
better. Still, he would keep Rabbi Abraham's warning about
deceit in the forefront of his mind.

42
Arie greeted Andy with a hug and perhaps too much
backslapping.
"Hey," said Arie as the young American exited the car
and met him on the curb under the canopy. "It's good to see
you, you old son of a bitch. You look great!"
Andy accepted the Israeli's embrace and guided him quickly
to the car, a black Citroen, slightly scruffy and dull. After
they pulled out of the driveway Taft spoke.
"Everything is in place. Premier Alexeyevich has arrived
with Colonel Somoroff. The air show was a godsend. We
couldn't have fabricated a better cover."
Arie reflected momentarily on Andy's use of godsend,
remembering Rabbi Abraham's final words in Zefat. The
young man continued, excitement obvious in his voice.
"The prime minister is in the Israeli Embassy. Your secu-
rity people will move him in an hour. Nothing suspicious
there, since you always offer protection for your nationals
when they travel. Our people have the chateau totally secured
for a radius of two miles. We will eat dinner at a small
restaurant in Saint-Germain near the lie de la Cite."
"Is that the one that looks out onto Notre-Dame?" Arie
asked.
"Yes, sir. The best food in Paris."
"I've eaten there. Good choice."
Andy turned off the Champs-Ely sees onto Rue de Rivoli.
Arie could see the illuminated spires of Notre-Dame ahead,
pointing as a beacon in the clear Paris night.
"We shall have to decide on a topic of discussion during
262

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263
dinner," the general said. "Do you know anything about
farming, Andy?"
"Yes. I was raised on a farm in southern Illinois."
"What did you grow?"
"Soybeans and corn. We kept dairy cattle, too."
"Good," said the Israeli general. "Then it will be animal
husbandry." Arie relaxed, enjoying the sights of the City of
Lights.
"Do you think we will have a deal with the Soviets—I
mean Israel, that is?"
"Cattle, my friend," answered ben Kagan, "the topic is
cattle from now on. When the time comes to change the
subject, I will tell you."
Andy felt as though his hand had been slapped. "It's your
show, General," he responded as he turned the Citroen onto
the bridge leading across the lie de la Cite to St.-Germain.
Anya Somoroff combed her long black hair nervously. The
room was charming, but very small. She and Leonid kept
tripping over each other, carefully avoiding embarrassment,
especially when it was time for bed. The young KGB lieuten-
ant had slept on a chair near the garret-type window that
afforded them a wonderful view of the famous rooftops of
Paris. They were supposed to be honeymooners, so separate
rooms were out of the question. Still Anya felt that Michael
Gross had purposely arranged for the small hotel near the
Pont Royal to embarrass Leonid Chomsky after the argument
the men had had regarding Anya and Michael's relationship
in Tel Aviv.
It really was none of Leonid's business. In the end Anya
had been the peacemaker, but she knew Leonid still held the
Israeli captain in contempt. The trouble began when Gross
relayed the results of the interrogation of the Arab officer,
captured the night of the attack on Kibbutz Ginnosar, to the
Soviets in Tel Aviv. Her father took the information calmly.
He told General ben Kagan he would look into the matter
when he returned to Moscow that night. But Leonid took
exception to the report. She recalled his words clearly.
"How do you know those attackers were controlled by
Soviet advisers, as you call them?" Leonid had demanded.
Gross had been calm and deliberate, sensing the young
Soviet's animosity.

264
David Saperstein
"The Arab officer admitted that to Major Horowitz during
the interrogation."
"Was the man tortured?" Leonid demanded.
"Our procedures are none of your business, Lieutenant,"
Michael answered.
"If he was tortured, he would say anything. I don't believe
it."
Before Gross could answer, Peter Somoroff intervened.
"Leonid. Enough of this. I will confirm the matter tomorrow
in Moscow. Drop it." Peter was sure that his assistant was
wrong. Still he had to calm the atmosphere. But it didn't
work. Chomsky was agitated. He moved swiftly across the
room and confronted his superior.
"You will excuse me, Colonel Somoroff, but I cannot take
the word of this man as fact. You should know better, sir. He
has spent his time making advances to Anya in your absence."
The words tumbled out of Chomsky's mouth, shocking
everyone in the room. Gross jumped to his feet in a rage. He
began to cross the room toward Leonid with clenched fists.
"You bastard," he roared. "You have no right—"
Ben Kagan yelled, "Michael," stopping the big Mossad
agent in his tracks. "Michael! Sit down!"
Gross obeyed automatically, but his anger did not subside.
"I apologize, Colonel Somoroff," the general said. His
thoughts leaped back to Rabbi Abraham's words regarding
subterfuge and deceit spread by Satan. Could this distraction
be part of Valarian's plan?
Peter Somoroff spoke calmly to no one in particular in the
room. "I apologize for Lieutenant Chomsky's outburst. We
are all highly strung over this business. Let's remain calm."
Anya then spoke, feeling that the air must be cleared of this
side-issue. "Michael and I are in love, Father. It is not the
dirty thing that Leonid infers. Perhaps it is unfortunate, but it
happened. Perhaps Leonid was thinking about Marina Grochenko
. . . perhaps he misses her too much ... I forgive you,
Leonid."
She stood and extended her hand to Chomsky. He took it,
but averted his eyes. Michael crossed the room and extended
his hand to the young Soviet officer. They shook hands, and a
sense of calm returned to the room.
Leonid now came out of the bathroom. Anya turned to
him, swirling her dress in a pirouette.

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265
"How do I look?"
"Beautiful," he replied,- and meant it. "We should be
going soon. I made a reservation in the small cafe across the
street. The car is parked there, too."
They crossed the narrow street to the Cafe D'Or. Leonid
checked his car before they went into the restaurant. He took
no notice of the black Peugeot parked three cars away, nor
did he see the man behind the wheel duck down when Chomsky
momentarily looked up the street. It was a man whose face he
knew intimately from Moscow—Major Anton Metsky, disci-
ple of Nickolai Valarian.
Three days ago the master had summoned him to his
office. Metsky sensed that Valarian's plans were coming to a
head, that the day of reckoning and triumph promised to all
disciples was at hand. There was much to do. Anton had
arranged the final details of Valya Pemick's immigration to
Israel. The necessary papers and false records had to be
prepared quickly. In addition, an intensive search for Rosteveli
and the rest of the missing occupants of the now-deserted
KGB Lubyanka wing was to be instigated. Valarian author-
ized his disciple to make use of whatever GRU forces he
required to get the job done. Finally, the new Minister of the
Interior instructed Major Metsky to keep a watch on all flights
emanating from Israel. Agents were to patrol every European
and American airport that serviced flights from Tel Aviv. All
passengers were to be photographed and identified by the
GRU, but Metsky was to look for Somoroff, his daughter,
Chomsky, Sasha Andreyev, and Rabbi Vogel in particular.
Somehow Valarian knew they were about to leave Israel. And
he was right.
Metsky also noticed that one of the candles above Valarian's
desk was extinguished. He thought to inquire but knew better.
The disciples were kept apart to do their separate acts. Only
when absolutely necessary were they brought together. This
was understood, and in the years that Metsky had served
Valarian, only the recently departed Misha Karkov and Valya
Pernick were known to him as disciples. Misha's candle had
been replaced with another's, but its identity remained a
mystery to the GRU major. The new candle glowed evenly.
The one that had been upside down was now dark. His

266
David Saperstein
interest was not missed by Valarian, but no explanation was
given.
Within twenty-four hours he reported back to his master.
The results of the surveillance were excellent.
"Colonel Somoroff was identified in Rome. He is on his
way back to Moscow on Aeroflot flight one-seventy-one," he
began, referring to his notes when necessary. Valarian lis-
tened carefully but made no comment.
"We nailed Chomsky and Somoroff s daughter in Athens.
They had fake Israeli passports upon entry, but then left using
their Polish documents, on a BOAC flight to Paris. I had
them followed. They are registered as man and wife at the
Hotel Pont Royal." He looked up from his notes. "That is all
we have at the moment. Valya Pernick is on her way to Israel
through the placement agency in Vienna. She is traveling as a
Jewess immigrating from here. I have over one hundred men
searching for the KGB unit, but there is nothing to report yet."
"I want you to go to Paris, Anton," Valarian began. "I
want you to grab Somoroff s daughter and find out what she
knows. If you have to kill Chomsky, do it. I will deal with
Colonel Somoroff. Contact me when you have completed
your mission." He dismissed Metsky. Within ten hours the
major was in East Berlin, passing through the Brandenburg
Gate into the west. Six hours later he arrived in Paris.
Now he watched the young Soviet couple dining in the
restaurant. His plan was working perfectly. The next move,
he thought, was to get into the back seat of Chomsky's car
and wait for his prey. It was his last thought. The big Israeli
put three nine-millimeter bullets through Metsky's brain in two
seconds. Gross opened the door of the Peugeot, shoved the
dead Soviet into the passenger seat, and speedily drove away
down the narrow street.
Back in Moscow it was nearly midnight. Nickolai Valarian
had telephoned Premier Alexeyevich three times, but the
Soviet leader had not yet returned the calls. He was about to
dial Marshall Malenkov so that the general secretary could
demand a meeting on his behalf with the premier and Peter
Somoroff. As he reached for the push-buttons on his console
he felt the pain of the Israeli bullets in his own head. He
knew Metsky was dead. The candle representing the major
flickered above the shiny mahogany desk. Rising quickly,

RED DEVIL
267
Valarian stood on the desk and removed the dying candle. He
placed it in front of him, gently caressing it with his scarred
hands. His tongue slid out and encircled the flickering flame.
He held the flame on the tip of his tongue, slowly drawing it
back into his mouth. Then he swallowed the fire.
"Stay in the body," he commanded. "We still have use
for it."
Then he telephoned the marshall, his newest disciple, and
instructed the Soviet leader to arrange the meeting. An hour
later he learned that Premier Alexeyevich was nowhere to be
found. He had disappeared from the face of the earth. Peter
Somoroff was also gone. For the first time since the defeat of
the Nazis became apparent, Valarian felt the hand of God
upon him and he was deeply concerned.
At that moment, the Illutian aircraft was receiving final
landing instructions from the Orly control tower. On board,
the Soviet mission to the French Air Show fastened their seat
belts in preparation for landing. At the rear of the giant Soviet
airliner, hidden from view by drawn curtains and protected by
two KGB agents, Peter Somoroff and Premier Ivan Ivanovich
Alexeyevich also prepared to land. But they would not be
attending the air show. Project Flame was firmly ensconced
in Paris, eagerly awaiting their presence.
Michael Gross passed the DIA checkpoint, was recognized,
and was passed through. The guards at the KGB checkpoint
questioned him about the dead body in the front seat for five
minutes. Each group knew the members of the others by
sight. They had worked in concert for the past three days,
checking and double-checking security arrangements. Still the
Soviets went by the book. They had to be certain that Gross's
passenger was truly dead. Satisfied, they passed Gross on
toward the chateau. The final approach checkpoint was Is-
raeli. By plan, only the cars containing the prime minister of
Israel and the Soviet premier would be allowed to drive to the
chateau. All others would walk from the final checkpoint, a
distance of one hundred meters. Michael instructed his men to
park the Peugeot behind their checkpoint in a small clearing
and lock the doors. Satisfied, he walked slowly toward the
house smoking an aromatic French cigarette. He was sur-
prised to see a limousine parked near the side entrance to the

268
David Saperstein
building. As he approached, two DIA guards signaled him to
halt. Both men had leashed Doberman pinschers. Both carried
Uzi machine guns.
By design, known only to the DIA, Premier Alexeyevich
and Peter Somoroff had arrived an hour early. In the final
analysis, no one really trusted the other, yet. Peter and Ivan
Ivanovich sat alone in the large central dining room of the
classic chateau. A large stone fireplace dominated the room.
Alexeyevich stood near the fire, the mantel rising a good
three feet above his head. He sipped a brandy and studied
Peter Somoroff as the KGB colonel prepared the long dining
table for the meeting. It was handmade of heavy oak, with
ornate carving on the curved legs. Eight massive chairs,
containing the same carving motif, were placed four across
from four. Peter opened his large attache case and distributed
thick files onto the table in front of each chair.
Outside the door to the dining room, two DIA agents sat
silently, their hands folded on top of their loaded machine
gun pistols. Within the house four more DIA men, plus two
KGB and two Mossad, patrolled. Each group had an attack
dog. Outside, on the inner perimeter, more DIA men were
stationed. The second perimeter and checkpoints were manned
by Mossad, the next perimeter checkpoint by KGB. The final
checkpoint and outside perimeter were completely in the con-
trol of the DIA European section. Listening devices and
infrared-sensitive TV cameras scanned all approaches to the
chateau. The American president had ordered a wing of Co-
bra gunships held secretly ready at the nearby NATO base in
St.-Denis. As an extra precaution the DIA had two jet heli-
copters behind the chateau just in case the heads of state
needed to make a hasty departure. Things were secure.
Three kilometers to the north, a special Israeli strike team,
including Commando Sergeant Sarah Steiner and Corporal
Ahron ben Levi, hero of the Ginnosar attack, plus two hand-
picked commandos, made a final check of their equipment
and routes to the chateau. General ben Kagan had ordered
their undetected presence as an extra precaution after his
meeting with Rabbi Abraham. The general was not totally
convinced of the sincerity of the Soviet premier. But the
group would only move on a radio signal from ben Kagan,
who had the transmitter installed in his lighter. If he sensed a
trap, he would ask Gross for a cigarette and key the radio.

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269
As Michael was about to enter the chateau he saw the
headlights of Chomsky's car stopping at the final checkpoint.
He looked at his watch. They were on time. But he had to
find out why the premier and Somoroff had arrived early,
since he knew the limo was not his prime minister's.
Peter finished placing the files on the table and poured
himself a brandy. He joined the premier near the fireplace.
"To Boris Menoff," he said, raising his glass toward
Alexeyevich.
"And Celia." Both men drank deeply.
"Is that all of it?" the premier asked.
"Everything is committed to paper. The original is in the
safe in Tel Aviv."
"Incredible." Ivan Ivanovich studied his old friend. He
saw the new lines of age in his face and the white hairs.
"Who would believe such a story?"
"I do," Peter answered flatly, staring into the fire, think-
ing of his son, his family, his country, and the story he had
related to Premier Alexeyevich, Major Rosteveli and General
Porikin in Moscow earlier.
His flight from Rome had been uneventful, but he was sure
he was being followed when he arrived in Moscow. As
previously arranged he drove directly to the Kremlin and met
with Premier Alexeyevich. Arrangements had been made for
the flight to Paris by General Porikin. After relating the
events in Germany, Turkey, and Israel, Peter inquired about
the Soviet frogman, Captain Yuri Danoloff, and the advisers
supposedly working with the special A1 Fatah unit in Leba-
non. General Porikin, through Premier Alexeyevich's office,
had given the problem to General Kubyshev in Chita. The
man had been young Peter Somoroff s commander and took
his murder very hard. When Porikin told him that this infor-
mation was tied to the murder, the Far-East commander tore
through his headquarters and wrung necks until he had the
answers. What he found upset him terribly. Colonel Nickolai
Valarian, through the records section of the GRU and with
the blessing of Marshall Malenkov, had siphoned off top
officers, specialists in terrorism and guerrilla warfare, and by
cutting special assignment orders lifted them to his command,
eventually placing them in the Middle East, totally under his

270
David Saperstein
orders and his assistant, Major Anton Metsky. The Soviet
Union, like any huge bureaucracy, is layered and smothered
by tons of paperwork and computer tape. A man can disap-
pear for months, and as long as the records appear to be in
order, no one questions the absence.
"Valarian has built a private army right under our noses,"
General Kubyshev had told General Porikin. When advised of
the situation, Premier Alexeyevich ordered General Kubyshev
to return the men to the Soviet Union immediately. If Mar-
shall Malenkov questioned the order, he was to be referred to
the premier.
Rosteveli had related his capture of Captain Servioff with
emotion and anger. When he finished, Peter had a few
questions.
"Did you strip him?"
"I didn't have to. The swine was naked when I found him
with his little boy. He had no marks on him like that dog
Karkov."
"Is there any sign of Rabbi Posner?"
"No, sir. It was Servioff who took our people out, so we
must assume that Metsky and Valarian have him. But I doubt
that he is alive."
"He was a brave man." Peter spoke more to the premier
than to the others. "He loved this country even though we
treated him so poorly."
Porikin was uncomfortable with the tone of Peter's voice.
"Colonel Somoroff, I know that you have had an arduous
journey, a fantastic journey. But these Jews—Israelis—they
are still enemies of the Soviet Union. I hope you have not
grown soft."
Peter Ilyavich Somoroff measured his superior carefully.
Had he completely missed the point of the entire adventure?
Peter restrained his emotion and spoke calculatingly to Gen-
eral Porikin.
"I realize that no one in this room has been where I have
been. You have only my word to judge. I believe the evi-
dence is overwhelming. These enemies—Israelis, Soviet Jews—
enemies you call them, have contributed more than we can to
the solution of this problem, assuming there is a solution. I
am not a political man, just a policeman. I know little of the
affairs of state. Two months ago, in this office, Premier
Alexeyevich handed me a pitifully small file that belonged to

RED DEVIL
271
Boris Menoff. Boris gave his life for that file. My son gave
his life, too. A beautiful young dancer lies crippled; the entire
reputation of the KGB is threatened. Enemies you call them?
A man, a rabbi whom we kept incarcerated in Tostuya for
twelve years, whose family was told he was dead, came out
of the northern wasteland and risked his life for the Soviet
Union. Enemies? You did not know the old man Posner.
Major Rosteveli can tell you what a patriot he is . . . was. I
saw the bodies of many dead Israeli soldiers who defended
me—me, a Soviet. Do you want me to go on? Let me just say
that these things we are fighting, this Valarian, now a minis-
ter of the Soviet, a member of the executive council of the
Presidium, has no place among us. He is evil, and we must
be rid of him or I fear we are all doomed. Our enemy is here,
and his one wish is to destroy us ... to destroy the Soviet
Union. I am not soft, General Porikin, I am deeply afraid."
An hour later Peter Somoroff and the premier left through a
secret tunnel under Red Square that led to the basement of the
Cathedral of St. Basil. They were followed by Major Rosteveli
and Genera] Porikin, both of whom felt much wiser having
spent the last few hours with Peter Somoroff.
Michael Gross double-checked the inside guards and then
went to the small bedroom on the second floor where Rabbi
Asher waited with the vestments of Aaron. Michael knocked,
and Sholem's voice called out in Hebrew.
"Who calls?"
"A son of Aaron, of the tribe of Levi," answered Michael.
Rabbi Asher unlocked the door and admitted the Mossad
agent.
"Everything okay?" Michael asked, glancing around the
beautifully furnished room.
"I feel like Louis Quatorze. Is everything going all right?"
"Fine, Sholem. I'll come and get you when we are ready."
The light from the crystal chandelier glittered off the solid
gold and jeweled breastplate that lay on the pale blue bed-
spread. Sholem had laid out the vestments in preparation for
the meeting in case the prime minister and premier wanted to
view them.
"It's the real thing?" asked Michael, still unable to believe
that the treasure of his people actually existed.
"In this city of couturiers we have a garment by the

272
David Saperstein
ultimate designer. God Himself, may He reign forever, or-
dered these. They are as real as you and I."
"Well, take good care of them, my friend," Michael said
as he prepared to leave.
"With my life," said Sholem Asher. "With my life."
Michael met Anya and Leonid in the foyer at the bottom of
the ornate staircase. He kissed Anya, then checked his watch.
Right on schedule. They walked together to the doors of the
dining room. The DIA guards stood and checked their IDs.
Anya Somoroff had met the premier many times. As a young
girl she remembered many visits to his beautiful home in
Odessa. He was always kind to her, a gentle man. Leonid had
not been told of the early arrival of the premier. He was not
prepared to meet Ivan Ivanovich Alexeyevich and was shocked
to see him standing in the room when he entered. Michael
Gross also felt a tingle of extreme excitement when he viewed
the premier. Peter rushed across the room and embraced
Anya.
"Ah," he exclaimed, "safe and sound. How are you?
How was your trip?"
"Fine . . . wonderful. Leonid took good care of me. How
are you?"
Peter realized that Leonid and Michael were standing very
stiff near the door. He shook their hands and guided them
toward Premier Alexeyevich, who had started to cross the
room. Before he could introduce them, the premier took over.
"Anyanochkya, how beautiful you are." He was effusive
and sincere, moving to extend his hand to Leonid Chomsky.
"And you are Lieutenant Chomsky. Your country owes you a
great debt."
"An honor to meet you, Premier Alexeyevich." Leonid
could hardly get the words out of his throat. The premier then
turned to Michael Gross. Before he could speak, Michael
introduced himself in fluent Russian.
"I am Captain Michael Gross of the Mossad. It is an honor
to meet you, Premier Ivan Ivanovich Alexeyevich. I am at
your service."
Alexeyevich was taken aback. He quickly gathered his
thoughts. "Shalom aleichem, Captain Gross," he said. "The
Soviet Union owes you a great deal also. It is my honor."

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273
Back in Paris, ben Kagan and Taft enjoyed a superb dinner
and excellent wine. They had escargot with a light Chablis,
boeuf bourguignon with fresh vegetables and puffy little pota-
toes that melted in their mouths, and drank a full-bodied
house Burgundy. Dessert was a cheesecake that made ben
Kagan moan with delight. He left the table only once and
politely, in perfect French, asked the proprietress, a hand-
some woman from Brittany, to use the phone for a local call.
At these prices, thought Arie, I should be able to call Aus-
tralia. He phoned the Israeli Embassy and with a prearranged
code instructed the prime minister's guards to begin the jour-
ney to the chateau.
A half hour later, Andy Taft and he passed the last check-
point. They parked in the clearing next to a small black Peugeot.
Ben Kagan questioned the guards about the car, and they told
him that Michael Gross brought it. Arie doubled back to the car
and peered in at the corpse. Having memorized Somoroffs file,
he immediately recognized the man as Major Anton Metsky
of the Soviet GRU. How in God's name did Gross grab him?
thought ben Kagan as he walked toward the chateau with Taft.
Both men presented their IDs to the outside DIA patrols. Arie
noticed both limousines parked at the side entrance. He heard
the slow whip of the helicopter blades turning behind the
chateau. Their motors were running in anticipation of trouble.
"Where is the dish?" he asked Andy as they neared the door.
"On the other side of the house," he answered. "We have
checked and double-checked the linkup. When everyone is in,
we will make the final connection to the meeting room. Then
you will have immediate contact with General Porikin through
the Soviet Embassy in Washington, your headquarters in Tel
Aviv, and the president's situation room, if you wish." He
was proud of the American efficiency exhibited throughout
the past few days.
"Excellent," said ben Kagan. "Anytime you want to come
to work for us, let me know. There's only one problem."
Always serious, Andy questioned, "What's that?"
"You don't look Jewish." Ben Kagan laughed to himself.
"Now let's get this show on the road."
Both men presented their IDs to the guards at the dining
room door and entered the room.
At the same time, Anton Metsky's eyes popped open, but
he did not move.

43
The amenities were completed without delay. The atmosphere
was tense. Everyone was anxious to begin. General ben
Kagan and Andy Taft found the others already seated at the
long oak table. The two heads of state sat opposite one
another. Peter Somoroff sat to the left of the premier; Arie's
seat was to the right of his prime minister. Leonid Chomsky
sat on the premier's right, Michael Gross opposite him. The
Soviets had one extra person, Anya Somoroff, who sat next
to her father. General ben Kagan shook the premier's hand
firmly and bowed slightly. He introduced Andy Taft, who
shook hands with the Soviets. The American then took the
seat at the head of the table.
"We have one more thing to do, if you will wait just a
moment," said Andy. He reached under the table and pressed
a button. A moment later two DIA men quietly entered the
room carrying telephone equipment. They placed one instru-
ment in front of the premier, another in front of the Israeli
prime minister, and a third next to Taft. The two men gave
each head of state operating instructions in their native lan-
guage. Finally they connected a speaker system and placed it
in the center of the table. They left as silently as they had
entered. Within fifteen seconds Taft's phone buzzed. A voice
from the communications truck parked outside announced that
the system was operative.
"We can begin," Taft said.
The Soviet premier spoke first.
"If I may," he began, "I would like to suggest that
Colonel Somoroff conduct this meeting. He is most familiar
274

RED DEVIL
275
with all of the details." He looked at the Israeli prime minis-
ter for approval.
"I have no objection to that suggestion," said the prime
minister. "But," he continued, "these people all around us,
Premier Alexeyevich, have done their work. We have all read
the file. We have all heard first-hand accounts. I believe we
are all convinced that the beast Valarian must be removed."
He spoke slowly in halting English. The premier nodded his
agreement.
"Up to this point," he continued, "there has been unprec-
edented cooperation between our countries. The old wounds
have been set aside. In effect, the slate can be wiped clean, if
we wish."
A troubled expression crossed the premier's face. Where
was the Israeli leading him?
The prime minister went on. "From the last report of"—he
stopped to check a name in his file folder—"General Porikin
regarding the private army that Valarian and Marshall Malenkov
have gathered into our part of the world, and by the appoint-
ment of Colonel Valarian to your executive council, I
would say that we don't have much time left to fight these
forces."
The premier felt uneasy. "Mr. Prime Minister." Alex-
eyevich spoke in English. "There is no doubt of the apprecia-
tion we have for your efforts and those of your countrymen in
this matter. But I am premier of my country. I am in charge
of its affairs, not Marshall Malenkov or Colonel Valarian."
The prime minister raised his hand, interrupting Ivan
Ivanovich. "Please. I did not mean to infer that you have no
control over events in your government. I am a little clumsy
in English. Forgive me. I am trying to say that it seems to me
the only real business we have to conduct in this clandestine
meeting is that you and I reach an agreement regarding the
future."
Alexeyevich suddenly admired the Israeli prime minister.
He liked the direct approach. To him, and obviously to the
Israeli, most diplomacy and protocol were nineteenth-century
bullshit. He leaned across the table and looked directly into
the prime minister's eyes.
"Good. Would you rather do this privately?"
The prime minister smiled. He too liked directness when
there was business to be done.

276
David Saperstein
"I personally like to have a witness or two, if you don't
mind. It keeps me honest. Besides, they have all worked so
hard and faced such danger that it would be unfair to exclude
them from the final hondling."
"I am not familiar with that word," remarked the premier.
"Bargaining, dealing—it's a Yiddish expression."
"Oh," Alexeyevich said. "Then fine. What do you want
in exchange for your help?"
"If you will excuse me, Premier Alexeyevich," he said
slowly, gathering his thoughts for what he perceived to be the
key remark that would set the tone of their negotiations. "I
do not think that it is my place to suggest actions to you.
What we came to do, we will do . . . but the things that we
now discuss are things that you must undo. That is what
interests me."
Touche, thought Peter Somoroff to himself. He silently
hoped that the premier would respond positively. This was
one area they had not discussed. Peter was not a politician,
and he certainly was not a maker of policy.
"Very well," began the premier. "This is what I propose
we do after Valarian is gone." He then began a litany of
actions that the Soviet Union would take. It included free
immigration, opening of synagogues, a decree allowing Jews
access to all aspects of Soviet life, a review of all Jews held
in prison and release of those who were arrested for political
or religious reasons, recognition of the State of Israel, a trade
agreement including sale of petroleum products and import of
Israeli goods, and an effort to intervene in the peacemaking
process with those Arab nations with which the Soviet Union
had some influence.
As the premier droned on, naming concession after conces-
sion to the utter amazement of all in the room, the body of
Anton Metsky stirred inside the small Peugeot. He unlocked
the door farthest from the nearby Israeli checkpoint, slowly
opened it, and slid out onto the ground. With catlike move-
ments he rushed into the woods and circled behind the chateau.
At the dacha, Valarian lay on his bed. His eyes were
closed, his tongue extended, multicolored, with a flame at the
tip touching a mass of black wax he held in his hands. The
wax melted and ran down his arms, enveloping them like

RED DEVIL
277
long gloves, skin-tight and glistening. When his hands and
arms were covered with the wax, he rose from the bed and
moved around the room with the same catlike motions as the
body of Metsky in faraway France.
Following the orders of his master, Marshall Malenkov
began to notify the members of the executive council of the
Presidium of the Supreme Soviet that he was calling a special
meeting the next afternoon. He informed each minister and
member of the council that he had proof Premier Alexeyevich
was a traitor to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and
that he intended to expose him publicly.
The Egyptian airliner landed in Karachi, Pakistan, for re-
fueling. A Buddist monk boarded the plane and spoke briefly
with Rabbi Zahor and Rabbi David Hashomer. The monk
would make the final connections and arrangements for the
rabbis to get from Chungking to Sian, their final destination.
Premier Alexeyevich completed his proposal. He sat back,
waiting for a reaction from the Israeli prime minister. The
answer came surprisingly fast.
"I am delighted with your attitude and humbled by your
generosity. Thank you. I, however, have a different view of
things."
Tension gripped the room. General ben Kagan, recalling
the advice of the chief of the Mossad, stayed relaxed. He
knew what was coming, but he strained, listening to exactly
how the prime minister would express the Israeli attitude.
The body of Anton Metsky knelt in the woods behind the
helicopters. The pilots and crews were aboard, ready to take
off at a moment's notice. The DIA patrol and attack dog
moved past the helicopters. They began a sweep of the area
around the communications truck, its large microwave dish
pointed skyward. He heard a low hum emanating from the
truck. If he moved swifdy he could pass between the helicop-
ters unnoticed. He crouched, ready to run.
Valarian knelt in the same position in his bedroom, his
eyes still closed, his black wax gloves glistening, his tongue
extended with the flame at the tip. Suddenly he stood and
began running in place.

278
David Saperstein
The body of Anton Metsky began running between the
helicopters toward the chateau. He aimed at the wooden cellar
door that was recessed below the main building line. Three
stone steps led down to the door.
The breastplate of Aaron began to tremble on the bed. At
prayer, Rabbi Asher did not notice the glittering, jeweled
movement.
The prime minister's voice was friendly, almost pleading.
"Here we sit, representing armies, weapons, past animosity.
Let's be honest, a state of war has existed between our
countries. To do all these things you say, I believe, would be
unexplainable and impossible for the rest of the world to
understand. We are not here discussing matters of reality as
the world knows it, or even as we know it. It is not natural, it
is supernatural. I do not know, honestly, what these rabbis
from Zefat can do. They themselves admit we are dealing
with things unknown. Things we do not understand. So, my
fellow human being, I cannot, and they cannot, guarantee any
success in this endeavor. And if we do succeed, it will be
some time before we know what we have actually accom-
plished. Let me propose a different course of action." He
paused again, carefully choosing his words in the foreign
tongue.
"Let us, the rabbi, do what he can against Valarian. Then,
no matter what happens, let us vow to ease the tensions
between our countries. We can start in small ways. Slowly—or
putting it another way, as fast as circumstances and the world
will allow. Just as long as we understand that our goals of
peace and harmony are common. If you wish to allow immi-
gration, fine. If you can apply persuasion to those who would
destroy us, then I will swear not to attack or instigate action
against them. Later we can recognize one another, trade,
grow together. We can make a start and leave a legacy for
those who follow us as leaders. Because this much I know,
and you will too when the time comes—if we . . . Rabbi
Asher, that is, is able to drive this evil one away, then it is
clear that there is a force of good in this world. And He
is helping, and He will fulfill the promise: 'Blessed are
the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of
God.' "

RED DEVIL
279
Ivan Ivanovich repeated the expression in Russian. He
reached across the table and shook the prime minister's hand
just as a loud crash sounded below them.
Valarian leaped through the air, his wax-coated arms ex-
tended. Anton Metsky leaped through the air, his hands ex-
tended the same way, and smashed through the cellar door,
splintering it as he passed through into the chateau basement.
The sound brought two teams of DIA men running toward the
shattered door. They released their dogs and both animals
disappeared into the dark cellar. A moment later the two
dogs' bodies flew back through the door and fell to the
ground twitching. They were decapitated.
The breastplate rose from the bed, suspended in midair.
Rabbi Asher ran to it. As he grasped the ouches at the
shoulder, it took on a life of its own and moved to his chest,
fitting snugly. Down below he heard a beast in the foyer.
Michael Gross moved to the door of the dining room. Arie
ben Kagan shoved his prime minister under the table. At the
same time Peter Somoroff performed a similar service for his
premier. Chomsky drew his pistol and followed Gross. Peter
motioned for Andy to get on the phone and find out what had
happened.
"Stay away from the door!" ben Kagan yelled at Michael.
"Let them handle it outside." He fingered the cigarette light-
er radio transmitter in his pocket, undecided whether to call
in the strike team. Their orders were to kill everyone except
the Israelis. He had no doubt they could accomplish their
mission.
Valarian stood in the middle of his candlelit bedroom. He
moved his head around as though he were looking or smelling
for something. His eyes were closed. His tongue began to
drip the rainbow fluid onto the floor.
Asher placed the miter on his head. Driven by a force
beyond his control, he left the room and headed down the
stairs toward the foyer.
The DIA guards at the dining room door were on their
feet, machine guns aimed toward the foyer.
Metsky broke through the door from the basement into the
foyer with a roar. Behind him the Americans fired machine

280
David Saperstein
gun bullets into his body. They had no effect. He turned and
roared again back toward the gunfire. Then he spit a rainbow
of fluid, splattering the guards. They screamed in agony,
unable to avoid the searing liquid. It ate into their clothing
and weapons like acid. Metsky turned and started toward the
dining room.
Rabbi Asher saw the man below and knew who he was.
The rabbi leaped over the curved banister and flew onto
Metsky's back. As the jewels on the breastplate touched the
dead Soviet major, his flesh seared and smoked. He screamed
like a wounded bull elephant, shattering the large crystal
chandelier hanging above the foyer. It splintered and fell onto
the black and white marble floor.
Valarian was slammed to the floor of his bedroom. His
eyes popped open in shock. Blisters appeared on his skin at
the same points where the jewels touched Metsky's body.
Inside the dining room, Gross could no longer contain
himself. Chomsky too looked pleadingly at Colonel Somoroff.
Both men wanted action.
"Be careful, Michael," said ben Kagan.
"Go with him, Leonid," Somoroff ordered.
Both men rushed to the door. Taft was talking to the truck
and, by walkie-talkie, to the perimeter guards and helicopter
crews. No one knew what had happened. Michael and Leonid
rushed past the guards at the door.
"Stay here," Michael ordered. He ran to the foyer en-
trance and saw the incredible sight. Splinters of crystal lay all
over the floor. The sickly smell of burning flesh drifted up
through the open basement door. On the floor in front of him
was Rabbi Asher, dressed in the vestments of Aaron, strug-
gling on top of a man whose face was hidden. The man had
his tongue wrapped around Sholem's throat, and it pulsed
with brilliant colors. It was choking the life from the brave
rabbi. Asher's hands were pushing down on the other man,
trying to free himself from the unbelievably long tongue, but
his strength was almost gone. The man underneath Asher was
screaming in pain. Michael could not see where the pain was
coming from.
Leonid rushed past Michael and tried to help Asher. The
moment he touched the man on the floor his hands burned.

RED DEVIL
281
He leaped back, screaming in pain, his pistol dropping to the
floor. Michael now rushed up and put his pistol to the man's
head, startled to see it was the man he had killed earlier that
evening. The bullet holes were clearly there, yet the man was
alive. He fired into the head six times, but it had no effect on
Asher's attacker. Suddenly Sholem Asher's body collapsed
onto Metsky. The miter fell onto the Soviet's face, its gold
medallion landing on his forehead. He went stiff, then shook
violently and was still. The long tongue turned red, then
black, and withdrew into the open mouth. Michael pulled
Asher's body off the man he had seen die twice, for he had
no doubt that Major Metsky was once more dead. But so was
Sholem Asher.
Valarian lay on the floor of his bedroom exhausted. His
eyes had rolled up into his head; the scars on his face and
body smoldered in twelve places. Though his lips did not
move, words were still clear.
"And still I curse you ..."

44
"He was coming for us," said Premier Alexeyevich. "The
rabbi saved our lives."
Peter Somoroff was angry. A medivac team from the heli-
copter tended to Leonid Chomsky's burns in a corner of the
dining room. The premier sat at the table next to the prime
minister. Both men drank large brandies. All had removed
their jackets. Michael Gross carefully folded Aaron's vest-
ments. Anya stood by him, wanting to help but afraid to
touch the sacred clothing. Arie ben Kagan ran his fingers over
the twelve jewels embedded in the gold breastplate. His thoughts
drifted back thousands of years. The only one with a cool
head was Andy Taft. He patiently waited on the phone while
the international connections were patched in and the neces-
sary people were brought to their ends of the line.
"Why the hell didn't you tell us you had killed Metsky?"
Somoroff finally asked. He directed the question to ben Kagan.
The Mossad general came back to reality. He removed his
hand from the breastplate.
"Because I found out just as I arrived. At first I thought
Gross had told you. Then the meeting started, and the excite-
ment of the discussion made me forget. It is my fault. Don't
blame Michael. It is unfortunate history. I am frightened.
This is a powerful thing ... I just don't know."
Peter knew there was no point in discussing what might
have been. Even if he knew Metsky was dead, what would he
have done? What would it have meant? He remembered
Misha Karkov dying a few moments after Rabbi Vogel used
him. He knew that Misha had been killed from the outside,
282

RED DEVIL
283
not by Vogel. Would he have taken steps to watch the body
of Metsky? He didn't know. Taft interrupted his thoughts.
"Everyone's on the line. If it's okay I'll put it on the
speaker. That way we can all listen and talk."
The premier and the prime minister became attentive. Peter
and Arie moved to the table and sat, side by side, opposite
their countrymen. Both leaders gestured for ben Kagan to
speak. They knew the first order of business was in Israel.
"Dov? This is General ben Kagan in France."
A clear voice, sounding as though it were in the next room,
answered promptly.
"General ben Kagan, Dov Aharoni here. Miss Andreyev is
with me."
"Good. Who is in Moscow?"
"General Porikin here. Major Rosteveli is with me." He
spoke in Russian. Michael Gross translated simultaneously.
"Are you all right, Premier Alexeyevich?"
"Yes," answered the Soviet leader. "I am fine."
"Hold on a moment, General Porikin. Who is on the line
in Washington?"
There was a pause. Then the familiar voice of the Ameri-
can president came from the speaker on the table.
"This is President Simonson. My greetings to Premier
Alexeyevich and Prime Minister Mintz." The American, as
always, was formal and proper. "We are at your service here
in America."
The premier and prime minister thanked him. Arie contin-
ued. "Dov? Leave Miss Andreyev on the line. I want you to
dispatch a helicopter to Zefat from the base at Migdal imme-
diately. Get word to Rabbi Levi Lemach ben Abraham that he
is urgently needed in Tel Aviv. Tell him we have serious
trouble and we must speak to him. Tell him that Rabbi Asher
is dead. Do it now."
"Yes, sir." The man was gone from the line.
"I am here," said Sasha. "What happened?"
"We are not exactly sure what happened. There was an
attack. The man was killed, but so was Rabbi Asher, may he
rest in peace. He gave his life for us."
"Oh . . ." Sasha was moved to tears. Everyone could hear
her sob for a moment.
"May I speak?" asked General Porikin.
"Go ahead," said ben Kagan.

284
David Saperstein
"Premier Alexeyevich, may I speak freely?" The KGB
general was not used to having so many people listen to his
phone calls, especially an American president and an Israeli
prime minister.
"Go ahead," said Alexeyevich. He was annoyed at the
man's hesitancy.
"Marshall Malenkov has called a special meeting of the
executive council for tomorrow afternoon. He called me just
an hour ago. He said that you were a traitor and that he was
going to expose you."
Peter Somoroff's heart sank. Valarian was winning. They
were unable to stop him now. Rabbi Asher was dead, and
with him their only hope of immediate victory.
"Does he know I am here?" asked Ivan Ivanovich.
"I don't think so, Premier, but he knows you have dropped
out of sight. He suspects you are out of the country. I am sure
that is why he called this meeting."
"Then I will confront him. I will be back in Moscow
tomorrow morning." Alexeyevich was firm.
"Is there anything we can do?" asked the American
president.
Arie ben Kagan spoke again. "Excuse me, Mr. President.
We need some time to decipher exactly what has happened
here. The man who attacked was a dead man. Somehow he
came to life."
"What? Did I hear you right?" The president was confused.
"Yes, sir. The copy of the Menoff file and Colonel
Somoroff's report that you received are true. ... As fantastic
as it sounds, believe us, it is all true. We are dealing with
supernatural forces. We need some time to speak to our
experts in Israel. About an hour. In the meantime, is it.
possible for you to lodge a protest to the world press stating
that the head rabbi of Moscow, Rabbi Posner, has been
arrested and incarcerated without cause by the new Minister
of the Interior of the Soviet Union? It must be a very strong
protest, if it is agreed to by Premier Alexeyevich." Ben
Kagan looked at the premier for support.
"I totally agree, Mr. President," said the premier. "It is a
good tactic. General Porikin, I want you to see that Pravda
and Izvestiya release the same story as soon as the complaint
is lodged. See that it gets onto the morning news on television
without comment. Nationwide. Is that clear?"

RED DEVIL
285
"Yes, sir," answered a shocked Porikin.
Peter Somoroff spoke next. "Major Rosteveli, how is the
security of our unit?"
"We are still in the same place, Colonel Somoroff. I do
not believe we have been detected. The GRU are all over the
city, but our cover is still good."
"How many men do you have there?"
"Twenty-five, sir."
"Is there any news of Rabbi Posner?"
"No, sir. May I ask who attacked you, Colonel?"
Being aware of security, even though the Tyros system
sidebands were rarely used, Somoroff chose his words carefully.
"It was the one who brought little boys to your friend."
"Is he dead?"
"We believe now he is."
"Good," said Rosteveli. There was satisfaction in his
voice.
"We will keep these lines open until Rabbi Abraham can
join us."
Andy Taft looked at his watch and stood. "We have
sequenced an irregular change of frequencies on the system.
If for a moment you think you are cut off, just wait. The
connection should come back in ten seconds after the line
appears to go dead."
As they waited for Rabbi Abraham to arrive in Tel Aviv,
the Egyptian 747 crossed the Burmese border and entered
Chinese air space on a vector toward Chungking. At a dis-
tance almost equal from Chungking but to the northeast, the
sleek new Lear Commander, recently delivered by the CIA to
Chinese intelligence, lifted off the runway at Sian carrying
General Tsung Ming Lee, commander of worldwide Chinese
intelligence services, and Dr. Tsu Heng, supervisor of the
archaeological dig near the ancient city of Sian. It too maneu-
vered to a vector heading that would bring it to Chungking.
They would arrive an hour before the Egyptian plane landed.
In his dacha, Nickolai Valarian literally licked his wounds.
The seared flesh began to heal. He then contacted his newest
disciple, Marshall Malenkov. The portly general secretary felt
the pleasure of reward after he informed his master that the
meeting of the executive council was confirmed. By tomor-

286
David Saperstein
row night Malenkov would be the sole ruler of the Soviet
Union. Valarian was pleased. He alone knew who would
really rule the Soviet Union and, through its military power,
wreak havoc on the world.

45
It was nearly midnight when Rabbi Abraham joined the satel-
lite hookup. He had been wakened by Major Horowitz's
assistant banging on the old temple door. The helicopter ride
through the dark skies was frightening, but by the time they
arrived in Tel Aviv atop Mossad headquarters, he was enjoy-
ing the sensation of flight. Rabbi Malachi had gone down to
Kibbutz Ginnosar to bring Rabbi Vogel back to the temple.
Rabbi Solomon ben Levi prepared for Vogel's return and
silently prayed for the soul of Rabbi Sholem Asher.
During the hour and a half that it took to bring Rabbi
Abraham down to Tel Aviv, exhaustion began to wear heav-
ily on the people at the chateau. Premier Alexeyevich and
Prime Minister Mintz had settled in armchairs near the fire-
place and discussed world affairs. Both men sincerely liked
one another. Michael and Anya sat quietly holding hands.
The medics had given Leonid Chomsky a sedative to ease the
pain of his bums. He slept. Peter and Arie sat at the long
table discussing the options now that Rabbi Asher was dead.
Valarian had the upper hand, of that there was no doubt.
They speculated on the possibility that he also had control of
Marshall Malenkov, though they did not broach the subject to
the premier. Somoroff was outmanned in Moscow, given that
Valarian now controlled the GRU and perhaps all of the KGB
people left in Peter's office. One bright spot was General
Porikin, but Peter didn't think that the general actually be-
lieved Valarian possessed supernatural powers.
Taft's phone buzzed, alerting everyone in the room.
"Go ahead," he said. "Okay, patch it." He hung up and
287

288
David Saperstein
told everyone that the rabbi was coming on the line. The
speaker on the table squealed with static.
"General ben Kagan? This is Dov Aharoni. I have Rabbi
Abraham for you."
The old rabbi's voice was calm and clear. He spoke in
Hebrew. Michael translated for the Soviets.
"General ben Kagan ... is Sholem dead? Is it true?"
"Yes," said Arie. "He was killed by a man whom we
thought was already dead."
"Was the man marked with the red triangle and the back-
ward C?"
"Yes, Rabbi. But he was killed earlier this evening. Some-
how he came back to life. He was dead, I tell you. How is
that possible?" Arie was excited. His cold, logical mind had
been pushed too far with the night's events, and he wanted an
answer he could understand. Rabbi Abraham sensed his distress.
"Calm down, General. I believe I know what happened.
Every detail is important. Think carefully. A great deal de-
pends on what might seem to you insignificant."
Ben Kagan told the rabbi as much as he knew and allowed
Gross and Leonid, who was now awake, to tell what they saw
and did. They called in the two DIA door guards to confirm
every detail of what occurred in the foyer. When they fin-
ished, ben Kagan also related the events that had recently
transpired in the Soviet Union. "We have little time," said
Rabbi Abraham. His voice was strong, filled with decision.
"What has happened, Rabbi?" asked the prime minister.
"What can we do?"
"This must be a message from God, blessed is He. I now
know who Valarian is . . . what he is, and how we must deal
with him." Everyone moved closer to the speaker, hanging
on every word the old man spoke. "Valarian is the evil one
himself, this fallen archangel, Shay tan! Only the archangels
can raise disciples from the dead."
A chill swept through everyone around the table. The
American president said, "Good Lord!" General Porikin's
translator literally shouted the name Satan to the KGB chief.
No one spoke for a moment. Peter took control of the situa-
tion, gesturing for Michael to translate for him.
"Rabbi, this is Colonel Somoroff. Can we stop Valarian?"
"Yes, Peter, it is possible." It was the first time the rabbi
had used Somoroff s first name. It gave him strength.

RED DEVIL
289
"Valarian must act forcefully now," the rabbi continued.
"He must suspect we have a powerful tool to use against
him. But he is vain and arrogant, so he will doubt what his
intelligence tells him. It is our only chance. He will refuse to
accept that we have found Aaron's holy robes and breastplate."
"What do we do?" Peter asked, his confidence growing.
"It will take extraordinary actions by those with you and
by those who are listening. It will require an act of faith, and
above all, finally, a belief in God Almighty. Without that we
are all lost."
Somoroff spoke for everyone in the room. "We are with
you, Rabbi Abraham. Just tell us what to do."
The rabbi began to rattle off a list of things that had to be
accomplished within the next twelve hours. Michael contin-
ued to translate aloud. Anya committed it all to paper.
They were all to return to Moscow as quickly as possible.
General Porikin was to try to keep their arrival secret. The
general suggested a military base in Dubna. He would have
helicopters waiting to transport them directly to the Kremlin.
They must assume that Marshall Malenkov was under
Valarian's control. The premier was to contact the general
secretary and request a meeting in Alexeyevich's office be-
fore the executive council meeting. He would demand that
Valarian be there, too. The rabbi suggested that the premier
use Peter Somoroff as bait. Peter agreed.
There was no need for the prime minister to journey to
Moscow. He would return to Tel Aviv. The prime minister
adamantly declined.
The most difficult part of the plan was that the four rabbis,
Abraham, Malachi, ben Levi, and Vogel, plus Sasha Andreyev,
had to get to Moscow immediately. That meant an Israeli
plane had to fly into Soviet airspace. In an unprecedented
move, President Simonson, his military adviser in the opera-
tion room, and General Porikin, with a patch line directly to
General Kubyshev in Chita, devised an extraordinary flight
plan. An Israeli tactical bomber, capable of landing on an
aircraft carrier, would transport the people from Israel to the
American Sixth Fleet flagship currently cruising in the Medi-
terranean off Cyprus. They would transfer to an American
missile-launching jet helicopter, which would take them to a
Soviet aircraft carrier now stationed off the Turkish coast.
From there a Soviet scout plane would bring them to the base

290
David Saperstein
at Dubna. If all went well, the plane from Paris would arrive
a half hour before the Israeli contingent.
They would need ten people in the premier's office besides
the premier and Peter Somoroff. Ben Kagan explained that
this was a minyan, a minimum congregation. There had to be
at least ten present when prayers were said.
Rabbi Abraham preferred that the ten be Jews. Peter sug-
gested that to bring strangers into the situation now might
jeopardize everything, especially if someone new panicked.
The rabbi reluctantly agreed. The ten would be Rabbi Vogel,
Rabbi Abraham, Rabbi Solomon ben Levi, Rabbi Malachi,
Prime Minister Mintz, Michael Gross, General ben Kagan,
Fannie Beshevsky, Major Rosteveli, and Andy Taft. Anya
Somoroff protested at being left out, but Rabbi Abraham
assured her that she was needed to help Rabbi Vogel. Sasha
Andreyev, because of her wound, was unable to be present.
She would return to Moscow to recuperate.
Instructions were given as to how the vestments of Aaron
were to be packed and handled. Rabbi Abraham would also
be bringing several large cases from Israel.
As the details were finalized at the chateau, the helicopter
crews were told to stand by for a flight to Le Bourget Airport.
The premier telephoned his embassy in Paris and instructed
them to prepare the Illutian aircraft immediately for the return
to Moscow. When they were in Soviet air space, the flight
plan would deviate to the base at Dubna.
Everyone, except Arie ben Kagan and the Israeli prime
minister, was surprised when Rabbi Abraham asked about
transportation to China. The Mossad general had kept that
part of the operation secret. It took several minutes for the
rabbi to explain what was needed and why. Premier Alexeyevich
and Peter Somoroff were annoyed with ben Kagan. Would
they ever learn to completely trust one another? Ben Kagan
apologized. Dov Aharoni was in contact with the Egyptians.
He told everyone that the plane was now on its final approach
to Chungking and that the Egyptians would handle clearance
for the Soviet plane, if and when it made the trip to Sian.
Premier Alexeyevich told General Porikin to replace all the
security forces near his office with hand-picked men. He was
to go to the executive council meeting as though nothing was
wrong and await Premier Alexeyevich's call. Because of his
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RED DEVIL
291
of the group hiding in the Architectural Museum. The seda-
tive and the thought of seeing Marina Grochenko made him
happy, but his disappointment at not being in on the kill was
obvious.
When everything was completed, Rabbi Abraham said a
prayer that the day ahead would bring success.
The Illutian 600 lifted majestically off the runway at Le
Bourget. The Israeli bomber carrying its unlikely passengers
skimmed across the dark Mediterranean as the first rays of
blue and purple far to the east announced the new day. In
each aircraft, Rabbi Abraham's prayer echoed through the
minds and souls of those who would soon do deadly combat
with Satan.
"Send out Your light and Your truth; let them lead us, let
them bring us to Your holy mountain, to Your dwelling
place.
"When evil darkens our world, give us light.
"When despair numbs our souls, give us hope.
"When we stumble and fall, lift us up.
"When doubts assail us, give us faith.
"When nothing seems sure, give us trust.
"When ideals fade, give us vision.
"When we lose our way, be our guide!
"That we may find serenity in Your presence, and purpose
in doing Your will. Amen."

46
Small groups of students, soldiers, tourists, and Muscovites
dotted the enormous expanse of Red Square at midday. Faint
signs of spring were evident, adding a bounce to the chil-
dren's gait. The sun was bright, causing mounds of snow,
gathered from many shovels all winter, to send trickles of
water onto the pavement. The air smelled of spring, that
special freshness promising eternal renewal.
None of the sights and smells were of interest to Nickolai
Valarian as his car approached the Kremlin. He drew some
comfort from viewing the Cathedral of St. Basil with its
extraordinary mosquelike towers and colorful domes. The
once-zealous church, begun by the infamous Ivan the Terri-
ble, was now an antireligious museum. Soon, he thought, all
of the churches will serve the same purpose.
Marshall Malenkov sat at his desk and reread the dismal
computer projection for wheat production in the next decade.
The Minister of Agriculture, a former Ukrainian farmer him-
self, relied heavily on computer science for his forecasting.
Malenkov understood little of computers, other than their
ability to launch and guide missiles and keep track of the
enemies of the Soviet Union. He made a mental note to
dismiss the minister at the first opportunity. Then he could
blame future failures on the ineptitude of the man. The Cana-
dians would sell wheat and grain to the Soviets. Once in
control of the government, Malenkov could outbid the Chi-
nese masses and raise the market price beyond their means.
Fight capitalism with capitalism, he thought as he closed the
report and set it aside. Today there were much more impor-
292

RED DEVIL
293
tant matters at hand. He looked at his desk clock, stood,
buttoned his grey suit jacket, and began his journey to Pre-
mier Alexeyevich's office in the Kremlin Great Palace. He
decided to walk. He liked spring, and it was in the air today.
A good sign. As he left the Council of Ministers' building his
eyes fell upon the old Kremlin Arsenal across the way. The
czar defended the Kremlin from the Revolutionary Army
from that arsenal. But today, thought General Secretary Mar-
shall Malenkov, today there is no defense great enough to
stop him. Today he would triumph.
New faces patrolled the halls outside the premier's suite of
offices. They made the assistants and secretaries nervous. All
telephone calls were routed to the message secretary. All
appointments had been canceled. Those older government
workers who had been around during the old purges felt a
similar atmosphere pervade. They silently went about their
work, trusting their bureaucratic obscurity would protect them.
Three miles to the southwest, Leonid Chomsky hugged
Marina Grochenko for what seemed the thousandth time. He
could not get enough of her. How good she smelled and felt.
His hands were bandaged, so he did his touching with his
face. The months spent on this case and the strain of Marina's
injury had taken their toll on the young man. He was tired as
he lay next to her, knowing in a few moments he would have
to be ready and alert.
"I will have to go soon," he said, his face buried in her
smooth neck.
"I know. I'm frightened. Do you think we can beat him?"
He didn't want to answer. He had always had doubts about
the old rabbi and the other Jews. Everything he had ever
learned in the Soviet Union told him that religion was non-
sense and that Valarian would win. On the other hand, he
held a deep respect for Peter Somoroff, and there was no
doubt in Peter's mind that this was the only way to destroy
Valarian. Leonid slid his face down between Marina's small
breasts and breathed deeply. Her robe opened. As he began to
pull away, knowing it was time to leave, he saw the fresh
pink scar on her abdomen. His love would always carry the
Star of David on her body. He stared at it, wondering and
finally hoping that Peter Somoroff was right.

294
David Saperstein
"I'm proud of it," Marina said, her voice barely a whisper.
Chomsky stood, then bent and kissed her softly on the lips,
lingering for a minute, rubbing his lips along hers. He then
kissed both her eyes, turned, and silently left the room. She
watched him until the door closed, then put her hands on the
scar and prayed.
In the next room Sasha also prayed.
The Soviet aircraft carrier scout plane had been a half hour
late, due to bad weather over the Balkans. It had to sweep
wide to the east and fly over the Black Sea to avoid menacing
spring thunderstorms. The American president had arranged
clearance for it to pass over Greek and Turkish air space, then
on to Dubna.	'
They all arrived by helicopter at the Kremlin just before ten
in the morning. Now, as noon approached, everything that
could be done was done. The plan had been rehearsed, every-
one knew his role. The unknown factor—what could Valarian
do . . . and what would he do—remained on everyone's
mind. But strangely, Rabbi Abraham's inner strength and
belief affected even the most cynical among them, General
Porikin. He had left the premier's office at eleven-thirty, after
first making a call to Marshall Malenkov assuring him that, as
head of the KGB, he had an extreme interest in hearing about
the premier's treason. He had told the general secretary that if
the allegations were true, he would like the honor of arresting
Ivan Ivanovich Alexeyevich himself. What he didn't tell
Malenkov was that three buses loaded with KGB security
forces were parked behind Lenin Mausoleum, ostensibly to
handle the crowds expected on a fine spring day but under
secret orders to surround the Great Palace after Nickolai
Valarian's car entered the Kremlin.
Premier Alexeyevich and Peter Somoroff sat nervously
near the ornate samovar, sipping tea. The first call, from
Captain Bonyon, came at twelve-fifteen. He was dressed in
his Army uniform, olive-colored with red officer trim, min-
gling with the crowds in Red Square. He walked slowly to his
command car and notified the premier and the KGB com-
mander at the buses that Valarian had entered the Kremlin.
The second call came moments later, announcing that Mar-
shall Malenkov had left his office and was walking to the
Palace.

RED DEVIL
295
"I will sit at the desk," said the premier, repeating what
they had rehearsed. "You stay near the fireplace. Marshall
Malenkov must be near you when we strike."
The premier moved to the center of the room and stood on
a beautiful Persian rug, looking down at a cluster of pale
flowers woven centuries ago.
"And this is where Valarian must be when the time comes."
Peter nodded his agreement, knowing it would all happen
very fast. Everything must be exactly right.
The others divided into teams. Rabbi ben Levi and Andy
Taft would be on the south side; Rabbi Malachi and Prime
Minister Mintz would take the north; Michael Gross and
General ben Kagan had the most difficult assignment, the
west side; Fannie Beshevsky and Major Sergei Rosteveli had
the east. Valarian would not go toward the east, Rabbi Abra-
ham suspected. The old man would be at the door, behind
Valarian. The south team waited with Rabbi Abraham in the
small anteroom outside the main door leading to the premier's
inner office. The north team hid behind the heavy drapes that
framed the window behind Alexeyevich's desk. The east team
waited in the premier's bathroom. The west team, which
would work along the fireplace wall, was secreted in the
roomy coat closet. Fannie Beshevsky held Rosteveli's hand
tightly. He gripped the Torah in his other hand, resting it
upon his shoulder. Gross held the Torah for his team. The
ancient parchment seemed small and frail against the big
man's body, but he held it tenderly, with respect. The rabbis
each held the Torahs for their teams. Rabbi ben Levi in-
structed Taft. When the time came, Rabbi ben Levi would
give him the sacred scroll spindle, and ben Levi would move.
Prime Minister Mintz also requested that Rabbi Malachi move
for their team. He did not know if he would have the energy
to make the run. His age was a factor. The sleepless night had
drained his strength.
Anya Somoroff silently watched Rabbi Vogel. The robes,
chains, and vestments were beautiful. Even the famous
Oruzheinaya Palata in the west wing of the Palace, which
held many of the great Czarist treasures, had nothing to
compare with the workmanship and beauty of Aaron's gar-
ments. Since he had begun to dress, Rabbi Isadore Vogel had
spoken only prayers. It was as though Anya were not in the
room, although she passed each part of the garment to him

296
David Saperstein
when he pointed to that which he needed next. They had gone
over the ceremony briefly. Anya wondered why one of the
other rabbis didn't help him dress. Rabbi Abraham explained
that in the final moments before the confrontation, Rabbi
Vogel would self-induce a trancelike state. When he entered
the premier's office he would have to move swiftly or Valarian
would escape. A distraction would help. Anya would precede
him through the door and serve that purpose. She would run
across the room, keeping Valarian's attention away from the
door. That would give Rabbi Vogel the extra moment he
needed because Valarian would feel him before he saw him,
and they hoped that in the time it would take Valarian to
realize what was happening, Rabbi Vogel could be in position
to begin the ceremony.
He was nearly dressed. He looked magnificent, beyond
priestly—he seemed ephemeral, on another plane of exis-
tence. She wondered at the strength of this humble man who
had spent so much time in the frozen wasteland of Siberia.
After freedom, how could he risk his life when he had just
been reunited with a family who thought he was dead? Yet
none of that was apparent in his face. He was a man with a
mission. The breastplate with its twelve jewels set in ham-
mered gold was in place and attached to the gold chains at his
shoulders. All that remained in the premier's private file room
was the miter. She held it, surprised at the weight. The gold
medallion gave the miter the appearance of being heavy, yet
it was light. The touch of the fine blue linen on her hands
calmed her. Rabbi Vogel whispered prayers in Hebrew as he
touched each stone on the breastplate separately. Then he
motioned for her to pass the miter, and as he placed it on his
head, he uttered the final prayer. Anya heard the premier's
heavy office door open and felt the thunderous steps of
Marshall Malenkov as he entered the room.
She moved to the file room door and put her hand on the
knob, straining for her signal to enter the room. Rabbi Vogel
stood silently behind her. The team members tensed, awaiting
their cue. In the anteroom outside the front door, Rabbi Levi
Lemach ben Abraham felt Marshall Malenkov pass and knew
he was Satan's disciple. Then the old man shuddered and
whispered a prayer toward Jerusalem heard only by God.
Nickolai Valarian, the dark archangel himself, was approach-
ing. The old man felt his awesome power pulsing through the

RED DEVIL
297
Kremlin Palace walls. A lifetime of preparation had preceded
this moment. Many lifetimes.
Malenkov closed the door behind him. There they were, he
thought, brazen traitors, trapped by their own stupidity. He
saw that Valarian had not arrived, but feeling victory in his
grasp, he immediately attacked both men in the office.
"You are finished, Ivan Alexeyevich. You and this sneak-
ing, Jew-loving traitor will never have a chance to sell out
this country again. I will destroy you both today!"
He stood in the middle of the room, pointing a meaty
finger at the premier. Alexeyevich sat calmly at his desk,
though his heart was beating rapidly and his folded hands
trembled.
"Please have a seat," he said to the agitated general
secretary. "Your accomplice is late. Perhaps he has lost his
courage?"
The overweight Marshall walked toward Peter Somoroff,
who gestured for him to sit near the fireplace.
"Would you like some tea?" he asked quietly.
"No, Jew-lover. You are a disgrace to the Soviet Union."
He folded his hands, deciding now to remain silent until
Valarian arrived.
Out in the long corridor, Nickolai Valarian approached the
premier's office cautiously. Something felt very wrong. His
eyes darted among the paintings that hung along the marble
hallway. They all depicted the glory of the Soviet Union and
the Revolution. But he knew that before those days, religious
works of art decorated this part of the Palace. He always felt
uneasy inside the Kremlin walls. It had once been a place of
religious fervor. Many spirits once occupied this space. God's
name had constantly been evoked here. That is why I am
uneasy, he thought. Many of the religious objects still re-
mained in the building. After today he would have them
removed. That thought enabled him to put aside his doubt and
open the premier's door. As he entered the room, Malenkov
rose to greet him, but it was Peter Somoroff who approached
from his place near the fireplace.
"Colonel Valarian," Peter said in a friendly manner, "please
come in. We have been waiting for you."
Peter placed himself between Malenkov and Valarian. It
was the premier's turn to speak.

298
David Saperstein
"Come in, Minister Valarian. I have waited a long time to
meet you."
Alexeyevich did not get up. He gestured for Valarian to
come to him. Valarian sensed an old, disturbing presence in
the room. Peter's movement distracted him. The premier's
gesture distracted him. But this discomfort. What was it? He
moved toward the premier's desk. Malenkov could not re-
strain himself, but his outburst, too, distracted the evil
archangel.
"I have told these Jew-loving pigs that their time is over.
The executive council is waiting. We have their full support."
Nearby, Anya listened for her cue. The premier looked
down at the rug. Valarian was almost in the right spot.
"Minister Valarian, or should I say Commissar Valarian, I
am not a man who runs from a fight, especially if that fight is
just. We can, I believe, discuss our differences like reason-
able men."
"Weakling," Malenkov said with a sneer. "Nothing can
save you now!"
Somoroff observed that Valarian was almost on the prear-
ranged spot. The fact did not escape the premier either.
Rabbi Vogel's eyes stared ahead, in a trance. It was as
though he could see through the door into the room. He knew
exactly where Valarian stood. He began the ceremony with
the first prayer uttered silently to himself.
"May the grace of the Lord, and the defense and the
protection of His holy angels, never depart from me; nor from
all those who by Your means and by the will of God shall
receive this operation! So be it!"
The premier stood. He breathed deeply and spoke the
Hebrew words. "God is upon you, brother of Lucifer, Levia-
than, and Belial!"
Valarian was stunned.
Anya rushed into the room screaming. She ran past the
front of the premier's desk to the samovar table.
"Murderer!" she screamed. "Murderer of my brother! Kill
him—kill him!" She pointed a finger at Valarian. He started
to lift his hand to silence her when he felt Rabbi Vogel enter
the room. He swooned from the power of Aaron's vestments.
The joints of the body he inhabited grew weak. Rabbi Abra-
ham entered the room behind him and stood as a guard at the
door.

RED DEVIL
299
"What is this?" demanded Malenkov. Peter Somoroff had
moved next to him and blocked his view of Vogel. He tried to
get past Somoroff, but the KGB colonel shoved the large man
down into an armchair.
Vogel's voice filled the room with a strength that it had
never before contained. He moved deliberately to his position
in front of Premier Alexeyevich's desk in full sight of Valarian.
The yellow color of the gold breastplate reflected a light onto
the fallen archangel. It enveloped him in a gold mist.
"Then I will remember my covenant with Jacob," Vogel
began, "and also my covenant with Isaac, and also my
covenant with Abraham will I remember; and I will remember
the land."
"Aaron!" Valarian gasped.
Behind Valarian, Rabbi Abraham said, "Amen."
Satan heard him and tamed around to face the old rabbi.
Vogel spoke again.
"A land which the Lord thy God careth for: the eyes of the
Lord thy God are always upon it, from the beginning of the
year even unto the end of the year."
Valarian was spun around involuntarily toward Vogel.
The four teams revealed themselves and took their posi-
tions in the four comers of the room. Malenkov shuddered at
the sight of the Torahs, but he didn't know why. He tried to
rise from the chair, but he couldn't. Vogel spoke again.
"Blessed is the Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Rock
of all creation, Righteous One of all generations, the faithful
God whose word is deed, whose every command is just and
true."
"Amen," said Rabbi Abraham again, causing Valarian to
spin around once more and face the old man at the door.
"Hear, O Israel; the Lord is our God, the Lord is One."
Valarian spun back to Vogel. Rabbi Abraham spoke. "Our
God is One; Our Lord is great; holy is His name."
Valarian spun back to the door again. His tongue slid out
of his mouth, glowing with rainbow colors.
Vogel's voice doubled in volume, shaking the room.
"Blessed is the Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who has
chosen us from all peoples by giving us his Torah. Blessed is
the Lord, Giver of the Torah."
Valarian spun back again and fell to his knees. His tongue

300
David Saperstein
dripped colored fluid onto the Persian rug, but it was not
absorbed.
From each corner of the room the teams began their part of
the ritual. Andy held the holy scroll, and Rabbi ben Levi
unwound it along the south wall of the office. At the same
time, Prime Minister Mintz held his Torah, and Rabbi Malachi
unwound it along the north wall. Likewise Fannie Beshevsky
held hers, and Serge Rosteveli unwound it along the east
wall; and, finally, Michael Gross held his Torah, and Arie
ben Kagan unwound it along the west side of the office.
Together they formed a box around Valarian with Vogel
inside and the rest of the people in the room outside.
Valarian screamed a primeval wail. Parts of his body began
to break. An arm cracked, a leg split in half, fingers dropped
from his hands.
Rabbi Vogel touched the first stone in the breastplate, the
sardius. "This is the tribe of Reuben. Upon it Thou hast
granted fertility unto our people that we may be numbered
and serve You." With the sound of an electrical arc, a bolt of
light shot from the stone and struck Valarian.
He touched the next stone, a topaz, as those holding the
Torahs moved a step closer to Valarian, tightening the box of
sacred scrolls around him.
"This is the tribe of Simeon. Upon it Thou hast granted
love for Thy people Israel and for all the world." Again the
square tightened and a colored bolt of light shot out. Valarian
writhed on the floor now, pieces of flesh falling from his
face.
The next stone was an emerald.
"This is the tribe of Levi. Upon it Thou hast granted
wisdom and an open heart that we may forever serve You."
The box tightened. Green light flashed, and Valarian's rain-
bow fluid turned green.
The next stone was a carbuncle, much like the topaz only
clear red.
"This is the tribe of Judah. Upon it Thou hast given us
great strength that we may endure all manner of persecution,
yet rise again to put our hands on the necks of our enemies."
Valarian stood, his fingerless hands raised in defiance,
even as pieces of his flesh fell from them. A voice from
within him emitted sounds in an ancient and long-forgotten
tongue. The box tightened a little more. Fannie Beshevsky

RED DEVIL
301
hesitated at the sounds Valarian made. Those who held the
Torahs formed the corners of the box. They were outside and
could not see Satan. Rabbi ben Levi, the youngest of the ben
Zimrah rabbis, was next to Fannie. He urged her on with a
comforting word, "Courage!"
Inside the ever-tightening square, Rabbi Vogel touched the
next stone, a sapphire, purple-blue in color.
"This is the tribe of Issachar. Upon it Thou hast given
comfort and healing. Yet it shall be health to Thy navel, and
marrow to Thy bones." Valarian's spine broke and he crum-
bled to the floor, paralyzed as a bolt of purple-blue light
struck him.
The next stone was a ligure. Vogel touched it, his strength
growing as he watched Valarian fall to the floor.
"This is the tribe of Zebulun. Upon it Thou hast granted
refreshing sleep and goodwill. As Leah bore Zebulun saying,
'Now my husband will sleep with me.' "
Valarian's eyes closed. The scroll square tightened even
more. Half the distance had been covered. There remained six
stones.
Vogel touched the jacinth.
"This is the tribe of Dan. Upon it Thou hast overturned the
graven image forever." The light from the stone enveloped
Satan's head, and Valarian's body was flipped to lie face-
down in the pool of his own fluid.
The next stone was an agate.
"This is the tribe of Naphtalf. Upon it Thou hast planted
us firmly on Thy earth, to do Thy bidding and stand secure in
Thy way."
Face down, Satan cried out for his brother Lucifer.
Vogel touched the next stone, a sea-green beryl.
"This is the tribe of Asher. Upon it Thou hast enriched the
earth and promised nourishment; as for Asher, his bread shall
be fat."
The parchment box was almost upon Valarian, the ancient
Hebrew writing facing him.
The next stone touched was the multicolored jasper. Rabbi
Vogel now stood over Valarian, the Torah on the north side
almost upon his back.
"This is the tribe of Benjamin. Upon it Thou hast bridled
the tongue of evil and restrained the blood of temptation.
A multicolored light emanated from the stone, causing tne

302
David Saperstein
long tongue of Satan to turn red, then black. It slid into his
mouth. His entire body turned red, then black, then .white,
and it appeared to be that of another man. Artillery Captain
Barnowslti, inhabited by Satan so many years ago in Stalingrad,
had returned.
Rabbi Vogel put his hand upon the next stone. It was a
large onyx.
"This is the tribe of Joseph. Upon it Thou hast gathered
Thy people and given Thy word that we might spread it even
unto the world with success." The light from the stone spread
out and touched the Torahs.
There was only one stone remaining to be touched. The
Torahs surrounded Satan, and each of the people holding
them leaned over the body on the floor. They also enveloped
Rabbi Vogel, who now stood straddling Satan.
He bent under the parchments and touched the last stone. It
was a large and brilliantly cut amethyst. His voice had finality
about it and possessed great determination.
"And this is the tribe of Gad. Upon it Thou hast granted
great courage and put Gad in the forefront against our enemies."
He knelt beside the now-rigid body and put his hand upon
the face of the man who had been known as Nickolai Valarian,
Wilhelm Hendricks, Mustafa Ismet Bayar, and countless
other doers of evil throughout the course of history. Had this
man been with Cortes? Had he stood next to Nero and
Ramses? Was it he who whispered in the ear of Attila and
rode with Genghis Khan?
Rabbi Abraham directed those who held the Torahs to
place them over the body on the floor. Rabbi Vogel stood and
stepped back. The ceremony was not yet complete. After the
Torahs were placed, everyone moved against the walls, as
they had been instructed to do. The ancient parchments rip-
pled with a life of their own. Peter Somoroff, totally awed by
what he had witnessed so far, looked over at Marshall
Malenkov. The man was dead, his face twisted with unspeak-
able agony, strangled by his own tongue, which was wrapped
around his fat neck.
Vogel stood over the undulating parchments.
"Thou hast forgiven the iniquity of Thy people; Thou hast
covered all their sins. Selah."
One of the Torahs began to roll itself up onto its spindle.
Rabbi Malachi and Rabbi Solomon ben Levi left the room.

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303
"That Thy way may be known upon the earth; Thy saving
health among all nations."
"Amen," said Rabbi Abraham.
A second Torah began to wind onto its spindle.
"The Lord shall command the blessing upon thee in thy
storehouses and in all that thy settest thine hand unto; and He
shall bless thee in the land which the Lord thy God giveth
thee."
The third Torah began to wind.
The two rabbis returned to the room carrying ancient silver
and jeweled covers for the Torahs.
"Thou shalt no more be termed forsaken; neither shall thy
land anymore be termed desolate; but thou shall be called
Hephzibah, and thy land Beulah, for the Lord delighteth in
thee, and thy land shall be married."
"Amen," said Rabbi Abraham as the last scroll began to
wind onto its spindle.
Within a moment the four Torahs were wound, covering
the body on the floor from head to toe. The fluid was gone
from the rug, the pieces of flesh, fingers, and bones were
nowhere to be seen. Rabbi Vogel removed the miter from his
head and knelt, placing it on the head of the body underneath
the first Torah. He stood and spread his hands out, turning
slowly and blessing all in the room.
"The Lord bless thee and keep thee."
Everyone bowed their heads.
"The Lord make His face to shine upon thee, and be
gracious unto thee."
Peter, Anya, Ivan Ivanovich, Sergei Rosteveli, and Andy
Taft knelt, keeping their heads bowed.
"The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and grant
unto thee, unto this nation, unto Israel, unto the world,
everlasting peace. Amen."
Everyone in the room said, "Amen."
The Torahs snapped shut, their spindles locking tight, to-
tally rewound and ready for the silver cases.
Rabbi Abraham knelt and took the miter from the head of
the body and placed it back upon Vogel's head.
"You have earned this, Rabbi, son of Aaron of the tribe of
Levi. You are blessed forever."
The other rabbis took the Torahs and carefully placed them
in their silver cases.

304
David Saperstein
"And now we have a long journey ahead of us," said
Rabbi Abraham. "We cannot rest until Shaytan is returned to
his earthly tomb."
Rabbi Vogel would return to Zefat with Aaron's vestments,
but not the breastplate. That would be bound as a cover over
the four Torahs that now contained Satan's spirit. Michael
Gross would accompany him. The premier had to deal with
the executive council. He would then return and work out a
formal agreement with Prime Minister Mintz. Peter, Arie,
and Andy would accompany Rabbis Abraham, ben Levi, and
Malachi to Sian, China. The others would remain in Moscow
and take a long-deserved rest. Anya asjced to go to Israel with
Michael, but Peter told her to wait until he returned. Her
mother and grandmother needed her now. Before they left for
the airbase in Dubna, Peter made one important phone call to
Gorki. Katarina Barnowski answered the phone on the second
ring.
"Mrs. Barnowski, this is Colonel Somoroff. I want to tell
you that your husband's body has come home. He is a hero of
the Soviet Union, and his name will have a prominent place
in the Hall of Heroes at Mamayev."
As the helicopter carrying the travelers to China lifted off
the Kremlin landing pad, Peter Somoroff breathed deeply.
The spring air was sweeter than it had ever been before. He
watched Moscow pass underneath the swift helicopter as it
headed north to the waiting Illutian aircraft. In his left hand
he fingered the jade dragon ring that Rabbi Abraham had
given him to hold during the long journey to China. Some-
how it seemed less menacing now that he held it in his hand.

47
The tomb appeared to be no more than a large dirt mound
rising above the yellow clay plain. It stood against the majes-
tic backdrop of Tsung Nan Shan, a part of the Tsinling Shan
Mountains, its snow-capped peaks forming an impenetrable
barrier to the north. On the plain below, busy farmers tended
their crops, working with ancient tools, stooped in their labor.
Peter and Arie stood at the entrance to the huge, canopied
dig. It stretched out underneath a plastic roof for more than
four hundred yards. Most of the statues still remained covered
by the native yellow clay. Tsu Heng demanded extreme care
in unearthing each and every figure. He was among the few
men who knew their real purpose.
Sian is in central China, in Shensi Province. Its history
dates back to the dawn of Chinese civilization. For centuries
it was believed that the earth-covered tomb was that of the
first emperor of the Chou dynasty, buried nearly four thou-
sand years ago. Heng had been very patient in explaining the
history of the area to the visitors from Moscow. Fortunately
the Chinese venerated ancient ways and ancestors, so that the
tomb lay untouched and unopened all these years. The dis-
covery of the buried figures, found one mile south of the
tomb, and two other groups of figures, discovered to the east
and west, brought the wise Taoist scholar to Sian in time.
Peter and Arie walked back into the prefabricated building
along the dirt road that ran down the middle of the dig. To
both sides, terra-cotta figures, life-size and fantastically life-
like, stood partially unearthed. Groups of workers carefully
removed clay from several figures. Each statue was different.
305

306
David Saperstein
All were warriors in full battle dress. Each face and uniform
was unique unto itself. Many were mounted on horses, their
spears and lances set firmly in ornate saddles. There were
exactly six thousand figures in this dig. The digs to the east
and west contained a thousand more. As the two intelligence
officers walked toward the center of the dig, General Tsung
Ming Lee and Andy Taft joined them.
"I still can't grasp the enormity of this place," said Peter.
"Impossible to believe, even though I see it with my own
eyes," remarked Andy.
The Chinese general walked with them silently. He had
been here before. The first time was when the initial discov-
ery had been made by a farmer using a new tractor-driven
plow. The blade of the steel plow had struck one of the
figures. The peasant thought he had hit a rock and stopped to
remove it, only to find that the rock was the sculptured head
of an ancient warrior.* As more heads were discovered, Dr.
Heng was called in to take charge of the area. That was ten
years ago. While the dig progressed, he had secretly ordered
a special team of Taoists, Buddhists, and Confucianists to
excavate the entrance of the emperor's tomb under his super-
vision. As soon as he saw the seal on the bronze door he
knew the meaning of the terra-cotta figures and the purpose of
the tomb.
History records that Sian was the first place in China where
missionaries of the Buddhist, Jewish, Muslim, and later Chris-
tian faiths formed a common community. When the archaeo-
logical discoveries were made, Dr. Heng confirmed the reason
why the ancient religious practitioners had gathered in this
place.
As the four intelligence officers walked through the dig,
Dr. Heng, two Taoist monks, a Buddhist monk, a Muslim
mullah, Rabbis Abraham, ben Levi, and Malachi, and a
Nestorian priest—who followed the doctrine that Christ had
two distinct and independent natures, divine and human—
were about to enter the tomb.
The Illutian jet had landed at the Sian airport at dawn after
a seven-hour journey from the Soviet Union. It took most of
the morning to remove the seals from the huge bronze door
that bore the dragon mark similar to that on the ring worn by
Valarian. The men spoke few words as they labored to gain
entrance to the tomb. The four Torahs with the breastplate

RED DEVIL
307
still serving as a cover were guarded by the Taoist monks.
They bumed incense and prayed over the trapped spirit of
Satan while the others worked.
When the door was opened, a gust of stale, foul air rushed
by the diggers. The Torahs shook violendy.
"We must hurry!" commanded Dr. Heng. He turned on a
large flashlight and entered the tomb first. The others fol-
lowed close behind. The chamber floor was covered with
human and animal skeletons and skulls. In the center of the
small, square room stood a throne of solid gold, grotesquely
beautiful, with carvings of all manner of creatures resembling
gargoyles, winged serpents, and dragons. The walls contained
the same acrostics found in the temple at Zefat, and along
with them, the lists of archangels of darkness, the subprinces,
and the servant spirits. All of the writing was Chinese, but in
ancient, almost forgotten characters. On the ceiling above the
throne, the name of God was written in Hebrew—Yahweh.
"Bring the Torahs," said Rabbi Abraham, and the monks
obeyed his command. He told them to place the scrolls on the
throne. When that was done, he led the others in prayer. He
and the other rabbis spoke in Hebrew, Dr. Tsu Heng and the
Taoists in Chinese, the mullah in Farsi, the Buddhist in
Japanese, the Nestorian priest in Latin. Although there were
different tongues, the prayer was the same and understood by
all.
"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall
abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
"I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress:
my God; in Him will I trust.
"Surely He shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler,
and from the noisome pestilence.
"He shall cover thee with His feathers, and under His
wings shalt thou trust: His truth shall be thy shield and
buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor
for the arrow that flieth by day.
"Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for
the destruction that wasteth at noonday.
"A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy
right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.
"Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward
of the wicked.

308
David Saperstein
"Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge,
even the most High, thy habitation.
"There shall be no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague
come nigh thy dwelling.
"For He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep
thee in all thy ways.
"They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy
foot against a stone.
"Thou shalt tread upon the lion and the adder; the young
lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under thy feet.
"Because He hath set His love upon me, therefore will I
deliver Him, I will set Him on high, because He hath known
my name. He shall call upon me, and I will answer Him; I
will be with Him in trouble; I will deliver Him, and honor
Him. With long life will I satisfy Him, and show Him my
salvation."
All present raised their hands toward the name of God
above die throne. They all then left the tomb. Rabbi Abraham
and Dr. Heng remained. The others gripped the heavy tomb
door, ready to slam it shut. Rabbi Abraham walked to the
throne, while Dr. Heng held the lamp upright behind him.
"Must you take the breastplate?" asked the Chinese scholar.
Rabbi Abraham reached out and put his hands on the heavy
gold and jeweled piece.
"If we are to continue our work, then we will have need of
its power. His three brothers, Belial, Leviathan, and Lucifer,
remain free in the world. The day will come when we dis-
cover their earthly tombs, as you have discovered Shaytan's.
When they are all put to rest, then the work will be done."
He gripped the breastplate and pulled it from the silver-
encased Torahs. Holding it tightly he ran toward the tomb
door, following Dr. Heng and the lamp. Behind him he heard
a primeval roar, but he did not look back. Once outside, the
others slammed the door shut and replaced the seals and
locks. The ground shook under them, and the sound of Satan,
trapped inside, reverberated through the heavy door.
"Cover the door with dirt," commanded the doctor. It was
done.
Later the entire group stood in the middle of the dig, saying
their goodbyes and promising to remain in constant contact.
The world had changed because of their actions and faith.
"And he will always remain in the tomb?" asked Peter

RED DEVIL
309
Somoroff as he returned the dragon ring to Rabbi Abraham.
The rabbi studied the jade and silver ring for a moment, then
gave it to Dr. Heng. The Chinese archaeologist bowed to the
rabbi, then turned to Peter to answer his question.
"He will remain as long as we keep our vigil."
"And as long as the world wishes him to remain en-
tombed," added the old rabbi. "Remember that once he and
his dark brothers were all entombed. It was man who released
them and gave them entrance to human souls. Therefore man
can do it again."
"Not while I am alive," promised Peter.
Suddenly there was a disturbance near the front door of the
large prefabricated building. Peasant workers were running
from one of the statues they had just unearthed, yelling in
fear.
To the disbelief of everyone, the terra-cotta statue had
come alive. It was a fierce horseman, his ancient leather
helmet strapped squarely on his head, his hands gripping the
reins, his spear raised in the throwing position, galloping out
of the yellow clay, up onto the road, and out toward the front
door. The group ran toward the door with Peter Somoroff
leading the way.
Out on the plain a goatherd moved toward the tomb, urging
his small flock along. From a distance he seemed an ordinary
peasant, going about his daily work. The statue horseman
come to life galloped toward the man. Suddenly the man
began to run toward the tomb. But he ran on four legs. The
bottom half of his body was that of a goat. The horseman
drew back his spear and let it fly through the air toward the
satyr. It hit its mark directly at the base of the spine where the
man-half joined the goat's body. It crumpled on the plain. At
the same time the horseman froze in motion and crumbled to
dust.
When the group reached the dead goat-man they immedi-
ately observed the mark on his back—a red arrowhead con-
taining a backward C.
"The subprince ... the disciple Ariton," said Rabbi Abra-
ham sadly. "It begins."
"It has never ended," added Dr. Tsu Heng.

EPILOGUE
It was a joyful spring for those who had worked so hard to
defeat Satan. The tensions in the world had relaxed a bit. An
unexplainable desire to cooperate had arisen in international
politics. Disarmament meetings were in progress. The Soviet
Union and China had withdrawn massive armies from their
common border. The Americans were once again shipping
wheat to the Soviet Union. The most surprising development
was the establishment of a Soviet Consulate in Jerusalem and
Israeli consulates in Moscow, Minsk, and Kiev. This followed
the recognition of the State of Israel by the Soviet Union.
Peter and Nadja Somoroff had recently returned from Is-
rael, where they attended their daughter's wedding to Michael
Gross. The trip was especially thrilling for Grandma. To her
surprise, there was even a growing attendance at her church
in Moscow.
Leonid Chomsky, now a captain, married Marina Grochenko
in a small Orthodox church in Leningrad.
Andy Taft and a recuperated Sasha Andreyev remained
friends in Washington.
Rabbi Vogel had rejoined his family at Kibbutz Ginnosar
but made frequent trips to Zefat. There was still much work
to be done by the followers of Rabbi David ben Zimrah.
Communications from Sian revealed that eight more statues
had come to life to protect the tomb, destroying intruders.
Satan continued to call his servants to free him.
The tomb of the fallen archangel Leviathan lay undiscovered
in the frozen wastelands of the northernmost tip of Norway on
one of the barren islands of Nordkapp.
310

RED DEVIL
311
The tomb of the fallen archangel Belial was hidden under
the Great Salt Lake in Utah, in the United States. Its exis-
tence, spoken of in the ancient tales of the southwestern
American Indians and their ancestors, the Incan and Mayan
civilizations, also remained undiscovered.
The tomb of the third fallen archangel of darkness, Lucifer,
was known only to the nomadic aborigines of the vast Austra-
lian outback. They avoided the place, a dusty, dirt-covered
mound in the middle of nowhere. They never spoke of its
existence.
These three spirits, the brothers of Satan, still roamed the
earth. Even if they could be captured, without knowledge of
the whereabouts of their tombs they could never be contained.
The biblical story of the Israelites' entrance into the land of
Canaan centers around the city of Jericho. It is said that
Joshua sounded the ram's hom, the shofar, and the walls of
the city crumbled. Excavations begun in the twentieth century
by German archaeologists revealed parts of the ancient walled
city. A few miles away, at Khirbat Qumran, the famous Dead
Sea Scrolls were discovered. Further excavations throughout
the twentieth century offered proof that this part of Israel was
a crossroads for many civilizations, covering a period of
almost thirteen thousand years before the birth of Christ.
On a late summer afternoon, construction workers near
Jericho noticed the figure of what appeared to be a woman,
dressed in black, climbing the steep hills above them. They
yelled to her, but she paid no attention to their warning.
It took Valya Pemick, now known as Luba Linsky, a
Soviet immigrant, an hour to find the right cave. This was the
place where her master had confronted the Rabbi Jesus, offer-
ing him dominion over the kingdom of Israel in return for his
worship. It had often been Shaytan's dwelling place in the
days before Christianity took hold in the world.
She climbed through the narrow opening and rested against
the cool cave wall. The child came quickly, feet first and
marked with the red arrowhead and backward C. She held the
bloody infant, licking it with her long tongue as it suckled at
her full breast. She felt totally fulfilled.
"Here he is, Master!" she said proudly. "Here is your
son!"
The spirit of Asmodeus entered the cave eager to claim his
new earthly body. The child wrenched itself from her arms

312
David Saperstein
and rolled onto the cave floor between her legs. Asmodeus
became the child. As the afterbirth came out from between
Valya's legs, the child reached for it and sat eating the bloody
mass.
The tomb in Sian shook slightly. A Chinese peasant work-
ing in a nearby field turned and walked toward the ancient
mound. At the eastern dig, the statue of an archer slowly
turned his head, drew an arrow, and placed it in his bow. He
stood and aimed toward the peasant as he approached the
tomb door.