Neither Despise Nor Fear

Neither Despise Nor FearV M Knox Neither Despise Nor Fear Copyright © 2023 by V M KnoxISBN 978-0-6457048-0-8 All rights reserved. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. Contents . Chapter PREFACE 1. CHAPTER ONE 2. CHAPTER TWO 3. CHAPTER THREE 4. CHAPTER FOUR 5. CHAPTER FIVE 6. CHAPTER SIX 7. CHAPTER SEVEN 8. CHAPTER EIGHT 9. CHAPTER NINE 10. CHAPTER TEN 11. CHAPTER ELEVEN 12. CHAPTER TWELVE 13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN 14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN 15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN 16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN 17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 19. CHAPTER NINETEEN 20. CHAPTER TWENTY 21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 23. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 24. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 26. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 28. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 29. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 30. CHAPTER THIRTY 31. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 32. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO 33. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE 34. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR 35. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE 36. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX 37. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN 38. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT 39. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE Acknowledgments About Author Also By V M Knox For A.W.B.L. PREFACETallinn Soviet Controlled Estonia6th September 1965Dieter Stecker switched off his desk lamp. He’d worked late and now he was alone in the Design Office. He looked out through the glass partition of his private office, his gaze settling on the door to the corridor. Beyond it, he knew the guard, Boris, would be waiting to escort him out of the building. Dieter stared at the long, blueprint filing cabinet in the centre of the outer office then licked his dry lips. The silent office seemed to surround and envelop him, creeping over his clammy skin and making his pulse rate rise. It was now or never. He got up, reached for his coat and hat on the stand behind his desk, and put them on. From the corner of his eye he saw Boris’s broad face peering through the small glass panel in the door to the outer hall. Dieter swallowed hard. Grasping his briefcase, he closed his office door. He knew Boris would be waiting for him in the corridor. Flicking a glance at the door, he went straight to the middle drawer and withdrew the top blueprint. Folding it quickly, he dropped it into his briefcase, locked the filing cabinet, and turned to leave. ‘Good evening, Boris.’‘You’re working late tonight, Herr Stecker.’ Dieter smiled. Boris was the only man who referred to him by the German title. Dieter hadn’t been in his native land since the end of the war. With the expansion of the Soviet Union and the descent of the Iron Curtain, he and thousands of others in the Eastern and Baltic States were cut off from the rest of Europe. They walked together along the grey linoleum hall and down a flight of stairs. Boris opened the door to the outside. A cool wind blew in and Dieter buttoned his overcoat. ‘Have a good night, Herr Stecker. See you tomorrow.’Dieter lifted his hand in acknowledgment but didn’t turn around. He strode towards his small car. In the Soviet Union, it was a privilege to have a car; a mark of respect for his twenty years of service with the Soviet run Electronic Equipment Factory.Sitting behind the wheel of his new Moskvich 403 car, he closed the door and placed the key into the ignition. ‘Just one night,’ he muttered, his hands gripping the steering wheel. He drove in silence. Half an hour later he parked outside his unit block in the Russian quarter of Tallinn and took the stairs to his home on the second floor; a one bedroom apartment. As he climbed the stairs, the handle of his briefcase in his grasp felt like a death sentence. Since the recent loss of his wife, his elderly neighbours had made it their business to keep an eye on him. They were quiet and polite people, but of late they had taken to cooking meals for him and insisted on bringing whatever they’d cooked into his kitchen. While he was grateful for the gesture, he knew they had a telephone and people with telephones were informants for the KGB. As he reached the second floor, he heard their front door click open. ‘Good evening,’ he said, lifting his hat. The woman nodded to him then closed her front door. Dieter fumbled for his entry key. Unlocking his door, he switched on the lights then closed the door to the stairwell. Leaning against the door, he held his breath and waited to see if his neighbour would knock. Two minutes passed, then three. Not tonight. Removing his hat, he walked into his sitting room and drew the curtains, then slumped into his chair. Too late now for doubts, he thought, his eye on the briefcase beside the hatstand in the hall. He sat in the stillness for some time, trying to quell the rising nausea. ‘Everything the same and it will be alright,’ he whispered. With his mind on the enormity of what he’d done, he went into the kitchen, switched on his radio and prepared his dinner. ‘Everything the same,’ he repeated, slicing some cabbage, although he wasn’t hungry. It hadn’t been exactly how he’d foreseen it but with his neighbour’s increasing inquisitiveness and the arrival of the new KGB officer, Major Vlatkov, to the factory, he knew the time had come. Vlatkov was younger than the previous security officer and with a new broom had come tougher measures. While the sausage sizzled in the pan, he laid the blueprint out on his kitchen table, then went to the tea caddy and, lifting the lid, retrieved the miniature camera hidden beneath the loose black leaves. Frank Quinn had given it to him months previously, but until this night, Dieter hadn’t used it. Ten minutes later, he’d taken four photographs of the blueprint for a new, portable microwave device