Duplicity - A True Story of Crime and Deceit

allthe paperwork.”
The idea that I would onlyhave a week to make such a significant decision did not at alloccur to me. I was taken in by Greg’s delivery and before I knewit, I was providing him with my home address so that I couldreceive the videotape. Greg went on to explainthat, if I liked any of the women on the tape, I would fax him aletter of introduction about myself, explaining my background, myinterests, and what I was generally looking for in a woman. Fromthere, he would fax the letters to Natasha and she would give themto the women who, if interested, would then contact me.
The phone conversation ended with an exchangeof information and the surprising hope that this man and hisservice would provide the very change I had been contemplating onlyhours before. I began to flip through the catalog once again,allowing myself to digest the idea of such a pursuit. Each imageshowed a woman more beautiful than the last and my newly sprunghope was only slightly shaded by some reasonable doubt. Could thesewomen really be beautiful, smart, and looking for someone likeme?
The following Thursday, I repeated my regularroutine of suffering through traffic, greeting Basel, and sortingthrough the day’s mail when I came upon a package from Virginia.Surprised by my own giddy excitement, I didn’t even bother to sitdown. I dashed in the door and jammed the videotape into theVCR.
I stood before my television disbelieving thebeauties before me. Beauties that were soft spoken, seeminglyeducated, and by all accounts real. Each woman’s introduction beganwith a number on a blue screen, that faded to reveal a sterile,white walled room with nothing but a sad little daisy sitting inthe corner of the room, making the women look that much morevibrant by comparison. As each interview began, a middle agedwoman’s voice, presumably Natasha’s, could be heard from offcamera.
“Please tell us a littlebit about yourself?” the voice asked.
“My name is Olga and Ithirty-five years old. I work as secretary in office. I havecollege degree. I sensitive, sociable, honest, intelligent,understanding, romantic, without bad habits. I like homecomfort.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, andseeing. I stared intently at the TV.
“What kinds of things doyou like to do for fun?” the woman’s voice asked a secondquestion.
“I love theaters, museumsand visiting different exhibitions. I go in for sports, especiallyswimming.”
“What kind of man are youlooking for?”
“I would like to meet manwith great personality and generous heart.”
“Thank you for coming intoday, Olga.”
I was amazed at what I had seen and continuedto stare at the screen, which had faded to blue again and wasreplaced by the number “2.” The video again opened to the samebarren room with the same pathetic flower pot, but this time it wasSvetlana who would be making her introduction. Impossibly, Svetlanawas even more beautiful than Olga.
The same woman's voice asked again, “Pleasetell us a little bit about yourself?”
“My name is Svetlana, andI twenty-nine years old. I very sincere, tender and understanding.I have good sense of humor, good taste, appeasable and balancedcharacter. I have the work that I like, have many interests. Moretime passes more I realize I miss main thing in life-- family Imight have, if I meet special person who I will love with all myheart and who will love me.”
“Very nice. What do youlike to do for fun?”
“I not sportsman but Ilike spend time with bike and swim. I like needle-work and reading,planting of flowers. And of course I like any trip.”
“What kind of man are youlooking for?”
“I look for well-educatedman forty to fifty years who values family and lovechildren.”
“Thank you, Svetlana, forcoming in today,” the disembodied voice on the other end of thelens remarked.
Though her beauty wasundeniable, Svetlana’s words really struck a chord with me. I feltan immediate connection to someone with whom I had never shared asingle word. The picture faded, but Svetlana's image remained in mymind. My God, I thought, she's saying exactly what I'd beenfeeling. Does she really mean that? Could she mean that forme? After watchingcountless other interviews, I realized that I was just dreamilyfollowing along, and so I grabbed a pen and paper and startedmaking copious notes as to which women I was interested in. Andthen more notes. And more notes. My pile of notes grew with mycontinued excitement as each woman was worth writing about.Interview after interview revealed breathtaking, eastern beautieswhose outlook seemed simple and honest. There was also a freshnessabout them that absolutely bowled me over.
After an hour, I had seenenough and I was done trying to make excuses for why Ishouldn't take advantage of this opportunity. Ideserved to find someone as much as anyone else and I would notapologize for it, no matter how unconventional it might seem toothers. I began to write my introductory letter.
Over the course of thenext five months, I corresponded with three women: Svetlana, Irina,and Katya. Our communications began through letter writing, andthen progressed to extended phone conversations despite the costand my meager salary. I enjoyed getting toknow all of the women, but I felt a special connection withSvetlana, the same Svetlana who first caught my attention on thevideo tape and the same Svetlana who now gave me something to lookforward to at the end of each day.The more I talked with her, the more Irina andKatya faded into the background. Finally, the idea of actuallymeeting her overpowered me. I decided that, no matter what, I wasgoing to Moscow that December.
I arranged my vacation time, updated mypassport, got a transit visa, and bought the plane ticket. I wasgoing to do exactly what I never thought I could: take a chancethat would take me far from my cubicle and closer to someone whomight join with me to become the family of my dreams.

CHAPTER TWO
Moscow, and the KGB
December 1999
Though my seat on the plane finally affordedme the window my cubicle had been lacking, I still found myselfsurrounded by gray. At 30,000 feet and worlds away from southernCalifornia, all I could see were clouds that had begun overGermany, continued through Poland, and remained into Russia.Periodically, the clouds jostled the plane and I could hear thewhine