A Different Kind of Spy Novel
By Terry Brewer

    COMPLETELY COVERED IN ICE from the sleet, snow, and pounding wind, the old train from Siberia, with its baggage of refugee passengers and frozen freight, looked like something alive as it struggled against the angry storm.  It had the appearance of a huge white serpent, its large yellow eye peering out into the darkness, slowly twisting and weaving its way past endless snow-covered
towns and villages on its 6,000-mile journey across Great Mother Russia.
    Fierce arctic winds blew heavy snow out of the north as the first major storm of winter caught up
with us just outside the Russian city of Sverdlovsk.  In some places the snow lay four and five feet deep
across the tracks. 
    I was the only foreigner on board the train – an American intelligence agent – desperate to get to an agency safe house several days away, somewhere in the middle of Russia. 
   In the last three days my world had been turned upside down: our agency's covert mission in Siberia had been comprised, my operational cover exposed, and my role as the person who had persuaded certain Soviets to work for us as informants had been revealed.  At this very moment, both the KGB and Russian mafia were trying to find me. 
    Safe – at least for now – on board the cold, overcrowded train, trying to rest my aching, wounded
body, I sat at my seat mesmerized, staring out through the ice-framed windows.  As I watched the storm and the endless, frozen desolation of Siberia slowly pass by, I struggled to make sense of the improbable
events of the last 72 hours, amazed at how fortunate I was to still be alive. 

    The preceding paragraphs from A Train to Potevka could be the beginning for any modern spy
novel.  There is something unique, however, about this particular novel by Michael Ramsdell
because it is based on actual events.  What was that again?  True fiction?  Isn’t that an oxymoron?  
    Typical spy novels are designed to entertain by exaggerating the reality of espionage work.  This is
because real spy work is not glamorous and genuine spies are not characteristically super-attractive
people.  They tend to be, well, like you and me:  dull, frumpy, overweight, or balding.  They are
average-looking people engaged in a not-so-average line of work.  Yes, undercover spy work is
dangerous.  But it could probably better be described as many long weeks and months of tedium and
stress interrupted by brief moments of panic and danger.
    Real spy work is secret, and because it is secret we commonly hear only about a few of its failures. 
Successes, such as the theft of the German enigma machine during World War II, remain secret for
many, many years, if not forever.  Let’s face it, spies are not very talkative about their trade.  That is
why writers have to make up so many things about them.
    Now, something different has appeared among the litany of spy novels on the market.  Mike
Ramsdell, who retired from intelligence work in 2002, has written a book about some of his own
experiences while working as an agent in Russia.  His newly published A Train to Potevka  provides a
rare glimpse into the authentic world of espionage--one not clouded by mystique and glamour. 
Potential readers need not be concerned.  Ramsdell’s book is anything but boring.  You will find, however, that this book’s entertainment value comes not from action-packed conflict, though there is some.  Look more for suspense, surprise and wonder and you will find it.  
    A Train to Potevka is the story of a failed covert intelligence mission in Siberia, which drove Mike to
flee for his life across the frozen vastness of Russia on a train full of refugees.  His flight takes him to
Potevka, a typical Russian village deep in the country, where he must face hunger, cold, loneliness and
his own personal demons.  There, his life takes a new turn because of a simple, paper-covered box.
    Ramsdell takes opportunity in the book to describe the environment found in Russia during the early 1990s and includes helpful explanations about key elements of the story, such as the KGB, the
Russian mafia and US foregn policy at the time.  He also shares his view of the Russian people--a special people experiencing their own hopes, travails and sorrows while trying to cope with the radically changing times. 
    A Train to Potevka is categorized as a novel because, even though the events described occurred
more than ten years ago, much about them must remain classified secret today.  Parts of the book are
fictionalized to bring disjointed events together and to keep things hidden that must remain hidden.  
    Mike Ramsdell was born and raised in the small Utah town of Bear River City among farmers of
Scandinavian descent.  The youngest of seven children, he grew up working on the family farm and
living in a home, which for many years had no indoor plumbing or central heating.  He played
quarterback on the local high school football team and entertained dreams of playing for Utah State
University like his brother, Ted, who made the all-conference football squad while at USU.  Mike’s
skill was good enough to attract the attention of USU football coaches, but his soaking-wet weight of
132 pounds over-ruled any possibility of getting playing time.  Accordingly, Mike abandoned football,
went on an LDS mission, learned to speak German, graduated from USU with a degree in International Studies and decided to enter the military as an officer in the intelligence corps. 
    In the military, Mike learned to speak Russian and was trained as a specialist in Russian military
affairs.  As a young officer, he was granted the honor of teaching at the prestigious U.S. Intelligence
School in Oberammergau, Germany, where he became intimately acquainted with the world of espionage.  There, an unfortunate incident involving an undercover agent from an “Iron Curtain” country resulted in the death of a close friend.  Ramsdell writes about this incident in the book, calling it by the curious name “Bad Karma in Bavaria.” 
    Mike returned home to attend law school at the University of Utah and begin his career.  He
maintained his link with the military and the world of intelligence, however, by joining the 300th Military Intelligance Brigade as a Russian/German linguist and intelligence specialist.  This opportunity kept him in contact with members of the national intelligence community and eventually resulted in him being drawn back into that world—first into the area of diplomatic security and then into covert intelligence activities.  
    In 2003, Mike fractured his neck during a racket-ball match.  Over the weeks that followed, he used
the time when his activities were otherwise curtailed to write about some of what he had experienced
over his career.  At first, he intended this only as a gift for his sister and granddaughters.  But those who read his story convinced him to share it with other family and friends.  Copies were made and passed from family to family and demands were made for more. As more memories were inserted into the story, the idea arose to make it into a book.  Though Mike was at first far from an accomplished writer, he learned as he wrote and developed an amazing story telling ability.  After sixteen months, he completed and published his first literary venture in the form of A Train to Potevka. 
    The back of the book tells us that A Train to Potevka “is a story of sacrifice, failure, hope, and
second chances.”  That it is and an excellent read for people of all tastes and perspectives.  

Updated: Sep 17, 2009