Snow Wolf (42 page)

The captain pointed to an area of sea on
the map. "We think the Mig vanished somewhere here. When the alarm went up
three other Migs on patrol north of Leningrad were sent to screen the area.
They flew low and spotted two areas of wreckage in their lights, crashed onto
the ice. One was the Mig. The other appeared to be what remained of a light
plane."

When the captain hesitated, Lukin said,
"You're certain about the second aircraft?"

"Absolutely. That's what the pilots
reported. They suggest a midair collision occurred. The weather's now cleared a
little over the Gulf of Finland, but it's still pretty bad. We've sent a foot
patrol out onto the ice but it may be dangerous to go too close to the
wreckage. After the crash the ice nearby will be weakened. But the patrol ought
to be able to get a better look as soon as they get there. We've already
alerted the local militia that enemy agents may have been dropped and the
commander ordered a dozen patrols out to scour inland and along the coast, but
we've turned up nothing so far." The captain paused. "That's it,
basically."

"How long before the foot patrol
reach the crash site?"

The captain glanced at his watch. "A
couple of hours. But it depends on the weather conditions, obviously. They're
in radio contact."

Lukin rubbed his eyes. "You think
the light aircraft managed to drop these people before it crashed?"

"Difficult to know, sir, but it's
likely."

"Why?"

Kaman pointed at the map. "The local
radar picked up several spurious blips west of Tallinn, along this route here.
Three fast, one slow. Assuming the slow one was the light aircraft, its altered
heading would suggest the drop had already been made and it was turning back.
The radar people suggest that Finland was the likely destination. So we must
assume the drop has been made and the man and woman you're seeking are on
Russian soil."

Lukin stood. The file Beria had given him
had contained a photograph of the woman, Anna Khorev. Despite her scrawny
appearance she looked rather beautiful, which helped him. It was always easier
for the militia to spot a good-looking woman. Plain ones tended to blend into
the crowd.

There were details in the file as to why
she had been arrested and sent to the Gulag, and information on her escape. The
woman's past made unpleasant reading. She was the daughter of a disgraced army
officer, her husband had died in a camp, and her child was in the care of a
Moscow orphanage.

The man's file didn't go into much
detail. Alexander Stanski, a Russian-born, naturalized American citizen. Lukin
had read the brief character sketch compiled by the 1st Directorate with
interest, but there was no information concerning Stanski's childhood in
Russia, and Lukin had wondered about that. Such information might help him.

"A question, Captain. If you were an
enemy agent parachuted onto Russian soil, with your destination being Moscow,
how would you proceed?"

"I don't understand."

"What route would you take? What
disguises would you use? How would you try to avoid the enemy?"

The captain thought a moment. "It
would depend."

"On what?"

"On whether I knew the enemy was
aware of my arrival."

"Go on."

"If the enemy was unaware, I'd
probably take the direct route, with precautions. A train, main line, or some
such public transport, bus or plane. I'd probably not travel in uniform because
there are periodic checks on military personnel at such stations.

"And if your enemy did know of your
arrival?"

The captain thought a moment. "Lie
low for a couple of days. Then take a less direct route using public transport.
But in disguise. And I would try to behave like a local, so as not to arouse
suspicion. Assume a local's dress, his demeanor, his habits. Walk the way he
walks, speak the way he speaks."

Lukin nodded. "Good. Though these
people would hardly know the aircraft has crashed. But allowing for both
scenarios I want checkpoints placed on every major and minor road, every
railway and bus station, and the airport. Identity checks at all those points.
Use every available man. You'll be looking for a woman aged twenty-seven. But
cover the ages between eighteen and forty.

"As for the man, his description is
less helpful. We know he's in his mid-thirties. Again, check all males between
twenty-five and sixty. Take particular note of identity papers. And remember
that makeup or disguise can change appearances. Put any backup men in plain
clothes, not uniforms. That only attracts attention. And I want hourly reports.
Inform the local militia that if anyone is spotted acting questionably, or if
parachutes or any suspicious equipment are found, I want to know about it. If
all that dredges up nothing we start sector searches. Area by area, house by
house." Lukin handed over the photographs. "Have copies of these made
and distributed to the officers involved. The images are not the best, I'm
afraid, but they're all I have."

"Very good, sir."

The captain gestured to a door leading
off from the room. "I've taken the liberty of having a bed made up for you
in the next room."

"Thank you, Captain. Carry on."

Kaman saluted and left.

The meeting with Beria and the implicit
threat had disturbed Lukin. Of one thing he was certain. He couldn't fail. He
could imagine the outcome if he did. The way Beria played the game, Lukin would
forfeit his own life, and perhaps even Nadia's. The man was that merciless.

The executions and the image of the girl
being brutally tortured replayed in his mind like a bad dream. To men like
Beria and Romulka, torture and death were pleasures and all part of the game.

But not to him.

He remembered a spring day in a forest
near Kursk. The young German girl he had cornered, no more than eighteen,
parachuted in on a reconnaissance mission behind Russian lines by the Abwehr in
a last-ditch German offensive.

He and two of his men had tracked her
down to an abandoned house in some woods. She was wounded, helpless, and
frightened. Lukin had gone in by the back door with his gun drawn, but when he
saw her young face, frozen white with fear, huddled in a corner with a coat
thrown over her, something had made him drop his guard. The girl had reminded
him of a long-ago innocent face. His young sister, aged four, crying as she
clutched a rag doll on their father's doorstep, with the same frightened,
helpless look. The resemblance was uncanny. But the indecision had proved
almost fatal. The ragged burst from the girl's machine-pistol hidden under her
coat had nearly torn off Lukin's arm.

One of the other men had to shoot the
girl. Two months after he recovered, Lukin was transferred back to Moscow. His
heart wasn't in it anymore.

But now was different. Now it was find
this man and woman or die. With the descriptions and information he had and the
swiftness of Moscow's response, he imagined it would be over quickly. By dawn,
hopefully. Estonia was a small country, Tallinn a small town, the places the
couple could run to or hide in were limited.

And this time there could be no mistakes.

Tallinn. February 25th The kitchen at the
back of the inn was warm and cozy and a table was set. Plates of cold fatty
meat and oily salted fish, goat's cheese and dark bread. Despite Gorev's effort
at hospitality, the food looked unappetizing. Gorev poured three measures of
vodka into large tumblers before he lit a cigarette.

"Eat. The fish are called salty
manyards. They go well with the vodka. In fact, it's about all they go with.
The alcohol kills the taste. Since the Russians took over the food's been lousy."

He dug a hand into the plate of tiny
salted fish and scooped out half a dozen, swallowed them heads and all, then
washed them down with a gulp of vodka.

Stanski drank the vodka but he and Anna
ignored the food. "Where did your friends get the truck and
uniforms?"

Gorev laughed. "The truck came from
the Red Army supply depot in Tallinn. The Estonian resistance, the Forest
Brothers, supplied the KGB uniform. The officer and sergeant who took you here
are Red Army conscripts."

He saw the look on their faces and his
grin widened. "Don't worry, they're also in the resistance and completely
trustworthy. And Erik happens to be well in with the quartermaster. He told him
he wanted a truck to travel to Parnu to meet his girlfriend. For a crate of
good Estonian beer, the quartermaster obliged."

"You trust him?"

"The quartermaster?"

"I meant Erik."

The innkeeper looked offended.
"Don't worry about us in these parts, my friend. We hate the Russians.
Half the country has had family shot or shipped off to Siberia by the
bastards."

"And you?"

Gorev nodded up at a family photograph on
the wall. "My wife, she died during the war. The young man on the left was
our only son, a priest. Erik and he were like brothers. After the war the Reds
came to Tallinn and took my son away. I haven't seen him since." He spat
on the floor in contempt, then looked over at them. "You'd better tell me
who you're supposed to be while you're here."

"I'm your niece from
Leningrad," Anna said, "on my honeymoon with my new husband."

Gorev smiled, sucked on his cigarette and
blew out smoke. "It's believable enough, I suppose. We get quite a lot of
Russian visitors to the old town. Tomorrow night, I plan to put you both on the
train to Leningrad. After that you'll be out of my hands. You'd better show me
your papers so I'll get the names right if I'm asked."

Stanski and Anna handed Gorev their
papers. there was a rumbling noise of vehicles beyond the windows and they all
stood. Gorev went to peer through a chink in the curtain. After a few moments
he came back.

"Russian army trucks heading toward
the coast. Those damned maneuvers will keep half the town awake." . He saw
the look of alarm on Anna's face. "Don't worry, girl, they're not going to
bother us. Not even Beria's KGB friends will touch you here."

"What makes you so certain?"
Anna asked.

"Because I've got two KGB officers
staying at the inn."

Stanski and Anna stared at him in alarm
and Gorev grinned. "They're both harmless. Here for a few days of drinking
and carousing. And having the KGB as guests is always an advantage. That way
the militia don't harass me."

"Who are the officers?" Stanski
asked.

"A colonel and a young captain. Old
customers paying a return visit to a couple of local tarts they met while
stationed here a while back. They prefer to stay at the inn rather than Tondy
barracks. It's more discreet and a lot safer and believe it or not the food's
better. Besides, every once in a while our boys come out of the forests and
shoot up the barracks. It keeps Ivan on his toes and let's him know we're still
in business."

He handed back their papers, then drained
his glass and sat it on the table. "Right, let's get you settled in.
You'll sleep upstairs. My two guests are still out on the town with their
girlfriends and no doubt they'll be drunk out of their minds when they get
back, so they won't bother us."

Gorev led them along the hallway past the
inn's bar and dining room, up a flight of creaking stairs to the second floor.
He took a key from a metal ring hanging on his greasy belt and opened a door
and flicked on a light.

Inside was a small, shabby, oak-beamed
bedroom.

" It isn't the height of luxury, but
it's warm and comfortable and you have your own bathroom." He grinned.
"And seeing as though you're on your honeymoon I trust you won't have any
objection to sharing a bed?

I've left clean sheets and blankets.
Breakfast is at eight in the dining room beside the bar. I expect to see you
there, playing the newlyweds."

"Thanks, Toomas."

"My pleasure. Like they say, my
enemy's enemy is my friend. Sleep well."

He bid them good night and closed the
door. Stanski turned the key and looked at Anna as she made the bed. He sat on
a chair and studied her face as he lit a cigarette.

"What are you looking at?"

"You. Has anyone ever told you how
beautiful you are, Anna Khorev?"

She couldn't resist a smile. "You
sound like a very bad actor reading an even worse script. And remember my name
for now is Anna Bodkin. Aren't you going to sleep?"

"I'd rather sit and watch you."

She looked at him, her voice suddenly
more firm. "Understand something. What happened last night is not going to
happen again. I was vulnerable, that's all. And if you're waiting for me to
undress you're wasting your time. I'm going to do it in the dark."

"Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Do you love Jake?"

She thought for a moment, surprised by
the question. "What I feel toward Jake is none of your business. But if
you must know, he's one of the finest men I've ever known."