Snow Wolf (69 page)

"The man never saw her before,
that's what made him remember. He remembers seeing her getting into a Czech
Skoda parked across the street. Also, the woman bought another drug. Adrenalin.
And a single hypodermic syringe. He thought that was odd. That's all I've
got."

Lukin thought for a moment. He knew a
shot of Adrenalin could be used to give a person an energy boost to overcome
exhaustion. He had seen it used during the war. Someone in Stanski's position
might need such a drug, to ward off tiredness. His pulse quickened. "Was
there anyone else in the Skoda?"

"The man didn't notice."

"The color of the car?"

"Gray."

"License number?"

Rizov snorted. "Major, these
Turkmenistans in the black market can buy and sell like nobody's business, but
they can hardly read and write. License numbers they don't notice."

"There's nothing else your friend
remembers?"

"Nothing, I swear it."

Lukin tore the sheet from the pad. He
knew Rizov was telling the truth, but it was still little to go on. It might
not even be the connection he was looking for, but it had to be investigated,
and fast. He sighed with tiredness and frustration. "It's not much. But I
owe you a favor."

"I suppose an exit visa would be too
much to ask?"

"Don't joke, Rizov. I'm not in the
mood."

He slammed down the phone. He was already
moving toward the door when the telephone jangled again. He went back and
lifted the receiver. It was Pasha's voice. "We need to talk, Yuri."

"It'll have to wait. I thought I
told you to rest."

"No, it can't wait. It's
important." There was a pause, then Pasha said urgently, "It's about
the Wolf. It's about Stanski."

"What do you mean? What about
him?"

There was another pause. "Meet me in
the Sandunov bathhouse in ten minutes. Ask for me at the door."

"Can't you come here?"

Pasha ignored the question. The line
clicked dead.

The faded wooden sign above the blackened
granite building said "Sanciunov Public Baths."

The double oak doors were closed and
locked, but Lukin saw a splinter of light showing at the bottom. He knocked
hard and waited.

He glimpsed back down the cobbled lane.
It was deserted. He had left the car parked outside the Berlin Hotel around the
next corner and walked.

What the hell was Pasha playing at?

And why meet here; at this hour? Sandunov
was one of Moscow's oldest public bathhouses. Pasha had been coming here for
almost twenty years, and usually when in the evening, the steam rooms were
quiet and he could have some privacy.

He heard the rattle of bolts behind the
oak doors and turned.

A middle-aged woman wearina a blue smock
stood in the doorway. Her hair was tied in a bun and her huge breasts seemed to
unbalance her. "We're closed. Come back tomorrow."

"I believe Pasha Kokunko is
expecting me."

The woman hesitated. She studied him
carefully for several moments, then looked out into the lane before she
gestured for Lukin to enter.

He stepped into a warm tiled hallway. The
woman closed the door and slid the bolts.

Most of the lights in the entrance hall
were switched off, but across the hallway Lukin saw the cracked stone steps
that led down to the bathhouse and the sweat rooms.

The woman crossed to the glass booth in
the lobby and came back with a thick white cotton towel and a bunch of birch
twigs tied with string. "Go down the steps and take the first door on the
right. You'll find Pasha in the sweat room."

Lukin took the towel and birch twigs. The
woman went to sit behind the glass booth and began counting a small mountain of
kopeck coins and stacking them in neat Piles.

Lukin went down the stone steps.

He stopped halfway and sucked in a deep
breath. He felt the warm steam mixed with a sharp fragrance of mint reach deep
into the pit of his lungs, and it instantly soothed him. At the bottom of the
steps he noticed that a glass door on the right was half open.

He stepped inside, He was in a dressing
room lined with metal lockers. Wooden benches were set in a square around the
center. Off to the left, another glass-fronted door, fogged with steam, led to
one of the sweat rooms. Behind the fogged glass he saw a moving blur of flesh
and heard a faint swishing sound.

There were three stages to the ritual of
cleansing in the bathhouse.

First came the sweat room, where you
steamed and flayed your body with birch twigs until it burned red and the pores
opened. Afterwards you washed your body with hot sponges to cleanse your skin.
Then you plunged into the icy water pools once it became too hot. And finally,
you relaxed in the refreshment lounge.

Lukin could feel a wave of heat from the
next room, pleasant after the icy air in the freczina streets outside. On one
of the wooden benches were Pasha's clothes. On another lay an enamel basin of
hot steaming water, obviously left for Lukin.

He undressed and laid his clothes neatly
on one of the benches. He left the metal hook strapped to his arm; it looked
ugly and awkward. He placed the cotton towel over his head and soaked the birch
leaves in the basin of hot water.

Then he opened the glass door and stepped
into the scented mist.

Pasha lay naked on a damp stone bench,
looking terribly pale, a white cotton towel around his shoulders, a patch of
blood on his bandaged wound.

A bearded, elderly Uzbek wearing a towel
around his waist stood over him. The Uzbek was vigorously flaying Pasha's
sweating legs and buttocks with a bundle of damp birch leaves.

On the floor lay a small enamel tub of
hot water, fresh sponges and a small pile of mint leaves laid out on a wooden
tray. Next to the tray was a bottle of vodka and two glasses, and beside them
Pasha's worn leather briefcase. The Uzbek stopped flaying and looked around at
Lukin. Slit eyes squinted out of a cautious yellow face.

Pasha stirred and raised his body
painfully from the stone bench. He saw Lukin and turned to the Uzbek.

"Leave us, Itzkhan."

The Uzbek nodded and went out. Pasha
waited until he heard the outer door close, then gestured to one of the stone
benches.

"Sit down, Yuri."

There was something odd in his tone, but
Lukin removed the towel from his head and put it around his waist, then sat on
a bench opposite. The steam room was hot. He put down the birch leaves; he was
too tired to flay his skin. He watched as Pasha picked up one of the sponges
and soaked it in hot water and began to sponge himself, his face strained with
pain, although he seemed in no hurry.

Lukin said impatiently, "You said
this was important, Pasha."

Pasha studied his face. "You look
like you haven't slept in a week.

Lukin felt on the verge of collapse but
managed a weak smile. "I guess a good night's sleep wouldn't hurt. How do
you feel?"

"It could be worse. The morphine the
doctor gave me to ease the pain is wearing off. But this place helps me to
relax."

He stopped sponging his body and stood.
He crossed to a hot-water tap in the corner, filled an enamel basin with
steaming water and crushed a handful of mint leaves into the basin. He came
back and cupped Lukin's chin in his hand. For several moments he studied
Lukin's face oddly, like an examining physician, then handed him the basin and
a fresh sponge.

"Your adrenaline's flowing like
sweat. Here, soak yourself and inhale the steam. You know what we old bathers
say. "The steam bath makes you sweat to get tough and get slim. It
cleanses the body and the devils within.' " He smiled faintly at the old
Moscow rhyme. The smile faded and his face became more serious. "You look
like you have devils in your soul, Yuri."

Lukin lifted the basin and inhaled. The
aroma of the hot fragrant water was like a balm. He dipped the sponge in the
steaming basin, closed his eyes, and slowly ran it over his face. The scent of
mint filled his nostrils, the fragrant liquid soothing on his skin. He stopped
sponging, opened his wet eyes, and saw Pasha staring at him.

"The mint helps?"

"A little.. Tell me what this is
about. Tell me what's so important?"

Pasha stood and picked up his leather
briefcase. He nodded toward the door that led to the dressing room. "Come,
let's go inside. There's something I have to show you."

When they stepped into the dressing room
Pasha closed the door. He crossed to the wooden bench and undid the straps on
the briefcase, removed a red-covered file, and looked back.

"Did anything about the Wolf strike
you as strange?"

Lukin frowned. "What do you mean,
strange?"

"For one, we know there were several
pages missing from the copy of his file. Like I said before, it's usual that an
investigator be given access to all information for the case he's working
on."

"Look, what's this about,
Pasha?"

Pasha paused, "I've known you a long
time, Yuri. I've always liked and admired you. We've seen good and bad times
together.

Lukin said almost irritably, "Will
you tell me what all this is about?"

For several long moments Pasha's eyes
seemed to search Lukin's face, then he said, "You were right when you said
you didn't trust Beria. You were right to doubt why he picked you. And tonight
I found out why."

"I don't understand."

"You're a good man, Yuri Lukin. And
a good investigator. However, they've fooled you."

"Who has?"

"Stalin and Beria."

Lukin frowned in confusion.

Pasha sat down next to him on the bench.
He looked away for a moment, at nothing in particular, then looked back.

Lukin searched the Mongolian's face. He
saw fear there. Pasha wasn't hesitating in order to prolong telling him. He
seemed genuinely afraid. As he handed the file over, his hands shook.

"I want you to see this."

"What is it?"

"It came from Alex Stanski's
original file."

"Pasha, you fool."

"Don't lecture me, Yuri. We're
desperate. We're down a dead end so I went to the Archives office and stole a
key and had a look for the original file. I was seen by one of the clerks who
came in, but not before I managed to get the file."

"Pasha.

"Listen to me. It couldn't get any
worse for me if I was caught. It couldn't get any worse for both of us. We're
in deep enough trouble. Me, I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb."

"Pasha, you've put yourself in real
danger."

"No more than I'm in already."
Pasha hesitated. "Yuri there's something in the file you were deliberately
not allowed to see. And there's more, but first you should examine what I've
given you."

Pasha stood and crossed to the door,
opened it softly. He looked back at Lukin, a wistful look on his face.

"I'm going to leave you alone now.
Look and read carefully, Yuri. Afterwards, we'll talk."

The door closed and Pasha was gone.

Lukin opened the file.

There was a single photograph and a
single, faded flimsy page inside.

Lukin looked at the photograph first. It
was old and yellowed and its edges were frayed. It showed a man and a woman,
laughing out at the camera. The man was handsome and cleanshaven, with a fine
chiseled face and dark soft eyes. The woman was blond and quite beautiful, with
high cheekbones and a strong, determined face. She sat on the man's knee with
her arms around his neck. They looked happy and very much in love.

From the style and cut of the couple's
clothes, Lukin guessed the photograph had been taken some time in the late
twenties or early thirties.

He flipped it over and saw a blue ink
stamp in the lower right-hand corner which gave the name of a photographer's
studio on Marx Prospect. There was something familiar about the couple's
features and he guessed they were Stanski's parents. He had the odd feeling he
had seen their faces somewhere before. He guessed they could have been well-known
Party members.

He put the photograph aside.

The single page gave brief details of
Stanski's family background. His real family name was Stefanovitch and his
father was a rural doctor living in Smolensk. The report stated that the OGPU,
the precursor to the KGB secret police, had called to arrest him and his
family. But no reason was given.

According to the report, the doctor had
resisted arrest and had been killed trying to escape. His wife had tried to
assist his escape and was shot also. The three children were arrested and the
order stated they were to be shot. The death warrant for the doctor and his
wife had been authorized personally by Joseph Stalin.

It didn't make sense. How had Stanski
survived if he was one of the children?