The Trace of the Wolf

by Siegfried Wittwer

  Headlights turned up. A van with an unlit license plate and a defective rear light rumbled past and turned into the next side street. Mischka got up and went on. He felt the unknown following him. Two men staggered around the corner and roared indecent songs. Mischka breathed a sigh of relief. It felt good not to be alone.

  As Mischka approached, one of the drunks leaned against the house wall while his buddy bent over the gutter and threw up.

  "Well," Mischka said to him, "Vodka's pretty bad."

  The van came back. His wheels rumbled through the potholes of the road.

  Then it all happened very quickly. When Mischka recognized the trap, it was already too late. He heard the van braking and the rear doors being ripped open. At the same moment, the two drunks stormed him, grabbing him under the arms and pushed him into the car. The door was still half open when the driver started with screeching tires and raced down the road.

  Mischka fought back with all his might, but the men lay heavy on his chest. A flashlight shone in his face. Blinded, he closed his eyes.

  "Yes, it’s him," someone said in the dark.

  It was Aljoscha.

  Mischka relaxed and ejected the air audibly.

  "You bloody bastard! Is that any way to greet a friend?" He tried to turn his head to look back. "To scare me like that, and that late at night."

  "You can let him go," he heard Aljoscha say. "It's actually him."

  The men let him go and helped him to put down his backpack.

  "No harm meant." One of them hit him comradely on the shoulder. "But we had to make sure we weren't set up."

  "A trap?" Mischka looked confused into the round. "What trap? And what does that have to do with me?"

  Aljoscha moved next to him. "I'll explain later. First let me greet you, old comrade!"

  They were in each other's arms for minutes. Through Mischka's head whirled hundreds of questions. He just couldn't believe it, driving side by side in a car through Kotlas with his friend and fellow students.

  "Where are you taking me?" he wanted to know.

  "First we'll go to Sergej's dacha. It's a little out of town." Aljoscha punched him in the side. "Man, I never dared to hope to see you again. What a coincidence. I was going to pick up our Pjotr at the station when you passed by me. I thought I couldn't believe my eyes. You've changed a little. Your haircut and the full beard made me insecure at first."

  "My heart almost stopped when you called my name." Mischka hit Aljoscha's knee. "At first I thought that Litschenko's people were breathing down my neck again."

  "Almost had, if we hadn't come."

  Mischka looked at his friend in surprise. "Then the guy who was chasing me wasn't one of your friends?"

  "Absolutely not! It was a soldier who came from Salechard on the same train as you. He's probably on home leave. When I called your name, I had the impression that he had looked up electrified. He followed you and briefly called twice in the phone booth at the station. Then he ran very fast in your direction, always looking at the tracks in the snow. We followed him, and we developed our battle plan."

  "Kidnapping me, isn't it?"

  "That's right, old boy. At first, I wasn't sure if it was really you. Besides, we weren't allowed to identify ourselves as your accomplices. That's why we played a little Russian mafia that kidnapped and plundered an evening passerby."

  A militia car drove by. They couldn't see it, but its siren was unmistakable.

  "What will happen next?" Mischka wanted to know.

  Aljoscha thought for a moment while he held on to a handle on the car roof so as not to be thrown back and forth in the curves. "You know, Mischka, after you were deported, I decided to help dissidents like you. My friends have formed an escape aid organization. We've explored ways to leave the country."

  Mischka looked at him with big eyes. "Let's hear it, man. I'm interested."

  "There are several possibilities: About the Black Sea, Hungary or Finland. But it’s not safe. Some didn't make it."

  "It's always a risk. If I hadn't been so lucky or if the one up there hadn't helped me, I would have been sitting in the Surgut detention room again long ago. Or wolves and ants would have gnawed off my bones. But so far, I've always been able to escape them. Sometimes at the last minute."

  "Like now."

  "Exactly. Like now." Mischka was silent.

  Sergej spoke up. "I suppose you want to cross the Finnish border. Otherwise, you'd be hanging out further south."

  Mischka nodded. "Yes, the area up there is a little like the taiga. I know my way around woods. No one can fool me there now. In civilization, on the other hand, I feel a little helpless. You just saw for yourself."

  "You can't do everything," Pjotr comforted him. "But it’s a good thing you're trying to escape through Finland. We can help you with that."

  In the meantime the car left the city and rumbled over a bumpy country road. Then the driver turned into a sand road and stopped shortly after. He got out and opened the back door. With stiff legs, the men climbed out of the hold. They stood in the courtyard of an old farm. Pjotr took off Mischka's backpack.

  "Pretty heavy," he groaned. "What are you dragging around with yourself? Do you collect scrap metal?"

  Mischka grinned. "If you want to survive in the taiga, you need some equipment. My winter clothes and sleeping bag weigh the most. Without them, I'd have been frozen for sure."

  Pjotr shuddered. "My ears already freeze here in winter. I can't imagine having to spend the night in ice and snow."

  "It only works with the right equipment," Mischka laughed.

  Inside the house they were welcomed by Marja, Sergej's mother. She might be about seventy years old. Her wrinkled face radiated warmth and goodness. Mischka liked her from the beginning. She had set the table and invited everyone to a vegetable soup.

  "If you have to eat green food and meat without salt and spices for many months, such a soup is a real delicacy."

  As if he had said a cue, the men began to question him about his life in the taiga. Mischka told them what plants he had collected and how he had built traps. Afterwards he showed them his equipment.

  "No wonder you didn't get frostbite," Pjotr said admiringly as he picked up Mischka's four-layer, grass lined fur boots. "With shoes like this, I would have had warm feet. Surely you've greased the two outer skins well so that no moisture can penetrate."

  "Sure thing! The only problem is running with those boots. Sometimes you feel like you have club feet."

  The men laughed. Mischka also told them about his weapons, which he unfortunately had to leave behind, and showed them how he could whirl with his batons.

  "All due respect," Sergei said, "if you can handle sticks the way you can, they're dangerous weapons."

  While the others went to sleep, Mischka told his friend in detail about the escape from the Djatlowo camp and the experiences in the taiga. Aljoscha listened spellbound. Again and again his eyes sparkled, and it seemed as if he witnessed all the details of the escape. Shortly before dawn they also went to rest.

  Mischka woke up late in the morning when he heard a car driving into the yard. Immediately he jumped out of bed and peered outside between the curtains. It was Pjotr who entered the house with a bundle under his arm. Downstairs in the living room he heard voices. Apparently the men were discussing important issues. Then the steps creaked and Aljoscha appeared in the door.

  "You have to get out of here tonight," his friend said straight out. "The militia started a large-scale search for you. Obviously, the KGB has been putting a lot of pressure on the comrades. Roadblocks and ID checks almost paralyzed the city."

  "How do you know?" Mischka wanted to know.

  "Well, we have our sources. Pjotr met one of our liaisons in town, and when he heard and saw what was going on, he immediately organized your further escape. We just went over our plan again. You have a real chance of disappearing into Finland unnoticed."

  Mischka looked at Aljoscha questioningly.
<
br />   "Come on, get dressed. We'll explain everything over dinner."

  Twenty minutes later the men sat around the table and spooned a potato soup. Then they explained the escape plan to Mischka.

  "In this way we have already brought several dissidents to Finland," Sergej told him. "Tonight you board a train that takes military goods to the border. Among them are some armored infantry fighting vehicles. While driving, you hide in one of these vehicles. So, you don't freeze, we'll give you a kerosene stove. The train travels without a stopover via Wologda to the Toposero Lake in Karelia. The end of the line is Kestenga. So, you don't have to be afraid of a control. From Kestenga it is about forty miles to the Finnish border. It's probably just a walk for you after crossing half of Siberia. You only have to march straight ahead to the west."

  Mischka smiled. But then he got serious again. "Where did you get all this information?"

  "I told you before, we have our informants, and we've set up an escape aid organization." Aljoscha patted him on the shoulder with a soothing pat. "This includes comrades from the railroad and the military."

  "And what if I am seen near the border? Surely it’s teeming with border guards and informers up there?"

  "You can bet your life on it," Pjotr replied, "but we have taken care of that, too. I brought you a snow suit and a uniform jacket. You should move as inconspicuously as possible. In a snow suit, no one will recognize you in the dark. You have to hide during the day. Fortunately, at this time of year the days are already very short and the nights long. That's good for you. If you are picked up anyway, you unbutton the snow suit, show the uniform jacket and explain that you got lost. Then you let them show you the way to the next barracks. All I can do in this case is hope they believe you and let you go. But maybe you have to fight, too. It is better, of course, if you remain invisible."

  In the meantime Sergey placed a provisionally drawn map on the table. "Here we have the area you must cross. The many lakes and rivers are probably already frozen. Still, you should avoid them. The risk of you breaking through is too great. You can also be easily spotted on the open ice, despite your camouflage suit. It would be good if it snowed properly, so that you could only see a few yards, and your tracks were quickly covered."

  Mischka received further instructions. Each of the men was a specialist in a certain field and explained to him how he had to behave in order to cross the border safely. Sergej drew a sketch of the border fortifications. "Because of the high snow, the trip wires and mines won't work if you use snowshoes. We'll give you some willow rods and leather straps so that you can build snowshoes during the ride. The border fence is partially electrically charged. You can tell that by the insulators. To cross it, you should use a fir tree as a ladder. We'll give you a saw. If you saw the tree under the snow cover, the noise will be dampened. Then shorten the branches to 20 centimeters. To be on the safe side, you should insulate the top with a thick and dry cloth that we will give you. If the log is damp, it may still be conducting the current. We'll also give you a pair of wire scissors so you can cut through the fence if necessary."

  "One more thing, Mischka," Aljoscha continued, "Finland is under political pressure from the USSR to extradite refugees. So, don't get caught, disguise yourself as a local and play deaf-mute. Only when you have reached Sweden you can ask for political asylum. The best thing to do is to continue walking west until you reach the next border. Only then will you be safe."

  Mischka listened attentively. He tried to remember all the details by imagining the story pictorially. In his mind he was already stomping through the deep snow, climbing over the border fence and moving on through the Finnish forests. It was still a long and arduous road to freedom, but a strange tingling sensation ran through his body, as if his dream had almost come true.

  In the next hours the men made the last preparations and equipped Mischka with food supplies and all important utensils. When the sun had disappeared behind the hills in the west, they set off. Only Aljoscha stayed behind. The two friends held each other in their arms for minutes before they separated.

  "Goodbye, Aljoscha." That's all Mischka could say at the moment. His voice was hoarse and rough. He got in the car and cranked down the side window. "Maybe one day we'll see each other again."

  "Maybe," his friend replied while tears stood in his eyes. The car started. "You'll hear from me when I've done it," Mischka shouted to him. Then the car turned onto the sand road and disappeared into the darkness.

  The rattling of the train made Mischka sleepy. He was sitting in an armored infantry fighting vehicle that was lashed down on an open wagon. The small kerosene stove heated the interior only a little. That's why Mischka climbed into his sleeping bag.

  Sergey and Pjotr took him along side roads to a freight station not far from a military barracks. Protected by darkness they stalked their way to the train ready to leave for Kestenga. Only two soldiers, obviously bored, stood guard there. Pjotr distracted them by staggering down the street as a drunk and talked to them.

  In the meantime Mischka crawled into the infantry fighting vehicle, received Sergej's luggage and finally locked the hatch from the inside. If someone had made a final check in the next fifteen minutes before the train left, he would not have found anything suspicious.

  The train almost departed on time, and it would only stop for a driver change, until it arrived at the Toposero Lake. So, Mischka could relax. In the meantime, if the KGB wanted to search all of Kotlas for him, they would not find anything, and even the van had been rebuilt in the meantime, so that its nocturnal pursuer could not recognize it. Mischka stretched out in his sleeping bag and began to dream of good food and warm sun and of Anka.

  ◆◆◆

  On the orders of Juri Wdowetschenko, Lieutenant Litschenko, Chrapow and Karatajew were immediately flown to Kotlas, but had not been able to do anything there. All contacts to the officially non-existent underground brought no light into the disappearance of Michail Wulff. In the meantime, more than a week had passed, and the hope of being able to pick up the fugitives here was dwindling. Litschenko had to realize that the Western Russian KGB attached great importance to this action and was extremely interested in its success. Michail Wulff seemed to have become an extremely important person for them. Lieutenant Colonel Wdowetschenko was probably behind this interest in the fugitive student who had escaped of a penal colony, but even the KGB could not record any success.

  "Either the Mafia slashed his belly and buried him, or they let him go when they found out that they had nothing on him," Karatajew finally said, "and I don't know which one I would prefer."

  "Both are conceivable," growled the hunter. He had still not overcome the fact that he had not been involved in Salechard. He wouldn't have hesitated for long, and pumped this Wulff full of lead, even if Karatajew had been killed. Instead, he had searched half Tjumen for treacherous traces.

  Unfortunately, the fugitive had changed his tactics in the meantime. He no longer hid in forests and caves, but covered long distances with modern means of transport. How he had managed to travel unrecognized by train to Kotlas was still a mystery to Chrapow as well as to the others. Here in the big city, the hunter was out of place. He was at home in the wild. That's where he knew his stuff. But here he felt like a fish out of water. He had only one hope left. Michail Wulff had to cross the border, and he would not try to do so in the south or via the satellite states. He was like him, a man of the wild.

  It was clear to Olejnik Chrapow that the fugitive would move to Karelia. He had a map of this area given to him and studied it extensively. Finally he looked up confident of victory. "Comrade Litschenko, Wulff has been out of town for a long time."

  "How do you know?" Litschenko listened.

  "I can feel it. He's on his way west."

  "And where to?"

  "To Karelia. He lived in the wild for many months. There he is at home, and Karelia resembles the taiga. The border to Finland is also easier for a man like Wulf to cross."<
br />
  Litschenko looked at him, checking him out. "Which way will he go?"

  "He probably travels by train to Lendery, Juschkosera, Kestenga or Alakurti. All these places are near the border. From there, he could be at the border fence within one to three days."

  "But aren't the trains checked more than once?" Litschenko objected.

  "Certainly. But also the train from Salechard to Kotlas was checked at least five times. He somehow found a way to travel undetected. Maybe he took a freight train or a military train this time, too. It's guaranteed to be the least checked."

  "Then he must have friends and helpers," Karatajew objected.

  "Why not?" Chrapow answered. "Why shouldn't he have won the Mafia as an ally? I'm sure they're not regime friendly. Maybe he has old friends here who have helped him out. Anything is possible."

  "Well, then we should check as soon as possible to see which trains went straight from here to Karelia in the last few days." Litschenko looked at Karatajew. "Jossif, get to work. I'd like to have the result in an hour. I will organize our departure with Chrapow in the meantime and a tightening of the border controls."

  Half an hour later Karatajew stormed back into Litschenko's office with a reddened face. "I got it!" he shouted and threw the door into the lock. Then he popped a piece of paper on the desk. "Here's a list of all the trains heading northwest from Kotlas. None of them are going as far as Karelia. All passengers wishing to travel to Lendery, for example, must change trains at least twice and are checked every time. There's too much risk for Wulff!"

  He looked confidently into the round before continuing. "But eight days ago, exactly one day after Brjanew saw Michail Wulff at the station, a freight train drove directly to Kestenga, without stopping. From Kestenga it’s a good two days' walk to the border in winter."