by Glenn Meade
“Scared.” He saw the tension in her restless eyes.
“A little, I guess.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind.”
Slanski looked back toward the city. “The Swedish Embassy is ten minutes’ walk from here. You could ask for asylum, and I wouldn’t stop you. To heck with Massey. I think he’d even understand. I could still go through with this alone.”
“Why are you telling me this? Why the sudden concern?”
There was a look like pain on Slanski’s face. “You saw what happened to Vassily. And Popov was right about what the KGB does to women agents they arrest. I’ve seen it myself.”
“Tell me.”
Slanski glanced away again. “Two years back I was sent to the Baltic to organize a resistance group. One of the partisans I helped train was a girl of nineteen. The KGB caught her when they stormed one of the forest camps the partisans used. What they did to her doesn’t bear telling.”
“Did you love her?”
“That hardly matters, does it? Let’s just say I repaid the animal who tortured her. He’s lying six feet under.”
Anna looked away. Out in the bay she could make out the solid mustard-colored walls of an island fortress, and the small islands nearby looked like frosted moles on the sea. “I’m afraid. But not so afraid that I won’t go through with it.” She looked back at Slanski’s face. “What happened at the cabin, the way you reacted, it wasn’t just to avenge Vassily, though that was part of it. There was a look in your eyes—it was as if you came alive when you faced danger. Don’t you ever feel afraid?”
“What’s there to be afraid of? Death comes to us all sooner or later. Maybe when we’re faced with it, that’s the moment we truly define ourselves.” He smiled. “It’s not the heroes who stay to look trouble in the eye—there’s no such thing. Only fatalists with nothing to lose.”
“Don’t you have anything to lose?”
“Not much.”
“Didn’t you ever love anyone besides Vassily? A woman?”
“Typical of a woman to ask that question. But what’s that got to do with it?”
Anna looked at him intently. “Maybe nothing, maybe everything.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me what you liked to do most when you lived in Russia as a boy. Tell me about your family.”
Slanski looked away uncomfortably. Anna said, “Something bad happened to your family, didn’t it? Is that why you left Russia?”
He said dismissively, “Hardly any of your business. Besides, it’s all water under the bridge. A long time ago. Forget it.”
“But that’s the point. I don’t think you can forget it. I think it’s what makes you the way you are—angry and vengeful. And always living close to death, as if you wish it.”
Slanski looked at her defensively. “What is this, amateur psychoanalysis? Is that something you picked up in New York?”
Anna realized he was more sensitive than angry, and some instinct made her reach across and briefly touch his hand. “You’re right, it’s none of my business. But what happened to Vassily, I’m truly sorry. He was a good man.”
For a long time Slanski didn’t speak, and then he said quietly, “He was one of the finest men I knew. But he’s gone now, and nothing can bring him back.”
She saw the look of grief flood his face, and he stood up as if to kill the emotion.
Anna said, “Why do you always do that?”
Slanski frowned. “Do what?”
“Hide your feelings like a typical Russian man. Never let emotions in. But you always repay pain with pain. Like Vassily and that partisan girl. Why?”
He said flippantly, “A long story. Remind me to tell you sometime.”
The wind in the harbor grew harsher. Streetlamps flickered along the promenade, and behind them a tram trundled past on its metal tracks, electric blue flashes sparking in the darkness overhead.
Anna said, “You’ve never trusted anyone enough to let them get really close, have you, Alex Slanski? Inside you’re still that same little boy who had to escape halfway across the world with no one to rely on but himself.”
He didn’t reply, and Anna looked toward the sea and suddenly shivered.
Slanski said, “What’s wrong?”
She put her hands in her coat pockets, a deadness in her voice when she spoke. “I’m not sure. It’s odd, but I have a feeling we’re both doomed across that sea. What happened to Vassily at the cabin is like an omen. And people like you and me, maybe we have too much bad fortune in our pasts to be lucky.”
“Then why not forget about it and do as I said?”
“As you say, maybe like you I’ve nothing to lose.”
• • •
They spent the rest of the evening going over the weapons, equipment, and the forged papers with Massey in the kitchen. He gave them each a Tokarev 7.62 pistol and a spare magazine. He also produced a Nagant 7.62 revolver that had most of the barrel sawn away and a silencer attached. Massey handed it to Slanski, who checked the weapon before slipping it into his pocket and half smiling at Anna. “A little something extra just in case the Tokarev jams.”
Slanski had three sets of papers: one for an Estonian worker named Bodkin, home on leave from a collective farm in Kalinin; another for a Red Army captain named Oleg Petrovsky, on leave from the 17th Armored Division barracks at Leningrad; the third in the name of Georgi Mazurov, a KGB major attached to the 2nd Directorate, Moscow. Anna had another three sets in the same family names, posing as his wife in each case, and there were photos of them together and separately, along with personal letters to support their relationship and past.
The other papers included various regional passes and work cards, all in drab official paper and aged deliberately, the photographs in black-and-white and officially stamped. When Massey had gone over their aliases and backgrounds again he said, “The papers are the best I’ve seen and they should pass close scrutiny, but of course there’s no guarantee. All I can say, if it’s any comfort, is that the forgers are the best in the business and worked darned hard to get them right.”
Anna picked up her worn-looking set and examined them. “I don’t understand. How can they look so used?”
Massey explained, “An old trick from the war. The forgers fray them with very fine sandpaper and then tape them under their armpits for a couple of hours. Human sweat has an aging effect on paper. As you can see, it works wonders.”
Anna made a face, and Massey smiled. “An unpleasant thought, but a simple thing like that may save your life. The KGB might become suspicious of passes printed on fresh paper, and if they look closely enough they can sometimes tell if chemicals have been used to age them artificially. Whereas the sweat process is undetectable.”
Massey opened a leather pouch containing several wads of rubles and gave the largest wad to Slanski. The money was creased and aged, and there was a handful of coins each. “If you need any more rubles you can pick them up at the safe houses between Tallinn and Moscow,” Massey explained to Anna. “Otherwise, if you’re searched and found with a large amount of cash, it might arouse suspicion. The weapons and some of the clothes and extra papers, of course, are going to be a problem for the first set of false identities if you’re stopped and searched soon after you land. That’s the danger time. I’m afraid there’s no way of safely hiding everything incriminating on your person, but it’s a temporary risk so you’ll just have to play the game as it happens. Bury them somewhere near where you land and retrieve them later if you think it’s going to be a problem. Okay, let’s look at the other equipment.”
The jumpsuits were made of heavy green canvas and contained generous pockets to hold items they would need immediately after landing. A flashlight each, a knife to cut the parachute free if it caught on a tree, and short folding spades to bury their equipment. There were helmets, goggles, gloves, and thermal suits for each of them.
“It’s going to be pretty cold up there when you jump, so you’ll ne
ed the thermals to stop you from freezing to death before you land. Now let’s see how well the tailors have done.” He produced two frayed suitcases with their personal belongings and clothes inside, and after he had handed them out Anna went upstairs to try her clothes on.
When she came down ten minutes later her hair was tied back severely with a ribbon. She wore a heavy woolen skirt and a thick white blouse, a woolen scarf, and an overcoat that was just the right size.
Slanski had changed and stood dressed as an Estonian peasant, wearing a tweed cap, an ill-fitting jacket, and a baggy corduroy suit that was a little too short in the legs. Anna couldn’t help laughing, and Slanski said, “What’s so funny?”
“You look like the village idiot.”
“A fine way to talk to your husband.”
Massey said, “The clothes and uniforms are all the genuine article, taken from Soviet army defectors or refugees who came over after the war. You should wear the clothes tomorrow to get used to them. You’re happy, Alex?”
“Happy as I can be apart from these trousers.”
Massey smiled. “Can’t be helped, I’m afraid. Besides, an Estonian laborer is hardly going to be dressed to perfection. Anna, is there anything you want to ask?” She shook her head and Massey said, “Then I guess that’s it, except for one last thing.”
He took two miniature tin boxes from his pocket, opened their lids, and emptied the contents on the table. One box contained only two black capsules. The second contained several dozen blue ones, and both types of capsules were different sizes. “Pills. Two types. One good, one bad, but both invaluable. As you can see they’re different sizes and colors, so hopefully you can’t get them mixed up.”
“What are they for?” Anna asked.
“The blue pill is an amphetamine. It gives you an energy boost to overcome fatigue. Commonly used by special forces and pilots during the war to stave off tiredness.” Massey picked up one of the black pills. “And this little baby here is the one you’ve got to be careful about. It’s only to be used in a dire emergency.”
“Is that the cyanide?” Anna asked.
“You got it. This stuff kills you in seconds.”
• • •
It was almost midnight, and Slanski lay in the dark, smoking a cigarette, listening to the wind rage outside. He heard the door open, and Anna stood in a cotton nightgown, holding an oil lamp. She said softly, “Can I come in?”
“What’s the matter?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Come in. Close the door.”
Her hair was tousled, and there was something childlike about her face in the light of the lamp as she came to sit at the end of the bed. He noticed she was trembling, and he asked, “Are you cold?”
She shook her head. “Just frightened. Maybe I’ve suddenly realized everything about this is deadly serious. Especially when Massey gave us that pill. Now it’s not a game anymore. In the air raid shelters in Moscow during the war, when people were afraid of the bombing, complete strangers used to hold and kiss each other. I once even saw a couple make love.”
“It makes sense. A natural instinct to preserve the species when it’s under threat. Soldiers got married for the same reason before they went to war.”
Anna bit her lip. “Will you do something for me?”
“What?”
“Just hold me. Hold me tightly. It seems like it’s been such a long time since someone did that.”
Slanski saw it in her face then, a real and terrible fear, and it made her look very young and vulnerable. He realized she was more afraid than he had ever imagined, and he touched her cheek as he looked into her eyes and said, “My poor Anna.”
Her arms went around his neck and she grasped him tightly. She moved under the covers beside him, snuggling close for warmth and comfort, and then suddenly for no reason at all she was crying and kissing him fiercely.
And then a deep sob racked her whole body.
“What’s wrong, Anna?”
She didn’t reply, her eyes full of tears, and then she said, “Do you want to know why I’m going back to Russia with you?”
“Only if you want to tell me.”
She told him, told him everything, and she was still crying when she finished. Slanski held her close and whispered, “Anna, it’s all right.”
He stroked her face, but it was a long time before her tears stopped. Then he blew out the lamp and held her gently, wordless in the dark, until she finally fell asleep.
26
* * *
FINLAND
FEBRUARY 24
It was just after nine the next morning when Janne Saarinen came in the front door, a gust of icy wind raging into the room before he kicked the door shut with his boot. His face looked blue with cold, and he carried two parachutes over his shoulders. “You slept well?”
“Well enough, considering.”
The Finn grinned as he flung the packs on the table. “Your ’chutes. I’ve repacked them twice just to be certain.”
“Nice to know someone cares. Thanks, Janne.”
Slanski looked out the window and saw Anna and Massey walking on the wooden boardwalk together, their collars up to keep out the biting cold. Saarinen went to stand behind Slanski and offered him a cigarette.
When he lit their cigarettes, Saarinen nodded out at the boardwalk. “She’s quite a looker, your lady friend. I’d almost risk it just to go in with her myself.”
Slanski examined the parachutes. “She’s a good woman. It’s just a pity she has to be a part of this. Going over is never easy and always dangerous.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Which reminds me. That was a nice show you put on for yesterday’s briefing.”
The Finn blew out smoke and grinned. “You didn’t believe the bravado, did you? Didn’t think you would.”
“There are a couple of important things you left out. Like the fact that half of the agents parachuted onto Russian soil are caught within forty-eight hours because they injure themselves when they drop, or else the radar picks up the flight. And that most of the boys in the air who bought it during the war weren’t shot down by the enemy, but died because of engine failure or bad weather.”
Saarinen eased himself into a chair. “I’ve done this particular route maybe half a dozen times, and each time it gets more difficult. The Russians are making their air defenses tighter and tighter, and the new MiG fighters don’t help the likes of me. I only made it sound easy for her sake. As for our chances, cloud cover is our one real hope, despite the obvious dangers if the weather turns really nasty, but I can vouch for that little aircraft out there, mechanically and structurally. If the cloud stays in our favor, I’d almost guarantee you’ll at least make the drop. If not . . .” Saarinen grinned and shrugged. “We may get blown out of the sky.”
“Did anyone ever mention you’ve got a total disregard for life and death?”
Saarinen laughed. “All the time. It comes from having looked death in the eye too many times and found out it’s not such a big deal. Before ’39 I was studying English at Helsinki University, then the war came and the first time I flew into battle I was bitten by the bug. After that I couldn’t get enough jeopardy and excitement. You realize everything else lacks a certain dangerous edge. But after the shooting died down and it was all over, you know you’re just living on borrowed time anyway, so you keep sailing close to the wind just because. If I’m not mistaken, you have the same look about you yourself. What was it Kant said? ‘That steely unmistaken look in a man’s eyes that tells its tale of war, and death the grim reaper too often faced.’ ”
Slanski smiled. “So what about the radar?”
“Like I said, if the weather’s on our side it shouldn’t bother us.” Saarinen shook his head. “It’s not all black, just shades of gray. But I told you, I’m lucky. I also speak fluent Russian. So even if their air traffic control calls us up, I can try and bluff my way out.”
“A man of many parts.”
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Saarinen grinned and tapped his wooden leg. “Not all of them good, I’m afraid.”
HELSINKI
The wheels of the US Air Force B-47 Stratojet bit the icy runway with a squeal as they touched down at Helsinki’s Malmi airport in a flurry of light hail at exactly 6 p.m. Karl Branigan was exhausted after the long and turbulent flight from Washington, a journey of almost ten hours and over four thousand miles, an experience he had never before endured and never wished to repeat.
Twenty minutes later his chauffeured car drove up into Kaivopuisto Park, the city’s diplomatic belt, and came to a halt outside the American Embassy compound. Two immaculately uniformed Marines on the gate checked the passengers before raising the barrier and allowing the car through.
As the Ford drew up at the front entrance to the embassy, a tired-looking Branigan stepped out, turning up his coat collar against the cold. A tall, lean man with tanned skin stepped out of the double oak doors, an anxious younger official at his side. “Mr. Branigan? I’m Douglas Canning,” the man said in a Texan drawl as he offered his hand. “My secretary here is already looking after your men, but if you’ll come this way, the ambassador is waiting to meet you.”
Branigan grunted a reply and followed Canning as he led the way inside.
• • •
The small garden at the front of the embassy compound was deserted in the Baltic darkness. The grim-faced ambassador stood at the window looking down at the scene, frowning. He had finished reading the one-page letter Branigan had presented him, signed by Allen Dulles, studying it silently before handing it to Canning, his face blank.
Canning finally asked, “Sir, would you care to respond?”
The ambassador looked around. His thinning gray hair was groomed neatly, but the distinguished look on his face was momentarily lost to astonishment as he stared back at his visitor. “First, let me get this right, Mr. Branigan. You want to locate a certain three people in Finland who are engaged in a covert operation and apprehend them as a matter of urgency. If apprehension is not possible you want to stop their mission, even if it means their deaths. And you want my help in this.”