Snow Wolf

by Glenn Meade

When he looked down again the snowy fields were coming up rapidly to meet him. As he braced himself to hit the ground a sudden gust of wind blew him to the right. He saw the dark outline of a bank of trees looming up and tried frantically to steer himself away, kicking his legs and avoiding the trees just in time, holding firm on the harness straps until the last moment, and then he let his body tension go, hitting the snow hard and rolling right.

  He tore off his harness and gathered up his ’chute as he stumbled to his feet and looked around him. Behind lay a tall, thick line of birch trees on top of a raised bank of earth. In front of him he could make out the frosty Baltic in the distance, a dim expanse of gray ice. He figured he was a couple of hundred yards away from the drop zone.

  But where was Anna?

  It took him several minutes to remove the jumpsuit and bury the parachute and equipment. He decided to remove the uniform from the suitcase and buried it fifty yards away, digging a hole near some undergrowth, and then he tugged on his cloth cap and started to move up toward the bank of trees, carrying his case.

  As he came down the other side of the bank, he saw a narrow road below, then froze when he saw a Zis army truck with red stars pulled in by the side. As he reached for the Tokarev he heard the click of a weapon and spun around.

  A beam of light suddenly flashed in his face from somewhere in the trees, blinding him instantly, and a voice said in Russian, “Don’t move or I shoot!”

  Slanski blinked. The beam of light moved slowly off his face and traced down his body. Then the light moved out from the trees, and he could make out two men in uniform, another figure between them. One of the men was armed with a pistol, and the other held a flashlight.

  “Come forward. Slowly.”

  Slanski moved closer. He saw that one of the men was a young KGB captain in his twenties, the other a burly army sergeant, and then his heart sank.

  Anna stood between them. Her helmet and goggles were gone, her hair tousled and her jumpsuit torn, and there was a look of pain on her face as the sergeant held her firmly by the arm.

  The captain with the Tokarev looked over at him and grinned. “Welcome to Estonia, comrade.”

  * * *

  PART FIVE

  * * *

  FEBRUARY 25–27, 1953

  28

  * * *

  MOSCOW

  FEBRUARY 25

  The black Zis glided silently to a halt outside the Kremlin Armory courtyard at exactly three minutes to midnight. Major Yuri Lukin stepped out of the car into thickly falling snow. A young captain waiting at the bottom of the courtyard steps was dressed immaculately in a Kremlin guard’s uniform, and as he stepped forward he said, “This way, Major. Please follow me.”

  The captain climbed a flight of stone steps up to an archway and Lukin followed, two uniformed guards standing either side snapping smartly to attention. There was a large battery of trucks drawn up at one end of the square, crack Kremlin guards with blue bands on their caps sitting in the back, armed with machine pistols.

  Lukin felt the sweat on the back of his neck and wondered what was going on. The call to his apartment had come half an hour ago. He was to be ready within ten minutes for an urgent appointment at the Kremlin. The sleek black Zis pulled up on the street outside even as he spoke on the telephone, and three minutes later he had dressed in his best uniform and kissed an anxious Nadia goodbye before he went down the stairs to the waiting car.

  Now, as he walked beside the Kremlin guards officer, the feeling of apprehension and confusion still had not left him. He guessed his summons to the Kremlin at so late an hour could only spell trouble of some sort.

  At the top of the steps two massive oak doors were set in the archway. Another two uniformed guards snapped off salutes before the captain opened one of the doors. “Inside, Major. Watch your step.”

  Lukin entered a long, ornate hallway. The captain followed him and shut the door. A draft of warm air hit Lukin’s face, mixed with the smell of wax polish and damp must. The walls were pastel blue, and plush red carpets covered the floor. A glittering chandelier hung overhead; there was a pair of shining floor-to-ceiling doors at the end of the hallway, more guards either side. Security at the Kremlin was always tight, but tonight it seemed extraordinary to Lukin, and again he wondered what was happening.

  The captain’s face was set in a blank stare, and Lukin said quietly as they walked, “I presume you know why I’m here.”

  The young man shook his head and smiled briefly. “I haven’t a clue, Comrade Major. My orders are simply to deliver you.”

  “Security seems rather extensive here tonight.”

  “Not my business, Major. I’m just to make sure you get to your destination.”

  Before Lukin could speak again they reached the end of the corridor, and one of the guards examined the captain’s signed pass carefully before admitting both men. They entered a large, plush outer office of red carpet and magnificent tsarist tapestries and Bokhara rugs. A faint sound of music came from behind a pair of double oak doors directly opposite.

  A fat, pasty-faced colonel sat at a mahogany desk flicking idly through some papers, his double chins spilling over his collar. On either side of him stood a couple of armed Kremlin officers, hands resting on their holstered pistols, and at a desk opposite was a stern middle-aged woman in uniform.

  The captain showed him the signed pass, saluted, and left.

  The colonel smiled at Lukin. “Comrade Major, please, take a seat.” He led Lukin to a chair opposite and said politely, “Some tea or coffee? Or perhaps you’d prefer mineral water?”

  Lukin shook his head. He flicked a look at the officers nearby. Their watchful eyes studied him before he looked back at the colonel. “Am I permitted to know why I’ve been brought here, comrade?”

  The colonel shot a meaningful look at the woman, then looked back at Lukin and grinned. “Relax. You’ll know soon enough.”

  Lukin tried to relax but it was impossible, and his stomach churned with apprehension. The stump of his hand hurt, the metal prosthesis like a block of ice. It had been freezing in the back of the Zis, the cold outside fifteen below. Off in the distance he heard the Kremlin clock tower chime midnight, and at that precise moment one of the oak doors burst open.

  A colonel in KGB uniform stood half in, half out of the room, blue light flickering in the darkness behind him. Lukin didn’t recognize him, but he looked like a man of powerful energy, tall and broad, his muscled body straining under his immaculate uniform. Icy blue eyes were set in a cruel-looking face, pockmarked with acne scars. Lukin noticed part of the man’s left ear was missing. A pair of black leather gloves was tucked into his tunic belt, and he carried a manila file under his arm. He looked at the fat colonel, who jerked a thumb at Lukin.

  The rugged colonel stared over at Lukin. Then he wagged a finger and said curtly, “This way.”

  Lukin stood and stepped toward the door.

  • • •

  There was a blaze of colored light and music and a strong smell of tobacco smoke. As the door closed behind him, Lukin saw he was in a large private cinema. Several rows of plush red leather seats faced the front, heads jutting from the darkness in the front row. A color film flickered on a screen as Lukin looked up.

  He had never seen the actors or actresses before, but he guessed it was an American film. Girls in frilled dresses danced on a bar while a man wearing a cowboy hat sang in English and strummed a guitar. The scene looked ridiculous.

  The colonel prodded Lukin with a finger like an iron rod. “In there, Lukin. And keep quiet.” He pointed to one of the chairs in a row at the very back. “The show isn’t over yet, and the Kremlin doesn’t like its entertainment interrupted.”

  Lukin sank into a seat, and the big colonel slipped into the seat beside him. It took several moments for Lukin to accustom his eyes to the semidarkness. There were perhaps half a dozen men in the front row. A blur of cigarette smoke curled to the ceiling, and a table was set against the
far right wall, a shaded lamp on top, its pool of yellow light spilling about the floor.

  Two uniformed orderlies stood on either side, and Lukin saw the silver trays of vodka, brandy, and mineral water laid out neatly. A large box of chocolates lay open beside one of the trays, an enormous basket of fruit next to it. Plump grapes, oranges, and pears, and bright red apples. Such fruit was rarely seen in Moscow in winter, but obviously the Kremlin had no problem retrieving luxury supplies.

  Every now and then a hand rose and waved from the blackness to be silhouetted against the screen, and moments later an orderly crossed to the table to pour some refreshment and place some chocolates or fruit on a small tray and return.

  Ten minutes later the film reeled to a close and a fit of coughing erupted, but no one moved and the lights stayed off. Lukin sat there in confusion. He saw the projectionist, a young man in a captain’s uniform, flick on a torch and feverishly load a fresh can of film. The screen flickered to life again.

  This time the images were silent and in black-and-white. White words on a black background announced GUILTY OF CRIMES AGAINST THE SOVIET PEOPLE AND STATE. The banner faded out.

  A cobbled courtyard covered in snow appeared on the screen. A half dozen frightened men and women were led out in single file and made to stand against a wall. Lukin realized that one of the men was a scrawny boy of no more than fourteen, his face drawn and pinched from cold and fear, and he appeared to be crying.

  A firing squad was lining up, a line of uniformed KGB men readying their rifles.

  Lukin saw the officer in charge raise his hand and silently bark a command. Puffs of smoke erupted from the rifles, and the men, women, and boy were punched back against the wall and slumped to the ground. As they lay there, the boy’s body twitched. The officer stepped forward and unholstered his pistol and aimed at the boy’s head. It jolted obscenely, and the body fell still. Then the officer walked along the row of corpses and fired a single shot into each.

  Lukin turned away in revulsion. The colonel beside him seemed to be enjoying himself, his mouth set in a cruel grin.

  For another ten minutes the film rolled on, the executions repeated as more groups were led out to the courtyard. At least fifty men, women, and children were brought out into the snow and shot. In the middle of it all, a hand rose in the darkness of the front row, and an orderly placed some fruit and chocolates on a silver platter and brought them over.

  Just when Lukin thought he could stand no more, the film reeled to a close, and the lights came on overhead. Lukin blinked. There was an outburst of coughing as fat, weary bodies pushed themselves slowly out of their plush seats.

  Lukin froze in shock. The figure of Joseph Stalin rose from one of the seats in the front row, the withered left hand, the bushy gray eyebrows and hair, the heavy mustache unmistakable.

  He wore a simple gray tunic and looked frailer than Lukin had imagined, his skin pale and waxen, but he was smiling as he lit his pipe and went to stand among a group of well-fed men. They were laughing as if someone had made a joke.

  Lukin recognized the other faces instantly.

  Nikolai Bulganin, the sober-faced former defense minister, and beside him a grinning Georgi Malenkov, the fat, baggy-trousered senior member of the Communist Party Presidium.

  One other figure stood out from the group: a bald, stunted, heavyset man in a black baggy suit. His pumpkin head seemed to have no neck, and behind his wire-rimmed glasses, dark, watchful eyes looked full of menace. His portrait adorned every wall inside Dzerzhinsky Square. Lavrenty Beria, head of State Security.

  Lukin sat rigid in his seat in a cold sweat. Why had he been summoned here?

  The colonel next to him stood, his big frame towering above Lukin. “Wait here.” And then he was gone toward the front row.

  The room started to empty. Lukin saw an officer open a door to the right, and Bulganin and Malenkov stepped out. Moments later Joseph Stalin shuffled toward the door, but at the last moment he hesitated, then looked back, his eyes narrowing. He stared over at Lukin.

  Lukin felt his pulse race. He was unsure if Stalin was smiling or glaring at him, but the man was definitely looking his way and grimacing. Uncomfortably, Lukin went to rise from his seat, but just then Stalin turned abruptly and went out of the door.

  Lukin let out a breath. He glanced anxiously around the room. Only the big colonel who had led him in, the projectionist, and Beria remained.

  Suddenly the colonel beckoned for Lukin to join them. Lukin stood and moved down to the front row. The colonel said bluntly, “Major Lukin, Comrade Beria.”

  Beria was standing, his squat body lost next to the towering figure beside him. Reptilian, olive-black eyes bored into Lukin from behind his glasses, the pasty face grinned crookedly, and a silky voice said, “So this is Major Lukin. The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure.”

  “Comrade Beria.”

  Beria didn’t offer a hand but slumped into a leather chair. The man had a frightening, grotesque appearance. In the red leather chair he looked not much taller than a circus dwarf, his feet dangling over the edge of the seat. The feet, large and flat and awkward, seemed out of proportion with the rest of his body. A diamond pin glinted on a gray silk tie. Plump fingers gestured to a seat. “Sit, Lukin.”

  As Lukin sat, Beria turned to the projectionist. “Leave the last reel loaded and go.”

  The man did as he was told and saluted, then scurried out, closing the door after him. Beria said, “Well, Lukin, did you find our last film entertaining? Speak up, Major.”

  “It wasn’t pleasant, Comrade Beria.”

  Beria smiled thinly. “Nevertheless, such punishment is often necessary. Those you saw executed were guilty of serious crimes. Vagabonds and thieves and common criminals. As such they deserved execution, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’m sure the comrade knows better than I.”

  “You’re being a diplomat, Lukin. You disappoint me. I prefer directness.” Beria snapped his fingers at the colonel opposite. “The file, Romulka.”

  The colonel stepped forward and handed over the file. Beria flicked it open idly. “I’ve been reading your background, Lukin. An interesting story. Of a once-renowned officer who fell from grace.” He grinned crookedly and glanced at Lukin’s hand. “Were it not for your little error in ’44, doubtless you’d be a full colonel by now and still have your hand.”

  Lukin said uneasily, “I presume there is a reason for my visit here, Comrade Beria?”

  “I haven’t finished. By all accounts you were one of the best counterintelligence officers we had during the war. You had a particular talent for hunting down enemy agents the Germans slipped into our territory.”

  “That was a long time ago, Comrade Beria.”

  “Not that long ago, I think. Besides, some talents we are born with. Tell me, I heard all the best people in your department, the ones who tracked down German enemy agents, were orphans. Is that true, Lukin?”

  “I couldn’t say, comrade.”

  “But an odd fact, I’m sure. No doubt the psychologists might make something of it. A passion for seeking and finding, as if such people had a thirst to discover their own truth. But you, Lukin, stood head and shoulders above them.”

  “Those days are behind me, Comrade Beria. The war’s over, and now I’m just a simple policeman. Such matters don’t concern me.”

  “Don’t demean your position, Lukin. You’re far from simple, and the KGB doesn’t recruit fools.”

  “I meant—”

  “Forget what you meant,” Beria said abruptly and sat back. “What if I told you there was a threat to our glorious Comrade Stalin’s life? Would that concern you?”

  Lukin stared at Beria, then at the colonel opposite. When Lukin looked back he said, “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Beria gestured to the KGB colonel. “This is Colonel Romulka, one of my personal staff. Tell Lukin the present situation.”

  Romulka stood with his hands behind his back, his chest puffed
out. “Two hours ago one of our MiG fighters on patrol in the Gulf of Finland disappeared from radar control in Tallinn. We believe the pilot had detected an intruder in Soviet airspace. We sent three other MiGs to the vectors where the aircraft disappeared. An hour ago the wreckage of the missing MiG was spotted in the ice in the Baltic Sea. There also appears to be the wreckage of a light aircraft it collided with. A special foot patrol is on its way across the ice to examine the crash site.”

  Beria looked back at Lukin. “Not terribly interesting, you might say. However, according to our intelligence sources, the Americans intended infiltrating two agents, a man and a woman, into Moscow with the purpose of killing Comrade Stalin. We believe a parachute drop of these people may already have taken place near Tallinn, and the light aircraft was their transport.

  “Despite the errors in your past, certain senior officers still speak highly of your talents, Lukin. I want you to find the man and woman and bring them to me, preferably alive.”

  Lukin looked stunned. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s simple, Lukin. I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself. As of this moment you’re in charge of this case, on my direct orders.”

  Beria handed a file across. “Take that and study it. Inside you’ll find everything we have on the woman and man we believe the Americans have sent. The man in particular should prove a particularly interesting quarry. Besides, I think you and he have certain, let us say, characteristics in common. Age, for one. And intelligence and ability, I imagine. You may be suitably matched. Wasn’t that a device your people sometimes used during the war? Pick a man with similar attributes to his enemy to hunt him down and kill him? Some quack psychologist’s suggestion, no doubt, but surprisingly I believe it sometimes worked.”

  “This man and woman, who are they?”

  “It’s all in the file, as much as we know, including how we surmised the Americans’ intentions. There are photographs, which should be of some help. The man will prove a capable adversary, I believe, so be careful, Lukin. And another thing: you will have absolute authority to do as you see fit to apprehend these criminals.”