by Glenn Meade
Beria produced a letter from his pocket and handed it across with a flourish. Lukin read the letter, and Beria said, “Should anyone doubt your authority, that states you are working directly for me, and all assistance demanded by you will be given without question. You report to me personally. Choose any personnel you need from among your own staff. Colonel Romulka here will act as my personal representative in the case. He’s of superior rank, but you will be in command. Needless to say, Romulka will give you any assistance you require.
“You look shocked, Lukin.”
“I don’t know what to say, comrade.”
“Then say nothing. A MiG is standing by at Vnukovo to fly you to Tallinn as soon as the weather clears. The local KGB and military have already mounted patrols to find the couple and will be expecting you. Local commanders have been informed of the hunt for these people, but obviously not their mission’s intention; for now that remains classified. Colonel Romulka will join you later. If there are any further developments, the duty officer will contact your office.”
Beria snapped his fingers, and Romulka crossed to the projector and switched it on. Then Beria looked back, his eyes flashing dark and dangerous, as a threatening look clouded his features. “These are high stakes, Lukin. So don’t fail me. I’d hate to think of you up on this screen someday in front of a firing squad. Find the man and woman. Find them and bring them to me. The moment you do, Stalin himself has promised to make you a full colonel. Fail me, and I will be unforgiving. You have your orders. You are excused.”
Beria waved a hand dismissively and poured himself more champagne. Moments later Romulka pressed a switch, and the room plunged into darkness before the screen flickered to life seconds later. Romulka came back and led Lukin out.
At the door, something made Lukin glance back. The film on the screen was in black-and-white, with no sound, just the clicking of the projector reel as a series of disturbing, vivid images appeared. What Lukin saw made his blood run cold.
A young woman was tied down on a long metal table. She was dark-haired, still in her teens, Lukin guessed. Her arms and legs were splayed wide apart with leather straps, and her eyes were wide open in horror. Froth spewed from her mouth, as if she were having a fit. She squirmed wildly, helplessly, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her head bounced off the metal table as she tried in vain to free herself.
A man came into the picture. He wore a thick rubber apron over his KGB uniform. He began clamping electric probes to her limbs.
Lukin saw the look of pained fear on the young woman’s face and turned away in disbelief, in disgust, unable to bear watching the film a second more, as Beria sat sipping his champagne, looking at the screen.
Romulka grinned as he pulled on a black leather glove. “What’s the matter, Lukin? Can’t stand seeing a woman tortured?” He flicked a look at Lukin’s hand. “No wonder that German agent disfigured you. I would have shot her between the eyes.” Romulka slapped the other leather glove into his hand and went out grinning. Lukin waited a moment, then followed, wanting to be sick.
• • •
Half an hour later Lukin was smoking a cigarette and reading through the file Beria had given him when Pasha entered. The Mongolian lieutenant brushed snow from his overcoat. “It’s really coming down out there. So what’s up that you get me out of bed at one a.m.?” He stared over at Lukin. “Hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not exactly, but something just as shocking. First things first. Have you any of that Siberian vodka of yours?”
Pasha grinned. “I always keep an emergency supply, just in case I start to sober up. But be warned, it’s like sticking a lighted candle down your throat.”
“Pour me one.”
“On duty? It’s not like you. I’m surprised, Major.”
“Not half as surprised as you’re going to be.”
Pasha locked the office door and took a bottle and two glasses from his desk. He handed one to Lukin and poured. “Chase the devil away and put a little sunshine in your stomach. Na zdorovye. So what’s up?”
Lukin swallowed. “Keep the toast for another time. You’re on a case with me.”
“Who says so?”
“I do. I’ve just had the dubious pleasure of being summoned to the Kremlin.”
Pasha frowned, his eyes thin slits in his amber face. “Are you serious?”
“A visit to the Kremlin is not something I’d joke about, Pasha.”
“What was the occasion?”
Lukin told him everything, then gave him the file. Pasha read it, whistled softly, and crossed to his desk. He threw off his overcoat and put his feet up, taking a sip of the vodka.
“There’s not much in here, but what little there is makes for interesting reading.”
“There was even less on this American, Slanski, the one they call the Wolf. And as you probably noticed, there were a couple of pages missing from his file, if the page numbers were properly sequenced.”
“I wonder why?”
“Probably classified.”
“But it’s usual that an investigator be given access to all information for the case he’s working on. Why leave out just two pages?”
“When has Beria ever been known to tell everything? He’d tell us only what we need to know. Still, I agree, it’s odd.”
Pasha said, “The woman must have been pretty desperate to escape the Gulag. But the photographs won’t be much help. The woman’s must have been taken after she was arrested. She looks scrawny, and her hair’s cropped short. And this one of Slanski was taken from a distance. The shot’s too fuzzy to be of real use. Besides, a man like that will know how to alter his appearance, and they’ll both probably have enough false documents to paper the walls.”
Lukin nodded. “The First Directorate kept the file on him. His background seems to be something of a mystery. But they know he speaks fluent Russian and suspect he had a military background. They believe he was responsible for the deaths of at least half a dozen senior KGB and military officers, including Colonel Grenady Kraskin in Berlin a couple of months back.”
Pasha almost smiled. “He sounds formidable. But Kraskin was one evil piece of work I wasn’t sorry to see go.”
“Watch your tongue, Pasha. Especially where Beria is involved.”
“You think Beria’s right about these two trying to kill our lord and master? That the Americans would really send this Wolf to try to kill Stalin?”
“It’s possible.” Lukin paused. “Did you ever hear of a Colonel Romulka on Beria’s staff?”
Pasha raised his eyebrows and said, “Colonel Nikita Romulka?”
“I didn’t hear his first name.”
“Then I’ll give you a description. A big ugly brute with half his left ear missing. A face that looks like it caught fire and they tried to beat out the flames with a shovel.”
Lukin smiled faintly. “Sounds like him.”
“From what I heard, he’s one of Beria’s henchmen, with special responsibility for security affairs in the Gulags. Why?”
“He’s working with us. It seems he has a special interest in the case. Beria wants him to liaise with us.”
Pasha stood and said worriedly, “That kind of help you can do without. Romulka’s just a vicious thug. I heard Beria sometimes uses him for the really dirty work, like torture and rape, to extract confessions from special-category prisoners. A word of advice, Yuri: don’t cross swords with Romulka. He’s dangerous, and he never forgives or forgets. And he’ll suck your eyeballs out like grapes if the mood takes him.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Lukin scratched his head absently. “You know what really bothers me?”
“What?”
“Why did Beria pick me? It’s been a long time since I did this kind of work.”
Pasha grinned. “He picked you because you were the best tracker the directorate had. You ran down every top Abwehr agent the Nazis sent at us. There were three names everyone in the department knew in tho
se days: Guzovsky, Makorov, and Lukin.”
Lukin shook his head dismissively. “A long time ago, Pasha, or maybe it just seems like it. I’m a policeman now. And frankly, I’d rather stay that way.”
“It seems you don’t have much choice. Besides, you’re being modest and you know it.”
Lukin looked down at his false hand. “Maybe I’ve earned the right to be.”
“Because some German girl shot your hand off with a machine pistol?”
“I stood there and let it happen.”
“A temporary lapse of judgment. You should have shot her first, but you couldn’t. Personally, I’ve never killed a woman in my life, even during the war, and I don’t think I ever could, but it was you or her. You hesitated because it was a woman, and it cost you half a limb. It could have cost you your life if someone else hadn’t shot her.”
“Perhaps, but why didn’t Beria pick Guzovsky or Makorov?”
Pasha poured another drink for himself and topped up Lukin’s glass.
“Guzovsky’s too old. Sixty-four next birthday and his eyes are almost gone. And he drinks so much he couldn’t track a bloody elephant in snow. As for Makorov, he’s got so lazy and careless I wouldn’t send him out for my shopping.”
Lukin smiled. “Still, there are others more capable. And besides, working directly for Beria has its dangers. If I fail he could have me up against a wall and shot. And I don’t trust him.”
“Who does? Not even Stalin himself, I hear. The little beady-eyed monster would scare a ghost. Only you can’t refuse. But if you ask me, he knew what he was doing and picked the best. So what happens now?”
Lukin thought for a moment. “I’ll need you to stay in Moscow for now and organize an operations room. I’ll need telephones, lots of them. And a telex. Tables, chairs, a couple of beds. Large- and small-scale maps. A couple of Emkas for transport. Anything you think we might use. Beria’s orders are clear: this Wolf has to be found. And the woman. With luck, the patrols already in the area may find them, but if not, it’s up to us.”
Pasha said, “Then may God help the couple if Beria and Romulka get their hands on them, that’s all I can say.” He looked over at Lukin and smiled. “And what will the major be doing while I’m up to my ears in the dirty work?”
“There’s a MiG standing by. The duty officer’s going to phone just as soon as the weather improves or anything turns up I should know about.” As Lukin drained his glass the telephone rang.
29
* * *
BYLANDET ISLAND
Massey came awake on his back with a splitting headache. He groaned. Slowly, the pain and fog washed away. He opened his eyes and looked about the room. He was in one of the bedrooms of the island house, the blankets tossed carelessly around him on the bed. He heard the wind gusting wildly outside, and the brightly lit room was bitterly cold. He remembered the darkened figures bursting in through the front door and the blow across the back of the neck, but after that, nothing.
Who the heck had struck him? He got to his feet in a panic and stumbled to the window, ignoring the dizzying spasms of pain. He pulled back the curtain.
Flakes of snow dashed against the glass, and he saw a blaze of light below. Two black American Fords were parked outside the house, and half a dozen men stood around, rubbing their hands to keep out the cold. Massey recognized none of them.
Suddenly he heard footsteps climb the stairs and looked around. The footsteps halted outside the door. Massey felt his heart race as the door opened.
Branigan stood with a grim look on his face. He wore an overcoat and scarf and leather gloves. He stepped into the room. “So, you finally decided to join us.”
Massey said hoarsely, “What’s going on, Branigan? You almost killed me!”
“I could ask you the same question.”
Massey went to brush past him, but Branigan moved to block his way. “And where do you think you’re going?”
“Downstairs—there’s a radio beacon—landing lights on the ice—”
“If you’re thinking about your friend Saarinen, forget it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s dead.”
Massey turned white.
Branigan looked at him coldly. “We need to talk.”
TALLINN, ESTONIA
The Zis army truck jerked to a halt, and Slanski raised himself from the floor and peered out beyond the canvas flap.
They had halted in a narrow alleyway beside what looked like an ancient inn. Beyond lay a deserted cobbled square. Shabby, brightly painted medieval houses ringed the square. He guessed they were in the old town of Tallinn.
Anna sat beside him, and as she dragged herself up they heard the doors of the front cab open and the sound of feet hitting the ground and crunching on snow. A moment later the sergeant tore back the canvas flap. The KGB officer grinned up at them. “Right, bring your things and follow me.”
Slanski jumped down, and he and the sergeant helped Anna from the truck. They followed the officer down a foul-smelling alleyway to a door at the side of the inn. The place stank of stale beer.
The officer brushed snow from his face and knocked on the door. They heard the sound of metal bolts, and then a big, stoutly built man with a bushy red beard appeared in the open doorway. He wore a filthy white smock, and a cigarette dangled from his bearded lips.
The officer smiled and said in Russian, “Your guests arrived on time, Toomas. Got a bit of a shock when they saw the uniforms. Good job we found them before the army did. The Russians are swarming all over the place.” The officer jerked his thumb at Slanski. “For a moment there I thought our friend here was one of them.”
The innkeeper wiped his hands on his smock and grinned. His teeth were stained yellow, and his red beard hid half his face. “You’d better not hang around, Erik. Get that truck back to the barracks immediately.”
The officer nodded and was gone, and they heard the Zis start up and move out from the alleyway.
The innkeeper ushered them into a hallway. When he had closed and locked the door he shook their hands. “My name is Toomas Gorev. Welcome to Estonia, my friends. I take it everything went well with the drop despite the lousy weather?”
Slanski said, “Apart from the shock of having the KGB waiting for us, reasonably good.”
The innkeeper grinned. “A necessary change of plan, I’m afraid. Some pig of a Russian general decided to put the army on maneuvers at the last minute. Two divisions are moving south toward the coast for the next couple of nights. The area you landed in was smack right in the middle of their route. Using the army truck was the only way our resistance could pick you up. But don’t worry, you’re safe now.”
Slanski said, “There’s a problem. I buried some belongings back in the woods.”
Gorev shook his head. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to leave them there. For the next few days there’s going to be too much military activity in those parts. It would be more trouble than it’s worth.”
He gestured toward an open door at the end of the hall, a shabby kitchen beyond. Dried fish and moldy-looking slabs of meat hung from hooks. “In Estonia, we have a saying: never welcome a guest without offering liquid refreshment. Come, I have a bottle of vodka opened. I’m sure you both need warming after dropping through that filthy storm.”
• • •
The staff car turned into the main square of Tondy barracks just after 3 a.m. and ground to a halt.
As Lukin climbed out tiredly he looked around and shivered. The snow had lightened, but the early morning air was ice cold. The old barracks had once belonged to the tsar’s cavalry, its red brickwork faded and crumbling, but now it served as Red Army Headquarters in Tallinn.
There was a captain waiting at a barrack door. He saluted. “Captain Oleg Kaman. I was ordered to be at your service, sir.”
“Carry on.”
The captain led Lukin up a stone stairwell to an office on the third floor. The room overlooked a broad square and
was barely furnished: just a desk, a couple of hardwood chairs, and a rusting filing cabinet set against one wall. A map of the Baltic States and Estonia hung on another. A red folder lay on the desk, and when the captain had taken Lukin’s overcoat he said, “Some tea or coffee, Major?”
Lukin shook his head and sat down. “Perhaps later. You’re familiar with Tallinn, Captain?”
“My father comes from these parts, and I’ve been stationed here for five years. My commander was called away to supervise winter maneuvers and sends his regrets.”
“Good. You have a progress report ready for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then proceed.”
Lukin sat back wearily in the chair. In Moscow there had just been time for a quick phone call to his wife before a Zis had sped him away to the airport. The MiG had lifted off during a lull in the snow, but the flight had taken half an hour longer than expected as the pilot tried to avoid the worst of the weather, Lukin cramped in the rear cockpit seat. The visibility at Tallinn airport was dangerously bad and the landing had been frightening, the lights of the runway visible for only the last few hundred yards.
Now Lukin looked up and saw Kaman stare at him. Lukin said, “Well?”
“I’m sorry, Major. You seemed distracted.”
Lukin’s stump itched in the cold and he scratched his arm. “It’s been a tiring night. Give me your report.”
The captain picked up the folder from the desk and opened it. He cleared his throat. “So far, what we know is that at approximately nine p.m. local time a MiG 15P all-weather fighter on coastal patrol disappeared. The aircraft was being tracked here in Tallinn, from the radio tower in St. Olaus’s Church near Pikk Street, but because of bad weather only intermittent contact was made.”
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 scour 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.”