by Glenn Meade
When the captain hesitated, Lukin said, “You’re certain about the second aircraft?”
“Absolutely. That’s what the pilots reported. They suggest a midair collision occurred. The weather’s now cleared a little over the Gulf of Finland, but it’s still pretty bad. We’ve sent a foot patrol out onto the ice, but it may be dangerous to go too close to the wreckage. After the crash the ice nearby will be weakened. But the patrol ought to be able to get a better look as soon as they get there. We’ve already alerted the local militia that enemy agents may have been dropped and the commander ordered a dozen patrols out to scour inland and along the coast, but we’ve turned up nothing so far.” The captain paused. “That’s it, basically.”
“How long before the foot patrol reaches the crash site?”
The captain glanced at his watch. “A couple of hours. But it depends on the weather conditions, obviously. They’re in radio contact.”
Lukin rubbed his eyes. “You think the light aircraft managed to drop these people before it crashed?”
“Difficult to know, sir, but it’s likely.”
“Why?”
Kaman pointed at the map. “The local radar picked up several spurious blips west of Tallinn, along this route here. Three fast, one slow. Assuming the slow one was the light aircraft, its altered heading would suggest the drop had already been made and it was turning back. The radar people suggest that Finland was the likely destination. So we must assume the drop has been made, and the man and woman you’re seeking are on Russian soil.”
Lukin stood. The file Beria had given him had contained a photograph of the woman, Anna Khorev. Despite her scrawny appearance she looked rather beautiful, which helped him. It was always easier for the militia to spot a good-looking woman. Plain ones tended to blend into the crowd.
There were details in the file as to why she had been arrested and sent to the Gulag and information on her escape. The woman’s past made unpleasant reading. She was the daughter of a disgraced army officer, her husband had died in a camp, and her child was in the care of a Moscow orphanage.
The man’s file didn’t go into much detail. Alexander Slanski, a Russian-born, naturalized American citizen. Lukin had read the brief character sketch compiled by the 1st Directorate with interest, but there was no information concerning Slanski’s childhood in Russia, and Lukin had wondered about that. Such information might help him.
“A question, Captain. If you were an enemy agent parachuted onto Russian soil with your destination being Moscow, how would you proceed?”
“I don’t understand.”
“What route would you take? What disguises would you use? How would you try to avoid the enemy?”
The captain thought a moment. “It would depend.”
“On what?”
“On whether I knew the enemy was aware of my arrival.”
“Go on.”
“If the enemy was unaware, I’d probably take the direct route, with precautions. A train, main line, or some such public transport, bus, or plane. I’d probably not travel in uniform because there are periodic checks on military personnel at such stations.”
“And if your enemy did know of your arrival?”
The captain thought a moment. “Lie low for a couple of days. Then take a less direct route using public transport. But in disguise. And I would try to behave like a local, so as not to arouse suspicion. Assume a local’s dress, his demeanor, his habits. Walk the way he walks, speak the way he speaks.”
Lukin nodded. “Good. These people would hardly know the aircraft has crashed, but allowing for both scenarios I want checkpoints placed on every major and minor road, every railway and bus station, and the airport. Identity checks at all those points. Use every available man. You’ll be looking for a woman aged twenty-six. But cover the ages between eighteen and forty.
“As for the man, his description is less helpful. We know he’s in his mid-thirties. Again, check all males between twenty-five and sixty. Take particular note of identity papers. And remember that makeup or disguise can change appearances. Put any backup men in plain clothes, not uniforms. That only attracts attention. And I want hourly reports. Inform the local militia that if anyone is spotted acting questionably, or if parachutes or any suspicious equipment is found, I want to know about it. If all that dredges up nothing, we start sector searches. Area by area, house by house.” Lukin handed over the photographs. “Have copies of these made and distributed to the officers involved. The images are not the best, I’m afraid, but they’re all I have.”
“Very good, sir.”
The captain gestured to a door leading off from the room. “I’ve taken the liberty of having a bed made up for you in the next room.”
“Thank you, Captain. Carry on.”
Kaman saluted and left.
The meeting with Beria and the implicit threat had disturbed Lukin. Of one thing he was certain: he couldn’t fail. He could imagine the outcome if he did. The way Beria played the game, Lukin would forfeit his own life, and perhaps even Nadia’s. The man was that merciless.
The executions and the image of the girl being tortured replayed in his mind like a bad dream. To men like Beria and Romulka, torture and death were pleasures and all part of the game. But not to him.
Lukin remembered a spring day in a forest near Kursk. The young German girl he had cornered, no more than eighteen, parachuted in on a reconnaissance mission behind Russian lines by the Abwehr in a last-ditch German offensive.
He and two of his men had tracked her down to an abandoned house in some woods. She was wounded, helpless, and frightened. Lukin had gone in by the back door with his gun drawn, but when he saw her, frozen with fear, huddled in a corner with a coat thrown over her, something had made him drop his guard. The girl had reminded him of a long-ago innocent face. His young sister, age four, crying as she clutched a rag doll on their father’s doorstep, with the same frightened, helpless look. The resemblance was uncanny.
But the indecision had proved almost fatal. The ragged burst from the girl’s machine pistol hidden under her coat had nearly torn off Lukin’s arm. One of the other men had to shoot the girl. Two months after he recovered, Lukin was transferred back to Moscow.
His heart wasn’t in it anymore.
But now was different. Now it was find this man and woman or die. With the descriptions and information he had and the swiftness of Moscow’s response, he imagined it would be over quickly. By dawn, hopefully. Estonia was a small country, Tallinn a small town, the places the couple could run to or hide in, limited.
And this time there could be no mistakes.
30
* * *
TALLINN
FEBRUARY 25
The kitchen at the back of the inn was warm and cozy, and a table was set with plates of cold fatty meat and oily salted fish, goat’s cheese, and dark bread. Despite Gorev’s effort at hospitality, the food looked unappetizing. Gorev poured three measures of vodka into large tumblers before he lit a cigarette. “Eat. The fish are called salty manyards. They go well with the vodka. In fact, it’s about all they go with. The alcohol kills the taste. Since the Russians took over the food’s been lousy.”
He dug a hand into the plate of tiny salted fish and scooped out half a dozen, swallowed them heads and all, then washed them down with a gulp of vodka.
Slanski drank the vodka, but he and Anna ignored the food. “Where did your friends get the truck and uniforms?”
Gorev laughed. “The truck came from the Red Army supply depot in Tallinn. The Estonian resistance, the Forest Brothers, supplied the KGB uniform. The officer and sergeant who brought you here are Red Army conscripts.” He saw the look on their faces, and his grin widened. “Don’t worry, they’re also in the resistance and completely trustworthy. And Erik happens to be well in with the quartermaster. He told him he wanted a truck to travel to Parnu to meet his girlfriend. For a crate of good Estonian beer, the quartermaster obliged.”
“You trust him?
”
“The quartermaster?”
“I meant Erik.”
The innkeeper looked offended. “Don’t worry about the natives in these parts, my friend. We hate the Russians. Half the country has had family shot or shipped off to Siberia by the Reds.”
“And you?”
Gorev nodded up at a family photograph on the wall. “My wife, she died during the war. The young man on the left was our only son, a priest. Erik and he were like brothers. After the war the Reds came to Tallinn and took my son away. I haven’t seen him since.” He spat on the floor in contempt, then looked over at them. “You’d better tell me who you’re supposed to be while you’re here.”
“I’m your niece from Leningrad,” Anna said, “on my honeymoon with my new husband.”
Gorev smiled, sucked on his cigarette, and blew out smoke. “It’s believable enough, I suppose. We get quite a lot of Russian visitors to the old town. Tomorrow night, I plan to put you both on the train to Leningrad. After that you’ll be out of my hands. You’d better show me your papers, so I’ll get the names right if I’m asked.”
Slanski and Anna handed Gorev their papers, and as he examined them there was a rumbling noise of vehicles beyond the windows and they all stood. Gorev went to peer through a chink in the curtain. After a few moments he came back. “Russian army trucks heading toward the coast. Those bloody winter maneuvers of theirs will keep half the town awake.”
He saw the look of alarm on Anna’s face. “Don’t worry, they’re not going to bother us. Not even Beria’s KGB friends will touch you here.”
“What makes you so certain?” Anna asked.
“Because I’ve got two KGB officers staying at the inn.”
Slanski and Anna stared at him in alarm, and Gorev grinned. “They’re both harmless. Here for a few days of drinking and carousing. And having the KGB as guests is always an advantage. That way the militia don’t harass me.”
“Who are the officers?” Slanski asked.
“A colonel and a young captain. Old customers paying a return visit to a couple of local ladies of questionable morals they met while stationed here a while back. They prefer to stay at the inn rather than Tondy barracks. It’s more discreet and a lot safer, and believe it or not the food’s better. Besides, every once in a while our boys come out of the forests and shoot up the barracks. It keeps Ivan on his toes and lets him know we’re still in business.”
Gorev handed back their papers, then drained his glass and slapped it on the table. “Let’s get you settled in. You’ll sleep upstairs. My two guests are still out on the town with their girlfriends and no doubt they’ll be drunk out of their minds when they get back, so they won’t be interested in us.”
Gorev led them along the hallway past the inn’s bar and dining room, up a flight of creaking stairs to the second floor. He took a key from a metal ring hanging on his greasy belt and opened a door and flicked on a light. Inside was a small, shabby, oak-beamed bedroom.
“It isn’t the height of luxury, but it’s warm and comfortable and you have your own bathroom.” He grinned. “And seeing as though you’re on your honeymoon I trust you won’t have any objection to sharing a bed. I’ve left clean sheets and blankets. Breakfast is at eight in the dining room beside the bar. I expect to see you there, playing the newlyweds.”
“Thanks, Toomas.”
“My pleasure. As they say, my enemy’s enemy is my friend. Sleep well.”
He bid them good night and closed the door. Slanski turned the key and looked at Anna as she made the bed. He sat on a chair and studied her face as he lit a cigarette.
“What are you looking at?”
“You. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are, Anna Khorev?”
She couldn’t resist a smile as she tied back her hair with a ribbon. “You sound like a very bad actor reading an even worse script. And remember, my name for now is Anna Bodkin. Aren’t you going to sleep?”
“I’d rather sit and watch you.”
She looked at him, her voice suddenly more firm. “Understand something: what happened the other night is not going to happen again. I was vulnerable, that’s all. And if you’re waiting for me to undress you’re wasting your time. I’m going to do it in the dark.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Do you love Jake?”
She thought for a moment, surprised by the question. “What I feel toward Jake is none of your business. But if you must know, he’s one of the finest men I’ve ever known.”
“I think he’s in love with you, more than just a little. And you know what’s really odd? I’m not sure that makes me feel entirely happy.”
Anna didn’t speak, just stood there, considering what he had said.
Slanski put his cigarette in the ashtray, then stood up and pulled her toward him. She could feel his strength but she resisted, and then his mouth was on hers, kissing her.
She pulled back and said, “No! Please, Alex, don’t. And put out that cigarette, or we might both be burned to death and save the Russians the bother of killing us.”
“Interesting.”
“What is?”
“You said ‘the Russians.’ As if you were no longer one of them.”
“Put out the cigarette and get some sleep.”
He stubbed out the cigarette, and as Anna went to switch off the light he reached again for her hand. “I said no!”
But he held her while his other hand began to caress her face. She went to stop him, but he gently pushed her hand away and put a finger to her lips. “Don’t speak.”
There was a determined look in his eyes. Part of her wanted to protest, but another part of her wanted to feel close to him, to be held and protected again.
He untied her ribbon, and her hair spilled about her shoulders. He looked into her eyes. “Anna, what happened between us, I want you to know it was good. Maybe the closest I’ve ever felt to a woman.”
“No doubt you tell that to every woman you want to be with.”
“Not true. Maybe you were right. Maybe I’ve never really trusted anyone enough to let them get close.”
Anna looked up at his face and she knew he meant it. A feeling of guilt came over her, but it passed, and then something stirred inside her. She felt a surge of passion overcome her, and she kissed him fiercely on the mouth in the darkness.
HELSINKI
A log fire blazed in a corner of the room on the second floor of the American Embassy, and as Branigan came in his face was grim as he stared across at Massey seated nearby. “The doc says you’ve got a mild concussion but you’ll live.”
Massey rubbed his neck and said, “How do you know for certain Saarinen’s dead?”
“The Finnish Air Force tried to stop him at our request. They picked up the crash on their radar when Saarinen was on the homeward stretch, and the signals went dead. By all accounts it looks like he bumped into a patrolling MiG.”
A look like pain appeared on Massey’s face. “Why did you try to stop him?”
Branigan looked him in the eye. “I should have thought that was obvious. You really messed up, didn’t you, Jake? You’re going to get the book thrown at you for this.” Branigan slammed his fist on the desk. “And don’t look so dumb and innocent, buddy. I didn’t come all this way just to have a fireside chat. I’m talking about the bodies in the woods. I’m talking about Braun—and Arkashin.”
Massey turned quite pale, then he asked quietly, “How did you know?”
“After we learned about Arkashin and Popov we decided to pay the cabin a visit.” Branigan paused and said angrily, “You should have contacted me as soon as you had problems. Why didn’t you?”
“The men at the cabin came looking for trouble. But I figured they only wanted Anna. After it was over we buried the bodies. Slanski still wanted to go through with the mission. Nothing was going to stop him after Vassily was killed. I went along with him. Maybe I was wrong, but too much planning had gone in
to it and I wanted it to succeed. I knew once you learned what happened you’d want to reconsider the mission or cancel. But I thought that would be a mistake. I figured, how could it really matter if we went ahead? Arkashin and the men who came to kill Anna couldn’t have known about the operation, and they were all dead. I figured maybe we had enough time to go ahead with the plan before you figured out what had happened.”
Branigan leaned in closer. “You broke the rules, Massey. And it mattered all right. You want to know how much?” Branigan explained about the Stalin file found on Braun’s body and the suspicion that a Soviet team had visited the cabin.
Massey was deathly silent, then he said, “Slanski thought the file was destroyed in the fire.”
“Well, it wasn’t. And if your two friends landed safely my guess is they’ve walked into big trouble. Kislov and his pals in Moscow are going to put two and two together. And they’re going to hope that we go ahead with our plans, because that way they just might catch your friend Slanski and the woman when they land. That’s why they didn’t remove the file. That MiG we think bumped into Saarinen’s plane—it wasn’t a coincidence.”
Branigan shook his head. “No way. Within two hours of Kislov landing in Moscow, every Soviet border post, naval and air base was put on alert—including the one outside Helsinki, at Porkkala. Kislov’s people in Moscow may not know when or which way Slanski is coming, but they’ll figure out the likely bets, the ways we’ve used before, and they’ll hedge them.”
Branigan saw the shock on Massey’s face and sat down. “And you know what’s going to happen if Moscow captures them alive? Heck, there’s enough meat in this pie to start World War Three. First, you’d have a show trial, and when the evidence came out in court, every country in the world is going to point an accusing finger at Uncle Sam. After that, Moscow can do pretty much as it wants and do it self-righteously, because we’re knee-deep in our own dirty washing. We sent in an assassin to kill a world leader, and that’s a naughty thing to do by any standards.”