by Glenn Meade
Anna said anxiously, “What can we do?”
Gorev stroked his beard. “Heaven only knows. Normally our resistance people in the forests would hide you. But getting you through the roadblocks would be too difficult, and their nearest camp is too far. I doubt Erik could try to borrow the truck again, that would be tempting luck too far. Besides, this Lukin seems to have commandeered every available vehicle and man at the barracks. And even if I got you to our resistance there are risks involved. The boys may not welcome your company right now—they get enough flak from the Reds as it is.”
Slanski slammed a fist on the table in frustration. “We’re in a huge mess!”
Gorev said, “Erik tells me they’ll start house-to-house searches if they haven’t found you both by tomorrow.”
Anna glanced at Slanski, a look of indecision on her face, and then she said, “What do we do?”
“Either way, I’m on this ride to the end of the tracks. But if you want to take your chances alone trying to hide out with the partisans, I’m sure Gorev will oblige.”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I stay with you.”
“Then there’s no choice at all, really. We have to move. We haven’t a chance staying here.”
“But that doesn’t seem possible. How can we get out of Tallinn?”
Gorev said, “You could try the sewers under the old town, but you’d be asphyxiated by the fumes before you got ten paces.”
“Where do the sewers lead?”
“To the edge of the old town. But after that, where do you go? And Erik says the Reds are everywhere.”
“It could be worth a try.”
Gorev shook his head firmly. “Forget it. We used the sewers once to hide weapons from the Germans. The gases killed two of our men, and another died from blood poisoning. A couple of sniffs of that foul air and you’d be on your backs in the mortuary. And even if you did manage to stay conscious, most of the tunnels lead to under the KGB Headquarters. You take the wrong turn, and you’d save this Major Lukin the effort of finding you.”
“Still, it looks like we’ll just have to take our chances. Could Erik find us some gas masks at the barracks?”
Gorev shrugged. “I can ask, but there’s still the risk of drowning or poisoning yourselves in the effluent. But it’s your heads on the chopping block, I suppose.”
They all heard a screech of tires on the cobbled street below, and they looked out of the window nervously. The Emka had drawn up, and the two KGB officers, Zinov and Bukarin, stepped out, two young women accompanying them. They all looked the worse for drink, and the women laughed as the young captain staggered drunkenly toward the inn.
Gorev’s face screwed up in disapproval. “Drunken wasters. Back for more drink at the bar and a roll in the hay with their girlfriends from the town.”
Slanski thought for a moment, then asked, “Did you tell your guests who we were?”
“Only that you were my niece and her husband on honeymoon. Why?”
“Nothing more? No names?”
Gorev shrugged. “It didn’t seem important to elaborate. Besides, they didn’t seem that interested.”
“When do your two friends leave?”
“Zinov drives back to Leningrad tomorrow morning, presuming he’s sober enough to drive. Bukarin, the younger one, tells me his girlfriend wants him to stay behind another couple of days. Why?”
“Maybe there’s another way out of this rattrap.” Slanski smiled. “You think you could find me an army officer’s uniform?”
• • •
Zinov was sitting at the bar when Slanski went in. One of the women, a blond, curvy girl, sat next to the colonel, nibbling his ear. A bottle of champagne was in front of them, two glasses poured. The young captain and his girlfriend were nowhere to be seen.
Zinov said, “Ah, my friend, you’re just in time for some champagne. We helped ourselves, I’m afraid. No sign of Gorev.”
The colonel’s eyes were glazed from alcohol, and as Slanski sat down he said, “Your wife isn’t joining you?”
“Tired, I’m afraid. She decided to have a nap.”
Zinov grinned crookedly. “My captain friend and his lady had the same problem. Shame. This Crimean champagne is really excellent. It has Maria here as tight as a rusty nut.” The young woman giggled and almost fell off her stool. Zinov grabbed her. “Hey, steady, old girl. We’ve still got another night to go.”
The girl was pretty, her blond hair cut short, but she wore too much makeup. She tried to focus on Slanski as she patted the bar stool next to her, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. “Here, you sit beside me.”
Zinov sipped champagne and grinned. “You’re talking to a newly married man, old girl. Right now he’s beyond temptation. Give him a couple of years of married life and try again.”
“Well, I still think he’s nice,” the woman gushed drunkenly.
“We’re all nice until you marry us.” Zinov patted the girl and winked at Slanski. “Perhaps it’s just as well that good wife of yours isn’t here, my boy. She probably wouldn’t approve. I know mine wouldn’t.” The colonel chuckled at his own joke.
“Each to his own, Colonel.”
“That’s what I always say. Well, don’t just stand there with a dry mouth. Have a drink.”
Zinov poured a glass of champagne for Slanski and another for himself and the girl.
Slanski said quickly, “Actually, I came to ask you a favor.”
“Oh, and what’s that?”
“I received an urgent call to report back to Leningrad. My unit is setting out for winter training maneuvers tomorrow night.”
“Funny, I thought you had a slight look of the army about you. But why didn’t Gorev say you were a military man? What’s your rank and division?”
“Captain. The 17th Armored. I brought my uniform with me, half expecting a call, but not so soon.”
“What a shame. Rather upset your honeymoon plans, hasn’t it? I know one or two of the boys up the military ladder in Leningrad. You want me to try to twist a few ears so you can stay on?”
“Thanks for the offer, sir, but I’m anxious to get back. I’ve already promised my wife to make up for the honeymoon with a trip to Odessa.”
“Good for you. Duty first, eh?”
“I was really hoping you might be able to oblige us with a lift. The last train for Leningrad left half an hour ago, and the first one tomorrow morning leaves too late. Toomas mentioned you were traveling to Leningrad, and I wondered if you had a couple of empty seats in the Emka. But forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn.”
Zinov smiled drunkenly. “Nonsense. A pleasure, and I’d be glad of the company. I have an early start, mind. Seven a.m. Does that suit you?”
“Perfectly.” Slanski finished his champagne and put down the glass. “My thanks for the drink, Comrade Colonel.”
“You’re going so soon?”
“I’ve got some packing to do, I’m afraid. And I’d better tell my wife.”
“Right, see you at seven, then.”
The girl began rubbing Zinov’s chest, and the colonel slapped her thigh. “That’s assuming, of course, this little tigress here doesn’t kill me with passion before the night’s out.”
• • •
It was almost midnight, and Slanski sat at the bedroom window smoking a cigarette. Anna came over and looked at him. “You think it will work?”
He shrugged. “I can’t think of anything else besides the sewers, and we can’t stay here. There’s a chance the checkpoints won’t be as suspicious of a car with two officers in uniform. And an officer’s wife traveling with her husband shouldn’t arouse too much curiosity.”
“What if we’re stopped?”
“Try not to seem like you’re frightened. The KGB can smell fear.”
“You think it was Janne’s plane that alerted them?”
“Probably.”
There was a knock on the door. Slanski opened it, and Gorev came in car
rying an army captain’s uniform, brown leather belt and holster, overcoat, cap, and boots. “It’s the best I could do at short notice. Erik got everything from the army stores. The size should be all right, but the divisional flashes are a problem, I’m afraid. All they had was the 14th Armored.”
“I’ll just have to manage and hope Zinov was too drunk to remember I told him otherwise. Where is he?”
“In his bedroom with his girlfriend, drinking and wrecking my bed.”
Slanski smiled. “Thanks, Toomas.”
Gorev nodded and said anxiously, “Well, good luck, both of you. See you in the morning.”
When he left Slanski tried on the uniform. He buckled on the holstered Tokarev pistol and leather belt over the tight-waisted officer’s smock tunic, then adjusted his cap in the mirror.
Anna came in from the bathroom where she too had been dressing, and Slanski said, “What do you think? Do I pass?”
She looked at him. The blue eyes stared out arrogantly from under the broad-peaked officer’s cap, and in his polished boots and captain’s stiff shoulder boards and waisted tunic he looked the part. “I have to admit it suits you. Only try not to look so menacing.”
“I’m a Russian officer. It comes with the territory. Right, let me see what you’ll be wearing.”
Anna had changed into her clothes for the morning, a dark pleated skirt and a blouse opened at the neck. Her hair was down, and her makeup emphasized her good looks. Slanski shook his head. “An officer’s wife ought to look suitably attractive, but not that attractive. Your blouse would be better buttoned up to the neck, and your hair’s got to come up. Try to look a little dowdy.”
“Thanks.”
He reached over and pulled up her hair and tied it severely with a bow. “That’s better. Any militiaman will be drawn to look at a pretty face. Use your makeup more cleverly to avoid looking too good, and keep your scarf up around your neck. Are you wearing underwear?”
“What?”
He half smiled. “You heard me. Are you wearing the flimsy variety or something sturdier and warmer—the kind my old babushka used to swear by?”
“It’s been ten below freezing outside. What do you think?”
Slanski smiled. “Good. Tuck these into your underwear tomorrow.” He handed her his sets of false papers. “I suggest you do the same with your own, just in case they try a body search at the checkpoints. A militiaman usually won’t probe a woman’s undergarments unless he’s a complete animal. But if he does, play the cards as they fall.” Anna took the papers.
Slanski said, “And you’d better leave your pistol with Toomas before we go. If we are stopped and searched and they find it on you, it would only complicate matters.”
“What about you?”
“I’m in uniform.”
“How would you explain the silenced Nagant revolver?”
He smiled. “Let me worry about that.” He looked at her face seriously. “But let’s be honest, we both know it’s not going to be easy from now on.”
“Of course.”
“You know what to do if we get separated and there’s a risk of being caught?”
She nodded solemnly.
HELSINKI
Branigan was standing at the window on the second floor of the American Embassy, drinking his third cup of coffee. Massey sat in a nearby leather easy chair, looking grim as he stared at the lights of the islands out in Helsinki bay.
There was a knock on the door, and Douglas Canning came in holding a slip of flimsy paper in his hand. Massey stood anxiously. “Bad news, I’m afraid. I did as you asked, and according to our radio monitoring boys here in the embassy there’s a ton of transmission activity going on in Tallinn. Some kind of search, by the sound of it. Our boys gather from the gist of it that they’re looking for two people, a man and a woman. Looks like your two friends are definitely in for trouble.”
Branigan put down his coffee and snatched the paper from Canning’s hand and stared at it, then crumpled the paper and flung it angrily against the wall. “Terrific.”
Canning said to Massey, “Doesn’t anyone get to tell me what’s going on here?”
Massey didn’t reply, and Branigan looked across at him sternly. “I told you already, no questions. This is a top-secret matter. You keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for you.”
The diplomat flushed and looked offended. “Look, as you say, it’s none of my business and I don’t know what the heck is going on, but are you and your people planning on staying around here?”
Branigan sighed and shook his head. “We’re into a whole different ball game.” He looked over at Massey. “I was right. You really messed up, Jake. Big-time.”
Massey said worriedly, “What happens now?”
Branigan ignored the question and said to Canning, “I need to make an urgent call. Have you got a secure line I can use?”
Canning smiled. “Sure. But I wouldn’t suggest you phone the ambassador at this hour. The old man gets mighty sore about late-night calls to his home.”
Branigan stared back at the man with angry contempt. “You moron. I don’t want to talk with the ambassador. I want to talk with the president.”
TALLINN
FEBRUARY 27
Zinov looked red-eyed from a blinding hangover when Anna and Slanski entered the dining room before seven. His jowls were like rubber, and his brow furrowed as he sat alone at a table.
He waved to them silently across the room and returned to his breakfast.
When Gorev came in to serve them coffee, Slanski noticed that the innkeeper’s hands shook. “What’s the matter?” he asked quietly.
Gorev leaned over to pour coffee and whispered, “I took a walk down to the market square at six. The town is crawling with militia and KGB, and there are checkpoints everywhere. Without sounding like a defeatist, the moment you’re gone I’m going to go stay with my friends in the forest until I think it’s safe to reappear. If you’re caught, that could be never.”
Across the room, Zinov suddenly stood, wiped his mouth with his table napkin, and came over. He managed a weak smile at Gorev. “That champagne of yours could kill a man. My head feels as if someone’s been pounding it all night with a rubber club.”
“Every indulgence has its price, Colonel.”
“Indeed,” replied Zinov dryly. He looked at Anna and smiled again weakly. “May I say you look very fetching this morning, my dear.”
Anna wore heavy makeup that was far from pleasing and guessed Zinov was being polite. “Thank you, Colonel. My husband told me you’re driving us to Leningrad. I’m very grateful.”
“Nonsense. We have to look after our men in uniform. I’m just sorry this business of his has upset your honeymoon plans.” Zinov looked at his watch and said briskly, “I’ll be leaving in ten minutes, so try not to dally. They’re expecting me in Leningrad for a staff lunch at one.”
He turned to go, then hesitated and said to Slanski, “We’ll leave by the old East Tower, by the way. It takes us directly out onto the coast highway. And just so you know, I heard last evening the authorities are looking for a couple of enemy agents who parachuted in the other night so there are probably going to be checkpoints. Hopefully they won’t bother us.”
Slanski pretended surprise. “Really? Enemy agents from where?”
“You know, I didn’t even ask. A man and a woman. That’s all I know.”
• • •
Lukin had awakened at six, still exhausted after sleeping badly. He shaved and dressed before sitting at the table and reading through the night’s reports that Kaman had brought in. Kaman had also left a samovar of tea and some fresh rolls and foul-tasting plum jam on a breakfast tray. Lukin had dismissed the captain, saying he would call if he needed him. Now he spread the reports in front of him and sifted through the pages. The words danced on the paper, his eyeballs raw and sore from lack of sleep.
There was nothing much of interest. Every hotel and inn in the city and old town had been visi
ted, and all the guests had been accounted for, their backgrounds checked and verified by KGB Headquarters on Pikk Street. The deserter tally had risen to twenty-one arrested.
There was a joke in the army that if you were going to desert, you headed west to the Baltic. The women were beautiful and the drink stronger, and at least a man might have some fleeting enjoyment before being sent to a Siberian penal colony for desertion.
Lukin looked up briefly to stare out at the darkness. Winter in this part of the Baltic was brooding, only three hours of sunshine at most. He longed for some warm Crimean sun: the scent of orange blossoms and wild jasmine and a hot wind on his face. He had promised to take Nadia to the Crimea this summer. He wondered if he would still be alive then to keep his promise.
He thought of her now and dreaded to consider what might become of her if he failed. He couldn’t fail. Lukin sighed in despair and concentrated again on the reports, tension and frustration coiled up inside him like a spring.
Twenty-one deserters, a black marketeer, and a youth of fifteen with a rusting unlicensed German Luger but no ammunition. The boy had been arrested during the night and questioned about the parachute drop, but it was obvious he knew nothing. Reading between the lines of the report by the local KGB, Lukin knew the boy had been tortured during interrogation. It was unlikely he was even a partisan. They hid in the forests, brave but futile Estonian men and women armed with decrepit German weapons, but they still harried the army even eight years after the war.
Lukin shivered as he put the report aside. The poor boy would most likely be shot. Having an unlicensed weapon in the occupied territories meant certain execution, regardless of age. He pushed back the chair and lit a cigarette, felt the strong makhorka tobacco reach the pit of his lungs.
There was a knock on the door, and Kaman entered and saluted. “The car’s ready for your checkpoint inspection, sir. The East Tower is first, I believe.”
Lukin stubbed out his cigarette. “Very well, Kaman, the East Tower it is.”