by Glenn Meade
Slanski accepted a cigarette. As Zinov handed back his lighter, he said casually, “I must say, that major back in Tallinn seemed very uncertain about you.”
Slanski smiled. “I must have a suspicious face, Colonel.”
Zinov laughed. “Well, if you had been enemy agents you certainly would have picked the wrong traveling companion in a KGB colonel.”
After another hour there was almost no traffic apart from occasional peasants on horses and donkeys and carts, and Zinov made up for lost time. They passed squalid Estonian towns and villages, and here and there the ruins of houses dotted the countryside, still deserted since the war, charred buildings and derelict cottages with their roofs caved in. Rusted, scavenged hulks of German Panzers and artillery pieces were decaying, lying abandoned in open fields.
As they passed through a deserted village Slanski and Anna saw that the timber houses had been recently razed to the ground and the local church gutted. Two black paint strokes on a sign had obliterated the village name.
“A couple of months ago that was a thriving village,” Zinov remarked. “Then some partisans decided to blow up an ammunition dump in a nearby barracks. The local commander shot all the men and had the women and children sent to Siberia. Drastic, but then drastic measures are sometimes called for, I think you’ll agree, Captain?”
“Of course.”
Zinov turned back and smiled. “These crazy partisans think we can be defeated. But they’re wrong. Like that madman Hitler and that fool Napoleon. Do you know the famous monument in Riga? On one side it reads: ‘In 1812 Napoleon passed this way to Moscow with two hundred thousand men.’ On the other side it reads: ‘In 1813 Napoleon passed this way from Moscow with twenty thousand men.’ ” Zinov laughed.
They passed Narva half an hour later, and Zinov suggested they stop and stretch their legs before they pressed on to Leningrad. “We’ll have some food and vodka. Nothing like a little refreshment and fresh air to clear the head.”
Slanski glanced at Anna. Something about the major at the checkpoint in Tallinn had made them both uneasy and unwilling to delay getting to Leningrad. He said to Zinov, “Perhaps we ought to press on?”
“Nonsense, we’ve plenty of time. We’ll be in Leningrad in a few hours. There’s a perfect spot up ahead. I sometimes stop there for a break.”
The skies turned gray as Zinov swung off the highway minutes later and drove along a forest road. On either side narrow lanes led off into the woods, and after a hundred yards they dipped over a rise and came out in a clearing beside a small frozen lake. The view over the lake was really rather beautiful, the towering birch trees along the shoreline sugared prettily with snow, and there was a sense of peaceful isolation after the highway.
Zinov climbed out and said to Slanski, “Splendid, isn’t it? Get the vodka and food, man—it’s in the trunk. There’s some smoked eel and bread I bought in Tallinn. I’m sure your wife’s hungry.”
Slanski went around to the trunk and removed a picnic basket. As he turned back he heard a small cry from Anna and saw Zinov grab her savagely by the hair, his pistol pointed at her head. “Put your hands in the air,” he ordered Slanski. Zinov’s face looked stern, and he was suddenly all business. “Undo your pistol belt very slowly. And I mean slowly. Then throw it over here. You do as I say or the woman gets a bullet in the head.”
“What’s going on? Is this some kind of joke?”
Zinov’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Something’s not right with you two. That major back in Tallinn was right. You’re enemy agents.”
“Colonel, this is nonsense,” Slanski said reasonably. “Our papers were in order at the checkpoint. Put the gun away. You’re making my wife nervous.”
Zinov said sharply, “Shut up. I’ve listened to your accents. Neither of you is from Leningrad. I’ve lived there all my life. The woman here, she’s from Moscow, but you I can’t figure out. A little while back something else occurred to me. Last night you told me you were with the 17th Armored. But you told the major at the checkpoint you were with the 14th. Perhaps you’d care to explain?”
“A mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking of. And I never said my wife was from Leningrad.”
“Mistake, my foot. Don’t take me for a fool.”
Slanski shifted his stance, ready to move, but he was standing well back, too far to get closer to the colonel.
Zinov fingered his pistol. “I wouldn’t try anything. I’m an excellent shot.” He aimed the pistol at Slanski. “Now, you’re going to tell me just who you really are, or I pull this trigger.”
• • •
Lukin sat in the freezing dome of the Mil as his eyes swept the ribbon of highway that snaked below the helicopter. They had taken off in semidarkness from the Tondy barracks an hour before, flying at barely fifty yards above the main Leningrad road. Acres of endless birch forest ran on either side, coated white, the lights of villages and streetlamps burning in the winter grayness that stretched ahead.
The helicopter pilot turned to Lukin and shouted above the cabin noise, “We can’t go much farther, Major. There’s a bank of snow cloud moving in from the west. Flying in both darkness and bad weather is not permitted by regulations.”
Lukin had had difficulty convincing the pilot’s commander to allow the helicopter to fly in semidarkness until he produced the letter from Beria, and the man had given in grudgingly, warning Lukin of the dangers of flying in poor light. The Mil wasn’t equipped for it, and the pilot would have to stay close to the ground. Now Lukin shook his head. “Forget regulations. You turn back when I tell you. You have enough fuel?”
“For over another hundred miles, but—”
“Then keep flying. Shout if you spot anything.”
The pilot started to protest, but then he saw the grim look on Lukin’s face and returned to his controls. Lukin looked down at the map on his knee. He had a small reading light in his hand, and he flicked it over the map while he continued to glance down at the highway. A column of tanks was moving south, the lumbering gray shapes like giant metal snails in the dim light.
The news had come back from Leningrad ten minutes after Kaman had made the call. There was no Captain Oleg Petrovsky with the 14th and definitely no winter maneuvers in Novgorod. Lukin’s instinct had been right. But curse it, he should have followed it at the checkpoint.
The inn where Zinov had stayed had been visited by the KGB, but the place was locked and the owner nowhere to be found. The men had broken in, but a quick search of the premises had produced nothing. There was only one other name on the inn’s register, a captain named Bukarin. Lukin would just have to wait and see if either the captain or the innkeeper showed up.
By his own calculations, the Emka had to be somewhere close up ahead. Even traveling at fifty miles an hour, the maximum distance the car could have traveled was 130 miles. Allowing for traffic, more likely a bit less than that. That put them about five minutes ahead.
Lukin considered that the colonel driving the Emka could have taken a minor road, but that was unlikely. No roadwork blocked the main highway, and the minor roads were clogged with military traffic. The pilot had already swooped low on several Emkas, come alongside them in near darkness, disbelief on the faces of the passengers as the helicopter hovered closely to get a look at the occupants. But so far, no sign of the colonel’s car. Lukin still couldn’t figure if the KGB man had been an innocent dupe or was part of it.
He looked down at the highway again in the weak light. Empty. They had passed the last column of tanks minutes ago. He shouted to the pilot, “You have a searchlight under the fuselage?” The man looked back and nodded. Lukin said, “If there’s nothing in the next ten minutes, we go back and check the minor roads, those that lead into the forest. The car could have pulled in somewhere.”
The pilot looked worried, pointed up ahead at a bruised-looking sky, and shook his head. “There’s going to be snow soon. Besides, there are high-voltage cables off the main highway. In this dark
ness we could clip one. It’s too dangerous.”
“Do as I tell you,” Lukin commanded.
The pilot shook his head firmly. “No, Major, I’m in charge of this aircraft. I must insist. If we get snow it could be treacherous. We turn back.” The pilot turned away and tilted the control stick, and the Mil started to bank right, heading back the way they had come.
Lukin removed the pistol from his holster, cocked it, and put it to the man’s head. The pilot glanced over at him, openmouthed. “Are you crazy?”
“Maybe, but you’ll be dead if you don’t do as I say. Switch on that search beam, Lieutenant, or I’ll take your ear off!”
“Colonel, you’re making a mistake.”
• • •
Zinov stood with his weapon pointed at Slanski. “Talk. Before I’m tempted to shoot.”
“I have nothing to say. Except I’m going to report this. Your behavior is uncalled for.”
There was a brief look of uncertainty on Zinov’s face, and then he said, “You’re trying my patience.”
“Might I make a suggestion? We drive down to the nearest militia barracks. You phone my commanding officer. He’ll verify my identity.”
Zinov smiled. “And meantime, you both make a run for it. I’m not an idiot. And it’s me who’s going to get the credit for capturing you, not that idiot major back in Tallinn. So tell me who you are.”
“Captain Oleg Petrovsky, 14th Armored Division.”
Zinov stepped closer and angrily leveled the gun at Slanski. “Don’t try to be smart with me.”
Anna said, “Colonel, I think you ought to know the truth.” Slanski went to speak, but Anna interrupted. “No. I have to tell him.” She looked at Zinov steadily. “We’re not married to each other. My husband is an army officer in Leningrad. This man is who he says he is. But we went to Tallinn to be alone together.”
Zinov grinned. “Lovers? Nice try, but you’ll have to do better than that.”
“In my bag you’ll find a photograph of my husband and me.”
Zinov hesitated, suddenly unsure. “Get it for me. Just don’t try anything or your friend here loses his head.”
Anna moved to the car and found the handbag on the backseat.
Zinov stepped closer to her and said, “Toss it here.”
Anna threw over the bag, and as it landed Zinov bent to pick it up. She crossed the distance quickly, and as Zinov reacted and raised the gun in panic her hand chopped down hard on his neck. He screamed in pain and Slanski was already moving, racing across the ground between them, but he wasn’t fast enough.
Zinov fired off a shot, and it clipped Slanski’s tunic just as his foot came up and kicked the gun from the colonel’s hand and his fist smashed into his jaw. Zinov fell back into the snow, blood streaming from his mouth.
As Slanski grabbed the weapon, Zinov looked up pleadingly, real fear in his eyes. “Please don’t kill me. Please, I’ll tell no one. Please—”
Slanski shot him between the eyes.
Anna put a hand over her mouth in horror, and Slanski said, “Get back to the car.” She didn’t move as she stared down at the colonel’s body. Blood was pumping from his wound. For several seconds she stood stricken, until Slanski touched her arm. “Anna!”
“Get away from me!”
As she pushed him away, Slanski grabbed her arm angrily and pulled her face up to his. “Listen to me. You’re in shock. You think I like this? This is war, Anna. This is life or death. He would have killed us both. And just remember he was KGB, the same people who put you in the Gulag. The same people who took your child. Remember that.”
His words suddenly jolted her back.
“You’d better help me bury the body. See if there’s anything in the car we can dig with. Quickly. I don’t want to be here all day.”
She watched as he turned over the body and began searching through the pockets. Suddenly she looked up at the sky as she heard a faint chopping sound, but then it faded and was gone.
“What’s wrong?” Beads of sweat dampened Slanski’s face, and he was staring at her urgently.
“Nothing. I thought I heard something . . .” She started toward the car.
It took them five minutes to bury the body in a shallow grave in the snow, digging with their hands and using a tire iron from the car. When they finished they were soaking wet and their clothes were covered in blood. Slanski said, “You’d better change. I’ll get the suitcases.”
She started to strip, and Slanski fetched the suitcases from the trunk and undressed himself. He put on the corduroy suit and cap, and when Anna had finished dressing he took one last look around the area and said, “Give me your clothes.”
She handed them over, and Slanski crossed to some bushes and scrabbled in the snow with his bare hands until he had dug a hole deep enough to bury their clothes. He then covered the hole with soil and snow again until the earth looked as if it had not been disturbed. “Let’s go.”
When they reached the car, Slanski looked at her face. It was pale and drawn, and he could see real fear in her eyes. “Anna, what I did was necessary, you know that.”
“Yes, I know.” She shivered.
“What’s the matter? Cold?”
“And frightened.”
“We can be in Leningrad in less than two hours. With luck, no one’s going to know Zinov’s missing for some time.” He touched her face, then he removed his jacket and placed it around her shoulders.
Anna protested. “You’ll freeze.”
“Take it.”
She looked up at him. “Alex . . .”
“What?”
She started to say something, then seemed to change her mind and shook her head. “Nothing.” She turned to look back at their footprints in the snow. “What about those?”
“There’s more snow on the way, by the look of it. They’ll be covered up quickly enough. Come on, let’s go. The quicker we’re away from here the better.”
He stowed the suitcases in the trunk, and they climbed into the car. He turned on the headlights and lit up the sheltered track through the woods that led back to the highway.
There was a sudden dull chopping noise that filled the air, high above them, and they saw a powerful beam of light sweep through the shaded forest behind, the sound growing louder until it became a deafening thunder.
Suddenly a helicopter reared above the trees, the light from under its fuselage dazzling as it caught them in its beam. Two shadowy figures became visible in the cockpit, one of them taking aim with a pistol through the open side window of the machine. A shot rang out, and the Emka’s passenger window shattered.
Anna let out a cry as the bullet zinged past her. “Hold on!” Slanski frantically started the Emka. It gave a roar and the wheels spun wildly before they gripped in the snow, then it shot forward down the forest track.
33
* * *
Lukin rubbed his eyes and peered down. They were over forest now, skimming acres of dense birch trees. The searchlight was on, its silver finger probing the foliage below them, swinging left and right as the pilot controlled the yaw of the aircraft. Every now and then the man looked nervously at Lukin. The major still held the gun in his hand. If they dropped too low they might clip the trees or the electric power lines running close to the highway.
They had been sweeping along the road for almost ten minutes, crisscrossing to the woods on either side, but had seen nothing. Lukin swore in frustration. There was sweat on the pilot’s brow as he said, “Major, if we don’t turn around now, we’re going to be in big trouble. We won’t have enough fuel to get back to Tallinn, and the weather’s going to be against us.”
Lukin peered out through the dome. The man was right. There was a dirty-looking bank of snow clouds moving toward them from the west. “Keep flying.”
“Major . . .I must protest!”
“I’ll take responsibility for the aircraft. Do as I say!”
The pilot gritted his teeth and turned back to the controls
. There was a growing edge of desperation in the man’s voice.
It happened then.
The searchlight passed over a narrow road in the gloomy forest, and Lukin suddenly picked out the tire tracks of a car. “Over there!” He pointed, and the pilot saw the marks. Up ahead Lukin glimpsed a small rise in the forest and beyond it what looked like the outline of a frozen lake. “Go lower!”
“Major, if we get too close to those treetops—”
“Do it, man!”
The pilot shook his head in exasperation but obeyed the order, the searchlight picking out the twin snail-like tracks cutting along the woodland road. They led up through a rise to the frozen lake. As they came sweeping over the lakeshore, suddenly Lukin saw the black Emka and his heart skipped. He saw the two figures fleetingly as they climbed into the car. He shouted at the pilot, “Hold it here! Hold it!”
The noise in the cockpit was almost overwhelming as the Mil suddenly halted in midair, shuddering as it hovered above the Emka, tossing the trees furiously and kicking up flurries of snow. Lukin saw the couple’s surprised faces through the windshield, frozen in the searchlight for an instant, the same couple from the checkpoint.
There was a moment of indecision, then he tore open the small window at the side of the helicopter, aimed his pistol at the car, and fired. He saw glass shatter on the passenger side, and then suddenly the car lurched forward and sped through the forest. “After them!” Lukin roared.
The pilot turned the Mil in an arc and began to clatter over the trees after the car.
• • •
Slanski sweated as he gripped the steering wheel hard, the car bumping down the narrow road. Freezing air blasted into the cab from the shattered window, but he was hardly aware of the icy chill as he drove, all his senses concentrating on the way ahead. Every now and then the car bumped violently as it hit a rut, and Anna held on to the door for her life.
Seconds later the noise of the helicopter roared above as it suddenly overtook them, spun around, and hovered in midair, the searchlight cutting into their eyes. Slanski blinked as the light blinded him, and for an instant he lost control of the car as it lurched. The Emka skidded. He put on a burst of speed, and then they were ahead of the beam again. There was a narrow track off to the right, and he yanked the wheel around and turned into it, the helicopter following until it was ahead of them once more. Then they heard a metallic thump as a bullet ripped through the roof of the car, and Anna screamed as the lead embedded itself in the rear seat.