by Glenn Meade
Anna said, “I don’t understand.”
Vladimir grinned. “Simple. You double back on the Baltic road, past Pushkin, to here.” He pointed to a place on the map. “It’s a town called Gatchina, approximately fifty miles from the city. At this point you take any of the minor roads that fork southeast to Novgorod. From there, that leaves you with over four hundred miles to cover to get to Moscow. But once you get to Gatchina and beyond, there are so many minor roads through hilly, uninhabited forest that it would take half the Red Army to find you, and you could make it to Moscow without much difficulty.
“That motorbike was designed for rough terrain and can easily travel over dirt tracks, no trouble. The route I’m suggesting is an indirect one and longer, but probably the safest, considering the circumstances. Don’t worry about getting lost. You can keep the map and I’ll give you a compass. With luck you could be in Moscow in about fifteen hours.
“There are also several trains that run there by an indirect route from smaller towns along the way if you have to abandon the motorcycle. It means changing trains many times, of course, but that can’t be helped and this is the best route I can suggest.
“Don’t worry about removing the license plates on the bike if you ditch it. Like most of the German motorcycles still around, mine isn’t registered.” He grinned as he looked at them. “How does all that sound?”
Slanski smiled. “When do we leave?”
“Who knows how long before the city is ringed with checkpoints? For your own sake, the sooner you leave the better.”
Slanski checked his watch. “Let’s say later this afternoon. As soon as the traffic starts to fill the main roads it’ll help give us a better chance of not being noticed.”
“That would be perfect.”
ESTONIA
Lukin heard a sound like an animal cry and came awake with a start. The pain in his stump hadn’t gone away, and his body shivered with agony. How long had he been lying here?
He slowly moved the fingers of his left hand. An effort. But there was no pain there, and at least he could move something. He tried his wrist next. It budged slightly. Enough so he could read his watch. A quarter past one. He had been lying in the frozen woods for over three hours.
Blasts of freezing air raged through the trees in gusts. His bones ached with the intense cold. His teeth chattered. He licked his lips. They felt like slivers of ice. He inhaled, and the chilled air bit into his lungs and made him cough.
He heard the cry again. Lukin had heard that sound before, in childhood. He and his brother as small boys, playing in a field near their father’s house one winter’s evening. His father off in the distance by the house, chopping wood, looking up, waving at them.
And then the noise that startled them. When they looked around they saw the two pairs of piercing yellow eyes staring at them from the trees, until the eyes moved out of the woods and became bodies. Two white wolves. Snow wolves.
Their white coats were so bright they were almost luminous. Lukin had screamed in fright and run back to his father as the man raced toward him. He swept him up in his arms, and Lukin still remembered his comforting smells, an odd mixture of disinfectant, soap, and sweat.
“Wolves, Papa!” Lukin had screamed.
“Bah! He’s afraid of everything,” his brother Mischa protested, laughing.
Lukin looked at his brother accusingly. “Then why did you run too?”
Mischa smiled. “Because you ran, little brother. And I couldn’t stop you.”
His father said, “Wolves don’t kill humans. Not unless they’re threatened. Remember that. Now, come, Mama has supper ready.” His father carried them into the warm, happy house, and there was bread on the table and hot soup their mama had made. A log fire crackled in the hearth and cast shadows about the big old room. His mother was hugging them, fussing over them, her belly swollen with a child, warning them not to go to the woods again alone.
And afterward? What had happened then? He tried to think, but a fog rolled in. It was a long, long time ago, faces and memories eroded by the years, a blur. He remembered so little of that time before Mischa had died. Proud and brave Mischa.
Maybe he was remembering now because he was close to death, the way they said recollections flashed before dying eyes. Lukin blinked and pushed the fleeting memories from his mind. Now was important, not the past.
He focused on the wreckage and the half-burned corpse of the pilot. Maybe the wolves had smelled the cooked human flesh. He tried to push that prospect from his mind. The fire was still dying, the hot embers smoldering. If he could get closer to the fire for heat, maybe he could thaw out his bones. Slowly, he dragged himself over to the fire. It took a long time, an age, as he tried to block out the pain in his stump, but he finally made it.
The heat from the embers was like a balm as it started to soak through his body. Two sparking cables dangled beside the smoldering debris. Lukin couldn’t understand why someone hadn’t come to investigate the damaged pylon. Then he noticed that there were still half a dozen or more cables intact at the top. The repairmen would come eventually. But when? And by then he could be frozen to death. The helicopter’s radio would have been useful if it was still working, but the wreckage told him that thought was a waste of time.
After five minutes, he tried to stand, but his legs felt like rubber. His teeth chattered. He needed more heat. The fire was definitely helping. He shifted around until his legs were closer to the embers.
The shock had gone now, replaced by anger. Somehow he had to get down to the highway. If he could alert the militia in the nearest town—though he knew that by now the man and woman could be in Leningrad, or anywhere—there was still a slight chance he could catch them. He could alert every barracks along the route and have roadblocks set up on the highway.
Lukin felt his legs start to warm. He tried to haul himself up. As he did so he heard the rustle in the undergrowth and a low growl.
He instinctively reached for his pistol. The belt and holster were gone. The rustling came closer.
A magnificent white wolf appeared out of the woods.
Lukin’s heart almost stopped, and he froze.
The animal stood staring at the wreckage, eyes pinpricks of yellow in the shadows. Lukin lay still as the wolf moved cautiously out from the trees and nosed toward the wreckage. It hardly seemed to notice Lukin. When the animal came to the dead pilot it sniffed the half-severed limb, then started to lick the flesh. Finally, it sank its fangs into the arm, tore it from its socket, and tossed it to the ground with a shake of its head. The wolf chewed hungrily at the flesh.
Lukin’s heart hammered in his chest. Wolves were not supposed to attack live humans unless provoked, but he guessed any animal would if hungry. And this wolf looked sleek and in need of a good meal.
There was another rustling in the bushes, and a second wolf appeared. This time Lukin saw the animal stare at him. He tried not to move his head as he looked around in panic for something to defend himself with. He saw his empty belt and holster lying among the scattered wreckage. It must have come loose when he was tossed through the door of the Mil. In anger he saw that the pistol wasn’t in the holster.
It had been in his hand, he remembered; he had been firing out through the helicopter’s window. Then he saw something metallic lying off to his right. The butt of a pistol.
The wolf padded out of the forest and toward him. Lukin screamed, then twisted his body and rolled over, grabbing at the gun. The wolf bared its fangs in a snarl, then the other wolf started, stopped chewing, and growled at him. Lukin fumbled with frozen fingers, aimed at the animal nearest him, and squeezed the trigger.
Click.
The gun was empty.
Frantically, he grabbed the holster. There was a slim pouch in the leather for a spare magazine, and he wrenched it open, found the magazine, and with fingers shaking desperately tried to load the pistol again with his one hand.
The wolves were less than two yards awa
y. He could smell them. They bared their fangs again, growling as they crouched, ready to pounce.
Lukin cocked the pistol and fired in the air. The explosion echoed around the forest. The wolves yelped. He fired another shot, then another. The animals bolted back into the forest.
Lukin wiped cold sweat from his face. The wolves wouldn’t stay away for long. They had been threatened, were obviously hungry, and it was only a matter of time before they risked coming out again for food.
He staggered to his feet, ignoring the waves of pain burning through his arm. He looked toward the highway. Flashes of headlights flickered through the trees as a convoy of vehicles trundled past. The road was his only hope.
He stumbled through the forest, his legs weak, his lungs on fire with the effort. It took him more than ten minutes to cover the fifty yards to the edge of the highway. It was deserted, only tire marks slashing the white surface. Lukin groaned, breathless.
Suddenly a pair of headlights appeared up ahead as a truck came around a bend and loomed at him out of the falling snow. Lukin stumbled into the middle of the road and waved his gun.
35
* * *
LENINGRAD
It was after four and already dark outside. They ate a simple stew and Vladimir came back in from the kitchen and handed Anna a brown-wrapped parcel. “Some food for the journey. It’s not much, only bread and cheese and some vodka, but it should keep your bellies full and help ward off the chill.”
“Thank you.” Anna took the parcel as Slanski came back from the window.
Vladimir gave him a rolled-up leather pouch, a pair of thick woolen gloves, an ancient helmet, and a tattered black overcoat that smelled as if a dog had recently slept on it. “The coat ought to keep you warm on the bike if you can stand the stink. It’s all I’ve got that’s heavy enough. There are some tools in the pouch for any minor repairs. But try not to get a flat, because you’ll have no spare tire.”
“Is there enough fuel in the tank?”
“It’s full.” Vladimir handed Slanski some official coupons. “If you have to refill you’ll need those. But finding a fuel station isn’t so easy after dark, and especially on remote country roads you won’t have a hope. There’s enough fuel in the tank for over three hundred miles if you don’t drive like a madman, and I’ve left a full container in one of the saddle pouches that should give you over a hundred more. It’ll just about get you all the way. But there’s only one helmet and pair of goggles, I’m afraid, best worn by the driver, otherwise that icy cold out there will cut your eyes out when you get up to speed.”
Slanski checked his papers and Anna’s, then looked restlessly at his watch and said to Vladimir, “How much longer before we can go?”
Vladimir looked out at the growing darkness and scratched his stubble. “Another hour ought to do it. By then the traffic should have thickened.” He spread the map on the table again. “Meanwhile, let’s go over the route one more time. The last thing you want is to get lost.”
• • •
“You want what?”
Lukin looked at the red-faced colonel across the desk and said, “Every available man you have put at my disposal. All railway, bus, and Metro stations, and the airport patrolled and every passenger checked. Every hotel register in the city scrutinized and the identities of guests verified. That’s just to start with. There’ll be more, I assure you.”
“You’re out of your tiny demented mind, comrade.”
“Perhaps I ought to telephone the Ministry of State Security, and you can tell that to Beria personally?”
The colonel’s face turned an even angrier red, then suddenly paled. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”
Lukin answered, “You’ve seen my authorization. Please be so good as to comply with the order.” He replaced the letter in his breast pocket as the colonel stood up and sighed in frustration. He looked as if he wanted to hit Lukin for his impertinence. He was a big, stocky man, with cropped red hair the color of rust. They were in his large office on the sixth floor of the red-brick building on Liteiny Prospect, which housed the KGB Headquarters in Leningrad. Lights blazed in the city beyond the broad panoramic window, flurries of snow brushing against the glass.
There were photographs on the walls, one of a smiling Beria. Others, more personal, taken in Berlin, Warsaw, Vienna. Groups of soldiers smiling in the after-ruins of battles. Lukin recognized the colonel in all of them, hands on hips, his chin and chest stuck out self-importantly.
Next to the colonel’s desk stood his adjutant, a young captain in uniform. The adjutant looked at Lukin. “You’re asking a lot of us, Major,” he remarked. “We’ve already alerted militia patrols about the car. Have you any appreciation of the scale of such an operation as you’re demanding?”
“Just as I’m quite certain Comrade Beria would demand your lives if you failed to give every assistance.” Lukin stood and stared at the men. “And I’m sure you’d much rather deal with me than him.” He looked pointedly at his watch. “So, can I count on your help?”
The adjutant shot a nervous glance at his colonel, who nodded at Lukin, and gave a heavy sigh. “Very well, Major,” he said reluctantly. “Let me explain the situation, and we’ll take it from there.”
The colonel crossed to a map on the wall near the window, and Lukin followed. His arm hurt, the stump throbbing. He still reeked of fuel and smoke. The adjutant had loaned him a replacement tunic and pants to replace his torn clothes, but a shower or bath would have been welcome. Down in the street he saw an elderly woman wearing several thick skirts, sturdy boots, and a headscarf sweeping snow away from the front of the building. The broad, frozen Neva River lay beyond the rooftops of the city that had once been the tsar’s capital. The battleship Aurora, whose cannon shot had signaled the storming of the Winter Palace and the start of the revolution, lay anchored in the ice, the magnificent island fortress of Peter and Paul behind it, illuminated in a blaze of arc lights.
Lukin turned back as the colonel picked up a slim wooden baton and tapped it on the colored map of Leningrad, red flags pinpointing military installations and barracks. “You’re familiar with Leningrad, Major?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“We’re talking about a city of almost two million inhabitants. There are ten railway stations. One civilian and three military airfields. A public transport system that includes trams, buses, and a Metro. Perhaps eighty transport stations in all. Major highways here . . .” The colonel pointed to several blue veins leading from the heart of the city. “. . . here, and here.” He gave a thin, flickering smile. “And this one is the Baltic highway where you stopped the army truck after your unfortunate crash. We have a patrol on the way there now to recover the pilot’s body and search for the missing colonel.”
Lukin ignored the jibe. “What about hotels?”
The colonel shrugged. “Maybe forty, large and small, in the city. More on the outskirts. I can have my men do a check on new arrivals in the last six hours over the phone. That’s the easy part. The difficult bit comes when we go to seal off the minor roads. There are hundreds leading in and out of the city. Have you any idea of the kind of traffic volume we’re talking about? Over a quarter of a million people in transit at any one time, and much more during the peak rush-hour periods. You try to cover everything, you’re going to stretch resources.”
“How many men can you assemble?”
“At short notice? Perhaps a thousand, including militia. Any more and you’ll have to wait.”
Lukin said, “Very well. If these people have already found refuge with a contact in the city, as I suspect, it’s going to make our task difficult. Therefore, you should instruct your informers and block janitors to keep their eyes and ears open for the arrival of any strangers similar to the man and woman you have descriptions of—indeed, any strangers. And alert all militia and traffic police to be on the lookout. Also, as well as civilian, I want military traffic stopped and checked.”
The
colonel snapped. “Military traffic? But that’s ridiculous!”
“Hardly. The man has already impersonated an army officer. He may still be in that disguise, and both of them using their assumed names, though I doubt it. But I can’t afford to take that chance.”
The colonel sighed. “Is there any category we can eliminate to save time?”
“Animals and children. Everyone else, I want their papers checked. Disguise is a distinct possibility. And remember, I suspect the man and woman have already murdered a senior officer. They’ll be armed and highly dangerous. If there’s the slightest doubt about anyone’s identity or their papers, they’re to be detained or arrested with caution.”
“I can see us filling every accursed jail and barracks in the city,” the colonel said irritably. “We are probably talking about checking the papers of half the population of Leningrad. You realize that, Major?”
“I don’t care if I’m talking about the entire population. These people must be found. Is that understood?”
Spittle appeared on the colonel’s lips, and he looked as if he was going to have a fit. He didn’t like being ordered about by someone of a lower rank, but Lukin knew there was nothing the man could do about it.
The colonel bit back his anger with a grim, tight-mouthed expression. “Understood.”
Lukin crossed to the door. “Please arrange everything immediately. As soon as you can assemble more men, cover the minor roads in and out of the city. I’m giving you an hour to do it. And I’ll need an office, manned with as many telephones as you can provide. Radio links to all the checkpoints we spoke about. And make sure any mobile patrols have field radios. I also want a fast car and a driver who knows the city, with a couple of militia motorcycle outriders as guides. If there’s any news, I’m to be contacted at once.”
The colonel flung down his baton in obvious anger. “Anything else while we’re here, Major?”
Lukin ignored the sarcasm and said, “Yes, there is. Do you have a doctor in the building?”