by Glenn Meade
The man looked at Lukin’s stump, at the charred and ragged sleeve of his uniform, and wrinkled his nose at the smell of burned flesh. The major was obviously in pain but had refused a doctor earlier, first demanding to see whoever was in charge. “No. But I can have one brought here.”
“Then do so. And I’ll need fresh clothes.”
The colonel glared. “By the way, Lukin, for your information we alerted Moscow as to your accident as a matter of courtesy. A Colonel Romulka phoned back. He said to tell you he’s on his way here by air force jet. He should be arriving within an hour.” The colonel half smiled. “If it’s the same Colonel Romulka I think it is, he seemed rather interested in your progress. Naturally, I could tell him nothing since we hadn’t spoken.”
Lukin said grimly, “Thank you.”
The door closed.
The colonel waited until Lukin’s footsteps had receded down the hallway, then he picked up his baton again and flung it against the wall in a rage. It bounced off the picture of Beria and clattered to the floor. “The arrogant imbecile! Just who does he think he is, talking to me like that?”
The adjutant looked suitably sympathetic. “Who’s this Romulka, sir?”
The telephone rang. The colonel picked it up and snapped, “What the blazes is it?” He listened for several moments, then said, “Have it brought to headquarters immediately,” and slammed down the phone.
The adjutant said, “More problems?”
“The militia found a car matching the Emka abandoned in Udelnaya. They’re bringing the vehicle here.”
The adjutant smiled. “So, we’ve made a little progress?”
The colonel glared. “Hardly, you idiot! The passengers could be anywhere by now. If they’re not still traveling in the car it only makes our work more difficult trying to find them. Go after Lukin and tell him. And arrange everything he wants and fast. The last thing I need is that creep Beria on my back.”
• • •
Slanski wheeled the BMW into the middle of the storeroom and climbed on. He pulled on the helmet and goggles and wore the stinking heavy winter coat Vladimir had given him. Anna wore two sets of clothes under her coat to keep out the cold, and their small suitcases were strapped to the carrier at the rear. She climbed on and put her arms around Slanski’s waist.
“You have the map?” Slanski asked.
“In my bra.”
He laughed. “Whatever you do don’t lose it or we’re in trouble.” He nodded to Vladimir, who stood by the door. “Ready when you are.”
“Don’t forget to take the route through the city I told you about. And take it easy until you reach the main Baltic highway. Breaking the speed limit won’t help matters. Just what you need—to be chased by a militia patrol car with a wailing siren.”
Slanski nodded. “Wish us luck.” He kicked the starter arm and the BMW came to life, the engine purring solidly under them.
Vladimir opened the door, and then Slanski throttled the engine and kicked the machine into gear but didn’t release the clutch.
Vladimir went out into the street, looking left and right to check that there were no militia about before signaling for them to move out. Slanski drove out through the mouth of the archway.
Vladimir slapped Anna on the shoulder. “Go. And may the gods ride with you.”
The BMW roared off into the night. There was a crunch of gears as Slanski slowed and changed down, and then they drove at a leisurely speed along the Moika Canal.
Vladimir watched anxiously as the red taillight disappeared toward the Nevsky Prospect, then he went back and turned off the storeroom light and padlocked the door before going up to his flat. As soon as he was inside he opened the bottle of vodka and poured a large glass. He wondered what the man and woman were up to in Moscow. Still, it didn’t really matter. After what they had told him and the man’s lack of skill on the BMW he doubted they’d ever make it. Just as long as they didn’t incriminate him.
He shivered slightly at the prospect. As he thought of the couple he lifted the glass in a toast and said, “Good luck, you poor buggers,” then swallowed the vodka in one gulp.
• • •
A female doctor dressed Lukin’s arm. They were in a large room on the second floor that the adjutant had organized, and already uniformed personnel were setting up telephones and a powerful radio transmitter.
The doctor gave him a mild shot of morphine, Lukin insisting that the injection not be so strong as to make him drowsy and unable to concentrate. Then the woman basted a foul-smelling green ointment onto his stump to ease the pain, and after dressing the wound she pinned back the sleeve of the fresh tunic an orderly had brought.
The doctor was young and pretty, with gentle hands. She smiled. “You’re as good as new, Major. The wound isn’t too bad, but you’ll need to have a surgeon examine your stump. The morphine and bandage are only a temporary fix. Some of the burned flesh may have to be cut away. You were lucky. You have no other injuries apart from bruising and a large bump on the back of your head. Your skull seems to have suffered no serious damage, but I’d like to take an X-ray, just to be certain.”
Lukin winced as the woman examined the back of his skull again. “Another time, but thank you, Doctor.”
The woman sighed and looked up as a man carrying several telephones and a roll of cable brushed past. “As you wish. I can see you’re a busy man. Do you mind telling me what’s going on here?”
Lukin didn’t reply as he looked at his arm and the folded-back sleeve. The false hand was bad enough, but now he really did look like a cripple. He had a spare he kept in his desk, a crude affair with a metal hook on the end, which he had first worn some months after he had been wounded, until his stump had healed enough for a proper prosthesis. It would have to wait until he got to Moscow.
Suddenly the door burst open and Romulka appeared, wearing an overcoat slung loosely over his shoulders, a swagger cane in his leather-gloved hand. “There you are, Lukin. The adjutant told me I’d find you here. Still alive after your mishap, I see.” He jerked his thumb ignorantly at the lady doctor and said, “You—get out.”
The woman took one look at Romulka’s frightening presence in the black uniform, packed up her black bag, and scurried out. The other men setting up the equipment in the room took the hint and followed her.
Romulka pulled up a chair and sat. He lit a cigarette and looked around the room. “They seem to be looking after you. I’ve spoken with the colonel in charge. A car has been found.” He glanced at Lukin’s arm. “Tell me what happened.”
Lukin told him. When he had finished, Romulka grinned maliciously. “Not a very promising start, was it, Lukin? You let the couple slip from your grasp. Comrade Beria won’t like that.”
Lukin said shortly, “Why are you here?”
“This case is my responsibility, too, or had you forgotten? I’m here to assist you and ensure your health is sufficient to continue.”
“It is. And if you’ve come to gloat over what happened, I can do without that kind of help.”
Romulka stood, towering above Lukin. “Let’s cut out the fencing, Lukin. I may be here on Beria’s orders, but I want you to know I also have a personal interest in this case. The woman especially.” He tapped Lukin’s chest with his stick. “As soon as she’s caught I want to interrogate her, you understand that?”
“And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m in charge. If she’s caught alive, I decide who interrogates her.”
Romulka’s eyes narrowed in an icy stare. “I suggest you don’t cross me, Lukin. Life wouldn’t be worth living.”
Lukin looked at the mess of equipment in the room and nodded toward the door. “I’m busy, Romulka. There’s work to be done. Is there anything else you wish to say before you leave?”
Romulka grinned. “Actually there is. Another aspect to the investigation I thought you ought to know about. Unfortunately, I won’t be remaining in Leningrad. I’m leaving the pursuit in your hands. It is, after all, yo
ur apparent specialty, though I’m hardly impressed by the evidence so far. I have other urgent matters to attend to.”
“What matters?”
“In case you failed to realize it, Lukin, it struck me the Americans would need someone in Moscow to help them. Possibly some person or persons to aid their escape once the deed is done, which it won’t be if you do your job.”
“I didn’t fail to realize it. But what of it?”
Romulka removed a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it across.
“What’s this?”
“A list of names. Foreigners who, because of important business interests vital to the state, are allowed to come and go in Moscow virtually unchecked.”
Lukin examined the list. Almost all were European businessmen, with the exception of two Turkish gold dealers and a Japanese oil buyer. He looked up. “What are you suggesting?”
“One name on the list particularly interests me. A man named Henri Lebel. A French fur dealer.”
“I know of him.”
“Then perhaps you’ll know that during the war he was a member of the Communist Resistance branch in Paris.”
“I didn’t, but go on.”
“The man has considerable liberties in Moscow because of his trading status and monetary contributions to the French Communist Party. But that’s about to change.”
“What do you intend?”
Romulka smirked. “Lebel isn’t due in Moscow for another three days, but we can get around that considering the urgency of this matter.”
“How?”
“Our friends in Paris can arrange it. We question him discreetly. If he knows nothing, we let him go on his way.”
“Presumably unharmed? The man is a suspect, not a culprit.”
Romulka grinned. “That depends on how cooperative he is. If he’s innocent, he has nothing to fear. But there’s something to consider that implicates him.”
“What?”
“We know he had connections through the resistance to the man named Massey who was involved in organizing the American mission.”
Lukin thought for a moment and nodded. “Very well. But I suggest you proceed with this cautiously. No doubt Lebel has important connections in Moscow, and we don’t want any embarrassment.”
Romulka took the list and slipped it back into his pocket. “Whether you agree or not, Lukin, the matter of this Frenchman is my responsibility. It’s already been agreed to by Beria. Besides, I have a feeling about Lebel. I assure you I won’t be proved wrong.”
Romulka turned toward the door and glared. “One more thing, Lukin. I meant what I said about the woman. Remember that. Do keep up the good work.” He laughed as he went through the door just as the adjutant came in, almost knocking the man over.
The startled adjutant said to Lukin, “A friend of yours, sir?”
“Hardly. Well, have you any news?”
“Nothing positive from any of the checkpoints. We’re scouring the neighborhood where the car was found and alerting block janitors. We’ve also questioned people living in the area as to whether they saw a couple resembling the one we’re looking for, but so far no one saw anything. As for the car, it was brought here ten minutes ago, but there was nothing in it of interest or that could have belonged to the couple. No blood on the seats to suggest you wounded anyone, either. Our patrol recovered the body of the pilot in the woods, also the missing colonel. He was buried in a shallow grave nearby. He’d been shot through the head, I’m afraid.”
Lukin sighed. “What about the hotels?”
“Most have been checked, and we’re working on the others. So far any persons remotely resembling the ones we’re looking for have had their identities and backgrounds thoroughly investigated.”
“And?”
A smile flickered on the adjutant’s face. “All we got was a divisional major sharing a room with an adjutant’s wife in the Kremski Hotel and a couple of deviant army officers caught with a pair of floozies in a flea-ridden hotel near the Finland Station. I could go on, but I won’t bore you with such unimportant details.”
Lukin ignored the flippant remark and crossed to a map on the wall. The adjutant followed. “We’ve also drafted another two thousand men, including army personnel, and done everything you’ve asked, Major. Field radios were issued and linked to the transmitter we’ve installed here and another in the exchange in the basement. I’ve got people standing by the radio and telephones there also. The pins on the map indicate where we’ve set up checkpoints. Now all we have to do is wait until something turns up.”
Lukin stared at the wall map for a few moments.
“Something wrong, Major?”
Lukin looked back absentmindedly. “Something just occurred to me. The roads you’ve placed checkpoints on, they’re all leading north, south, or east of the city.”
“That’s so, Major.”
“But not west toward the Baltic? You’re supposing these people won’t turn back.”
The adjutant half smiled. “If they turn back then maybe you’ve nothing to worry about.”
“The object is to catch them,” Lukin said sharply. “We haven’t manned the roads to the Baltic. Traffic either way. In or out.” Lukin stared at the man, waiting for a reply.
“Of course, but the question of manpower—”
“Arrange it.”
• • •
The traffic was heavy when they reached the Neva River, and Slanski veered left and took the road out toward Pushkin. He drove slowly, still getting the feel of the powerful BMW, flicking switches on the handlebars to familiarize himself with the machine. When they stopped at traffic lights on Turgenev Square, he spoke over his shoulder to Anna. “All right back there?”
“Apart from the fact that I’m freezing to death.”
Slanski smiled. “Push your body closer to mine. It may help.”
“Help you or me? That coat you’re wearing smells like it belongs in a pigsty.”
Slanski laughed, and Anna held him tighter as the lights turned green. He was about to change into gear when they both heard a whistle blow. A young policeman standing outside a traffic kiosk in the center of the square was staring at them and waving them over.
“Oh no,” said Anna.
“Relax. Let me do the talking.”
“Can’t we just drive on?”
“Do that, and we’re asking for trouble.”
The traffic policeman blew his whistle again, and Slanski nudged through the traffic and drove over. The man scrutinized the BMW as he slapped a black truncheon into the palm of his open hand. “Just what do you think you’re on, comrade?”
“Sorry?”
“A motorbike or a suicide mission?” The man looked at Slanski with narrowed eyes, then tapped his truncheon on the headlamp. “You’re driving with no lights on.”
Slanski leaned forward to look at the headlight. He must have switched it off when he had been trying to get used to the machine and forgot to switch it on again. He smiled innocently at the policeman and began to fumble at the handlebars, looking for the switch. When he couldn’t find it, the policeman said, “This your machine, comrade?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t know where the light switch is?”
Slanski continued feeling for the switch, but the policeman reached over, flicked a knob on the handlebars, and the lights sprang on. “Well, comrade? What’s the matter? Are you dumb as well as blind?”
Slanski tried to look suitably fearful of the man’s authority. “Thank you, comrade. I’m sorry. I only bought the machine today. I’m not familiar with the switches.”
“If you’re not familiar with it, why are you driving the beast? Let me see your papers.”
Slanski told Anna to climb down, and he propped up the heavy bike and found his papers. A second policeman, a sergeant, came over from the kiosk, curious. “A problem?”
“This durak here thinks it’s okay to drive with no lights.”
The sergeant smi
led thinly. “A serious offense. But if you want to kill yourself you should do it in your own apartment, where you won’t hurt anyone. Use gas like everyone else.” The man began to examine the BMW. “Good machine. How did you acquire it, comrade?”
“A friend sold it to me.”
“His name?”
“Does it matter, Sergeant?”
“It matters if I ask.” The face looked up at Slanski’s. “Your friend’s name?”
“Grenady Stavinka. From Pushkin.”
“And this is . . .?” He looked at Anna.
“My wife.”
The sergeant looked at Anna. “Your husband, is he always so reckless?”
“It’s why I married him. Now I’m beginning to think it was a mistake.”
The sergeant laughed. He turned to his colleague. “At least the woman’s got a brain. Let her man go with a warning this time, Boris. The woman has more sense than he has.” He looked back at Slanski. “Take heed of your wife, comrade. You’ll live longer.”
“She’s a treasure indeed, little brother.”
“She is that. And if you want to keep her alive, too, learn to use that light switch.”
“I will, comrade, thank you.”
“Be off now.”
Slanski climbed onto the machine, and Anna followed him. He kicked into gear, and the BMW drove away shakily.
The two policemen strolled back to the traffic kiosk in the center of the square and climbed inside. “Fine figure on that woman, Sergeant.”
“And she ends up marrying that moron. I’ll never understand women.”
The policeman sniggered. The telephone rang in the kiosk. The sergeant picked it up and spoke. “Traffic Kiosk 14, Turgenev Square.”
The sergeant listened to the sharp voice at the other end, then said finally, “Don’t worry, we’ll keep our eyes open.” He slowly put down the receiver and stared out at the ring of lights as traffic flowed around the kiosk.
The other man looked at him. “What is it, Sergeant?”
The sergeant’s face looked a little pale as he scratched his chin. “I’m not sure. That was the central exchange. KGB Headquarters want us to keep a lookout for a man and a woman. The description could have been those two on the BMW.”