by Glenn Meade
He looked back at the KGB building across the street. Suddenly he heard a jabber of excited voices and saw two of the Uzbeks push their way to the window and stare out into the street. A distinctive olive-green BMW had halted at a set of traffic lights in front of the café. The Uzbeks pointed excitedly at the car and jabbered among themselves.
Slanski looked at the man and woman seated in the BMW, and his blood froze. Lukin sat in the driver’s seat, Anna beside him. Slanski could hardly believe his eyes. It was definitely Lukin. The false hand was replaced by a metal hook. And Anna’s face he saw clearly through the windshield.
Suddenly the traffic lights turned green, and the BMW started to move. Slanski stood up frantically and pushed past the Uzbeks, knocking one of them over in his race toward the door.
As he stepped out, the BMW was already moving away toward the back of Dzerzhinsky Square and the entrance to the Lubyanka.
Slanski broke into a run. He was hardly aware of passersby staring at him. He was like a man possessed as he chased after the BMW, wanting to wrench Lukin from the car, shoot him, grab Anna, and run.
Up ahead now the BMW halted in the middle of the road, the right indicator on as Lukin waited for a break in the oncoming traffic to turn into the cobbled street that led to the Lubyanka.
Slanski kept running along the pavement, pushing through the crowds, his eyes on the car.
Fifty yards.
Forty.
He saw Lukin’s fingers tapping the steering wheel impatiently.
Tapping.
Tapping.
Thirty yards.
Twenty.
Slanski moved out onto the road and as he ran he kept his eyes on Lukin, watched the fingers still tapping on the steering wheel, waiting for the traffic to let him pass.
Ten yards.
Close enough to get a shot. He wrenched the Tokarev from his inside pocket. At the angle he approached the BMW he could see only the back of Anna’s head, but he saw Lukin’s face clearly, and hate raged inside him like an inferno.
Five yards.
Lukin still hadn’t turned to see him. Slanski cocked and aimed the Tokarev.
Suddenly a truck coming in the opposite direction screeched to a halt. Slanski saw the truck driver stare in disbelief at the gun.
Just as Slanski reached the BMW, Lukin applied a burst of power, thinking the truck driver was stopping for him. The BMW screeched forward and accelerated as it swung right toward the massive black gates of the prison. One of the guards hammered on the gates and they swung open, and the car disappeared inside.
Slanski caught a glimpse of Anna’s face before the guards swung the gates shut again. He screamed under his breath as he put the gun away. Too late.
The gates of hell had opened and closed and swallowed her up.
41
* * *
Henri Lebel opened his eyes. Not that it mattered much, because it was dark. For a while he lay there, his body so stiff he couldn’t even feel that the hard wooden bed under him had no mattress. Whatever had been in the syringe had knocked him out cold for a long time. And then something clicked in his head, and he was filled with a terrible unease.
Lebel got to his feet shakily, took a cautious step forward, and bumped into a stone wall. He stepped back and turned, took three paces, his hand outstretched, and felt another wall. Four hesitant paces to the left took him to a metal door.
He was in a cell, no question. He stumbled his way back to the wooden bed and sat down, overcome by a dreadful feeling of doom. The same black feelings he had endured in Auschwitz returned.
He remembered what happened at the club. What did the colonel named Romulka want? But Lebel knew, and that thought filled him with an even greater dread. He should never have got involved in this. He had signed his own death warrant. Or something worse than death—harsh imprisonment in a labor camp.
As his body shook with fear he suddenly heard voices outside, feet scraping on concrete, and a light burst on overhead, blinding him as the cell door opened. He blinked and saw Romulka step into the cell. “So, our sleeping beauty is awake.”
“Where am I? What’s the meaning of this outrage?” Lebel demanded.
“To answer your first question, you’re in the Lubyanka prison.”
Lebel looked at Romulka in disbelief.
“As to the second, I think the reason for your presence ought to be obvious.”
Lebel shook his head. “I . . .I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really, Lebel, you’re wasting my time. I know all about your connection to Massey. So let’s put the pretense aside and get down to business, shall we? My time is limited.” He stepped closer. He held a riding crop in his left hand, and he put the tip of it under Lebel’s chin. “Your intention in Moscow was to help a certain couple. I want to know how, when, and where you were to meet them and who your accomplices are.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Something else disturbs me that’s turned up in my investigation. A man named Braun who used to work for us is now unfortunately dead. You made certain inquiries about him from an employee at the Soviet Embassy in Paris in return for a considerable sum of francs. Do you deny it?”
Despite his best effort, Lebel went noticeably pale. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. This is some sort of conspiracy—”
The riding crop flicked back and struck Lebel a stinging blow on the face. He cried out and put his hand to his cheek. He felt a gash and saw blood on his fingers. “How dare you! You have no right to treat me like this. I have important connections in Moscow. I demand to see the French ambassador.”
Romulka’s crop prodded his chest. “Shut up, you filthy little Jew, and listen to me. You can demand all you like, but I want answers and I want them quick. Talk, and I have you back in Paris on a plane before you can say goodbye. Refuse, and I’ll grind you to dust. Understand? Now, are you going to talk?”
“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re making a mistake.”
“Very well, play it your way.” Romulka turned and snapped his fingers. “In here.”
Two brutal-faced men in black KGB uniforms came through the door and crowded into the cell. They grabbed Lebel by the arms. Romulka said, “Take him down to the cellars. A little Lubyanka hospitality ought to soften him up.”
“I tell you, this is a mistake!” As Lebel protested, Romulka smashed a fist into his face, and the men dragged him from the cell.
• • •
Lukin stood at his apartment window. Across the river he saw the lights of the late evening traffic moving across Kalinin Bridge, headlights probing the thin, icy fog that had descended on Moscow.
Nine p.m. He had arrived home an hour ago, needing to get away from headquarters and from the powerful grip of hopelessness he felt crushing him.
And he needed to see Nadia.
She made supper, soup and cold sausage and a half-liter of Georgian wine. The wine had lifted his spirits just a little, but now its effect had worn off and he felt wretched again. To make matters worse he had hardly spoken to Nadia during the meal.
He saw her reflection in the window as she cleared away the supper plates. She looked over at him for a moment, then went into the kitchen. When she came out again he was still standing at the window. “Yuri.”
He looked around absentmindedly. She stood watching him. She wore a cardigan over her shoulders, and as she brushed a strand of hair from her face, she said, “You barely touched your food.”
Lukin smiled weakly. “The soup was good. I just wasn’t hungry. I’m sorry, my love.”
“Come. Sit with me.” She moved to sit on the couch. Her brow was creased in a worried frown, and the corners of her mouth were turned down with tension. He hadn’t helped to improve her mood. His own was worse. He felt desperate, totally lost.
Anna Khorev still hadn’t talked. And now there was nothing he could do to save her. That prospect troubled him. The r
oadblocks and the searches to find the Wolf had turned up nothing. If the man was still alive, Lukin felt certain he was in Moscow. But where? And how did one scour a city of five million souls?
Nadia’s voice brought him back. “Sit beside me, Yuri.”
Lukin went to sit next to her on the couch. She touched his arm. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in four days. But you’re not really here in spirit, are you, Yuri? Is there anything you need to talk about?”
Lukin reached for her hand and kissed it. He never discussed his work with his wife. It was a rule he had made with himself. But right now he had a powerful urge to tell her everything and lighten the terrible weight that crushed him. “I’m sorry, my love. It’s not something I can talk about.”
“I understand. But you worry me, Yuri.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever’s troubling you is tearing you apart. I’ve never seen you like this before. Distracted. Lost. Dejected. You’re like a different man.”
He let out a deep sigh of frustration and stood. His body ached all over. He had gone almost three nights without sleep. He looked down at his wife and shook his head. “Please. Not now, Nadia.”
“What time do you have to leave?”
“Six a.m.”
She stood. Her hand gently touched his face, then fell away. “You’re exhausted. You need to sleep. Let’s go to bed.”
• • •
Lukin went into the bedroom, undressed, and got into bed. When Nadia came in she lay down beside him. He felt the heat of her body as she snuggled against his chest. “The baby is kicking. Can you feel it, Yuri?”
He laid his hand on his wife’s belly and felt the rise, and then suddenly a feeling like a sharp jolt. He put his head on Nadia’s stomach and kissed her bump.
For a long time, as he lay there silently, Nadia’s hand stroking his hair, Lukin thought of Anna Khorev in the park that afternoon. Her screams when they took her daughter away. The memory playing over and over in his mind until he felt smothered by a wave of remorse. He sighed, a long, troubled sigh.
Nadia whispered, “Tell me, Yuri. For heaven’s sake, tell me what’s troubling you before it breaks your heart.”
For several long moments he didn’t speak, then he said, “I can’t. Please, don’t ask me.” He heard the anguish in his own voice, and then her arms went around his neck and she held him close. Something seemed to break then, like a dam bursting inside his head. His whole body shook, and his shoulders trembled.
In the darkness he heard himself crying, for Anna Khorev, for Nadia, for his unborn child, for himself.
• • •
Slanski sat in the kitchen at the back of the dacha. Irena sat facing him. She had returned from Moscow in the Skoda minutes before, carrying a large shopping bag and looking exhausted.
Slanski said, “Okay, tell me what you got.”
She searched in her pocket and placed a slip of paper on the table. “The most important thing first. Have a look at that.”
He picked up the slip of paper, read what was written on it, and smiled. “Did you have any problems?”
“There were over a dozen Yuri Lukins listed in the city telephone directory in the post office in Gorky Street. I called them all just to be certain, but when I got to the last I was pretty sure I might have got the right one.”
“How?”
“A woman answered. I asked for Major Yuri Lukin. She said he wasn’t there and asked who was calling. I said I was with the army pensions office. Some of our files had got mislaid, and I was trying to trace a Major Yuri Lukin who had served with the Third Guards Division of cavalry during the war. She said it couldn’t have been her husband; he was certainly a major but he hadn’t served with the army. I apologized for calling the wrong number and put down the phone. Only one other Major Yuri Lukin turned up in all the calls I made. But he was attached to an artillery battalion in Moscow.”
“What happened then?”
“I went to the address given in the phone book. It’s an apartment off the Kutuzovsky Prospect. I spoke to one of the neighbors’ children. It must be the same Lukin. He drives a green German BMW. And the long and the short of it is, he’s married with a wife and no kids. The apartment is on the second floor.”
“Good. Did you get to see his wife?”
“Are you joking? I wasn’t going to knock on the door and let her see my face. That might’ve been tempting fate too far.” She hesitated. “You’re a very brave man, but something tells me this could get us both killed.”
Slanski shook his head. “Relax, Irena. Just do exactly as I ask and we stand some chance.”
“What you’re going to do is still crazy and you’re playing with fire. You said your friend in the Lubyanka knew nothing. Why try to rescue her?”
“Because the plan’s simple, and with a little luck it can work. Just open the bag, Irena. You got everything I asked?”
She opened the bag and spread the contents on the table. “It wasn’t easy. But you can get anything you want on the black market once you have the money.”
“Let me have a look.” Slanski examined everything carefully. There was a heavy-duty army flashlight with two sets of batteries, several thin ropes, and an army penknife. There was a hypodermic syringe and two small glass bottles, one of clear glass and the other opaque brown. He picked up both. They each contained clear liquid. He examined them, then put them down again. “You did better than I hoped. Had you any trouble getting these?”
“The adrenaline and the hypodermic were easy enough.” Irena picked up the brown bottle of liquid. “But this was difficult. Ether isn’t easy to come by. It cost two hundred rubles. I could live for a month on that.”
Slanski smiled. “I’ll remember you in my will. Did anyone ask why you needed this stuff?”
She laughed. “Are you joking? The gangsters in the Moscow black market would deal with the devil himself if he had a wallet full of rubles. And they keep their mouths shut. A loose tongue means a trip to the Gulag or the firing squad.”
“What about the rest of the things?”
“Viktor’s old uniform I’ve taken in so it should fit. The divisional markings are probably out of date, but you’ll have to live with that. Considering what you’re going to do, Viktor is probably turning in his grave right now, and it serves the swine right.”
“The man didn’t deserve you. Thanks, Irena.”
“I must be mad to go along with this.”
Slanski had explained everything to Irena that afternoon because he needed her help. He had lost his first chance to rescue Anna but now he had a plan. A simple plan. When he told Irena she had turned pale. “What? Now I know you’re really insane.” She had shaken her head resolutely. “I’m not getting involved. If you want to risk your life, go ahead. I’m taking enough risks as it is. I don’t want more trouble.”
“There won’t be any trouble if you do as I tell you.”
When she still refused, Slanski said, “The woman’s your passport out of here. You think Lebel is going to like it when you turn up without her?”
Irena had hesitated then, doubt on her face. It took Slanski another half an hour to convince her and to go over the details of the plan, but even though she still didn’t like it, in the end she reluctantly agreed. “On one condition,” she demanded. “If it fails, you forget about her, and I leave Moscow alone.”
“Agreed.”
The plan had come to him as he walked back to the Bolshoi. The image that kept rising in his mind was of Lukin sitting in the car, tapping the steering wheel impatiently with his fingers. And then Slanski remembered the ring. A gold wedding ring on his hand. Major Yuri Lukin was married. He had a weak point that could be exploited. If the plan worked Anna would be free and Lukin dead.
If it worked.
He glanced at his watch and looked back at Irena. “You’d better get some sleep. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” Slanski saw the fear and strain on her face. “Thanks for helping.�
��
“You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think maybe you love this woman.”
42
* * *
MOSCOW
MARCH 1
Lukin arrived at Dzerzhinsky Square the next morning at six. While he drank his first coffee, he spread out the map of Moscow and laid several sheets of paper on his desk. He looked at the map. If the Wolf was in Moscow, as he suspected, people had to be helping him. Perhaps Romulka was right about the Frenchman, Lebel. Lukin had phoned Romulka’s office the previous evening, but so far he had not returned the call. He would deal with that later. Right now there were other avenues to explore.
He spread the sheets of paper in front of him. They were lists of names of dissidents, mostly Jews, known supporters of the émigré groups. If any group was suspect and likely to be involved, it was this one. Eight pages that contained 312 names and addresses. It was a mammoth task to check them all, search their homes, and pull them in for questioning, but it had to be done. Some of the people on the lists had already endured harsh prison sentences. Others were allowed to remain free but were secretly watched by the KGB and informers.
There was the chance, of course, that whoever was helping Slanski wasn’t even on the list at all, and at this thought Lukin sighed. The hotels in the city still had to be checked, but he doubted that Slanski would be so foolish as to stay in a hotel. It was too public, a guest had to register, and besides, there weren’t that many hotels in Moscow in which to hide. But they would have to be eliminated. Lukin considered visiting the woman’s cell again but felt it was pointless. In the meantime, he had to do something.
He would need at least fifty men to check the hotels and pick up all those on the list. As he reached for the telephone to call the assignments office, the door opened, and a tired-looking Pasha came in. He had stayed through the night in case any news came in from Leningrad. Lukin put down the phone as Pasha sat in the chair opposite, put his feet on the desk, flung off his cap, and yawned. Lukin asked, “Any news?”