by Glenn Meade
“Anna . . .”
“Tell me.”
Lukin saw the utter misery in her eyes. She was on the edge of tears, but she didn’t cry. He shook his head. “I can’t answer that, Anna. I honestly can’t.” He saw the grief flood her face, and despite his own despair it almost broke his heart. He touched her shoulder gently and said, “We’d better leave now. There isn’t much time.”
• • •
Anna sat in the front passenger seat as Lukin drove. She stared out beyond the windshield at the lights of Moscow. Lukin had signed the release and transfer papers in front of a warden before he put the handcuffs on her. Five minutes later they drove out of the Lubyanka courtyard, and he had pulled up to the curb and removed the handcuffs.
After that he had been silent. Anna didn’t care whether he spoke or not. All she could think of was Sasha. It had almost broken her heart to see her daughter again. Holding the child in her arms had brought back a flood of memories, and she thought she was going mad with anguish. She felt as if someone had stuck a dagger in her heart.
So much about Sasha had changed, and yet she was still her daughter. Anna remembered the smell of her, the feel of her skin. And then came a flood of grief when she realized all the moments they had missed together in their lives.
And then Lukin had taken her away, and she would never see Sasha again.
Anna had wanted to die at that moment in the park, because only death would put an end to her suffering. And now she was consumed with worry: What would happen to her daughter?
Somehow she didn’t seem to care that Slanski had kidnapped Lukin’s wife. She looked at Lukin as he drove. She hated him. Hated him for what he was and what he had done to her. She wanted to kill him. Looking at his face, she realized he was close to the breaking point. For a brief moment in the cell she had felt compassion for him, but now she thought of Sasha again and her anger came back.
Finally, she couldn’t bear the silence any longer. “Give me a cigarette.”
Lukin looked across at her. “Are you all right?”
“Just give me a cigarette.”
He pulled in and searched in his pocket. He gave her his cigarettes and lighter and pulled out from the curb again. Anna lit a cigarette and saw that her hands were trembling.
“May I have one, too?” She lit another and handed it across. Lukin glanced at her. “Slanski must love you.”
“Why?”
“To do what he’s done. He’s either very courageous, or else he loves you so much he’s being reckless.”
When Anna didn’t reply, Lukin said, “Does he love you?”
“He’s not doing this for love.”
“Then why is he doing it?”
“Because he doesn’t want to see me harmed or killed by KGB animals like you.”
Lukin looked across at her steadily. “Anna, let me tell you something. I’ve never killed or hurt a woman in my life. And I didn’t ask for the job of finding Slanski, I was ordered to. But one thing I will tell you: if he harms Nadia, I’ll kill him.”
• • •
Lukin switched off the engine and the headlights. As he stepped out of the car he said to Anna, “Please wait, and don’t leave the car.” He started to walk toward the deserted convent. Halfway there he looked back at the BMW. Anna Khorev was still sitting in the passenger seat. He heard an owl hoot.
There was an arched entrance in front that led into the convent. When he reached the archway he halted. A rusted trellis gate stood at the end. He stepped up to the gate. It was padlocked with a heavy chain. Beyond stood a collection of dilapidated whitewashed buildings set around a small courtyard with a fountain in the center. He heard a voice behind him.
“Turn around slowly.”
Lukin turned, his pulse racing, as Slanski stepped toward him out of the shadows, the Tokarev pistol in his hand. “Up against the wall and spread your feet.”
Lukin bit back his rage and did as he was told. When he had finished searching him, Slanski said, “Where’s Anna?”
“In the car.”
“You came alone?”
“Only with the woman. Where’s my wife?”
“Later.” Lukin was spun around to the right, and Slanski pushed him forward. “Walk toward the car.”
“My wife— I told you to bring her, Slanski.” Lukin glanced back and felt the barrel of the gun in his neck.
“How do you know my name?”
“We knew all about you and the woman before you parachuted onto Soviet soil.”
“What else do you know?”
“You’re here to kill Stalin.”
There was a silence, then Lukin felt the gun press hard into his neck. “Keep looking straight ahead and walk. You try anything and I drop you.”
“Are you a complete fool? After tonight you won’t stand a chance of getting near Stalin. The entire army will be searching Moscow for you. Take my advice and forget what you came to Moscow to do. You’re throwing your life away. And Anna’s.” Lukin felt the sudden sharp blow on the back of his skull, and a bolt of pain jolted him.
“Now why don’t you just shut up and keep walking.”
They reached the BMW, and Slanski flashed a flashlight in Anna’s face. “Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Were you followed?”
“I . . .I didn’t see anyone.”
Slanski shone the light around the inside of the car. “Okay, get out slowly.” When Anna stepped out, Slanski said, “At the back of the convent there’s a road by the river. You’ll see a car parked. Someone’s waiting in the driver’s seat. Get going, fast.”
Suddenly Slanski fired a shot into the BMW’s right front tire. It hissed and deflated. He did the same with the driver’s side. He came back and aimed the Tokarev at Lukin’s head, then said to Anna, “What are you waiting for? Go!”
Anna didn’t move as she looked at Slanski. “What about Lukin’s wife?”
“Get going. Leave this to me.”
“No. Not until you release his wife and promise me you won’t harm them. Not until you do that.”
Slanski stared at her in disbelief. “Just whose side are you on, for heaven’s sake? Move!”
Anna didn’t flinch. “I mean it. I’m not going until I know his wife’s safe and you won’t harm him.”
Slanski had a wild look on his face, and for a moment Anna thought he would kill both her and Lukin.
“Please, Alex.”
He said angrily, “Go to the car. The woman’s inside. Bring her here. Quickly. I haven’t got all night.”
“You won’t kill him?”
“No. Now move. Get his wife.”
Anna moved away toward the convent at a run. Slanski gestured to Lukin with the gun. “Get down on your knees. Then lie flat on your stomach.”
Lukin turned pale. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Do it or I take your head off now.”
Lukin knelt, then lay in the snow on his stomach. “If you’re going to kill me do it before my wife comes. I don’t want her to see it.”
Slanski put the tip of the barrel against the back of Lukin’s skull. He cocked the hammer.
For a long time he hesitated, then he said, “It’s tempting, but not this time, Lukin. I think your life’s just been saved. I can’t think why. But let me tell you this: if I see you again after tonight you’re dead.”
Slanski heard a noise and turned. Anna raced out of the shadows of the convent wall, clutching Lukin’s wife by the arm. They had come halfway when Slanski shouted, “That’s far enough! She comes the rest of the way alone.”
Anna let go of the woman’s arm. Slanski was already moving back toward the convent, the Tokarev still aimed at Lukin. He passed Lukin’s wife and then shouted at Anna, “Get back to the car!”
For a second she hesitated, as if to be certain that Lukin and his wife were safe, then she turned and ran. Slanski kept moving backward, the gun still trained on Lukin, until finally he turned and trotted towar
d the convent walls.
When Slanski was twenty yards away, Lukin pushed himself up from the snow and grabbed Nadia. “Get in the car!” He saw the naked fear on his wife’s face as he pushed her into the BMW.
“Yuri—please—what’s going on?”
“Start the car. Drive to the end of the street and wait there. Drive carefully, the front tires are punctured. But get out of here fast as you can, or we’re in trouble. Do it, Nadia, no questions!” He slammed the car door, and already he was reaching under the left front fender.
He worked feverishly, fumbling until he found the knotted cord and tugged. He felt the Tokarev revolver slip free as the knot released. He placed the weapon on the hood and felt under the fender again, tugged at the second cord, and the big-barreled Negev flare gun plopped into the snow.
He worked like a man possessed, sweat dripping down his face. He put the Tokarev under his arm and grabbed the flare gun. When he looked back through the windshield he saw Nadia’s face stare at him in horror as she saw the weapons. “Go! Nadia, get away, for pity’s sake!” For a moment she seemed to hesitate, then he banged on the hood with the butt of the Negev and roared at her. “Quickly, woman! Go!”
The BMW exploded into life. The car started to move, slowly at first until the punctured tires gripped the snow, then it shot forward. As the BMW roared away, Lukin looked back at the convent. He could still see Slanski’s figure moving toward the river in the shadows of the wall, sixty yards away.
For a moment Slanski appeared to turn, hearing the roar of the BMW as it raced away. Lukin dropped the Tokarev in the snow, cocked the Negev flare gun, raised it above his head, and squeezed the trigger.
A deafening crack erupted as a burst of brilliant orange light exploded above in the darkness and the flare turned night into day. In the glare of light Lukin saw Slanski halt, his figure illuminated. Already he was turning, reacting.
At the same moment a black Emka came roaring out of nowhere, its engine screaming like some wild animal. As the car skidded to a halt in front of Lukin, Pasha burst out of the driver’s door clutching a machine pistol.
Lukin dropped the flare gun and grabbed the Tokarev. In one swift movement he knelt, rested his elbow on his knee, and aimed the pistol. He caught Slanski clearly in his sights and squeezed the trigger.
The shot missed and ricocheted off the convent wall. As he aimed again, suddenly Pasha opened up with the machine pistol, flame leaping from the barrel as lead exploded in puffs of snow in front of Slanski, shots ringing around the convent walls. What happened next Lukin could hardly believe.
Slanski calmly knelt, aimed, and fired twice. The first shot kicked up snow, but the second hit Pasha and he screamed and rolled over.
Before Lukin could aim again, the orange light started to flicker, and a tendril of smoke plummeted to the ground. The flare extinguished, and light plunged into gloom. Lukin heard an engine splutter to life. He clambered to his feet, running forward at a frantic pace, ignoring Pasha’s body lying in the snow, firing the Tokarev blindly into the darkness after Slanski.
When he reached the road by the river he was just in time to hear a car roar away.
45
* * *
RAMENKI DISTRICT, MOSCOW
The Skoda pulled up outside the dacha, and Slanski, Anna, and Irena climbed out.
Irena led them inside, and when she had lit the woodstove and oil lamps she went into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of vodka and three glasses. She poured them each a drink with trembling hands and swallowed her own quickly. Her face was white with anger as she stared over at Slanski. “We all could have been killed tonight. I thought you said there wouldn’t be any trouble.”
Slanski put a hand on her shoulder. “Take it easy, Irena. It’s all over for now, and you’re safe.”
“Safe? When I saw the sky light up and heard the shooting I thought I was dead for sure. We’re lucky we didn’t have half the army on our backs after what happened. And it’s hardly over. Look at me, I’m still shaking.”
Slanski picked up his glass. “But we’re still alive, Anna’s free, and no one followed us. We’re not exactly out of the woods, and it’s hardly been the perfect end to an evening, but I’ve had worse.”
Irena saw the slight smile on Slanski’s face and shook her head in exasperation. “If you’re trying to be funny, your humor’s wasted—my nerves are too frayed.” She poured another vodka and swallowed it before she said to Anna, “I don’t know whom I’d rather face—this lunatic friend of yours or the KGB. The man’s as crazy as Rasputin.” She put her glass down and touched Anna’s arm. “What about you, are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t look it. You look like death. Take a drink, it’ll calm your nerves. Me, I’m that shook I’m going to drink until I’m legless. You’re going to need a bath and a change of clothes. I’ve got some in the room at the back. I’ll get them and heat some water.”
When Irena went out, Slanski said to Anna, “Drink. Irena’s right, you look as if you need it.”
Anna ignored the vodka. “Where are we? Where is this place?”
Slanski told her. He had already explained about Irena, but the atmosphere in the car as they drove to the dacha had been charged and anxious, as if they each expected a roadblock or a police siren at any moment, and they had hardly spoken. Now Slanski said, “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“Then why is it I get the feeling something about you is different? I would have thought getting you out of the Lubyanka was cause for a celebration.” As she stood watching him, Slanski saw a lifeless look in her eyes and said, “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Lukin told me you came to Moscow to kill Stalin. Is that true?”
Slanski didn’t reply. For several moments Anna stood looking at him, and then she said, “If that’s true, you’re insane.”
“Wrong man. It’s Stalin who’s insane. And yes, I came here to kill him.”
“You could never do it. It’s impossible. You’d simply be wasting your own life.”
“Best let me be the judge of that.”
Anna was going to continue, then hesitated. Slanski said, “There’s something else, isn’t there? Did Lukin hurt you? Is that it?”
“He didn’t lay a finger on me.”
“You know you almost got us killed tonight? You can’t trust Lukin. How could you be such a fool? You should have let me shoot him when I had the chance.”
“He didn’t deserve to die like that.”
Slanski looked at her and laughed harshly. “I can’t believe you’re saying that. The man tries to kill us, and you’re defending him.”
“Lukin took me to see Sasha.”
He saw the pain in her face and suddenly put down his glass. “Tell me.”
She told him everything that had happened since he had lost her in the woods. When she had finished, Slanski said, “So that’s why you were with him in the car? Listen to me, Anna, there’s only one reason Lukin would have allowed you to see your daughter, and that’s to make you talk.”
“There was nothing I could tell him to help him find you. I think Lukin knew that all along, even when he took me to meet Sasha. What he did tonight any man who loved his wife would have done. Lukin thinks she’ll be punished, too, for what you did. He had to try to stop you.”
“Listen, Anna. Lukin’s no different from any of those other KGB brutes. He tried you with a sob story and hoped you’d fall for it, and you did. You should have let me put a bullet in him.” He shook his head. “He was playing games with you, Anna. Playing games to get you to trust him. And even if he meant what he said about saving you from a firing squad, what sort of a life would it have been for your daughter, imprisoned in a camp?”
He saw her struggle to hold back her tears. He reached out and touched her face. “Anna, I’m sorry. If there was something I could do to get Sasha back I would, but it’s too late for that and to
o dangerous, and even if I knew where she was you can be sure after tonight Lukin will have her closely guarded.”
“But . . . Massey promised to get her back.”
“Then that’s a promise you’ll have to take up with him, if you make it out of here. Maybe it can still be done. But I can’t take the risk of trying to rescue her—it would only jeopardize what I came here to do. And I’ve come too far to let that happen.”
Anna turned away, a flood of grief on her face. Slanski went to touch her again but she pushed him away, and he saw the tears at the edges of her eyes. “I can’t give up now, Anna, not when I’m so close. And if Lukin thinks I’m finished he’s got a surprise in store.”
Anna looked back at him. “You’re being reckless. You know what you intend is impossible. Stop before it’s too late.”
Slanski smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes. “Definitely too late for that, Anna. Irena will drive you to a railway station outside Moscow before it gets light. There’s a freight train leaving for the Finnish border, and you’ll both be on it. A man named Lebel will look after you. Irena will tell you everything when the time comes. I’m truly sorry about Sasha.”
He looked at her face, and she knew he meant it. He turned toward the kitchen door.
“Where are you going?”
“To get some air. Maybe you need to be alone.” As he opened the door, Anna said, “You know you’re dead if you stay in Moscow.”
Slanski pulled up his collar. “As they say, the seeds of what we’ll do are in all of us. Maybe that’s my fate. I mean to finish what I started. And no one’s going to stop me now. No one. Least of all Lukin.”
And then he turned and was out the door.
• • •
The man had driven halfway down the unlit street in the van and pulled in under a tree. It was deserted, and the dachas on either side were in shadow. He removed the binoculars from under the passenger seat and stepped out into the snow.
It took him almost ten minutes to find the address in the darkness. Five minutes later he had found his way around to the back of the property and came out in a clump of trees at the rear of the dacha. He saw the yellow glow of an oil lamp burning behind the downstairs curtained window, and he smiled.