by Glenn Meade
He settled down in the freezing woods. The binoculars were pretty useless without any light, so he trained his eyes on the dacha, scanning the curtained windows for any sign of movement.
As he sat there he suddenly saw the back door open. In the flood of light that filled the doorway a man stepped out onto the patio and closed the door after him.
He lifted the binoculars. It was too dark to see the man’s face, and he muttered to himself. Then a light flared in the blackness near a woodshed as the man lit a cigarette, and he locked on to the figure and saw the face clearly for an instant and froze.
The man put down his binoculars and picked his way back through the woods to the van. It was five minutes later when he drove into the nearest town and found a public telephone. He went to stand under the rusting metal canopy, inserted a coin, and dialed the number. It took a long time before the phone was lifted at the other end. “Boris?”
“Da.”
“It’s Sergei. I think I’ve found them.”
MOSCOW
Nadia came out of the kitchen with a bottle of vodka and two glasses. Her hands were trembling.
Lukin said, “You really think you ought to drink?”
“I need it. So do you.”
“Perhaps I should ask the doctor to see you again.”
She shook her head. “One patient is enough for tonight. Sit down, Yuri.”
There was a firmness in her voice Lukin hadn’t heard before. He sat on the couch, and she poured two glasses and came to join him.
As Lukin sat he felt numb inside. What had happened was a nightmare. They had left Pasha at the office of a Mongol doctor he knew. A bullet had chipped his shoulder bone, but the wound wasn’t life-threatening. The doctor had given him a shot of morphine and cleaned the wound, then Pasha had called Lukin aside. “Go home, Yuri. I’ll call you when I get out of here. Look after Nadia. She seems pretty upset.”
“You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
Pasha lifted his arm and grimaced in pain. “I’ll just have to learn to drink with my left.” Lukin knew the humor was forced. He consulted the doctor.
“He’s lost some blood,” the doctor said, “but I know this fellow. He’d live through anything. What about you and your wife? You both look shaken.”
Lukin didn’t want to complicate things further. The less the doctor knew the better. But he had him examine Nadia in the next room. When the doctor came back he said, “Your wife’s pretty distressed. Because she’s pregnant, I’ve given her some mild sedatives to help her relax. Make sure she takes them. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Lukin shook his head. “She wasn’t hurt?”
“There’s no sign of any physical injury. She just needs to rest. What about you?”
“Just make sure Pasha’s taken care of. And if anyone asks, you were told his wound was an accident.” Now Lukin put his head in his hand as he sat on the couch. He felt drained, exhaustion and stress fogging his brain.
“Drink this.” He looked up. Nadia handed him the glass of vodka.
When he had swallowed a mouthful, she sat beside him. “Tell me what’s going on. Tell me why that man kidnapped me.” She looked at him. “What happened to your hand?” Lukin heard the anger in her voice as she stared at him.
“You’d better tell me everything, Yuri. Because if you don’t I’m packing my things and leaving. My life’s been put in danger. And the life of our child.”
“Nadia . . .” He went to touch her, but she pushed him away. Lukin understood. At first, her reaction was fear and shock, now anger. He shook his head helplessly. “Nadia . . .regulations don’t permit me . . .”
“I mean it, Yuri. After tonight you owe it to me to tell me everything. And I don’t care a bit about your regulations. What if that madman hadn’t released me when he did?”
“Pasha would have tried to follow him.”
“That was still putting my life at risk.”
“Nadia, there was no other way . . .”
“Tell me the whole truth, or so help me, Yuri, as much as I love you, I’m leaving you. Who was the man?”
Lukin saw the look on her face and knew she meant it. He put his glass down very slowly, took a deep breath, and let it out. “An American assassin. His name’s Alex Slanski. He’s also known as the Wolf. He’s in Moscow to kill Joseph Stalin.”
Nadia turned white. She put down her glass, disbelief on her face. Lukin told her everything.
“After tonight the situation looks hopeless. When Beria learns I’ve released the woman he’ll have me arrested and shot. It won’t matter that I did it because your life was in danger. To Beria that’s no excuse. Duty comes first. And he’ll see you as an accomplice who should be punished.” He saw the look of anguish on his wife’s face and said, “Nadia, you wanted the truth, and I’ve told you.”
“I . . .I don’t believe this is happening.”
Lukin felt the perspiration run down his shirt. “Listen to me. No matter what way you look at it, I’m dead and you’re in danger. It’s not going to take long before Beria learns the truth. Tomorrow at the latest. I want you to leave Moscow. Go somewhere you stand a chance of not being found. Somewhere far away. The Urals. The Caucasus. I’ll arrange false papers. You take every ruble we have. It’s your only hope. If you stay, you’ll be shot or sent to a camp. This way at least you might survive.”
“I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“You have to, if only for our child’s sake.”
“And what will you do?”
“I stay in Moscow. If we leave together there wouldn’t be any mercy shown. But if I stay there’s a chance Beria won’t trouble himself about you.” Nadia seemed to crack then, and Lukin saw the flood of tears before her arms went around his neck and he pulled her close. “No tears, Nadia. Please . . .”
“I won’t go without you.”
“Then think of our child.”
She pulled away from him, sobbing. Lukin stood. Seeing her like this was killing him. “Tell me what happened this morning. What did Slanski do to you?”
Nadia wiped her eyes. “He came to the door and forced himself in. He put something over my mouth, and I blacked out. When I came to he had a gun to my head. He said he’d kill us both if I didn’t do as he said. I thought he was some escaped madman.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Tell me what happened after he took you outside.” She told him and Lukin said, “When Slanski took you to the car, was he alone?”
“No, there was someone waiting in the driver’s seat.”
“Who?”
“I couldn’t see. I was still drowsy. As soon as I got in the backseat he blindfolded me. The next thing I knew I was in a room somewhere. That’s all I remember.”
“Do you remember what type of car?”
“I . . .I’m not sure.”
“Think, Nadia. What type? What color?”
“Everything happened so fast. I don’t remember what type.”
“Do you remember the color?”
“Gray, maybe. Or green. I can’t be certain.”
“What about the license plates? You didn’t see the license plates?”
“No.”
Lukin sighed. “Do you remember anything about the driver?”
“He had his back to me.”
“Think, Nadia. Please.”
“When the smell of the drug went away I could smell something else . . .”
“What?”
“A clean smell. Like perfume . . .but I’m not sure.”
“Could the driver have been a woman?”
Nadia shook her head. “I don’t know. I suppose, but I really don’t know. Can we stop this, please, Yuri?”
Lukin saw the strain on her face. She was close to a breaking point, but he needed some clue. Something that might help him. “Tell me about the room you were kept in.”
“I told you, I was blindfolded.”
He put his hand to
his wife’s face and covered her eyes. She started to move away, but he held her still. “Nadia, this is important. Imagine you’re in that room again. Imagine you’re blindfolded. What smells were there? What sounds?”
“There was no . . .no sound of traffic. I heard birds outside, but it was very quiet and still. It seemed like somewhere in the country, but it was Moscow, I’m sure of it.”
“Why are you sure?”
“When I was taken to the convent I was still blindfolded, but I couldn’t have been in the car for more than half an hour. But where we drove from . . .I don’t know . . .it could have been anywhere.”
“Think. What else do you remember?”
Nadia went to push his hand away, but he kept it there. “Yuri, please. I can’t take any more, please . . .”
Lukin removed his hand. Nadia was crying, tears streaming down her face. He pulled her close and held her tightly. “It’s all right, my love. It’s all right. Come into the bedroom. Try and sleep.”
She wiped her face and pushed away from him. “How can I sleep after what you’ve told me?”
“Because you need to. Take one of the pills the doctor gave you.” He stood up and saw the alarm on her face.
“Where are you going?”
“Nadia, I have to try to find Slanski. He won’t come back here—he wouldn’t risk it. But if it makes you feel better I’ll have one of my men come over and stay. Someone I’d trust. But still tell him nothing, and lock the doors while I’m away.”
Lukin picked up the brown bottle. “This is what Slanski used to put you asleep—ether. It’s a controlled substance, an anesthetic and solvent. And that means it can only be rightly bought through legal channels. I need to check to see if any of the names on the lists of dissidents are chemists or doctors, or work in hospitals where they could have access to such supplies, or even if any has been reported stolen. It’s not much to go on, but it’s all I can think of. If Pasha calls, tell him where I’ve gone. I’ll have one of the men stop by as soon as I get to my office.”
“Yuri, please be careful.”
He kissed her forehead. “Of course. Now try and rest.”
Lukin watched as she crossed to the bedroom door. She looked back at him with a frightened face that almost broke his heart, and then she went into the bedroom.
He put his hand to his forehead and sat down again in turmoil. Everything had gone wrong. The ether was a thin strand, but he had to give Nadia some hope. He had to find Slanski and find him fast before Beria discovered that Anna Khorev was missing. He found it difficult to concentrate as he racked his brain for clues.
Nadia’s information hadn’t been much. Maybe a house on the outskirts of Moscow. A quiet place in the country with no traffic. A dacha, perhaps. Maybe a woman involved. It was nothing much to go on. Nothing.
He looked down at the ether bottle. Right now it was all he had.
• • •
It was almost ten that evening when the Tupolev 4 military transporter arriving from Vienna touched down on the snowy runway at Moscow’s Vnukovo Airport. Among the military-only passengers that evening was a bulky man in his early forties with cropped gray hair. He wore an air force major’s uniform and had hardly spoken throughout the bumpy five-hour flight, pretending to sleep in his seat at the rear of the aircraft, while the other military passengers drank and played cards or wandered up and down the aisles to ease the boredom.
Now, as he carried his duffel bag down the metal steps, an imposing black Zis drew up alongside the Tupolev, and a young lieutenant in air force uniform introduced himself and led the major to the waiting car. It took almost ten minutes to exit the airport, the papers the lieutenant produced being checked thoroughly at the special gate reserved for military traffic. But the documents were all in order, and the Zis was waved through.
Half an hour later the car pulled up on a dark country road on the outskirts of Moscow. The young officer looked around and smiled. “This is where I was told to drop you, sir.”
The major looked out of the window at the falling snow and said, “You’re certain this is the place?”
“Certain, Comrade Major.”
Massey climbed out silently, dragging his bag after him. The lieutenant watched him disappear into the darkness as the snow fell lightly beyond the windshield.
46
* * *
Lukin pulled up opposite the entrance to the small park near the Kiev Metro station. As he stepped out of the car, he noticed that the lights were on in the park. He saw a dozen or more tough-looking men huddled beyond the bare trees twenty yards away. Most of them had the dark look of the south: Uzbeks, Turkistans, Georgians, gypsies from the Crimea with ugly, elaborate tattoos on their hands and arms. Hardened petty criminals who ran the Moscow black markets and risked five years in Siberia for illegal trading.
He saw the rusting green Emka parked across the street, but there was no sign of Rizov.
Lukin noticed that some of the men under the trees were closing suitcases and canvas bags, stashing them on the backs of bicycles or carrying them to the trunks of rusted cars and vans outside the park. Another ten minutes and the place would be deserted.
Through the bare trees Lukin saw a trader with a heavy black mustache. A barrel-chested fat man with one leg shorter than the other, wearing loose, baggy clothes and a bushy black beard. Oleg Rizov. Rizov the Bear.
He was arguing with a woman carrying a shopping bag. The woman held up a dented can of tinned peaches, trying to bargain. Rizov kept smiling a gold-toothed smile and shaking his head from side to side. Finally the exasperated woman flung the can into the bushes in disgust and uttered a mouthful of expletives before turning on her heel. The other men standing under the trees laughed, and Rizov growled at them, then limped over and retrieved the can of peaches and muttered, shaking his fist after the woman.
Lukin watched as moments later Rizov picked up two worn suitcases and came out through the park gates to the rusted Emka, waddling like a man with legs of rubber. As rain started to drizzle, Rizov locked the cases in the trunk, then went around to the front. He removed two windshield wipers from inside his coat and fitted them to the wiper arms, then climbed into the Emka.
It started in a puff of blue exhaust smoke and moved out from the curb. Lukin pulled out after it.
The apartment block off the southern end of the Lenin Prospect had been built just after the war, but despite its newness it looked shabby: raw, unplastered cinder block and lines of frozen laundry hanging on balconies. The Emka halted, and Lukin saw Rizov climb out, retrieve his two suitcases, and remove the wipers again before he locked the car. He stepped on a line of wooden planks that covered the slushy patches in front of the building before he limped into the apartment block.
Lukin locked the BMW and followed. He went up to the third floor and knocked on Rizov’s door. There was a rattle of bolts and locks, and Rizov appeared. His face dropped when he saw Lukin. “Major . . .what a surprise—”
Lukin brushed past him.
The room was squalid and in disarray, but it was a storehouse of luxury. The two suitcases from the car were open, their contents scattered. Jars of Dutch jams and some cans of peaches and red caviar. From hooks in the ceiling hung sides of smoked salmon and bunches of dried salted herrings. On the table Lukin saw half a dozen bottles of Ukrainian champagne and a couple of jars of pickled sturgeon’s roe. “About to give a party, Oleg? Or did I disturb your supper?”
Rizov closed the door and nervously licked his lips. “What can I say, Major?”
“ ‘Caught red-handed’ would do nicely. For this little lot alone you could get five years.” Lukin rummaged through one of the suitcases and plucked out two pairs of bright red women’s underwear. “Yours?”
“I’m holding on to them for a friend.”
“The French ambassador’s wife, no doubt?”
Rizov smiled nervously. “Consider them a gift.”
Lukin let the garments fall. “Sit down, Rizov.”
Rizov pushed some dirty clothes off the bed and sat. “Perhaps if the major told me to what I owe the pleasure of his visit. Can I get the major a drink?”
“You know, it never ceases to amaze me, Rizov.”
“What does?”
“We must have the tightest borders and ports in the world, and yet people like you still manage to smuggle in just about anything.”
Rizov shrugged amiably. “The major knows if I can provide a service for the citizens of Moscow, it makes me feel good. I consider it social work, not crime.”
“I’m sure a judge would see it differently. You’d sell your own grandmother for a profit, Rizov. You’re a rogue beyond redemption.” He removed the brown bottle from his pocket and placed it on the table.
“What’s that?”
“Ether. You’ve heard of ether, Rizov. A chemical liquid used as an anesthetic.”
“I know what ether is.” Rizov pointed to the bottle. “But what’s this got to do with me?”
“Do you know how to get ether in Moscow?”
“No, but I’ve got a feeling the major will tell me.”
“Unless you’re a doctor or a hospital administrator or work in certain industries, it’s impossible to buy. Its purchase is strictly controlled and monitored.”
Rizov shrugged. “You learn something every day. What’s it got to do with me?”
“If somebody wanted a small quantity of ether and fast, no doubt your friends on the black market would find a way to oblige for a price?”
Rizov pursed his lips and nodded at the bottle. “Was it bought on the black market?”
“Perhaps. Or stolen from a hospital or surgery.”
Rizov shrugged. “I heard some of the illegal abortion clinics buy it on the black market.”
“Among your friends, who’d be daring enough to steal it?”
Rizov shook his head. “Major, really, I know nothing about such things. Food and drink, sure. But stuff for hospitals, forget it. Five years in a camp is one thing. A bullet in the neck for stealing proscribed chemical substances is another.”