by Glenn Meade
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Besides, I’d never let them take me alive. You think Moscow would tell the world that someone got close enough to kill Stalin? That’s where you’re wrong. It’d be the biggest loss of face the Kremlin’s ever had. They’d keep their mouths shut and pretend nothing had happened. And if I succeeded some of them might even be grateful.”
Massey started to stand. Slanski said, “Stay right where you are.”
“Then you mind if I smoke?”
“Go right ahead. But move nice and slowly. And light one for me while you’re at it.” As Massey handed him a cigarette, Slanski sat down again. “I never thought it would come to this, Jake. You and me. Like High Noon.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way. You give me your word you’ll stop this now, and I’ll take you and the women back with me. It’s against my orders, but I’m prepared to take that risk. As you guessed, I don’t want to see any of you wind up dead.”
“Considerate of you, Jake. But how do you plan on getting us out now that Lebel’s out of the picture?”
“There’s a military transport flight to Vienna tomorrow morning. I can arrange papers for all of us.”
“And if I don’t agree?”
“You won’t get out of here alive. You, Anna, or Irena.”
“You’d really kill Anna, too?” When Massey didn’t reply, Slanski said, “How about you just take her and Irena and leave me to finish this?”
Massey shook his head. “No deal, Alex. It’s all of you or nothing. So I guess her life’s in your hands. What’s it to be?”
Slanski smiled faintly. “What a terrible world we live in, Jake. We were friends, and now you’re ready to kill me. Anna, too. It makes my heart bleed, but there you have it.” He held up two fingers, tips close. “I’m that much away from putting a bullet in the head of the biggest madman the world’s ever known, and you want me to forget it. You’re crazier than I am.”
“I told you the reasons. Washington can’t take the risk.”
“And you always do what Washington says?”
Massey said impatiently, “Something tells me I’m talking to myself.” As he reached over to crush out his cigarette suddenly his hand came up to grab the silenced pistol. But Slanski was too quick. He fired once, the pistol spat, and the bullet nicked Massey’s wrist. Massey fell back in pain, gripping the wound.
“You’re getting slow, Jake. I could have taken your eye out. Maybe I should just kill you and be done with it.” Slanski took a handkerchief from his pocket and tossed it over.
Blood oozed through Massey’s fingers and he put the cloth on the wound. “Alex, you’re making a big mistake . . .Listen to me . . .for Anna’s sake.”
There was a sudden edge to Slanski’s voice. “What do you care about Anna? Sorry, Massey, I’m past listening. Get up.”
As Massey struggled to move, there was noise on the stairs, and then Anna appeared in the doorway. When she saw Massey she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came, a look of utter shock on her face. Slanski turned to her. “I’ll explain later. Get some water, and look after Massey. Then wake Irena. We’re getting out of here.”
• • •
Five minutes later Lukin had cut onto Lenin Prospect and was headed toward the Ramenki District. Pasha had tried to rouse Lebel, slapping him hard and shouting in his face, but the Frenchman was still unconscious. The Mongolian said in frustration, “It’s no good, he’ll be no help at all.”
“Try again!”
Pasha tried again, but the Frenchman only groaned in his sleep. Lukin shook his head with frustration. “Leave him.”
The traffic out to the country was thin, the roads covered in hard-packed snow. When they reached the intersection with Lomonosovsky Prospect and turned right, Lukin saw the taillights of another vehicle a hundred yards in front. When he narrowed the gap he saw that it was a black Zis and that another large car was ahead of it. Pasha said, “I think we’re in luck.”
The two cars up ahead were moving fast over the snow, but Lukin had snow chains and the BMW had a powerful engine. He put his foot down and pulled out to get a better look. The car in the lead was definitely also a Zis. Pasha said, “If it’s Romulka and you overtake him he’ll smell a rat.”
“What else can I do?”
Pasha grinned. “Nothing, but I’d like to see the arrogant jerk’s face when he sees us. Let’s do it.”
Lukin hit the accelerator. For a split second there was a dragging sensation as the BMW’s tires threaded the packed snow, then the chains on the tires gripped and the powerful engine roared as Lukin swung the steering wheel to the left. He overtook the rear car. There were four burly plainclothesmen inside, and they glanced at the BMW as it roared past.
And then suddenly Lukin was alongside the lead Zis. He glanced right just as Pasha did and caught a glimpse of the driver, then Romulka sitting in the passenger seat. He gave another burst of power, and the BMW shot forward. The driver and Romulka glanced over just as Lukin overtook them. For a moment Romulka’s face was illuminated in a wash of streetlight. There was a look of astonishment when he saw Lukin’s car.
Pasha rolled down his window and raised his arm in a gesture at Romulka. “That’s for you, scumbag.” Romulka reacted with a scowl, and then his twisted, angry face was gone from view as the BMW raced ahead.
Moments later, Lukin pulled back into the lane but kept the speed up. Pasha laughed.
Lukin said, “You Mongolians, you’re beyond redemption.”
“With Genghis Khan for an ancestor, what do you expect? I’ll worry about the consequences afterward.”
Lebel groaned in the back, seemed to come around, then fell silent. Lukin glanced in the rearview mirror. Already the cars behind were picking up speed, challenging him. Lukin felt the sweat drip from his brow as he said to Pasha, “How much farther?”
“I reckon another two miles. Keep up the speed and with luck, we’ll just have time to do our business at the dacha before that thug’s in our face.”
• • •
Slanski blew out the oil lamp, and the room was plunged into darkness. He flicked on the flashlight and held the Tokarev in his other hand. He shone the beam into a corner of the room.
Massey was sitting on the floor, his hands tied behind his back. Anna and Irena sat huddled beside him. They had dressed, and Irena’s face was white with fear. Slanski said to Massey, “How about you let the women go free, and I take my chances?”
Massey avoided looking at Anna as he said, “I told you, I can’t do that, Alex.”
“Don’t be a hard-heart, Massey. They’re out of this already. What harm can it do?”
“I was given orders . . .” Massey saw that Anna was staring at him, hurt on her face. Slanski had told her why Massey had come, and he had seen the disbelief in her reaction. Massey said suddenly, “Anna, I’m sorry. This isn’t my doing. If Alex goes ahead with this we’re all dead. He has to stop this madness.”
There was a look of hopelessness on her face as she turned away. “I don’t think it matters now, does it, Jake? Nothing matters.”
“Tell him to stop, because it’s the only way we all walk away from this alive . . .You’ve nowhere left to run.”
Before Anna could reply, Slanski said, “Shut up, Massey. Not another sound.” He flicked off the flashlight, moved to the window. He waited until his eyes became accustomed to the dark, then cracked the curtain and peered out. The front garden looked eerily quiet in the moonlight. He thought he saw a figure move near the gate, and then it was gone. He let the curtain fall back into place, switched on the flashlight again, and shone the light on Massey. “How many people have you got outside?”
Massey didn’t reply. Slanski cocked the Tokarev and aimed at Massey’s head. “How many?”
“Two men.”
“Who are they?”
“Agents we dropped months back. Former Ukrainian SS.”
“Nice company you’re keeping, Jake.”
“
It was either a war crimes trial or work for us.” There was an edge of panic in Massey’s voice. “For crying out loud let me talk to them, Alex.”
Slanski shook his head. “Sure about the number? You don’t want to reconsider?”
“I told you, two.”
He tossed Massey’s weapon to Anna. “He moves, you shoot him. If you don’t he’ll kill you.” He handed the flashlight to Irena. “Switch it off. And keep it off until I get back. Give me the keys to the car.”
Irena looked at him wildly. “We’ll never get out of this alive. We’re all dead!”
The woman was trembling with fear, and Slanski slapped her face and said firmly, “Shut up, and just do as I tell you. That way we may get out of here in one piece. The keys. Then turn off the flashlight.”
Irena fumbled for the keys, handed them to Slanski, then flicked off the flashlight. Suddenly the room was plunged into darkness again. They heard the door creak faintly, and Slanski was gone.
• • •
The kitchen was dark and freezing cold. As Slanski stepped inside he saw that the door that led outside was ajar. He crossed the room silently and peered out into the courtyard, the Tokarev at the ready.
The snowed-under garden was pale gray in the watery moonlight. He trained his eyes for a long time on the woodshed and the car, trying to discern movement, but saw only shadows and darkness. He didn’t know whether Massey was telling the truth. There could be more than two men out there and they could be anywhere, but there was only one way to find out.
He cocked the Tokarev, lay flat on his stomach, and crawled out the door. Moments later he was slithering across the freezing flagstone courtyard until he reached the woodshed. He waited for any movement or sound, and when none came he stood and unlocked the driver’s door and inserted the key in the ignition, then left the door ajar. He was about to move forward when he heard a faint click and a voice said in Russian, “Drop the weapon, and keep your hands in the air. Then turn around slowly.”
He dropped the Tokarev, and it clattered to the ground. He turned and saw a young man standing in the shadows ten feet away.
The man stepped out. He was heavily built and held a pistol in his hand. He grinned. “I’ll say this for you, you move pretty silently, but not silently enough. Where’s my American friend?”
“Back in the house.”
“Dead?”
“Very much alive, I’m afraid.” Slanski nodded back toward the garden. “There were supposed to be two of you. Where’s your comrade?”
“You’ll soon find out. Turn around, and move toward the house. I warn you not to try anything. I’m an excellent shot.”
“Whatever you say. Except there’s something you forgot.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“This.” The silenced Nagant came up and spat once. The man had no chance. The single shot hit him square in the bridge of the nose, and he fell back against the car and slid to the ground.
Slanski crouched and waited for a reaction to the silenced gunshot, and when none came he retrieved the Tokarev, then dragged the body to the back of the woodshed.
• • •
The second Ukrainian crouched in the bushes in the front garden and cocked his ears. He had definitely heard something.
What, he wasn’t sure. Voices? Or the wind in the trees? He shifted his bulk and raised himself slightly. He laid the Kalashnikov beside him on the ground and rubbed his legs to get the circulation going. What was happening? The American should have come out by now.
He checked his watch. The luminous hands read a quarter to midnight. He’d give it another couple of minutes, then he’d move toward the house. In the meantime, anyone who came out of the door was dead, no question.
Odd, but the situation gave him a strange sense of exhilaration. It was just like the old days, stalking Red partisans in the Caucasus. All that was missing was his SS uniform and a decent German MP40 machine pistol. He smiled, picked up his weapon, squatted again, and waited.
• • •
“Turn on the flashlight.” Irena flicked it on, and Slanski stood looking down at Massey. “Looks like maybe you were right about the numbers, Jake. But now you’re one down. Tell me about the man out front.”
When Massey didn’t reply, Slanski put the Tokarev to his head. “Tell me, or I might be tempted.”
“His name’s Boris Koval. A former Ukrainian SS captain.”
“Is he good?” Massey nodded. “How good?”
“One of the best we trained. Not that he needed much training.”
“Weapons?” Massey fell silent. Slanski said, “Either you can tell me, or I shove you out the front door and we learn the hard way.”
“A Kalashnikov.”
Slanski gave a low whistle. “Then I guess we’re in trouble.” He turned to Irena and Anna. “We’re going out the back way. Massey, too. When I give the word you pile into the back of the car and keep your heads down. Leave the rest to me.”
As Anna stood, Massey looked up at her. Their eyes met for a moment, and he saw the look on her face, all trust between them destroyed. He went to speak, to explain, but already she was gone, moving toward the door, Irena walking shakily behind her. Then Slanski dragged Massey to his feet and pushed him after them.
• • •
Pasha checked the street map as Lukin drove. Lukin asked, “How much farther?”
“Take the next left, and we’re there.”
“You said that a minute ago.”
“These streets all look the bloody same in the snow.”
Lukin swung left, and they entered a long, wide, tree-lined road with dachas on either side. He halted at the junction where the two roads met. The homes looked dark and deserted.
Pasha grabbed a machine pistol from the backseat and laid it ready on his lap. “So what’s the drill?”
Lukin turned off the headlights. Only the moon on the snow ahead provided light, and the road looked eerily quiet. “I wish I knew.”
“Come on, Yuri. Romulka will be here in no time!”
“I need to talk to Slanski.”
“Then I hope he listens, because if not you’re dead.”
“I’m going in alone. I want you to wait outside.”
“What are you going to do? Knock on the door and say you’ve dropped by for a visit? Slanski’s going to blow your head off as quick as look at you. There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t time to think of one.”
Suddenly in the rearview mirror Lukin saw a blaze of headlights sweep into view behind them at the far end of the road. Pasha looked back and said, “The bully boys are here already. Looks like we’ve got the right place.”
Lukin watched the lights moving toward them and said, “You think you could hold them off a little longer?”
“You mean fire on Romulka?”
“In the darkness they’re not going to know what’s going on or who’s shooting. Just blow the tires, that’ll slow them, then meet me at the dacha.”
“Presuming you’re still alive. Okay, let’s do it.”
“Be careful,” Lukin said.
Pasha slipped from the car and disappeared around the corner clutching the machine pistol. The Frenchman, Lebel, still lay slumped on the backseat.
Lukin slipped into gear and swung the BMW into the street. He counted off the numbers as he drove, and then he saw the dacha. The lights were out. He drove on another fifty yards to the next dacha on the same side of the street. The place looked deserted, the driveway empty, all the lights out, and the windows shuttered for the winter. He slowed, then backed up quickly into the driveway. As he started to open his door, Lebel moaned and seemed to come to, then his head listed to one side and he was gone again.
Lukin unlocked the Frenchman’s handcuffs and shackled one to the grip on the back door and stepped out of the car. What exactly he was going to do he still didn’t know. But whatever it was he had to do it fast. Any second now Romulka would come tearing around the co
rner, and Pasha would start firing. If Slanski was inside he’d hear the shooting, and that wasn’t going to help.
The file Pasha had stolen was tucked into Lukin’s tunic. He lifted the flap on his holster, released the safety on his pistol, but left the weapon in the holster. He didn’t intend to use it but he wasn’t taking a chance.
Lukin went around quickly to the back of the car and unlocked the trunk. He fumbled among the tools and the spare tire until he found an oily rag—the remnant of a white shirt covered in grease and oil stains. He found the jack and tied the white rag on the end. It was a crude flag of peace, but it would have to do for what he had in mind. It was ridiculous when he thought of it. He was going to knock on the front door, call out to Slanski, and hope he got a cooperative response. It was risky, inviting almost certain death, but he could think of nothing else to do.
Lukin moved quickly, closing the trunk again. Suddenly he heard a blaze of gunfire followed by a screech of tires from the far end of the street. The noise seemed to fill the air and a split second later came another volley of shots, and then the night seemed to explode with chattering weapons.
Pasha had opened up on Romulka’s convoy, and by the sound of it Romulka and his men were firing back. Sweat pumping from every pore, Lukin ran toward the dacha.
• • •
The Ukrainian smelled trouble. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one little bit. It had been half an hour since the American had left and there was still no sign of him. What was going on? Was he dead? Or still stalking his quarry inside the house?
Koval was a man of infinite patience and could have waited in the freezing garden all night, but this time he was reacting to instinct. And instinct told him there was trouble.
Moments ago a car had driven up on the street outside. He had tensed, every muscle in his body suddenly alert and ready for action. He peered into the street through the bushes and saw a German BMW drive slowly past, snow chains crunching over the packed surface.
Odd that, a BMW. Its dark paintwork gleamed in the watery moonlight. A beautiful car. He couldn’t make out the driver’s face, but the figure was definitely looking toward the dacha and there looked to be another figure in the back. What the devil was going on?