by Glenn Meade
Koval had readied himself to fire but the car had driven past. He heard the vehicle turn into a driveway farther on and the engine die. He waited, heard a car door opening, then another, the sounds loud in the darkness, but heard nothing more. The dachas were all deserted, and he guessed used only on weekends. Perhaps one of the owners had decided to drive out of Moscow and spend the night. Maybe the man had a woman with him in the back of the car. He had barely glimpsed the figure in the back, and he wasn’t sure if it was a woman.
He listened further for any sound, heard nothing, then got to his feet silently. Perhaps he ought to check it out. But whatever way he looked at it, he shouldn’t stick around waiting. Koval cocked the Kalashnikov and started to move out of the shadows. As he did so he heard a crackle of gunfire explode down the street. He froze.
• • •
At the kitchen door, Slanski peered into the moonlit back garden. Behind him Anna and Irena waited expectantly. Massey was out in front, his hands still tied, and Slanski had the gun pressed into the base of his skull. “You first, Jake,” he whispered and turned to the others. “We’re going to move to the car. Keep it quiet, and remember what I told you.”
He pushed Massey out into the flagstone courtyard. He crouched, half expecting gunfire, but when none came they moved hurriedly across to the woodshed and the Skoda. He opened the rear door and pushed Massey quickly inside, then Anna slid in beside him. Irena was already in the passenger seat, and as Slanski jumped into the driver’s seat beside her he said, “So far so good.”
He rolled down the driver’s window quietly, and then his fingers found the ignition key and he tensed. He shifted into first gear but kept his foot firmly on the clutch. He hesitated and stared out toward the driveway and the snowed-under street beyond it. It looked empty, no traffic in sight. The distance was about thirty yards, and he could clear it in seconds if he could get quickly up to speed.
He turned the ignition key. The engine spluttered and died, and Slanski’s heart sank.
Gunfire erupted like fireworks from somewhere off in the darkness, followed by the screech of tires and brakes. Everyone in the Skoda tensed, and Slanski went deathly still. “What the—”
Another burst of gunfire sounded from far away. Slanski turned the ignition key again, and this time the engine exploded into life. He flicked a switch, and the headlights flooded the driveway. At the same time he eased off the clutch, hit the accelerator, and the Skoda shot forward and tore down the path.
• • •
As Lukin approached the dacha he tensed. Blood pumped furiously through his veins as the sound of gunfire still raged in the distance. He had the white rag in his hand, and as he jogged toward the driveway he caught sight of a figure moving out of the bushes at the front of the garden. A big man, ruggedly built. He had a Kalashnikov in his hands and was moving toward the front of the dacha.
Lukin froze. The man was partly in shadow, and he couldn’t make out if it was Slanski.
Before he could react an engine suddenly started, and two powerful beams of light illuminated the driveway. Lukin stood, totally confused. The man with the Kalashnikov seemed to freeze, too, but then a car roared out of the darkness and down the driveway, headlights blazing.
Lukin watched stunned as the man in the garden spun around and fired off a rapid burst as the Skoda shot past. Lukin flung himself down as the weapon chattered, and he heard the sound of lead rip into metal as a volley of fire answered from the driver’s window.
The Skoda shot onto the street, and the man with the Kalashnikov ran after it, firing wildly. Windows shattered as the car skewed and slid on the snow, then it suddenly righted itself and swung out into the middle of the street. As it swung, a rear door burst open with the sudden force of the turn, and a figure came hurtling out onto the snow and rolled across the street.
Lukin watched in disbelief as the man with the Kalashnikov kept firing at the Skoda, and then suddenly he caught a glimpse of Slanski at the steering wheel. The man with the Kalashnikov had emptied his magazine, and he tore another from his pocket and hastily reloaded and cocked the weapon.
Lukin wrenched out his pistol just as the man turned, horror on his face when he saw Lukin face him. As he went to raise the Kalashnikov, Lukin got off two shots, hitting him in the chest and neck and punching him back into the snow. He ran out into the street and saw the Skoda’s taillights disappear, racing over the snow. “No!” he roared.
There was a groan of pain from behind, and when he turned back Lukin saw the figure from the car writhing in the snow. He was wounded in the chest, and his face was twisted in agony. Then he saw that his hands were tied behind his back. “Help . . .help me . . .” The man spoke in English.
For several moments Lukin stood there in turmoil, then suddenly he heard shouts and saw a knot of men come down the street, flashlights in their hands as they moved toward him at a trot. Romulka led the way, his pistol out. “Halt! Stay where you are!”
Where was Pasha? Lukin turned back frantically and saw that the taillights of the Skoda had vanished. He knelt and gripped the wounded man by the collar and dragged him back to the BMW. Within seconds Lukin was almost out of breath. A volley of shots rang out, kicking up puffs of snow in front of him. He glanced back. Romulka and his men were at least seventy yards away.
“Halt! Do you hear me? Halt!”
Lukin kept going, the man’s weight like lead. When he reached the driveway, he flung open the passenger door of the BMW and lifted the man inside, then climbed into the driver’s seat, turned the ignition key, and the engine roared.
As he drove onto the street two men ran up, firing pistols at the car. Lukin heard shots puncture metal and glass, and the rear window shattered. As Lukin glanced back, Lebel suddenly became conscious, moaned, and asked drowsily, “Where am I?”
“Keep down!”
He didn’t wait to see if Lebel had obeyed. He shifted into gear as he ducked his head, hit the accelerator, and the car roared forward. Bullets cracked into the chassis as he raced down the street.
The last thing Lukin glimpsed in the rearview mirror was Romulka running after him in the middle of the street, firing wildly, his face twisted in rage.
• • •
Lukin sweated as he drove. He had kept the headlights off in case he caught up with the Skoda, but the road was unlit and he found it difficult to keep the BMW straight. Every now and then he got too close to the curb, the front wheel hit the right side of the road, and he had to wrench the steering wheel over.
What he had done was crazy, but he knew he had to follow Slanski. All he saw up ahead now was night and empty white streets. The Skoda had a head start of maybe only a minute, but the BMW was faster so it couldn’t get far ahead. Besides, Lukin could just make out the single set of tire marks in the virgin snow and knew it had to be the Skoda.
He came to a fork in the road. He saw tire marks leading left and followed them, picking up as much speed in the darkness as he dared. What had happened to Pasha? Lukin guessed that once the firing became too intense he had tried to double back to the dacha.
Unless Romulka had killed him. At that thought Lukin sank into despair. But then he knew Pasha. He was headstrong, but he had the native cunning of his Mongol blood. Lukin guessed—hoped—the man would somehow find his way out of it.
The Frenchman was conscious now in the back, the drug wearing off. The shooting had obviously startled him awake. When Lebel finally saw the wounded man in the front seat he suddenly seemed to come alive, a bewildered look on his face as he spoke. “Jake . . .”
Lukin didn’t know what the word meant or if it was French or English. The man beside him was barely conscious. His head was slumped on his chest, and he was gurgling and coughing up blood.
The Frenchman leaned over shakily and felt the passenger’s pulse. “What’s going on? Can’t you see he’s dying?”
Something in his tone and action suggested Lebel knew the man. The car bumped as it hit the curb, th
en Lukin righted it again and kept following the tracks in the snow. The man in the passenger seat groaned and his head rolled to the right. Lukin said urgently, “You know him?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?” Lukin demanded.
Lebel looked at him, perplexed. “Who are you? How did I get here?”
“Major Lukin, KGB. I released you from the Lubyanka.”
Confusion filled the Frenchman’s face, and he fell silent. Lukin guessed that he was still too disoriented from the morphine to recognize him from the hotel. And the Frenchman looked to be in considerable pain. Before Lukin could speak again he suddenly noticed the red taillights of a car a hundred yards ahead, and his heart skipped. He had almost reached the Moscow River, and a bridge ahead led across to Novodevichy. When the car in front trundled over the bridge and the taillights kept straight on, Lukin realized the vehicle was headed toward the old convent.
It had to be Slanski. The marks in the snow were the only ones Lukin had seen all the way from the dacha. Slanski was obviously desperate and had nowhere else to run. The deserted convent would offer brief cover.
Lukin slowed and peered beyond the windshield. Just then he saw the beginning of the convent walls on the left-hand side of the road. He felt his heart thumping against his ribs as he saw the car slow and then turn left toward the convent entrance. He had kept a safe distance behind and still had the headlights off, and he guessed the occupants of the car hadn’t noticed him. But even from a distance he thought the car was a light-colored Skoda.
As he came toward the left turn, Lukin increased his speed, flicked on the lights, and drove straight past. He turned to look and saw the Skoda halted outside the convent entrance, fifty yards away. He glimpsed the shattered rear window and sighed with relief. A hundred yards farther on, he killed the headlights, swung the BMW back around facing the convent, then eased on the brakes and switched off the engine. He could just make out a figure moving into the arched entrance. Moments later the figure returned, climbed back into the driver’s side, and the Skoda drove in through the archway and disappeared.
Lukin waited, then started the car again and drove closer to the convent. Fifty yards from the entrance he switched off the engine and let the BMW coast silently to a halt just outside the archway. He saw the gate inside was open. The man in the passenger seat groaned. The Frenchman said, “He’s dying. Do something, quick!”
“Listen to me, Lebel, and listen well. I mean you no harm. If you do as I say, you go free. Do you want to go free?”
Lebel stared back in disbelief. “Would you kindly give me an explanation of what’s going on? I’ve been abducted and spent two days in a stinking cell, had my manhood half crushed by a deranged maniac who said I’d never see sunlight again. And now you’re asking me if I want to go free, as if it’s all been some terrible mistake?”
Lukin handed over the key to the handcuffs. “Here, release yourself.” The gesture seemed to amaze the Frenchman, and he quickly unlocked the cuffs. Lukin asked, “Who’s your friend?”
Lebel hesitated, then said, “An American. His name’s Jake Massey. And if you want to know any more, ask your comrade Colonel Romulka.”
“Time for explanations later. And Romulka’s no friend. If I hadn’t taken you from the cellars he would have had worse in store, I can assure you. But right now I want you to deliver a message to the convent.”
There was a puzzled look on Lebel’s pained face. “I don’t understand.”
“Your friends from the dacha just drove in there. There’s a man named Slanski with them. Tell him I want to talk. Tell him that it’s important and I mean him no harm.”
Lukin saw the confusion on the Frenchman’s face. “He’ll doubt you, Lebel, but assure him this is no trick. Here, I want you to give him this.” He removed the file from his tunic and handed it over. “Tell him to read what’s inside carefully. Tell him Major Yuri Lukin has discovered the reason why he was chosen to find the Wolf. When he’s read it I need to talk.”
Lebel frowned uncertainly. Lukin said, “Please, trust me and do as I ask. I haven’t been followed, and I don’t want to harm any of you. Assure Slanski of that. Take my gun if you don’t believe me.”
He removed the Tokarev from his holster and handed it to Lebel. When the Frenchman didn’t take the weapon, Lukin grabbed his hand and forced the gun into his palm and closed his fingers around it. “Take it. Can you drive?”
Lebel looked bewildered. He nodded. Lukin said, “Take my car and drive into the convent. Tell Slanski I’ll be waiting by the river. Take your friend with you. The others may be able to help him.”
He climbed out of the car and helped Lebel out of the back and into the driver’s seat, the Frenchman wincing in pain. “Take it easy,” he groaned.
Lukin stuffed the Tokarev and the file into Lebel’s pockets. “Do you think you can manage it?”
“Mon ami, so long as I don’t have to return to the Lubyanka, I’ll manage anything.”
“How do you feel?”
Lebel grunted. “Like someone’s set fire to my crotch.”
Lukin found the white rag in the car and rolled down the driver’s window. “Take this. Keep waving it as you go inside.”
The Frenchman looked alarmed. “You think there’ll be shooting?”
“For your sake I hope not.”
“I think it’s time to get out of the Moscow fur business. Move somewhere safer and more peaceful, like Hell’s Kitchen, New York. Wish me luck.”
“Go, please. Quickly. And remember what I told you.”
Lebel drove unsteadily toward the convent gate. As Lukin watched him disappear into the dark courtyard beyond he heard the distant sound of a clock strike half past midnight.
He walked down to the river. The place was deserted, the frozen water silver in the pale moonlight. He found a bench and sat. He removed the cigarette case from his pocket, lit one with a shaking hand, and waited.
• • •
Massey became conscious again as he sat in the car. A draft of icy cold rushed in through the open window and stung his face. Then shock waves of pain flooded his entire body. He moaned in agony and tasted blood on his lips. His lungs and chest felt as if they were in flames, but his brow felt cold as ice. He coughed up blood, and it spewed onto his coat.
He thought, I’m dying.
A voice said, “Hang on, Jake. We’re almost there, mon ami. Don’t die on me now.”
Massey was faintly aware of a silver light at the end of an alcove, an open trellis gate, and a courtyard with gardens beyond. The car drove through very slowly and finally came to a halt and the engine died. And then the man beside him was waving something and shouting. “I’ve got a wounded man here! Give me some help!”
The voice rang around the courtyard walls. In the freezing silence that followed the moments seemed like hours. Then Massey heard another voice, distant, too distant to hear clearly. Then the voice beside him called out, “Don’t shoot! I’ve got Massey with me. He’s badly wounded.”
Slanski appeared out of nowhere holding a gun. Massey tried to move, but all his senses seemed to go out of focus, a strange fog started to envelop him, and he slumped forward in his seat.
49
* * *
The buildings set around the convent courtyard had long been allowed to go to ruin, and the vestry at the back of the old church was no different. It had no electricity and stank of urine and excrement, and the plaster walls were peeling. Anna held a flashlight while Irena supported Lebel and Slanski carried Massey inside. The Frenchman had difficulty walking, and when she shone the light on Massey she put a hand over her mouth in horror. Blood streamed through his clothes from his wounds, and his face was deathly white.
Once they were inside the room, Slanski put Massey down and said to Irena, “Take off his coat, quick as you can.”
Irena went to do as he said, but when she had opened a couple of buttons and saw the wounds she said, “It’s not good. He’s not going t
o make it. He’s lost too much blood.” She turned on Lebel, anger blazing in her eyes now that she had gotten over the shock of seeing him again. “What a mess you’ve got me into.”
“I could say the same for myself.”
“Lebel, I could cheerfully kill you for this.”
“Not my doing, my sweet. Sometimes things have a way of going wrong. Just be grateful we’re both still alive.” Something seemed to snap in Irena then and she raised a hand to slap Lebel’s face, but he deflected it in midair and said, “Don’t, chérie. Can’t you see I’m in enough pain?”
Slanski was feeling Massey’s pulse, and he shouted over at them, “You two can slug it out later. Irena, go outside and see if you can find some water. We need to clean these wounds.”
Irena started to protest, but when she saw the look on Slanski’s face she hurriedly left the room.
Lebel said to Slanski, “I was told to give you these.” He held out the file and the Tokarev. “Compliments of a Major Lukin. I presume you two know each other?”
Slanski went very still, and his face tightened. Lebel said, “Lukin drove us here. He was alone and told me to tell you he means you no harm. He said to assure you that it’s no trick, and that he hasn’t been followed.” He saw the look of total confusion on Slanski’s face and said, “Take it from me, whoever’s side the major is on, it’s not the KGB’s. He just rescued me. And by the way, that’s Lukin’s gun you’re holding—he’s unarmed.”
“Do you mind telling me what the story is here?”
“My sentiments exactly. This whole thing gets more confusing by the minute. One moment I’m in Paris, the next I’m being tortured in a stinking cell in Moscow, having my crotch reshaped. Then, to cap it all, I’m set free by a one-armed renegade KGB major playing the rescuing angel. Life certainly has its surprises.”
“Where’s Lukin now?”
“Outside by the river waiting for you to join him. He says he wants to talk, and it’s important.” Lebel pointed to the file. “But you’re to read that first. Something else he said to tell you—that Major Yuri Lukin has discovered the reason why he was chosen to find the Wolf. Whatever that means.”