Текст книги "Snow Wolf"

Автор книги: Glenn Meade

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They made love that day with an intensity Lebel had never known, and did so every time afterwards that they could get to Ireia's dacha, which offered them privacy.

That first day together in years, as they lay in bed, she had prodded his generous stomach and laughed.

"You're no longer a skeleton, Henri. You've grown fat, my little Frenchman. But I still love you."

He had grown plump, but he saw the look on her face when she said it and knew she still loved him too.

lrena Dezov was certainly no longer a skeleton. Her body had filled out, her bust rather larger and even more comforting than he remembered, her lust for life and lovemaking still unquenched.

But Lebel knew trena would never be allowed out of Russia, despite his connections. Nobody was allowed out of Stalin's Russia. Dissidents were shot, committed to asylums, or imprisoned for– life, not given exit visas. Even applying for an emigrant visa condemned the applicant as a traitor, which meant the firing squad or the Gulag. And each time he and Irena and he met six times a year, more if possible, he had to take particular care and timing to travel to the dacha.

It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't safe, and every time he saw her he feared their relationship would be exposed and, worse, stopped.

But they would still take the risk and meet every time he was in Moscow.

And it would be their secret.

Paris. February 3rd The clouds hung gray and sullen over Paris that afternoon in early February, threatening rain all day, but in the luxury penthouse suite on the fifth floor of the Ritz Hotel, Henri Lebel's mind was on anything but the weather.

The sight of the two voluptuous young models who stood before him almost naked as he sat in the couch by the window sent a rippiin-, erotic shiver down his spine. They were tempting, too tempting almost. The Curtains were drawn and the lights were on, three powerful bulbs flooded the suite, and as the fashion photographer effected some last-minute adjustments, Lebel lit a cigar and smiled at the youngest of the two girls.

"Very, very nice, Marie. Turn around now if you please."

The girl was twenty, with short dark hair and a dusky skin any full-blooded Frenchman Would gladly kill for. She wore only a pair of' stiletto high heels and black silk stockings and a suspender belt. The girl turned, displaying a rear view of her, long, elegant legs and perfectly rounded buttocks. She cocked her head as she giggled at a smiling Lebel.

"What about the coat, Henri?"

Lebel ptirsed his lips and grinned. "In a moment, my sweet. Let me drink this moment in like good wine."

Marie laughed as she stood there with her hands on her– hips, not a shred of embarrassment in evidence as Lebel's eyes wandered over her body.

Lebel thought The girl was stunning, no question about it, and really ideal.

Marie. And now Claire. Your turn. Nice and slowly."

The second girl was fair-haired and nineteen. She gave Lebel a cheeky smile and turned her buttocks to him. She had splendid breasts, and as she turned Lebel was given the full benefit of their firm pert mounds. Her ass wasn't as tantalizing as Marie's, or her legs as long, but she was a beautiful creature nonetheless, and her breasts more than made Up for the deficit.

Lebel felt a warm electricity in his loins and had to suppress a sigh of pleasure.

He stood and stubbed out his cigar in the crystal ashtray on the coffee table. He turned to the photographer, an middle-aged man in a sweater and slacks, with a cravat tied around his neck, and slapped him on the shoulder. "You did well, Patric. The girls have just the look I want for the New York catalog.

"As always, a pleasure to work with you, Henri."

Despite his busy schedule, Lebel always found time to supervise personally the catalog photo-shoot for the coming winter collection, and the sumptuously decorated suite in the Ritz provided an ideal backdrop.

The photographer clapped his hands. "The sables first, girls. Let's start with the best."

The photographer had shot off a quick dozen frames with the girls in various poses, Lebel offering suggestions as he felt necessary, when there was a knock on the door. A tall sharpfeatured man with the face of an undertaker and dressed in a black suit entered the room. He barely glanced at the two beautiful models. Charles Torrance was English and as Lebel's butler and chauffeur was discreet and had just the right air of itas. His honeyed voice spoke softly across the room in perfect French.

"A visitor, sir."

"Tell whoever it is to go away," Lebel snorted. "Can't You see I'm busy, Charles?"

"It's Mr. Ridgeway, sir. He says he has an appointment."

Lebel sighed. He had almost forgotten his secretary had phoned him about the appointment three days before. "Very well, tell Mr. Ridgeway I'll see him in the study." Lebel glanced back at the girls and photographer and smiled. "Champagne for everyone when they're finished, Charles. And a little caviar would be nice. The Crimean red the Soviet Ambassador sent."

The penthouse suite Henri Lebel lived in on the fifth floor of the Ritz had one of the most pleasant views in Paris, overlooking the magnificent cobbled Place Vendeme.

The suite had– been occupied during the war by a senior Gestapo officer who had the luxury quarters expanded to a five room apartment to impress his Parisian mistress. It was elegantly fitted out with period furniture and silk tapestries, and had the distinct advantage of having three separate entrances and exits. Lebel's registered offices and warehouses were in the suburb of Clichy, but he seldom if ever used them to conduct business. The suite in-the Ritz was far more private.

As he stepped into the study that afternoon he saw Massey standing by the window, staring out at the pigeons swirling above the sodden Place Vendeme. The record player in the corner was on, Maria Callas in La Boh@me playing softly in the background.

Lebel smiled as he crossed to the window, offering his hand. "Jake, good to see you." He pronounced the name like the French Jacques, and shook Massey's hand before glancing back at the source of the music. "I see you took the liberty. She's quite superb, Callas. Remind me if ever you want tickets when she's playing in Paris. I have a friend with the Opera."

"Hello, Henri. I hope I didn't disrupt your afternoon'?

Charles said you had company."

Lebel took a cigar from a humidor on the lacquered table, ] and lit it. He blew out @ a cloud of smoke. "So what brings @ you to Paris, Jake?"

Massey looked at the chubby Frenchman. His pencil-thin mustache was neatly clipped, and Close up his face was covered in fine wrinkles, masked from a distance by a deep Riviera tan.

"Just a brief visit to have a chat, Henri."

Lebel nodded toward the record player. "is that why you put the record on, just to be certain we can't be overheard?"

"the Frenchman rinned. "Lebel, you wouldn't trust God himself."

"That's how I've lived so long."

Lebel's eyes took in the room. The suite is completely safe, believe me. No electronic devices. I checked the rooms myself." The record playing softly in the background was unnecessary, but Lebel understood.

"so to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit'? It's years since we last met. You never called or wrote like you promised You would. If you were a woman I'd have given up on you long ago.

Massey smiled. "So tell me, how is business?"

"I can't complain. In fact, it's very good. Since the war ended your rich Americans have no shortage of cash. They like the best money has to offer. And they particularly like my sables. I lost five million francs from America alone last year. A quarter of' ii)y business."

Massey's eyebrows rose. "That's good, Henri."

"Wait until next year when they see my new catalog. It's going to be even better."

Lebel smiled confidently and leaned forward and touched Massey's knee. "But enough of business. Why are you in Paris'?

"You still see any of the boys from the resistance?"

"Once a week we meet and crack open a couple of bottles and remember the dead. You should come next time. They still remember you fondly. Killing Geri-naiis was the highlight of their lives. Now they raise chickens or kids and live boring lives. How could life ever be the same?"

Massey looked around the elegant room. "You don't seem to be doing too badly. This place must be costing you plenty."

Lebel sighed, "True. But it's all down to luck and a twist of fate, mon Monime You know that."

"Being in the resistance has been good to you, Henri."

Lebel shrugged. "It had its price, but of course, I don't deny it. They helped with my Moscow business contacts after the war."

"That's partly why I'm here. I need a favor, Henri."

Lebel sighed. "Is it something that'll get me killed or just mutilated?"

"Both. And it has to do with Moscow."

A nervous look flickered on Lebel's face, emphasizing his wrinkles. He became serious.

"Explain."

Massey put down his glass. "A man named Max Simon and his daughter were murdered in Switzerland two months ago. Both of them were shot through the head. Moscow sanctioned the killings."

Lebel put up a pudgy hand. "Jake, if it's politics, you know I don't get involved."

"Hear me out, The man responsible is an East German killer named Borovik. Gregori Borovik. That's not his real name. He uses a whole lot of aliases. He's crazy, Henri, and I want to find him."

Lebel sighed and shook his head. "Jake, the contacts I have don't talk about such things."

"All I'm asking is that you make a few discreet inquiries. You know everyone in the Soviet Embassy in Paris. You're personal friends with the Ambassador."

"It's not a friendship that extends to discussing the nastier side of intelligence life."

"Max Simon was a personal friend of mine. His daughter was only ten years old."

Lebel's face paled slightly with distaste before he shook his head firmly. "Jake, I'm sorry to hear that, but you're wasting your time."

Massey sighed and stood up. "OK, let's put that aside. Right now you're the biggest dealer in Russian fur in Europe. Apart from diplomatic staff and a handful of Western businessmen in oil, tobacco and diamonds, you're one of the few people allowed to visit Moscow almost at will. And seeing as Moscow's pretty much a closed city right now, I guess that makes you kind of special."

Lebel nodded thoughtfully before sipping his cognac. "That's true. But to use an American expression, cut the crap, Jake. Get to the point."

Massey smiled back and his face didn't flinch when he said, "I need you to take some people out of Moscow for me on one of your private goods trains."

Lebel's mouth opened and before the cigar could fall from his mouth he pinched it hard between his thumb and forefinger and frowned in disbelief.

"Let me get this right, Jake. You want me to smuggle people out of Russia?"

Massey nodded. "Three people, to be exact."

Lebel laughed, a derisory snort. "Jake, have you lost your mind?"

" I'm not asking you to do it for nothing. It's a business arrangement, pure and simple. You'll be well rewarded."

"Correction, mon ami. It would be suicide, pure and simple. Besides, money I don't need."

Lebel looked down at the square below. The rain had finally come, lashing down on the shiny cobbles, pigeons scattering to the rooftops. He looked back at Massey.

"Jake, please understand, I'm a fur dealer, not a travel agent. I make a good life out of my trade with the Russians. You know what would happen if they found out I was smuggling people out'? I'd be making snowballs in some godforsaken camp in Siberia for the rest of my life,"

"Hear me out first, Henri."

Lebel shook his head. "Jake, it's pointless. God himself wouldn't convince me to take such a risk." Massey stood. "I said hear me out. How many trainloads of furs do you take out of Russia each year?"

Lebel shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "Four, maybe six in a good year. It depends on demand."

"in sealed carriages?"

"Yes, in Sealed carriages. Six carriages a train."

"And you're always there to accompany the goods?"

Lebel nodded. "Of course. With such a valuable cargo, I can't take a risk. Even with Stalin in command there are bandits near the border with Finland. I lease a train privately from the Russians that travels from Moscow to Helsinki."

"Do the Russians check you both sides of the border, going in and coming out?"

Lebel smiled. "The border guards check all the carriages with sniffer dogs, Jake. Believe me, nothing goes in or out of that country without Moscow knowing about it."

"You mean almost nothing."

Massey took an envelope from his inside jacket. He handed it across to Lebel.

"if that's money, Jake, I told you, forget it."

"It's not money. It's a confidential report. I want you to read it."

Lebel took the unsealed envelope and opened it. Inside was a single page. He read the page and his face dropped. As he looked back at Massey the Frenchman had the startled look of a fox caught with a chicken in his mouth.

"What's the meaning of this?" Lebel said almost angrily.

"As you can see, it's a report on the last three consignments you exported from Russia. You've been a naughty boy, haven't you, Henri? You had a hundred and twenty more sable pelts than you claimed in the customs declaration, all hidden in a secret compartment under the train."

Massey held out his hand and Lebel returned the report, white-faced. He slumped into his chair and stared up at Massey. "How did you know?"

"The Finnish customs found the compartment under the carriage's floorboards. They had a discreet look at your train in Helsinki Station after it came back.from Moscow two months ago. Naturally, they reported it to us, just in case our friends in Moscow were up to something. But now I know they're not. It's your operation, isn't it, Henri'? Who else knows about this'?

Anyone in Russia?"

"The train driver," admitted Lebel. "In fact, the method was his idea. He saw it done during the war by certain criminals in Moscow, when food was being smuggled in from the country for the black market."

"Can he be trusted?"

Lebel shrugged. "As much as any crook can be trusted. He has a weakness for a certain ravishing young Finnish lady who lives near the border in Russian-occupied Karelia. A big girl whose tastes run to expensive French champagne and naughty silk underwear which I provide him with. I guess he'll do anything for sex and money, but then won't most men?"

"But it is your operation, isn't it, Henri?"

An anxious smile flickered on Lebel's pale face. "Jake, you've no idea. what the Finns charge me in import taxes. Their inland revenue would put a highwayman to shame."

"So naturally, when your friend found a way around it, you jumped in."

Lebel gestured with his cigar at the report in Massey's hand. "Until you showed me that I thought I'd done the clever thing, but now I know I was foolish. OK, Jake, what's the story? You get the gendarmes to slap the bracelets on me and haul me away?"

"The American Embassy in Helsinki advised the Finns to hold their report for the moment." Massey smiled briefly. "But I've a feeling things might get pretty difficult for your company if the Finns prosecute. And after that I think you'd find America was a closed door for your business. You'd be ruined, Henri."

"Don't tell me, but you can save me from all that?"

Massey smiled. "if you were willing to cooperate."

Lebel sat back with a sigh. "I was waiting for this."

"First tell me how you got around the Russians. Don't they check your train?"

"Of course, but only coming in over the Finnish border, not coming out. The carriages are examined by the Finns after we cross the Russian border into their territory."

"Who else is in on this?"

Lebel hesitated. "Certain greedy associates I deal with in Russia. Bureaucrats and railway officials. In fact, it was they who put the train driver up to it. For a small consideration they make sure the Russian guards turn a blind eye when the train passes through the border checkpoint."

"Did you ever take out people for Moscow?"

Lebel shook his head fiercely. "Jake, I don't work for the KGB. Nor do the people I deal with, I swear it. Their sole motivation is money. But to take people instead of furs would be impossible, believe me, and the train driver would never agree. Furs are one thing, people quite another. He'd be shot for Such a thing, not to mention me if I was caught."

"What if the plan was foolproof?"

"Jake, no plan is foolproof, especially where the Russians are concerned."

"Foolproof and worth half a million francs. Swiss francs, that is. Paid into your own Swiss account once you agree to help. And if you do what I ask about Max Simon, there's a cherry on the cake."

"A formidable solution, but I'm still not interested," Lebel frowned with curiosity. "What's the cherry?"

"If the Finns throw away their tile on you so long as you promise not to be a bad boy again. Otherwise, Henri, I can assure you, your hide's going to be nailed to the wall and you'll never move another trainload of fur out of Russia."

Lebel's face showed his displeasure. "Jake, you're a hard man."

"Believe me, I'm a pussycat compared to the people who'll come after you."

There was a distracted look on Lebel's face as he lit another cigar. For a long time he was silent, his brow creased deep in thought, then he looked at Massey.

"What if I said I would consider helping YOU, but not for money?"

"It depends on what you have in mind instead."

"An extra passenger." Massey's eyebrows rose. "You'd better explain."

Lebel told him about Irena.

Massey said, "She's Jewish?"

Lebel nodded. "Another reason why I'd feel safer if she got out of'moscow. And I can't pretend some of my contacts there haven't become noticeably icy toward me of late. I thought we had left all that behind us with Hitler, but it seems not. Many times I thought of trying to get Irena out, but the risks were too great. If the Finnish authorities were to find her on board the train they might send her back to Russia and me to prison. But you could make Sure that wouldn't happen, couldn't you, Jake? And get her a legal passport and citizenship?"

"You're a dark horse, Henri. This dacha Irena owns outside Moscow. Is it safe?"

"Of course, that's why we use it. Why?"

"I'll explain later. Do you love this woman?"

"What do you think?"

"I think we can do a deal."

New Hampshire. February 3rd It was almost seven when Anna awoke. It was cold in the small bedroom, and when she opened the curtains it was dark outside and she saw the thin fall of snow. The view down to the lake was really quite special, she thought. She threw on her dressing gown and went downstairs.

Stanski was sitting at the table drinking coffee. He wore a military parka and sturdy boots, a small rucksack on the floor beside him, and he looked up at her silently as she sat down.

Not for the first time she noticed the photograph over the fireplace. A Couple and three small children. A pretty blond air] and two boys, one dark, one fair. She thought one of them resembled Stanski, but she looked away when she noticed him watching her.

Vassily placed a breakfast of eggs, cheese and corn bread in front of her and said, "Eat, little one.'@

When the old man had poured her more tea and left the room, she looked at Stanski. "Perhaps you'd better tell me what we'll be doing today."

"Nothing too strenuous to begin with, just enough to start getting you in shape." He smiled. "Not that there's much wrong with your shape as it is."

"Is that meant to be a compliment?"

"No, an observation. But it's really a question of building, up your stamina. The training is purely a precaution. It's over six hundred miles from Tallinn to Moscow, a relatively short route, and that's why it was chosen. But if something goes wrong and you have to look after yourself, then You had better be fit and prepared."

"I'm quite capable of looking after myself'."

He smiled again. "Let's make certain of it. We'll take a gentle walk in the woods. Ten miles to start with. When Popov arrives in a couple of days the real training begins. Then, I assure you, it gets a lot tougher." He stood. "One more thing."

She looked up and saw the blue eyes stare down at her and for a moment she felt an odd flutter in her chest.

"What?"

"Something Massey will explain, but I think you'd better know now. You'll be given a pill when we go in. Cyanide. It kills instantly. You'll have to use it in a situation where it's likely you're going to get caught and there's no way out. But let's hope that doesn't happen."

Anna hesitated. "Are you trying to frighten me?"

."No, just making sure you know this is not some elaborate game we're playing here. And that there's still time for you to change your mind."

"I'm quite aware it's not a game. And I won't change my mind."

She dressed in the warm clothes Massey had bought her, furlined walking boots and heavy trousers and a thick sweater and navy oilskin. It was still dark as they set off through the forest. The snow had stopped when they came to a clearing after half a mile, and Anna saw the first rays of sunshine on the far horizon, streaking the sky orange and red.

She noticed the way Stanski moved through the woods. It was almost as if he was familiar with every inch of the forest, every branch and twig, but she knew that was impossible. He halted in the clearing and pointed toward a sloping mountain that rose up in the distance through a thin bank of pine trees.

"See that plateau on the mountain? It's called Kingdom Ridge. That's where we're headed. Ten miles there and back. Think you'll be able to manage it?"

There was a smile on his face and she thought he was goading her but she didn't reply, simply marched on ahead.

She was exhausted after the first two miles. The rising ground made it hard on her legs, but Stanski walked as if he were on flat ground and the tilt of the land seemed to make no difference to his stamina. Once or twice he looked around to check on her, but by the fifth mile, as they reached the top, he was way ahead.

She came out of the forest onto the ridge, exhausted, fighting for breath, and by then the sun was up, the view of the lake and forest below quite stunning. In the distance was an enormous ridge of snow-capped mountains. In the morning light the rock looked as if it were tinted blue. Stanski was sitting on a rocky outcrop overhanging the ridge, smoking a cigarette. When he saw her he smiled. "Glad You could make it."

"Give me a cigarette," she almost gasped.

He handed her one and lit it for her.

When she had caught her breath she said, "The view is incredible."

""The mountains you see are called the Appalachians. They Stretch over a thousand miles."

She looked out at the view again, then back at him. "Can I ask you a question, Stanski?"

"What?"

"You didn't want me to be part of this, did you?"

He grinned. "Now what makes you think that?"

"From what you said back in the cabin– And besides, you strike me as the kind of man who likes to do things alone. Tell me about yourself."

"Why?"

"I don't want to know your life history. Just enough to know you better. We're going to have to pretend to be man and wife and I presume that means sleeping in the same bed if necessary. I'd like to know something about the man I'll be sharing a bed with."

"What did Massey tell you?"

"Hardly anything. Were you ever married?"

"it crossed my mind once or twice. But what wot-nan in her right mind would want to live up here' ' "'

She smiled. "Oh, I don't know. It's really quite beautiful."

"To a visitor, maybe. But most of the local girls can't wait to get the hell out and head for New York."

"There weren't any women you ever met that you liked?"

"Some, but not many I'd care to lead up an aisle."

"The photograph back in the house, Tell me about it."

There was a sudden look of pain on his face and he stood as if to stop the conversation going ' any further.

"A long time ago, as they say. And a tale not for the telling. We'd better be getting back."

"You still haven't told me about this Popov. Who is he?"

He looked down at her. "Demitri Popov is a weapons and self-defense instructor. With a knife and gun and fists he's probably one of the best there is."

"He's Russian?"

"No, Ukrainian. And that means he hates the Russians. He fought against them during the war with a Ukrainian SS regiment before he finally joined the immigrant movement. He's a nasty piece of work but in a matter like this he's worth his weight in gold. That's why Massey's people use him. Right, let's get back. Unless, that is, you want to sit here all day and admire the view."

She looked at him with irritation on her face. "I don't have to like you, Stanski, and you don't have to like me. But if I'm supposed to be your wife then I have some rules of my own. In my company you'll be more polite. You'll treat me like you would a wife or at least like a human being. Or do you think that would be too difficult?"

His eyes blazed back at her a moment, and then he tossed away his cigarette and said dismissively, "if you don't like the arrangement, you don't have to put up with it. Now let's get going."

As Anna went to stand she slipped off the rock. He caught her wrist and pulled her in and at that moment she looked up into his face.

The blue eyes stared at her and suddenly for no reason at all he went to kiss her, his mouth moving on hers. For a few moments she was caught up in it all but then she pushed herself free.

@ I Don't ... He smiled. "Like you said, I ought to treat you as a wife. That is what you wanted, isn't it?"

She knew he was simply provoking her and said angrily, "Understand one thing-if we have to sleep together for the sake of appearances on this mission I don't want you ever to touch me, is that clear?" He turned and started to walk back down the ridge.

Helsinki. February 8th The southwest coast of Finland, seen from the air in winter, looks like a shattered jigsaw puzzle of frozen green and white shapes, as if some giant hammer had smashed land and frozen sea into a million particles.

islands and ice meet whenever a harsh winter freezes the Baltic, and that winter it was no different. To the west lay Hango and Turku, ancient seafaring towns that had both seen invaders come and go-Russians, Swedes and Germans. For almost all her history Finland had had to endure invasion by her Baltic neighbors. To the east lay Helsinki, and to the south, fifty miles across the narrow frozen Gulf of Finland, lay the Baltic states occupied by Stalin's army.

It was almost noon when Massey arrived in Helsinki on the morning flight from Paris, and Janne Saarinen met him in the Arrivals area. As they drove west along the coast in Saarinen's little gray Volvo, the Finn looked across at Massey.

"I thought I was going to have a rest from covert mission flying until I got your phone call. Who is it this time, Jake?

Not more types like those two SS creeps I dropped last month from Munich?"

"Not this time, Janne."

Saarinen smiled. "Thank God for small mercies. How many passengers do you want to drop?"

"Two. A man and a woman."

"What is this, Jake? Something special'? Your people don't normally drop from up here in winter. The weather's usually too bad.

"Between you and me, Janne, it's an unrecorded drop, Y(U'll be well paid, but that goes without saying."

Saarinen grinned. An unrecorded drop meant it was highly secret and unofficial, and usually highly dangerous.

"Smells like danger, and I could do with a bit of that right now. Say no more. We can discuss money when it's done."

The roads were icy, but the sturdy little Volvo was equipped with snow chains and they came to a small fishing village twenty minutes later. It was no more than a clutch of brightly painted wooden houses set around a frozen harbor. y There was an inn at one end and Saarinen pulled up outside it and said to Massey, "This will do nicely. Belongs to a cousin of mine. There's a room at the back where we can talk and won't be bothered. Let's go inside where it's warmer, Jake."

The Finn eased his false leg out of the car and they went into the inn. It was surprisingly large inside and all done in pine, a blazing fire roaring and a ceramic stove going at the same time, and the view looked out onto the frozen harbor locked in solid ice. There was a man behind the bar, tall and blond, wearing a spotless white bar smock and reading a newspaper.

Saarinen said to him in Finnish, "Give us both a drink quick, Niilo, before we freeze to death. We'll use the room at the back, if you don't mind. I've got a bit of business to discuss."

The man behind the bar placed a bottle of vodka and two glasses on the table and handed Saarinen a set of keys.

Saarinen led the way to a room at the side of the inn and unlocked the door. Inside, it was icy cold. He grinned as he closed the door.

"Don't know why Niilo bothers to open half the winter. Most of the locals stay at home. I think he must be missing a couple of slates off his roof. In summer the place is crawling with kids from Helsinki out on a bender, but in winter it's as quiet as the inorgue. So tell 'me what you have in mind."

dropped near "The two people I spoke about, I want them Tallinn."

Saarinen raised his eyes. "Why Tallinn'? It's a garrison town. Crawling with Soviet troops."

"There are two reasons for the drop in that area," Massey explained. "Number one, it's only a short hop across the Gulf of Finland to Estonia and the Soviets would never expect it in winter. And number two, there'll be a weldrop in that area come committee from the Estonian resistance waiting to help my people on their way."

"I see. Where to?"

"Sorry, Janne. That I can't tell you."

"Fair enough. As long as you know the dangers. Where do you plan to take off from?"

"I had thought the place you've got farther up the coast, if it's not too close to the base at Porkkula?"

"Bylandet Island? Why not, it's where I keep my plane hangared in winter and it's pretty much ideal. And don't worry about the Soviet base on Porkkula."

The Porkkula peninsula, over thirty kilometers from Helsinki, was occupied by a small Soviet military and naval force. Such an occupation was a touchy subject for Finns. But having sided with Germany in the war, Finland had been forced to allow a small part of its country to be used as a Russian base until Helsinki had paid Moscow its war reparations in full.