Текст книги "Snow Wolf"

Автор книги: Glenn Meade

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The man slowed but kept coming, and then Braun saw the gun in his hand. He recognized him from the photographs. Stanski. The Wolf.

He flicked an anxious look back at the Packard. It was thirty meters away along the narrow track through the woods.

Close enough to get away.

He moved backward smartly, still holding the woman in front of him.

He looked back. Stanski had started to move toward him again.

Braun pressed the gun hard into the woman's head and roared, "Another step and I kill the bitch!"

Stanski halted thirty meters away. There was sweat on Braun's face as he reached the car, but he knew now Stanski was too far away to stop him. He smiled as he yanked open the driver's door and shoved Anna inside. He fumbled for the keys in the ignition. They were gone.

"Kurt Braun?"

Braun spun around in his seat, a look of panic on his face as he heard the voice.

Another man sat behind him in the back, rage in his eyes and a .38 in his hand, the weapon aimed at Braun's face.

"I asked are you Kurt Braun?"

Before Braun could reply Massey squeezed the trigger.

The cabin was still in flames as Stanski held a storm lamp over the bodies laid out a distance away.

There was a terrible look of grief on Stanski's face as Massey looked down at Vassily's body. They had searched the others for forms of identity but Braun's was the only one Massey was interested in.

Vassily's body was badly burned and there was a gunshot wound in his chest, another in his shoulder. Massey looked at Stanski for a long time. It was the first time he had ever seen such a look of anguish on his face, and he touched his arm.

"This is my fault. I'm sorry, Alex."

Stanski was suddenly white with anger. "It's no one's fault but the people who did it. He didn't have to die and they didn't have to kill him." He looked at Massey, a frightening rage in his eyes. "Someone's going to pay for this, Jake. Someone's going– to pay dearly, so help me ..."

Leave that to me, Alex. But right this minute, all bets are off. We're canceling the operation."

Stanski shook his head fiercely. "You do that and I go in alone, with or without your help. I told you someone's going to pay and I know who it is ..."

Massey turned to Stanski, "Not now, we talk later."

"I mean it, Jake. I go in with or without your help."

"We can't do it, Alex. Branigan would never go along, not when he hears what's happened to Akashin. And what's happened here only makes it worse. It's a security risk."

"When they find Akashin's body no one's going to know who did it. And Akashin couldn't have known what we intend. Besides, he's dead."

Massey shook his head. "Maybe, but Branigan will hear. Popov's body is in Braun's apartment. And Branigan will put two and two together."

Stanski looked over at Anna and said to Massey, "Either way it's going to take time before Branigan finds out. Anna can stay if you're worried. But me, I'm still going in.'@

Anna looked at him and said quietly, "if you go, I go too."

Massey looked at them both. For a long time he seemed to hesitate, then he said to Stanski, "You're angry, but are you really sure about this?"

"Me, I'm on this ride to the end of the tracks. You'd better ask Anna that question."

"Anna ... ?"

She hesitated, then looked over at Stanski's face and said, "Yes, I'm sure."

For a long time Massey seemed unable to make up his mind, then he sighed and said, "OK, Alex, we do it your way. We'll have to bury the bodies in the woods in case anyone comes by. I'll worry about Branigan later." Suddenly Massey seemed at a loss for words. "I'll help you bury Vassily." Stanski shook his head and said fiercely, "Not in the woods with those vermin who killed him. Down by the lake." Massey said quietly, "There's a shovel in the jeep. I'll get it.

There was a crash and an explosion of sparks as part of the roof caved in.

He stared -,it the flames, his mouth tight in anger, and as Massey went to move toward the jeep he grabbed his arm and said in a hard voice, "Just tell me, when do we go in?"

"There's a flight to London from Boston tonight, with a connection to Stockholm and Helsinki. We can make it if we hurry. We'll use Braun's car. I've got passports for both of' YOU."

"You didn't answer the question. How long before we go in?"

"Forty-eight hours."

February 23rd-24th 1953

New Hampshire. February 23rd It was almost 9:00 A.M. the following day when Collins drove up to Boston airport from New York.

He met the group off the Canadian Airlines flight from Ottawa, two women and a man, younger than himself, and by the time they had hired the camper and equipment in Boston and applied for the hunting permits in New Hampshire, it was almost noon.

The man named Collins was thin but well muscled, in his early forties, and his eyes had the steely, detached look of someone who had seen death and even dispensed it. The younger man wore glasses and his dark hair was cropped short. There was a faint hint of the Slav in his high cheekbones but his demeanor and manner were pure North American.

The two women were in their late twenties, both pretty and vivacious, but Collins knew they would be as capable as he was with any kind of weapon, even in their hands. For the purpose of the mission they were friends who had met on a camping holiday the previous summer at Lake Ontario, renewing their acquaintance. The briefing they had received had been specific about using extreme caution.

The hired camping trailer had been Collins's idea. Under cover of a hunting party they wouldn't arouse suspicion. All of them were illegals with no police or criminal record, unknown to the CIA or the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. The rifles and pistols were legally bought and licensed in their own names.

They turned onto the road that led down to Kingdom Lake just after one that afternoon. Snow chains had been fitted on the tires so they wouldn't leave identifiable tracks. The landscape seemed totally deserted. It reminded him of' the Caucasus of his homeland, and who he really was, despite am)ost eight years as an illegal American citizen-Major Gri-ori Galushko, KGB 1st Directorate.

They parked the trailer a mile from the cabin on the lakeside @and decided to cook lunch before venturing closer. That way they were covered if anyone who had seen them came to investigate. But no one came and it was almost four when they changed into their hunting– clothes, all of them wearing gloves, and started to stroll toward the cabin, the men carrying the rifles. They walked in couples and they made as much noise as they could, joking and laughing as they strolled, acting like a quartet of married friends out for a winter shooting holiday, but their eyes were everywhere, watching any movement, hearing every sound.

A hundred yards from the lakeside cabin they stopped for a cigarette @and to drink from hip flasks. Galushko's eyes flicked nervously about the landscape. There was almost no snow in the forest itself, the @round protected by the trees. He still saw no movement, heard no sounds, only those of the wind and lake water lapping gently, some pigeons in the pine trees above cooing their arrival.

They saw the boat tied up at the promontory and the burned out cabin, smoke still curling from its embers, the jeep and the pickup parked nearby, the tires shot through, but no sign of life.

Gallishko's face had a worried look. Instead of walking directly toward the cabin, they skirted it and walked back into the woods. It took them another half-hour to determine that the area was deserted, circling it carefully, until they finally came back to the charred remains of the cabin. Each of them moved more like practiced hunters now, careful and watchful, as if they were stalking some animal hiding inside.

It was Galushko and the younger man who went toward the cabin first, moving cautiously onto the remains of the veranda. The women remained a distance away, watching in case anyone appeared.

"Anybody here?"

Galushko called out twice, but no one appeared. He could hear the two women doing the same outside, their voices carrying on the breeze and out onto the cold lake like Ghostly cries for help. But still no one came and no voice answered.

Then Galushko and his companion took their time, sifting through the remains.

When they checked the area around the cabin they saw no sign of a disturbance at first, but then Galushko's practiced eyes saw the dark stains on the ground, the patchy snow all around melted from the heat. When he bent to examine the stains he knew it was blood.

He stood and glanced anxiously at his companion.

After that they moved more quickly.

It took them almost half an hour, searching the area as thoroughly as they could, then checking the vehicles and the boat and the perimeter of the lake, before they moved out into the woods again.

Another hour later they had found nothing and Galushko was frustrated. They were about to go back to the trailer, had walked back along the lake shore, when one of the women went off to relieve herself in the woods, the cold bit at them all. Galushko saw her undo the buttons of her jeans as she walked away, watching her figure as she retreated farther into the forest for privacy. When he looked back at one moment, he saw her white buttocks appearing in the forest gloom like some strange and bloated ghostlv apparition as the woman squatted and relieved herself. Galushko smiled faintly before he turned back toward the others.

They had almost reached the camper when she came running after them breathlessly. Galushko saw the look on her face, not fear, these women didn't show fear, but something else, and then she was beside Galushko, but looking at the others too, saying, "I think you'd better come back and have a look."

Moscow.

Hours later in New York, on that same late February evening, Leonid Kislov, the KGB station head in New York's Soviet UN mission, boarded a Pan Am flight to London, with onward connections to Vienna and Moscow.

He carried with him a diplomatic briefcase handcuffed to his right wrist, and he hardly slept throughout the entire twenty-two-hour journey.

As he climbed tiredly into a cold Zil, Kislov found a blanket on the back seat and pulled it over his freezing legs. The driver climbed in front and looked around cheerfully. "You had a pleasant flight. comrade?"

Kislov didn't feel like small talk, his head aching after the long flights, especially with the knowledge of what he carried in the briefcase gnawing at his brain.

He said gruffly, "The Kremlin, quick as you can."

The driver turned back at the rebuff and eased the Zil across the snowy tarmac toward the airfield exit.

Finland. February 23rd The scheduled SAS Constellation from Stockholm landed in darkness at Helsinki's Maimi airport a little after five that February afternoon.

Three of the passengers on board were Massey, Stanski and Anna Khorev.

As the plane taxied in, there was little to see in the almost Arctic darkness beyond the cabin windows. Ten minutes after the aircraft touched down they came through Arrivals.

A blond-haired man wearing a worn leather flying jacket and a white woollen scarf came out of the waiting room shook Massey's hand cheerfully.

"Good to see you, Jake. So this must be the cargo?"

Massey turned to Anna and Stanski. "I'd like you to meet Janne Saarinen, your pilot. One of Finland's best."

Saarinen smiled as he shook their hands. He looked small for a Finn and his face was a mass of angry scars, but despite the disfigurement he seemed a cheerful sort.

"Don't pay any attention to Jake," Saarinen said in perfect English. "He's an old flatterer. You must be exhausted after the flight. I've got a car outside, so let's get you to our base."

It was very cold and eerily dark outside, just a faint trace of watery light on the Arctic horizon.

As Saarinen took Anna's case and led them to the parking lot, Massey saw the look on their faces as the Finn limped his way ahead of them, swinging his leg out in front with each step.

When he was out of hearing, Massey said to Stanski, "What's wrong?"

"in case you hadn't noticed I'd say your friend's missing a leg."

"Don't let it bother you. It hasn't bothered Janne. Believe me. he's the best there is."

Saarinen climbed in the front of a small muddied green Volvo, and Massey slid in beside him, Stanski in the back with Anna. As they drove out of the airport minutes later she was already asleep, exhausted after the long _journey, her head resting on Stanski's shoulder.

"Welcome to Bylandet Island," said Saarinen.

They rattled over the bridge and came to a small cove that consisted of a couple of bright-painted wooden buildings, a stretch of curved frozen beach in front and a thick forest behind. Saarinen drove toward a big, solitary two-story greenpainted wooden house, its shutters firmly closed, and halted in front. Wood fuel was piled high against one of the walls, and the remains of a fishing boat languished nearby, a clump of ancient frozen netting hanging from a rusty hook on the side of the house.

"The place used to belong to a local fisherman, until he drank himself to death," Saarinen told them. "Not surprising really. This is the only house on this part of the island and it's off the beaten track. Hardly anyone comes here in winter apart from wildlife, unless like us they're completely mad, so we won't be bothered."

The house was all bright-colored pine inside and freezing cold. Saarinen lit a couple of oil lamps and showed them around. A large room downstairs served as the kitchen and living room area, sparsely furnished with a pine table and four chairs and an ancient settee and dresser, but the place was kept neat and tidy. A small wooden table in a corner of the room was covered with a heavy canvas sheet that hid something bulky underneath. There was a wood-burning stove in the corner and when Saarinen had lit it, pouring some kerosene on the logs to get the blaze going, he showed them their rooms upstairs.

They were comfortably furnished with simple pine beds, an oil lamp and locker beside each; but the rooms smelled unpleasantly of must and salty sea air. When they went downstairs ten minutes later, Saarinen had got the electric generator going and made coffee.

In the kitchen a single light was on overhead, and a couple of maps were spread out on the table, showing the southern coast of Finland and the western coasts of Russia and the Baltic Countries in detail. On one Saarinen had marked the intended flight route with a red pen.

He smiled. "The house isn't exactly the Helsinki Palace, I'm afraid, and the salt smell can't be helped, but it's just for one night. Right, now to business. The Crossing shouldn't take more than thirty-five minutes, forty at the outside, depending on any head winds we might meet after we take off from here."

He pointed to the map and the red curved line he had drawn which ran from Bylandet Island to a point across the Baltic Sea'just outside Tallinn, Estonia. "From the island here to the drop point near Tallinn it's exactly seventy@five miles. A snap, really, if things go according to plan."

Anna looked at him. "Where's the runway on the island?" Saarinen shook his head and grinned. "There isn't one. The aircraft is fitted with skis so we can take off from the ice. Don't worry, it may be a tiny bit bumpy to start with but you'll hardly notice the difference." Massey said, "What about the latest weather reports?"

Saarinen smiled, a rakish smile. "According to the Helsinki office, it couldn't be better for a covert drop. Strong winds tonight, followed by a heavy cold front with @ a threat of some cumulonimbus cloud across parts of the Gulf of Finland, possibly down to a thousand feet from five, expected by tomorrow evening. That kind of cloud can give snow and hail and even thunderstorms, and we'll have to try and avoid the worst of it, if that's possible."

He shrugged. "Flying through heavy snow cloud isn't a pleasant way to travel for the passengers because it can get pretty rolling up there, only it's less likely the Soviets will have their Migs patrolling the airspace in such extreme conditions, but of course I can't guarantee that. Let's just say I'd be optimistic." He smiled again, looking– as if he were actually about to enjoy the bad-weather flying and the danger involved.

Stanski lit a cigarette. "Isn't that taking a risk, flying in such bad weather? besides other aircraft?"

"I'm not worried about getting blown out of the sky by the latest military jet fighter in clear weather. Those machines are the fastest thing in the skies, even faster than anything the Americans have got right now."

"But the way I Understand it, in really bad snow, the Mig pilots keep above the cloud because they're not yet fully used to operating the new on-board radar. However, there's a radar unit at the airbase itself, another in the main Soviet Army headquarters in Tondy barracks, just outside Tallinn, and yet positioned in the old town in a tower, Saint Olaus; next to the local KGB headquarters. probably the tallest point in the town. Between the three of them they keep the patrolling guards informed." He smiled. "On a clear day I believe the post in the church can pick up the BUZZ of a wasp. But on a bad one, with snow and hail, the Soviet radar units often can't discriminate between a target and the clutter produced on their Screens by the weather. That's where really bad conditions help us. But anyway I'm going to stay as low as I can within the cloud to avoid being picked up on their screens. The real risk, however, is once we come out of the cloud briefly for the drop zone. There's a chance we'll be noticed by their radar and Ivan will get interested. That's why I've got to find the target quickly and drop you. But at that stage, it would really be my problem, and nothing for YOU to worry about, Even if Ivan did respond, you'd have parachuted by then and with luck I'd be on the homeward leg."

Massey crossed to the window and looked out at the frozen bay. Up here in the north he knew a man was lucky if he saw a couple of days of weak sunshine in winter. The twilight had a depressing effect. He looked back at Saarinen. '['he man was a very capable pilot, but he was also plainly crazy to be so enthusiastic, considering the dangers. Massey wondered if some of the shrapnel in his leg had lodged in his brain as well.

"OK, Jan, so what's the schedule'? When can we get under way?"

Saarinen sat on the edge of the table. "The cloud is expected due southeast of here by eight tomorrow night. If the weather boys are right, it should give us cover as far as the coast of Estonia. If we leave at twenty-thirty, then according to my prediction we should meet the cloud about twenty miles out on the coast. The route -we take is this." He pointed to the red line on the map. "Almost straight across the Baltic to the drop area. I know the frequencies of the Russian beacons and I can use them for more exact navigational reference when we get near Tallinn so I can pick up the drop reference."

Massey frowned. "And what happens if the weather really is bad, like you say?"

"Don't worry. I'll pick it up. I can go in low, to within five hundred feet of' the ground if necessary. I should be able to make out the lights of Tallinn once we're out of the Cloud. And the terrain profile is pretty flat around there so hopefully we're not going to bump into any mountains when we're flying blind in Cloud. Right, any more questions?" No one spoke and Saarinen smiled broadly. "Good, that must mean you trust me."

He swun" his leg off the table and said to Massey, "Come on, I'll show your friends the little beauty that's going to take them into the jaws of hell."

Saarinenen led them out across the wooden promenade to the hangar.

It was @ a converted boat shed, and there were two sets of double wooden doors, one each at the front and rear of the building. Saarinen swung them both open to reveal a short, stoicly-looking single-engine aircraft with high wins, painted all white. It had no markings and its landing wheels had been replaced with combination skis and wheels, so that it could take off' and land on ice or a runway. The engine cowling @and propeller had a thick woollen blanket thrown over them. Saarinen ran a hand lovingly over the edge of the starboard wing "A beauty, isn't she'? The Norseman C-64 light transporter, Canadian design, as used by the American Air Force during the war. I picked her up for next to nothing at a military surplus auction in Hamburg. She's ideal for cross country flying and can fly at a hundred and forty knots with up to eight passengers. But in these temperatures she needs to be looked after like a baby. You've got to keep the engine warm, turning it over several times a day, otherwise the oil freezes and the engine metal cracks from severe cold."

He looked at his watch. "Almost time Better stand well back."

They stood well beyond the open rear doors of the hangar and Saarinen pulled off the heavy blanket over the engine propeller. He hefted himself with relative ease into the cockpit swinging his false leg in last. He started the engine, pulled the throttle and idled for ten minutes before closing down the engine and climbing out.

"Well, that's it for another four hours. Now it's time to get myself warm. Like most sensible Finns at this or @any other ding this godforsaken winter, I'm going to have a couple of stiff drinks to keep myself from cracking up and my blood freezing. Care to join me inside?" Massey said, "Sounds like a good idea."

He looked over at Stanski and Anna. There was a slight grin forming at the corners of his mouth. He looked like a caged animal anxious to be let loose. Anna appeared calm, but he could sense her readiness.

Stanski said, @"Thanks for the offer, Janne, but not this time." He looked at Massey.

"What's next on the agenda?"

"We'll go over the weapons, clothes and papers for Everything you need for the drop and afterwards. But in the meantime, there's nothing to do but wait."

"Then how about I take Anna for a little diversion?"

"What kind of diversion had you got in mind?"

"A drive into Helsinki and back, if we could borrow Janne's car."

He looked over at Saarinen. "How about it, Janne?"

The Finn shrugged. "It's OK by me." He found the ke the Volvo and tossed them to Stanski. "Just watch the roads they're pretty icy this time of year. And don't hit the alcohol before you drive back. It's about the only thing the police are strict about in these parts." Massey said to Stanski, "OK, but I want you both back by nine, no later."

"A last taste of freedom before we go. Jake, I think you owe us the price of a good dinner."

Massey took out his wallet and handed Stanski some Finnish marks. "I reckon you're right. Compliments of Washington. Don't get lost on me, either of you. And be careful, for God's sake."

Washington, D.C. February 24th It was _just before 2 A.M. and raining hard as the unmarked black Ford sedan drew Up Outside the rear entrance to the White House.

As the three passengers climbed out, Secret Service men led them briskly through to the Oval Office.

President Eisenhower was already seated behind his desk, wearing a dressing gown, his face looking tired and drawn, and he stood briefly as the three men were ushered into the room. "Take a seat. Coffee's on the table if anyone's interested."

There was a pot of steaming coffee and a tray of cups on a side table but no one bothered to touch the refreshment. Lights from the city arc lamps outside blazed beyond the tinted windows onto the expansive lawns. There was an air of anxious restlessness as the men sat.

Allen Welsh Dulles, the Acting Director of the CIA, took the chair next to Eisenhower. Appointed Director only six weeks previously, and not to be sworn into office for another four days, the sixty-year-old Dulles was to be the CIA's first professional director, but neither looked nor behaved like one.

A big, wide-shouldered New Yorker with rumpled white hair and a mustache, he had an easy manner and a taste for partygoing. That early morning, however, his face appeared tense and there was no sign of the charming seductiveness for which he was noted. A distinguished intelligence chief, he had led America's OSS in Europe from his wartime base in Switzerland, being responsible for secret missions into Nazi Germany and, more notably, Operation Sunrise, the srender of all German troops by SS General Karl Woll'f in the last and bloody stages of the war in Italy.

Normally a calm and relaxed man, that February morning Dulles seemed a bundle of nerves.

The other two men in the room were the Assistant Director of the Soviet Division, William G. Wallace, and Karl Branigan, the Special Operations Chief. Both men sat facing Eisenhower's desk, and both, like Dulles, looked tense and restless.

It was exactly two when Eisenhower opened the meeting, in a voice raw from sleep and a lifetime of too many cigarettes.

"You had better begin, Allen. It's bad enough being woken at one-thirty A.M., so let's not waste any more time."

Dulles leaned forward and formally introduced the other two men present. "Mr. President ... the Assistant Director of the Soviet Division you know already."

The Assistant Director nodded to Eisenhower. "Mr. President ..."

"Good to see you, Bill." Eisenhower frowned and smiled slightly. "Or maybe not, as the case may be."

"Sir, this is Karl Branigan," Dulles went on quickly, "Soviet Division's Special Operations Chief."

Branigan raised himself briefly from his chair, but Eisenhower indicated with a wave that he should remain seated. "Relax, Mr. Branigan, we don't stand on formality at two A.M. in the White House. Right, Allen, let's get to it. I presume this isn't going to be good news?"

Branigan sat down again as Dulles cleared his throat. "Sir, I believe we have a major problem."

"I already gathered that from your call," Eisenhower said sharply.

Dulles placed a red folder in front of Eisenhower. It was stamped "For President's Eyes Only."

"Mr. President, sir, as of this moment we believe Moscow may be aware of our intention in regard to Operation Snow Wolf."

At once Eisenhower reacted. There was a look of alarm on his face and he instantly paled. "You're certain about this?"

"As certain as we can be."

Eisenhower sighed deeply and ran a hand across the back of his neck as if to ease a growing tension in himself. He said softly, "Jesus Christ."

The anger showed instantly on his face as he stared over at the other two men in the room, then back at Dulles. "You mind telling me how in God's name one of the most sensitive, topsecret operations your department's ever handled has been blown? What in goddamned hell's gone wrong?"

Dulles opened the file and shakily handed it to Eisenhower. "Inside you'll find all the details, Mr. President. But I'll run through them to save time. At exactly ten-thirty last night a diplomatic attache named Kislov from the Soviet UN Mission in New York boarded a plane for London, with onward connections to Moscow. As you might expect, Kislov is no attache-he's the KGB station head in New York. He had with him a diplomatic bag. We believe it contained information from a copy of a secret file we had given Massey on Stalin's personal information and habits."

Eisenhower frowned. "And what makes you assume that?"

"It's rather complex, Mr. President."

"Then tell me as simply as you can."

Dulles explained about the bodies found by the police in the Brooklyn apartment after a shooting had been reported, and that one had been identified as Dimitri Popov, who worked for the CIA. The body of the second man was Feliks Akashin, a Soviet attache and KGB major. It took Dulles several minutes more to outline the complete details of how the CIA had been alerted by the FBI. Branigan had learned of the alert and knew Popov had been seconded to Massey for agent training, so Branigan had decided to have the house in New Hampshire visited for the sake of necessity.

Dulles went on worriedly, "The cabin had been burned to the ground and Massey and his people had vanished. Branigan called in one of our teams to check the property. As of an hour ago four bodies have been found, three in the woods, another near the lake by the cabin. One of the bodies is of a killer named Braun who worked for the Soviets, and the body had a single file hidden on it-the file I referred to. Massey had been supplied with a copy for Stanski to study. It contained details on Stalin's background, his personality, his weaknesses, his strengths. Even his medical data. His present necessity arrangements, as far as we can ascertain. The layout of the Kremlin and the Kuntsevo dacha he uses. It was top secret."

"Did the file contain any details about Snow Wolf?"

"No, sir, it did not." Eisenhower said impatiently, "Then just how do you suppose the Soviets could have deduced what we intend? This man Braun is dead and the file didn't contain any suggestion of our intentions."

Dulles hesitated. "I think maybe the Assistant Director can better answer that question, sir." Dulles nodded to William Wallace, who sat forward.

"Mr. President, as you know, for the sake of necessity and the extremely sensitive nate of the mission, Snow Wolf was ultra-covert. No one knew about it but us four here in the room and the people directly involved. By that I mean Massey, and the man we're sending in, Stanski. Not even the woman accompanying him knew the target." Eisenhower said abruptly, "Get to the point."

The Assistant Director looked uncomfortable. He glanced at Dulles for support, but when none came, he said, "our forensic people believe Braun's body had already been discovered before we found it. We also now suspect Moscow had been watching the woman and sent Braun to kill or abduct her. It seems the likely scenario. Braun must have found the file in the cabin, sir, before he was killed, most obviously by Massey or one of his people. We concluded that when Braun and the others didn't return, the KGB sent someone, possibly another team, to check. We don't think Kislov flew to Moscow just to report Akashin's death and the deaths of the others-that would hardly warrant such a trip. We think he flew there because the team sent to find out what had happened to Braun also found the file. They examined it but left it on the body. Kislov was informed and realized what the information might suggest. A man like Kislov is no fool-with the kind of details in the file and with Massey being involved, it's more than likely he'll have reasoned we intend an operation against Stalin, and soon, considering most mission training is done shortly before a drop takes place."