Текст книги "Snow Wolf"

Автор книги: Glenn Meade

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 34 страниц)

He saw the little light aircraft dead ahead, approaching on a direct collision course. He banked frantically to starboard.

If there was a hell, then this was it, Janne Saarinen decided.

Static arced across the cockpit window, veins of electricity dancing before his eyes, and the little Norseman bucked like a wild horse. shuddering as big lumps of hail smashed into the fuselage again.

He had been in bad weather many times before, but nothing as bad as this. Besides, if you saw storm cloud you avoided it if at all possible.

This time it wasn't possible. A second later, as he scanned his instruments, a sudden downdraft dropped him out of the cloud, and as the aircraft was spat out into a patch of clear dark sky, instinct made him look up sharply as he heard a faint howling in his ears.

Jesus!"

He @saw the lights of the Mig as it roared toward him.

"Jesus ... NO"'

He frantically pushed the stick to the right and the Norseman banked sharply with such a force that his skull cracked into the cockpit door.

The Mig crashed into Saarinen's left wing. Tore it off with a shreek, terrible, shuddering bang, and then came a grating sound of shearing metal, exploding in his ears, the Norseman yawing violently to the left.

Saarinen suddenly felt an odd sensation, as if he were suspended in midair, and then came a second bang somewhere behind him as the Mig exploded in a burst of violent, intense light.

The third explosion came a split second later, but this one tore through Saarinen's cockpit like a roll of thunder as his own fuel tank ignited.

There was a brief, intense feeling of searing hot pain, and then he was consumed by a ball of orange flame.

Stanski sank through the freezing air, a vicious cold cutting into his bones, icy wind rushing in his ears.

A sparkle of lights that was Tallinn glowed in the distance off to his left. He had counted to ten and now he tugged hard on the ripcord. There was a deafening crack as he was sucked upwards, his breath snatched away as the parachute blossomed.

As he floated down he saw fields of white and patches of dark forest below. He tried quickly to find his bearings and saw a ribbon of road far off to the right, pools of light and shadow from street lamps on either side. What appeared to be the lights of a convoy of military vehicles snaked along the road, and he guessed it was a highway. He craned his neck and swung in the harness, trying to see Anna's parachute.

Nothing.

When he looked down again the snowy fields were coming up rapidly to meet him. As he braced himself to hit the ground a sudden gust of wind blew him to the right. He saw the dark outline of a bank of trees looming up and tried frantically to steer himself away, kicking his legs and avoiding the trees just in time, holding firm on the harness straps until the last moment, and then he let his body tension go, hitting the snow hard and rolling right.

He tore off his harness and gathered up his 'chute as he stumbled to his feet and looked around him. Behind lay a tall, thick line of birch trees on top of a raised bank of earth. In front of him he could make out the frosty Baltic in the distance, a dim expanse of gray ice. He figured he was a couple of hundred meters away from the drop zone.

But where was Anna?

It took him several minutes to remove the jumpsuit and bury the parachute and equipment. He decided to remove the uniform from the suitcase and buried it fifty meters away, digging a hole near some undergrowth, and then he tugged on his cloth cap and started to move up toward the bank of trees, carrying his case.

As he came down the other side of the bank, he saw a narrow road below, then froze when he saw a Zil army truck with red stars pulled in by the side.

As he reached for the Tokarev he heard the click of a weapon and spun around, A beam of light suddenly flashed in his face from somewhere in the trees, blinding him instantly, and a voice said in Russian, "Don't move or I shoot!"

Stanski blinked. The beam of light moved slowly off his face and traced down his body. Then the light moved out from the trees and he could make out two men in uniform, another figure between them. One of the men was armed with a pistol and the other held a flashlight. "Come forward. Slowly."

Stanski moved closer. He saw that one of the men was a young KGB captain in his twenties, the other a burly army sergeant, and then his heart sank.

Anna stood between them. Her helmet and goggles were gone, her hair tousled and her jumpsuit torn, and there was a look of pain on her face as the sergeant held her firmly by the arm.

The captain with the Tokarev looked over at him and grinned. "Welcome to Estonia, comrade."

February 25th-27th 1953

Moscow.

February 25th The black Zil glided silently to a halt outside the Kremlin Armory courtyard at exactly three minutes to midnight.

Major Yuri Lukin stepped out of the car into thickly falling snow. A young captain waiting at the bottom of the courtyard steps was dressed immaculately in a Kremlin Guard's uniform, and as he stepped forward he said, "This way, Major. Please follow me."

The captain climbed a flight of stone steps up to an archway and Lukin followed, two uniformed guards standing either side snapping smartly to attention. There was a large battery of trucks drawn up at one end of the square, crack Kremlin Guards with blue bands on their caps sitting in the back, armed with machine-pistols.

Lukin felt the sweat on the back of his neck and wondered what was going on.

The call to his apartment had come half an hour ago. He was to be ready within ten minutes for an urgent appointment at the Kremlin. The sleek black Zil pulled up on the street outside even as he spoke on the telephone, and three minutes later he had dressed in his best uniform and kissed an anxious Nadia goodbye before he went down the stairs to the waiting car.

Now, as he walked beside the Kremlin Guards officer, the feeling of apprehension and confusion still had not left him. He guessed his summons to the Kremlin at so late an hour could only spell trouble of some sort.

At the top of the steps two massive oak doors were set in between the archway. Another two uniformed guards snapped off salutes before the captain opened one of the doors. "Inside, Major. Watch your step."

Lukin entered a long, ornate hallway. The captain followed him inside and shut the door. A draft of warm air hit Lukin's face, mixed with the smell of wax polish and damp must. The walls were pastel blue, and plush red carpets covered the floor. A glittering chandelier hung overhead-, there was a pair of shining floor-to-ceiling doors at the end of the hallway, more guards either side. Security at the Kremlim was always tight, but tonight it seemed extraordinary to Lukin, and again he wondered what was happening. The captain's face was set in a blank stare and Lukin said quietly as they walked, "I presume you know why I'm here?"

The young man shook his head and smiled briefly. "I haven't a clue, Comrade Major. My orders are simply to deliver you."

"Security seems rather tight here tonight?"

"Not my business, Major. I'm just to make sure you get to your destination."

Before Lukin could speak again they reached the end of the corridor and one of the guards examined the captain's signed pass carefully before admitting both men. They entered a large, plush outer office of red carpet and magnificent Tsarist tapestries and Bokhara rugs. A faint sound of music came from behind a pair of double oak doors directly opposite.

A fat, pasty-faced colonel sat at a mahogany desk flicking idly through some papers, his double chins spilling over his collar. On either side of him stood a couple of armed Kremlin officers, hands resting on their holstered pistols, and at a desk opposite was a middle-aged woman in uniform. The captain showed him the signed pass, saluted and left. The colonel smiled at Lukin. "Comrade Major, please, take a seat." He led Lukin to a chair opposite and said politely, "Some tea or coffee? Or perhaps you'd prefer mineral water?"

Lukin shook his head. He flicked a look at the officers nearby. Their watchful eyes studied him before he looked back at the colonel.

"Am I permitted to know why I've been brought here, comrade?"

The colonel shot a meaningful look at the woman, then looked back at Lukin and grinned.

"Relax. You'll know soon enough."

Lukin sat and tried to relax, but it was impossible, and his stomach churned with apprehension. The stump of his hand hurt, the cold metal prosthesis like a block of ice. It had been freezing in the back of the Zil, the cold outside fifteen below. Off in the distance he heard the Kremlin clock tower chimed midnight, and at that precise moment one of the oak doors burst open.

A colonel in KGB uniform stood half in, half out of the room, blue light flickering in the darkness behind him.

Lukin didn't recognize him, but he looked like a man of powerful energy, tall and broad, his muscled body straining under his immaculate uniform.

Cold blue eyes were set in a brutal-looking face, pockmarked with acne scars. Lukin noticed part of the man's left ear was missing. A pair of black leather gloves was tucked into his tunic belt and he carried a manila file under his arm. He looked at the fat colonel, who jerked a thumb at Lukin.

The rugged colonel stared over at Lukin. Then he wagged a finger and said curtly, "This way."

Lukin stood and stepped toward the door.

There was a blaze of colored light and music and a strong smell of tobacco smoke. As the door closed behind him, Lukin saw he was in a large private cinema. Several rows of plush red leather seats faced the front, heads jutting from the darkness in the front row. A color film flickered on a screen as Lukin looked up.

He had never seen the actors or actresses before but he guessed it was an American film. Girls in frilled dresses danced on a bar while a man wearing a cowboy hat sang in English and strummed a guitar. The scene looked ridiculous.

The colonel prodded Lukin with a finger like an iron rod, "In there, Lukin. And keep quiet." He pointed to one of the chairs in a row at the very back, "The show isn't over yet and the Kremlin doesn't like its entertainment interrupted," Lukin sank into a deep red leather seat and the big colonel slipped into the seat beside him.

It took several moments for Lukin to accustom his eyes to the semi-darkness. There were perhaps half a dozen men in the front row. A blur of cigarette smoke curled to the ceiling and a table was set against the far right wall, a shaded lamp on top, its Pool of yellow light spilling about the floor.

Two uniformed orderlies stood on either side and Lukin saw the silver trays of vodka, brandy and mineral water laid out neatly. A large box of chocolates lay open beside one of the trays, an enormous basket of fruit next to it. Plump grapes, oranges and pears and bright red apples. Such fruit was rarely seen in Moscow in winter, but obviously the Kremlin had no problem with luxury supplies.

Every now and then a hand rose and waved from the blackness to be silhouetted against the screen, and moments later an orderly crossed to the table to pour some refreshment and place some chocolates or fruit on a small tray and return.

Ten minutes later the film reeled to a close and a fit of coughing erupted, but no one moved and the lights stayed off. Lukin sat there in confusion. He saw the projectionist, a young man in a captain's uniform, flick on a torch and feverishly load a fresh can of film. The screen flickered to life again.

This time the images were silent and in black and white. White words on a black background announced GUILTY OF CRIMES AGAINST THE SOVIET PEOPLE AND STATE.

The banner faded out.

A cobbled courtyard covered in snow appeared on the screen. A half-dozen frightened men and women were led out in single file and made to stand against a wall. Lukin realized that one of the men was a scrawny boy of no more than fourteen, his face drawn and pinched from cold and fear, and he appeared to be crying.

A firing squad was lining up, a line of uniformed KGB men readying their rifles.

Lukin saw the officer in charge raise his hand and silently bark a command. Puffs of smoke erupted from the rifles and the men, women and boy were punched back against the wall and slumped to the ground.

As they lay there, the boy's body twitched. The officer stepped forward and unholstered his pistol and aimed at the boy's head. It jolted obscenely and the body fell still. Then the officer walked along the row of corpses and fired a single shot into each. Lukin turned away in revulsion.

The colonel beside him seemed to be enjoying himself, his mouth set in a cruel grin.

For another ten minutes the brutal film rolled on, the executions repeated as more groups were led out to the courtyard. At least fifty men, women and children were brought out into the snow and shot. In the middle of it all, a hand rose in the darkness of the front row and an orderly placed some fruit and chocolates on a silver platter and brought them over.

Just when Lukin thought he could stand no more, the film reeled to a close and the lights came on overhead.

Lukin blinked. There was an outburst of coughing as f weary bodies pushed themselves slowly out of their plush seats. Lukin froze in shock.

The figure of Joseph Stalin rose from one of the seats in the front row, the withered left hand, the bushy gray eyebrows and hair, the heavy mustache unmistakable, He wore a simple gray tunic and looked frailer than Lukin imagined, his skin pale and waxen, but he was smiling as he lit his pipe and went to stand among a group of well-fed men. They were laughing, as if someone had made a joke.

Lukin recognized the other faces instantly.

Nikolai Bulganin, the sober-faced former Defense Minister and beside him a grinning Georgi Malenkov, the fat, bagg, trousered senior member of the Communist Party Presidium. One other figure stood out from the group. A bald, stunte heavy-set man in a black baggy suit. His pumpkin head seemed to have no neck, and behind his wirerimmed glasses his watchful eyes looked full of menace. His portrait adorned every wall inside Dzerzhinsky Square.

Lavrenty Beria, head of State Security.

Lukin sat rigid in his seat in a cold sweat. What was going on? Why had he been summoned here?

The colonel next to him stood, his big frame towering above Lukin.

"Wait here."

And then he was gone toward the front row. The room started to empty.

Lukin saw an officer open a door to the right and Moloto and Malenkov stepped out. Moments later Joseph Stalin shuffled toward the door, but at the last moment he hesitated, then looked back, his eyes narrowing. He stared over at Lukin.

Lukin felt his pulse race. He was unsure if Stalin was smiling or glaring at him, but the man was definitely looking his way. and with a look that suggested distaste. Uncomfortably, Lukin went to rise from his seat, but just then Stalin turned abruptly, and went out of the door.

Lukin let out a breath, not knowing what to make of it all. He glanced anxiously around the room. Only the big Colonel who had led him in, the projectionist and Beria remained.

Suddenly the colonel beckoned for Lukin to join them. Lukin stood and moved down to the front row.

The colonel said bluntly, "Major Lukin, Comrade Beria."

Beria was standing, his stunted body lost next to the towering figure beside him.

Reptilian, olive-black eyes bored into Lukin from behind his glasses, the pasty face grinned crookedly and a silky voice said, "So this is Major Lukin. The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure."

"Comrade Beria."

Beria didn't offer a hand, but slumped into a leather chair. The man had a frightening, grotesque appearance. In the red leather chair he looked not much taller than a circus dwarf, his feet dangling over the edge of the seat. The feet, large and flat and awkward, seemed out of proportion with the rest of his body. A diamond pin glinted on a gray silk tie.

Plump fingers gestured to a seat. "Sit, Lukin."

As Lukin sat, Beria turned to the projectionist. "Leave the last reel loaded and go."

The man did as he was told and saluted, then scurried out, closing the door after him. Beria said, "Well, Lukin, did you find our last film entertaining? Speak up, Major."

"It wasn't pleasant, Comrade Beria."

Beria smiled thinly. "Nevertheless, such punishment is often necessary. Those you saw executed were guilty of serious crimes. Vagabonds and thieves and common criminals. As such they deserved execution, wouldn't you say?"

"I'm sure the comrade knows better than I."

" You're being a diplomat, Lukin. You disappoint me. I prefer directness."

Beria snapped his fingers at the colonel opposite. "The file, Romulka."

The colonel stepped forward and handed over the file. Beria flicked it open idly.

"I've been reading your background, Lukin. An interesting story, Of a once renowned officer who fell from grace." He grinned crookedly and glanced at Lukin's hand. "Were it not for your little error in '44, doubtless you'd be a full colonel.by now and still have your hand."

Lukin said uncomfortably, "I presume there is a reason for my visit here, Comrade Beria?"

"I haven't finished. By all accounts you were one of the best counter-intelligence officers we had during the war. You had a particular talent for hunting down enemy agents the Germans slipped into our territory."

"That was a long time ago, Comrade Beria."

"Not that long ago, I think. Besides, some talents we are born with. Tell me, I heard all the best people in your department, the ones who tracked down German enemy agents, were orphans. Is that true, Lukin?"

"I couldn't say, comrade.,'

"But an odd fact, I'm sure? No doubt the psychologists might make something of it. A passion for seeking and finding, as if such people had a thirst to discover their own truth. But you, Lukin, stood head and shoulders above them."

"Those days are behind me, Comrade Beria. The war's over and now I'm just a simple policeman. Such matters don't concern me.

"Don't demean your position, Lukin. You're far from simple and the KGB doesn't recruit fools."

"I meant ..."

"Forget what you meant," Beria said abruptly, and sat back. "What if I told you there was a threat to our glorious Comrade Stalin's life? Would that concern you?"

Lukin stared at Beria, then at the colonel opposite. When Lukin looked back he said, "I'm not sure I understand."

Beria gestured to the KGB colonel. "This is Colonel Romulka, one of my personal staff. Tell Lukin the present situation."

Romulka stood with his hands behind his back, his chest pouting.

"Two hours ago one of our Mig fighters on patrol in the Gulf of Finland disappeared from radar control in Tallinn. We believe the pilot had detected an intruder in Soviet airspace. We sent three other Migs to the vectors where the aircraft disappeared. An hour ago the wreckage of the missing Mig was spotted in the ice in the Baltic Sea. There also appears to be the wreckage of a light aircraft it collided with. A special foot patrol is on its way across the ice to examine the crash site."

Beria looked back at Lukin. "Not terribly interesting, you might say. However, according to our intelligence sources, the Americans intended infiltrating two agents, a man and a woman, into Moscow with the purpose of killing Comrade Stalin. We believe a parachute drop of these people may already have taken place near Taflinn and the light aircraft was their transport. Despite the errors in your past, certain senior officers still speak highly of your talents, Lukin. I want you to find the man and woman and bring them to me, preferably alive."

Lukin looked stunned. "I don't understand."

"It's simple, Lukin. I'm going to give you a chance to redeem yourself. As of this moment you're in charge of this case, on my direct orders."

Beria handed a file across. "Take that and study it. Inside you'll find everything we have on the woman and man we believe the Americans have sent. The man in particular should prove a particularly interesting quarry. Besides, I think you and he have certain, let us say, characteristics in common. Age, for one. And intelligence and ability, I imagine. You may both be suitably matched. Wasn't that a device your people sometimes used during the war? Pick a man with similar attributes to his enemy to hunt him down and kill him? Some quack psychologist's suggestion, no doubt, but surprisingly I believe it sometimes worked."

"This man and woman, who are they?"

"It's all in the file, as much as we know, including how we surmised the Americans' intentions. There are photographs, which should be of some help. The man will prove a capable adversary, I believe, so be careful, Lukin. And another thing. You will have absolute authority to do as you see fit to apprehend these criminals."

Beria produced a letter from his pocket and handed it across with a flourish.

Lukin read the letter and Beria said, "Should anyone doubt your authority, that states you are working directly for me and all assistance demanded by you will be given without question. You report to me personally. Choose any personnel you need from among your own staff. Colonel Romulka here will act as my personal representative in the case. He's of superior rank but you will be in command. Needless to say, Romulka will give you any assistance you require. You look shocked, Lukin."

"I don't know what to say, comrade."

"Then say nothing. A Mig is standing by at Vnukovo to fly you to Tallinn as soon as the weather clears. The local KGB and military have already mounted patrols to find the couple and will be expecting you. Local commanders have been informed of the hunt for these people, but obviously not their mission's intention, for now that remains classified. Colonel Romulka will join you later. If there are any further developments, the duty officer will contact your office."

Beria snapped his fingers and Romulka crossed to the projector and switched it on. Then Beria looked back, his eyes flashing dark and dangerous, as a threatening look clouded his features.

"These are high stakes, Lukin. So don't fail me. I'd hate to think of you up on this screen some day in front of a firing squad. Find the man and woman. Find them and bring them to me. The moment you do, Stalin himself has promised to make you a full colonel. Fail me and I will be unforgiving. You have your orders. You are excused."

Beria waved a hand dismissively and poured himself more champagne. Moments later Romulka pressed a switch and the room plunged into darkness, before the screen flickered to life seconds later.

Romulka came back and led Lukin out.

At the door, something made Lukin glance back. The film on the screen was in black and white, with no sound, just the clicking of the projector reel as a series of disturbing, vivid images appeared. What Lukin saw made his blood run cold.

A naked girl was tied down on a long metal table. She was dark-haired and very young. Her arms and legs were splayed wide apart with leather straps and her eyes were wide open in horror. Froth spewed from her mouth, as if she were having a fit. She squirmed wildly, helplessly, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her head bounced off the metal table as she tried in vain to free herself.

A man came into the picture. He wore a thick rubber apron over his KGB uniform. His fingers probed roughly between the girl's legs and then he began inserting a thick electric probe into her vagina, a long wire flex attached to the probe Lukin saw the look of pained horror on the child's face and turned away in disbelief, in disgust, unable to bear watching the film a second more, as Beria sat there, sipping his champagne, looking at the screen.

Romulka grinned as he pulled on a black leather glove. "What's the matter, Lukin? Can't stand seeing a woman tortured?" He flicked a look at Lukin's hand. "No wonder that German bitch disfigured you. I would have shot her between the eyes."

Romulka slapped the other leather glove into his hand and went out grinning. Lukin waited a moment, then followed, wanting to be sick.

Half an hour later Lukin Was Smoking a cigarette and reading through the file Beria had given him when Pasha entered.

The Mongolian lieutenant brushed snow from his overcoat. "It's really coming down out there. So what the fuck's up that you get me out of bed at one A.M.?" He stared over at Lukin. "Hey, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"Not exactly, but something just as shocking. First things first. Have you any of that Siberian vodka of yours?"

Pasha grinned. "I always keep an emergency supply, just in case I start to sober up. But be warned, it's like sticking a lighted candle down your throat."

"Pour me one."

"On duty? It's not like you. I'm surprised, Major."

"Not half as surprised as you're going to be."

Pasha locked the office door and took a bottle and two glasses from his desk. He handed one to Lukin and poured.

"Chase the devil away and put a little sunshine in your stomach. Za zdorovye. So what's up?"

Lukin swallowed. "Keep the toast for another time. You're on a case with me."

:"Who says so?"

"I do. I've just had the dubious pleasure of being summoned to the Kremlin."

Pasha frowned, his eyes thin slits in his yellow face. "Are you serious?"

" A visit to the Kremlin is not something I'd joke about, Pasha."

"What was the occasion?"

Lukin told him everything, then gave him the file. Pasha read it, whistled softly and crossed to his desk. He threw off his overcoat and put his feet up, taking a sip of the vodka.

"There's not much in there, but what little there is makes for interesting reading."

"There was even less on this American, Stanski, the one they call the Wolf. And as you probably noticed, there were a couple of pages missing from his file, if the page numbers were properly sequenced."

"I wonder why?"

"Probably classified."

"But it's usual that an investigator be given access to all information for the case he's working on. Why leave out just two pages?"

"When has Beria ever been known to tell everything? He'd only tell us what we need to know. Still, I agree, it's odd." Pasha said, "It's a pity about the woman. She's obviously had a difficult time. She must have been pretty desperate to escape the Gulag. The photographs won't be much help. The woman's must have been taken after she was arrested. She looks scrawny and her hair's cropped short. And this one of Stanski was taken from a distance. The shot's too fuzzy to be of real use. Besides, a man like that will know how to alter his appearance, and they'll both probably have enough false documents to paper the walls."

Lukin nodded. "The First Directorate kept the file on him. His background seems to be something of a mystery. But they know he speaks fluent Russian and suspect he had a military background. They seem to think he was responsible for the deaths of at least half a dozen senior KGB and military officers, including Colonel Grenady Kraskin in Berlin a couple of months back."

Pasha almost smiled. "He sounds formidable. But Kraskin was one evil bastard I wasn't sorry to see go."

"I'd watch your tongue, Pasha. Especially where Beria is involved."

"You think Beria's right about these two trying to kill our lord and master? That the Americans would really send this Wolf to try to kill Stalin?"

"It's possible." Lukin paused. "Did you ever hear of a Colonel Romulka on Beria's staff" Pasha raised his eyebrows and said, "Colonel Nikita Romulka?"

"I didn't hear his first name."

"Then I'll give you a description. A big ugly bastard with half his left ear missing. A face that looks like it caught fire and they tried to beat out the flames with a shovel."

Lukin smiled faintly. "Sounds like him."

"From what I heard, he's one of Beria's henchmen, with special responsibility for security affairs in the Gulags. Why?"

"He's working with us. It seems he has a special interest in the case. Beria wants him to liaise with us."

Pasha stood and said bluntly, "That kind of help you can do without. Romulka's just a vicious thug. I heard Beria Sometimes uses him for the really dirty work, like torture and rape, to extract confessions from special-category prisoners. A word of advice, Yuri. Don't cross swords with Romulka. He's dangerous, and he never forgives or forgets. And he'll suck your eyeballs out like grapes if the mood takes him."

"I'll try and keep that in mind." Lukin scratched his head absently. "You know what really bothers me?"

"What?"

"Why did Beria pick me? It's been a long time since I did this kind of work."

Pasha grinned. "He picked you because you were the best tracker the directorate had. You ran down every top Abwehr agent the Nazis sent at us. There were three names everyone in the department knew in those days. Guzovsky, Makorov and Lukin."

Lukin shook his head dismissively. "A long time ago, Pasha, or maybe it just seems like it. I'm just a policeman now. And frankly, I'd rather stay that way."

"It seems you don't have much choice. Besides, you're being modest and you know it."

Lukin looked down at his false hand. "Maybe I've earned the right to be."

"Because some German girl shoots your hand off with a machine-pistol?"

"I stood there and let it happen."

"A temporary lapse of judgment. You should have shot her first but you couldn't. Personally, I've never killed a woman in my life, even during the war, and I don't think I ever could, but it was you or her. You hesitated because it was a woman and it cost you half a limb. It could have cost you your life if someone else hadn't shot her."

"Perhaps, but why didn't Beria pick Guzovsky or Makorov?"

Pasha poured another drink for himself and topped up Lukin's glass.

"Guzovsky's too old. Sixty-four next birthday and his eyes are almost gone. And he drinks so much he couldn't track a fucking elephant in snow. As for Makorov, he's got so lazy and careless I wouldn't send him out for my shopping."

Lukin smiled. "Still, there are others more capable. And besides, working directly for Beria has its dangers. He could have me up against a wall and shot if I fail. And I don't trust him."