Текст книги "Snow Wolf"

Автор книги: Glenn Meade

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"Who does? Not even Stalin himself, I hear. The little beady-eyed bastard would scare a ghost. Only you can't refuse. But if you ask me, he knew what he was doing and picked the best. So what happens now?"

Lukin thought for a moment. "I'll need you to stay in Moscow for now and organize an operations room. I'll need telephones. Lots of telephones. And a telex. Tables, chairs, a couple of beds. Large– and small-scale maps. A couple of Emkas for transport. Anything you think we might need. Beria's orders are clear. This Wolf has to be found. And the woman. With luck, the patrols already in the area may find them, but if not, it's up to us." Pasha said, "Then God help the poor bastards if Beria and Romulka get their hands on them, that's all I can say." He looked over at Lukin and smiled. "And what will the major be doing while I'm up to my ears in the shitty work?"

"There's a Mig standing by. The duty officer's going to phone just as soon as the weather improves or anything turns up I should know about."

As Lukin drained his glass the telephone rang.

Bylandet Island.

Massey came awake on his back with a splitting headache. Jesus.

Slowly, the pain and fog washed away. He opened his eyes and looked about the room. He was in one of the bedrooms of the island house, the blankets tossed carelessly around him on the bed. He heard the wind gusting wildly outside and the brightly lit room was bitterly cold. He remembered the darkened figures bursting in through the front door and the blow across the back of the neck, but after that, nothing.

Who the hell was it who had struck him? He got to his feet in a panic and stumbled to the window, ignoring the dizzying spasms of pain. He pulled back the curtain.

Flakes of snow dashed against the glass and he saw a blaze of light below. Two black American Fords were parked outside the house and half a dozen men stood around, rubbing their hands to keep out the cold. Massey recognized none of them.

Suddenly he heard footsteps climb the stairs and looked around.

The footsteps halted outside the door. Massey felt his heart race as the door opened.

Branigan stood there, grim-faced. He wore an overcoat and scarf and leather gloves. He stepped into the room. "So, you're back in the land of the living." Massey said hoarsely, "What the hell's going on, you sonof-a-bitch? You almost killed me."

"I could ask you the same question."

Massey went to brush past him but Branigan moved to block his way. "And where do you think you're going?"

"Downstairs-there's a radio beacon-landing lights on the ice-"

"If you're thinking about your friend Saarinen, forget it."

"What do you mean?"

"He's dead."

Massey turned white. Branigan looked at him coldly. "We need to talk."

Tallinn, Estonia.

The Zil army truck jerked to a halt and Stanski raised himself from the floor and peered out beyond the canvas flap.

They had halted in a narrow alleyway beside what looked like an ancient inn. Beyond lay a deserted cobbled square. Shabby, brightly painted medieval houses ringed the square. He guessed they were in the old town of Tallinn.

Anna sat beside him, and as she dragged herself up they heard the doors of the front cab open and the sound of feet hitting the ground and crunching on snow. A moment later the sergeant tore back the canvas flap. The KGB officer grinned up at them.

"Right, bring your things and follow me."

Stanski jumped down and he and the sergeant helped Anna from the truck. They followed the officer down a foul-smelling alleyway to a door at the side of the inn. The place stank of stale beer.

The officer brushed snow from his face and knocked on the door. They heard the sound of metal bolts and then a big, stoutly built man with a bushy red beard appeared in the open doorway. He wore a filthy white smock and a cigarette dangled from his bearded lips.

The officer smiled and said in Russian, "Your guests arrived on time, Toomas. Got a bit of a shock when they saw the uniforms. Good job we found them before the army did. Those bastards are swarming all over the place." The officer jerked his thumb at Stanski. "For a moment there I thought our friend here was one of them."

The innkeeper wiped his hands on his smock and grinned. His teeth were stained yellow and his red beard hid half his face.

"You'd better not hang around, Erik. Get that truck back to the barracks immediately."

The officer nodded and was gone, and they heard the Zil start up and move out from the alleyway.

The innkeeper ushered them into a hallway. When he had closed and locked the door he shook their hands.

"My name is Toomas Gorev. Welcome to Estonia, my friends. I take it everything went well with the drop despite the lousy weather?" Stanski said, "Apart from the shock of having the KGB waiting for us, reasonably good."

The innkeeper grinned. "A necessary change of plan, I'm afraid. Some shit of a Russian general decided to put the army on maneuvers at the last minute. Two divisions are moving south toward the coast for the next couple of nights. The area you landed in was smack right in the middle of their route. Using the army truck was the only way our resistance could pick you up. But don't worry, you're safe now." Stanski said, "There's a problem. I buried some belongings back in the woods."

Gorev shook his head. "Then I'm afraid you'll have to leave them there. For the next few days there's going to be too much military activity in those parts. It would be more trouble than it's worth."

He gestured toward an open door at the end of the hall, a shabby kitchen beyond. Dried fish and moldy-looking slabs of meat hung from hooks.

"In Estonia, we have a saying. Never welcome a guest without offering liquid refreshment. Come, I have a bottle of vodka opened. I'm sure you both need warming after dropping through that filthy storm."

The staff car turned into the main square of Tondy barracks just after 3 A.M. and ground to a halt.

As Lukin climbed out tiredly he looked around him and shivered. The snow had lightened but the early morning air was ice cold. The old barracks had once belonged to the Tsar's cavalry, its red brickwork faded and crumbling, but now it served as Red Army Headquarters in Tallinn. There was a captain waiting at a barrack door.

He saluted. "Captain Oleg Kaman. I was ordered to be at your service, sir."

"Carry on."

The captain led Lukin up a stone stairwell to an office on the third floor. The room overlooked a broad square and was barely furnished; just a desk and a couple of hardwood chairs and a rusting filing cabinet set against one wall. A map of the Baltic states and Estonia hung on another. A red-colored folder lay on the desk, and when the captain had taken Lukin's overcoat he said, "Some tea or coffee, Major?"

Lukin shook his head. "Perhaps later. You're familiar with Tallinn, Captain?"

"My father comes from these parts and I've been stationed here for five years. My commander was called away to supervise winter maneuvers and sends his regrets."

"Good. You have a progress report ready for me?"

:,Yes, sir."

"Then proceed."

Lukin sat back tiredly in the chair. In Moscow there had just been time for a quick phone call to his wife before a Zil had sped him away to the airport. The Mig had lifted off during a lull in the snow but the flight had taken half an hour longer than expected as the pilot tried to avoid the worst of the weather, Lukin cramped in the rear cockpit seat. The visibility at Tallinn airport was dangerously bad and the landing had been frightening, the lights of the runway only visible for the last one hundred meters.

Now Lukin looked up and saw Kaman stare at him.

Lukin said, "Well?"

"I'm sorry, Major. You seemed distracted."

Lukin's stump itched in the cold and he scratched his arm. "It's been a tiring night. Give me your report."

The captain picked up the folder from the desk and opened it. He cleared his throat. "So far, what we know is that at approximately nine P.M. local time a Mig 15P all-weather fighter on coastal patrol disappeared. The aircraft was being tracked here in Tallinn, from the radio tower in St. Olaus's Church near Pikk Street, but because of bad weather only intermittent contact was made."

The captain pointed to an area of sea on the map. "We think the Mig vanished somewhere here. When the alarm went up three other Migs on patrol north of Leningrad were sent to screen the area. They flew low and spotted two areas of wreckage in their lights, crashed onto the ice. One was the Mig. The other appeared to be what remained of a light plane."

When the captain hesitated, Lukin said, "You're certain about the second aircraft?"

"Absolutely. That's what the pilots reported. They suggest a midair collision occurred. The weather's now cleared a little over the Gulf of Finland, but it's still pretty bad. We've sent a foot patrol out onto the ice but it may be dangerous to go too close to the wreckage. After the crash the ice nearby will be weakened. But the patrol ought to be able to get a better look as soon as they get there. We've already alerted the local militia that enemy agents may have been dropped and the commander ordered a dozen patrols out to scour inland and along the coast, but we've turned up nothing so far." The captain paused. "That's it, basically."

"How long before the foot patrol reach the crash site?"

The captain glanced at his watch. "A couple of hours. But it depends on the weather conditions, obviously. They're in radio contact."

Lukin rubbed his eyes. "You think the light aircraft managed to drop these people before it crashed?"

"Difficult to know, sir, but it's likely."

"Why?"

Kaman pointed at the map. "The local radar picked up several spurious blips west of Tallinn, along this route here. Three fast, one slow. Assuming the slow one was the light aircraft, its altered heading would suggest the drop had already been made and it was turning back. The radar people suggest that Finland was the likely destination. So we must assume the drop has been made and the man and woman you're seeking are on Russian soil."

Lukin stood. The file Beria had given him had contained a photograph of the woman, Anna Khorev. Despite her scrawny appearance she looked rather beautiful, which helped him. It was always easier for the militia to spot a good-looking woman. Plain ones tended to blend into the crowd.

There were details in the file as to why she had been arrested and sent to the Gulag, and information on her escape. The woman's past made unpleasant reading. She was the daughter of a disgraced army officer, her husband had died in a camp, and her child was in the care of a Moscow orphanage.

The man's file didn't go into much detail. Alexander Stanski, a Russian-born, naturalized American citizen. Lukin had read the brief character sketch compiled by the 1st Directorate with interest, but there was no information concerning Stanski's childhood in Russia, and Lukin had wondered about that. Such information might help him.

"A question, Captain. If you were an enemy agent parachuted onto Russian soil, with your destination being Moscow, how would you proceed?"

"I don't understand."

"What route would you take? What disguises would you use? How would you try to avoid the enemy?"

The captain thought a moment. "It would depend."

"On what?"

"On whether I knew the enemy was aware of my arrival."

"Go on."

"If the enemy was unaware, I'd probably take the direct route, with precautions. A train, main line, or some such public transport, bus or plane. I'd probably not travel in uniform because there are periodic checks on military personnel at such stations.

"And if your enemy did know of your arrival?"

The captain thought a moment. "Lie low for a couple of days. Then take a less direct route using public transport. But in disguise. And I would try to behave like a local, so as not to arouse suspicion. Assume a local's dress, his demeanor, his habits. Walk the way he walks, speak the way he speaks."

Lukin nodded. "Good. Though these people would hardly know the aircraft has crashed. But allowing for both scenarios I want checkpoints placed on every major and minor road, every railway and bus station, and the airport. Identity checks at all those points. Use every available man. You'll be looking for a woman aged twenty-seven. But cover the ages between eighteen and forty.

"As for the man, his description is less helpful. We know he's in his mid-thirties. Again, check all males between twenty-five and sixty. Take particular note of identity papers. And remember that makeup or disguise can change appearances. Put any backup men in plain clothes, not uniforms. That only attracts attention. And I want hourly reports. Inform the local militia that if anyone is spotted acting questionably, or if parachutes or any suspicious equipment are found, I want to know about it. If all that dredges up nothing we start sector searches. Area by area, house by house." Lukin handed over the photographs. "Have copies of these made and distributed to the officers involved. The images are not the best, I'm afraid, but they're all I have."

"Very good, sir."

The captain gestured to a door leading off from the room. "I've taken the liberty of having a bed made up for you in the next room."

"Thank you, Captain. Carry on."

Kaman saluted and left.

The meeting with Beria and the implicit threat had disturbed Lukin. Of one thing he was certain. He couldn't fail. He could imagine the outcome if he did. The way Beria played the game, Lukin would forfeit his own life, and perhaps even Nadia's. The man was that merciless.

The executions and the image of the girl being brutally tortured replayed in his mind like a bad dream. To men like Beria and Romulka, torture and death were pleasures and all part of the game.

But not to him.

He remembered a spring day in a forest near Kursk. The young German girl he had cornered, no more than eighteen, parachuted in on a reconnaissance mission behind Russian lines by the Abwehr in a last-ditch German offensive.

He and two of his men had tracked her down to an abandoned house in some woods. She was wounded, helpless, and frightened. Lukin had gone in by the back door with his gun drawn, but when he saw her young face, frozen white with fear, huddled in a corner with a coat thrown over her, something had made him drop his guard. The girl had reminded him of a long-ago innocent face. His young sister, aged four, crying as she clutched a rag doll on their father's doorstep, with the same frightened, helpless look. The resemblance was uncanny. But the indecision had proved almost fatal. The ragged burst from the girl's machine-pistol hidden under her coat had nearly torn off Lukin's arm.

One of the other men had to shoot the girl. Two months after he recovered, Lukin was transferred back to Moscow. His heart wasn't in it anymore.

But now was different. Now it was find this man and woman or die. With the descriptions and information he had and the swiftness of Moscow's response, he imagined it would be over quickly. By dawn, hopefully. Estonia was a small country, Tallinn a small town, the places the couple could run to or hide in were limited.

And this time there could be no mistakes.

Tallinn. February 25th The kitchen at the back of the inn was warm and cozy and a table was set. Plates of cold fatty meat and oily salted fish, goat's cheese and dark bread. Despite Gorev's effort at hospitality, the food looked unappetizing. Gorev poured three measures of vodka into large tumblers before he lit a cigarette.

"Eat. The fish are called salty manyards. They go well with the vodka. In fact, it's about all they go with. The alcohol kills the taste. Since the Russians took over the food's been lousy."

He dug a hand into the plate of tiny salted fish and scooped out half a dozen, swallowed them heads and all, then washed them down with a gulp of vodka.

Stanski drank the vodka but he and Anna ignored the food. "Where did your friends get the truck and uniforms?"

Gorev laughed. "The truck came from the Red Army supply depot in Tallinn. The Estonian resistance, the Forest Brothers, supplied the KGB uniform. The officer and sergeant who took you here are Red Army conscripts."

He saw the look on their faces and his grin widened. "Don't worry, they're also in the resistance and completely trustworthy. And Erik happens to be well in with the quartermaster. He told him he wanted a truck to travel to Parnu to meet his girlfriend. For a crate of good Estonian beer, the quartermaster obliged."

"You trust him?"

"The quartermaster?"

"I meant Erik."

The innkeeper looked offended. "Don't worry about us in these parts, my friend. We hate the Russians. Half the country has had family shot or shipped off to Siberia by the bastards."

"And you?"

Gorev nodded up at a family photograph on the wall. "My wife, she died during the war. The young man on the left was our only son, a priest. Erik and he were like brothers. After the war the Reds came to Tallinn and took my son away. I haven't seen him since." He spat on the floor in contempt, then looked over at them. "You'd better tell me who you're supposed to be while you're here."

"I'm your niece from Leningrad," Anna said, "on my honeymoon with my new husband."

Gorev smiled, sucked on his cigarette and blew out smoke. "It's believable enough, I suppose. We get quite a lot of Russian visitors to the old town. Tomorrow night, I plan to put you both on the train to Leningrad. After that you'll be out of my hands. You'd better show me your papers so I'll get the names right if I'm asked."

Stanski and Anna handed Gorev their papers. there was a rumbling noise of vehicles beyond the windows and they all stood. Gorev went to peer through a chink in the curtain. After a few moments he came back.

"Russian army trucks heading toward the coast. Those damned maneuvers will keep half the town awake." . He saw the look of alarm on Anna's face. "Don't worry, girl, they're not going to bother us. Not even Beria's KGB friends will touch you here."

"What makes you so certain?" Anna asked.

"Because I've got two KGB officers staying at the inn."

Stanski and Anna stared at him in alarm and Gorev grinned. "They're both harmless. Here for a few days of drinking and carousing. And having the KGB as guests is always an advantage. That way the militia don't harass me."

"Who are the officers?" Stanski asked.

"A colonel and a young captain. Old customers paying a return visit to a couple of local tarts they met while stationed here a while back. They prefer to stay at the inn rather than Tondy barracks. It's more discreet and a lot safer and believe it or not the food's better. Besides, every once in a while our boys come out of the forests and shoot up the barracks. It keeps Ivan on his toes and let's him know we're still in business."

He handed back their papers, then drained his glass and sat it on the table. "Right, let's get you settled in. You'll sleep upstairs. My two guests are still out on the town with their girlfriends and no doubt they'll be drunk out of their minds when they get back, so they won't bother us."

Gorev led them along the hallway past the inn's bar and dining room, up a flight of creaking stairs to the second floor. He took a key from a metal ring hanging on his greasy belt and opened a door and flicked on a light.

Inside was a small, shabby, oak-beamed bedroom.

" It isn't the height of luxury, but it's warm and comfortable and you have your own bathroom." He grinned. "And seeing as though you're on your honeymoon I trust you won't have any objection to sharing a bed?

I've left clean sheets and blankets. Breakfast is at eight in the dining room beside the bar. I expect to see you there, playing the newlyweds."

"Thanks, Toomas."

"My pleasure. Like they say, my enemy's enemy is my friend. Sleep well."

He bid them good night and closed the door. Stanski turned the key and looked at Anna as she made the bed. He sat on a chair and studied her face as he lit a cigarette.

"What are you looking at?"

"You. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are, Anna Khorev?"

She couldn't resist a smile. "You sound like a very bad actor reading an even worse script. And remember my name for now is Anna Bodkin. Aren't you going to sleep?"

"I'd rather sit and watch you."

She looked at him, her voice suddenly more firm. "Understand something. What happened last night is not going to happen again. I was vulnerable, that's all. And if you're waiting for me to undress you're wasting your time. I'm going to do it in the dark."

"Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Do you love Jake?"

She thought for a moment, surprised by the question. "What I feel toward Jake is none of your business. But if you must know, he's one of the finest men I've ever known."

"I think he's in love with you, more than just a little. And you know what's really odd? I'm not sure that makes me feel entirely happy."

Anna didn't speak, just sat there, considering what he had said.

Stanski put his cigarette in the ashtray, then stood up and pulled her toward him. She could feel his strength but she resisted, and then his mouth was on hers, kissing her fiercely.

She pulled back and said, "No! Please, Alex, don't. And put out that cigarette or we might both be burned to death and save the Russians the bother of killing us."

"Interesting."

"What is?"

"You said 'the Russians.' As if you were no longer one of them."

"Put out the cigarette and get some sleep."

He stubbed out the cigarette and as Anna went to switch off the light he reached again for her hand.

"I said no ... !"

But he held her while his other hand began to undo the buttons of her blouse. She went to stop him but he gently pushed her hand away and put a finger to her lips.

"Don't speak."

There was a determined look in his eyes. Part of her wanted to protest, but another part of her wanted to feel close to him, to be held and protected again.

He undid her bra, untied her ribbon, and her hair spilled about her shoulders. He looked into her eyes. "Anna, what happened between us, I want you to know it was good. Maybe the closest I've ever felt to a woman."

"No doubt you tell that to every woman you sleep with?"

"Not true. Maybe you were right. Maybe I've never really trusted anyone enough to let them get close."

She looked up at his face and she knew in all honesty he meant it. A feeling of guilt came over her, but it passed, and then something stirred inside her. She felt a surge of passion overcome her and she kissed him fiercely on the mouth in the darkness.

Helsinki.

A log fire blazed in a corner of the room on the second floor of the American Embassy, and as Branigan came in his face was grim as he stared across at Massey seated nearby.

"The doc says you've got a mild concussion but you'll live." Massey rubbed his neck and said, "How do you know for certain Saarinen's dead?"

"The Finnish Air Force tried to stop him at our request. They picked up the crash on their radar when Saarinen was on the homeward leg, and the signals went dead. By all accounts it looks like he bumped into a patrolling Mig."

A look like pain appeared on Massey's face. "Why did you try to stop him, for God's sake?"

Branigan looked him in the eye. "I should have thought that was obvious. You really fucked up, didn't you, Jake? You're going to get the book thrown at you for this." Branigan slammed his fist on the desk. "And don't look so dumb and innocent, buddy. I didn't come all this way just to have a fireside chat. I'm talking about the bodies in the woods. I'm talking about Braun-and Akashin."

Massey had turned quite pale, then he said quietly, "How did you know?"

"After we learned about Akashin and Popov we decided to pay the cabin a visit." Branigan paused, and said angrily, "You should have contacted me as soon as you had problems. Why didn't you?"

"The men at the cabin came looking for trouble. But I figured they only wanted Anna. After it was over we buried the bodies. Stanski still wanted to go through with the mission. Nothing was going to stop him after Vassily was killed. I went along with him. Maybe I was wrong, but too much planning had gone into it and I wanted it to succeed. I knew once you learned what happened you'd want to reconsider the mission or cancel. But I thought that would be a mistake. I figured how could it really matter if we went ahead? Akashin or the men who came to kill Anna couldn't have known about the operation and they were all dead. I figured maybe we had enough time to go ahead with the plan before you figured out what had happened."

Branigan leaned in closer. "You broke the rules, Massey. And it mattered all right. You want to know how much?" Branigan explained about the Stalin file found on Braun's body, and the suspicion that a Soviet team had visited the cabin.

Massey was deathly silent, then he said, "Stanski thought the file was destroyed in the fire."

"Well, it wasn't. And if your two friends landed safely my guess is they've walked into big trouble. Kislov and his pals in Moscow are going to put two and two together. And they're going to hope that we go ahead with our plans, because that way they just might catch your friend Stanski and the woman when they land. That's why they didn't remove the file. That Mig we think bumped into Saarinen's plane, it wasn't a coincidence. Within two hours of Kislov landing in Moscow every damned Soviet border post, naval and air base were put on alert-including the one outside Helsinki, at Porkkula. Kislov's people in Moscow may not know when or which way Stanski is coming, but they'll figure out the likely bets, the ways we've used before, and they'll hedge them."

Branigan saw the shock on Massey's face and sat down.

"And you know what's going to happen if Moscow captures them alive?

Shit, there's enough meat in this pie to start World War Three. First, you'd have a show trial, and when the evidence came out in court, every country in the world is going to point an accusing finger at Uncle Sam. After that, Moscow can do pretty much as it wants, and do it self-righteously, because we're knee-deep in our own dirty washing-we sent in an assassin to kill a world leader and that's a naughty thing to do by any standards."

"Stanski would never let himself be taken alive."

"You can't guarantee that, Massey. No one can. It's aces wild right now, and anything could happen. And the fact is, Moscow's probably already on his tail, and that ain't good. That's why we've got to stop this thing before it gets out of hand. That's why I want to know exactly how this plan of yours works and how you planned to get them into Moscow. I want names and safe houses and routes. Every last detail. I want answers and I want them fast. Because sure as hell, old buddy, we're going to abort this mission, no matter what it takes."

Branigan stared into Massey's troubled face.

"I think you'd better talk, Jake, and talk fast. Before it's too late for all of us."

Tallinn.

The two KGB officers were already seated in the dining room when Stanski and Anna came down to breakfast the next morning. Both stood up politely when they saw Anna enter the room, their eyes red from a late night and too much alcohol.

The older of the two was middle-aged with a ruddy face, a large stomach and bushy mustache. He had a cheerful gleam in his eye and he introduced himself as Colonel Zinov.

The second man was a boyish-looking captain. His eyes took in Anna's body as he offered his hand.

"Captain Bukar-in at your service, madam." He smiled amiably. "Your uncle just told us about your arrival. This must be your husband." He shook Stanski's hand and then it was the colonel's turn.

"Pleasure to meet you both. You chose a bad time coming to Tallinn in winter, but I do hope your honeymoon will be pleasant. Will you be staying long?"

"A couple of days, just enough time to visit relatives and see the old town," Stanski replied.

The captain smiled over at Anna. "Perhaps you'd both care to join us for drinks tonight?"

"I'm afraid we already made plans, but thank you for the offer.

Bukarin smiled charmingly and clicked his heels. "Of course. Another time, perhaps. Enjoy your breakfast."

Breakfast was more thick slices of fatty meat and chunks of goat's cheese and another plateful of oily fish, but there was fresh white bread and butter. When Stanski led Anna to a table by the window he noticed she was pale. As they sat, he whispered, "What's the matter?"

"The way those two looked at me made me shiver."

Stanski touched her arm and smiled. "I'd say they both have an eye for the ladies. Relax. And remember, they think we're on our honeymoon. So cheer up."

Beyond the window the sky was clear and blue. On the cobbled square outside there seemed to be some kind of market going on, groups of countrymen in cloth caps standing around examining horses.

Gorev came in moments later carrying two jugs of steaming tea and coffee. He chatted with the two officers a moment before they finished their breakfast and left the room.

He came over. "Looks like you both passed with flying colors." He winked at Anna. "And the young one, Bukarin, has definitely taken a fancy to you, I can see that."

"I'm supposed to be a married woman."

"That hasn't stopped either of them before."

Stanski stood up and went to the window. Horses' hooves clattered on cobblestone and the square was crowding with people. "What's happening outside?"

"Horse market day," said Gorev. "The horseflesh dealers meet here every month."

An Emka was parked outside and moments later they heard heavy footsteps in the hallway and the sound of a door opening; then the two officers stepped into the car before it rattled off noisily over the cobbles, leaving upset horses and dealers in their wake.

Stanski said, "Where have your two guests gone?" Gorev poured coffee and said scornfully, "Off to pick up their girlfriends for more drinking and carousing. The bastards even had me make them up a picnic. I hope it kills them." When Gorev fell silent, Stanski said, "What's the matter?"