Текст книги "Snow Wolf"

Автор книги: Glenn Meade

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And by then he could be frozen to death. The helicopter's radio would have been useful if it was still working, but the wreckage told him that thought was a waste of time.

After five minutes, he tried to stand, but his legs felt like rubber.

He swore. He needed more heat. The fire was definitely helping. He shifted around until his legs were closer to the embers.

The shock had gone now, replaced by anger. Somehow he had to get down to the highway. If he could alert the militia in the nearest town-though he knew that by now the man and woman could be in Leningrad, or at any other point on the compass-there was still a slight chance he could catch them. He could alert every barracks along the route and have roadblocks set up on the highway.

He felt his legs start to warm. He tried to haul himself up.

As he did so he heard the rustle in the undergrowth and a low growl.

He instinctively reached for his pistol. The belt and holster were gone. The rustling came closer.

A magnificent white wolf appeared out of the woods.

Lukin's heart almost stopped and he froze.

The animal stood staring at the wreckage, eyes pinpricks of yellow in the shadows. He lay still as the wolf moved cautiously out from the trees and nosed toward the wreckage. It hardly seemed to notice Lukin. When the animal came to the dead pilot it sniffed the half-severed limb, then started to lick the flesh. Finally, it sank its fangs into the arm, tore it from its socket, and tossed it to the ground with a shake of its head.

The wolf chewed hungrily at the flesh.

Lukin's heart hammered in his chest.

Wolves were not supposed to attack live humans, unless provoked, but he guessed any animal would if hungry. And this wolf looked sleek and hungry.

There was another rustling in the bushes and a second wolf appeared. This time Lukin saw the animal stare at him.

He tried not to move his head as he looked around frantically for something to defend himself with. He saw his empty belt and holster lying among the scattered wreckage. It must have come loose when he was tossed through the door of the MIL. In horror, he saw that the pistol wasn't in the holster.

It had been in his hand, he remembered, he had been firing out through the helicopter's window. Then he saw something metallic lying off to his right. The butt of a pistol.

The wolf padded out of the forest and toward him.

Lukin screamed, then twisted his body and rolled over, jabbing at the gun.

The wolf bared its fangs in a snarl, then the other started, stopped chewing and growled at him.

Lukin fumbled with frozen fingers, aimed at the animal nearest him and squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The gun was empty.

Frantically, he grabbed the holster. There was a slim pocket in the leather for a spare magazine and he wrenched it and found the magazine, and with fingers shaking desperately tried to load the pistol again with his one hand.

The wolves were less than two meters away– He could smell them. They bared their fangs again, growling as they crouch ready to pounce.

Lukin cocked the pistol and fired in the air.

The explosion echoed around the forest. The wolves yelp He fired another shot, then another.

The animals bolted back into the forest.

He wiped cold sweat from his face. The wolves would stay away for long. They had been threatened, were obviously hungry , and it was only a matter of time before they resisted coming out again for food.

He staggered to his feet, ignoring the waves of pain burning through his arm. He looked toward the highway. Flashes of headlights flickered through the trees as a convoy of vehicles trundled past.

The road was his only hope.

He stumbled through the forest, his legs weak, his lungs on fire with the effort. It took him over ten minutes to cover fifty meters to the edge of the highway.

It was deserted, only tire marks slashing the white surface Lukin swore, breathless.

Suddenly a pair of headlights appeared up ahead as a truck came around a bend and loomed at him out of the falling sno. Lukin stumbled into the middle of the road and waved his gun.

Leningrad.

it was after four and already dark outside as Vladimir came in with a wrapped parcel. In the kitchen he handed it to Anna. It's for the journey. It's not much, only bread and cheese and some vodka, but it should fill your bellies for a while and help keep out the chill."

"Thank you." Anna took the parcel as Stanski came back from the window.

Vladimir gave him a rolled-up leather pouch, a pair of thick woollen gloves, an ancient helmet, and a tattered black overcoat that smelled as if a dog had recently slept on it.

"The coat ought to keep you warm on the bike if you can stand the stink, but it's all I've got that's heavy enough to keep out the chill. There are some tools in the pouch for any minor repairs. But try not to get a flat, because you'll have no spare tire."

:"Is there enough fuel in the tank?"

"It's full." Vladimir handed Stanski some official coupons. "if you have to refill you'll need those. But finding a fuel station isn't so easy after dark, and especially on remote country roads you won't have a hope. There's enough fuel in the tank for over four hundred kilometers if you don't drive like hell, and I've left a full container in one of the saddle pouches that should give you a further two hundred. it'll just about get you all the way. But there's only one helmet and pair of goggles , I'm afraid, best worn by the driver, otherwise that icy cold out there will cut your eyes out when you get up to speed."

Stanski checked his papers and Anna's, then looked restlessly at his watch and said to Vladimir, "How much longer before we can go?"

Vladimir looked out at the darkness below and scratched his stubble.

"Another hour ought to do it. By then the traffic should have thickened." He spread the map on the table again. "Meanwhile, let's go over the route one more time. The last thing you want is to get lost."

"You want what?"

Lukin looked at the red-faced colonel across the desk and said, "Every available man you have put at my disposal. All railway, bus and Metro stations and the airport patrolled and every passenger checked. Every hotel register in the city scrutinized and the identity of guests verified. That's just to start with. There'll be more, I assure you."

"You're out of your tiny fucking mind, comrade."

"Perhaps I ought to telephone the Ministry of State Security and you can tell that to Beria personally?"

The colonel's face turned an even angrier red, then suddenly paled.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary."

"I'm sure it won't," Lukin answered. "You've seen my authorization. Please be so good as to comply with the order."

He replaced the letter in his breast pocket as the colonel stood up and sighed in frustration. He looked as if he wanted to hit Lukin for his impertinence.

He was a big, stocky man, with cropped red hair the color of rust. They were in his large office on the sixth floor of the red-brick building on Liteiny Prospect which housed the KGB Headquarters in Leningrad. Lights blazed in the city beyond die broad panoramic window, flurries of snow brushing against the glass.

There were photographs on the walls, one of a smiling Beria. Others, more personal, taken in Berlin, Warsaw, Vienna. Groups of soldiers smiling in the after-ruins of battles. Lukin recognized the colonel in all of them, hands on hips, his chin and chest stuck out self-importantly.

Next to the colonel's desk stood his adjutant, a young captain in uniform.

The adjutant looked across at Lukin.

"You're asking a lot of us, Major," he remarked. "We've already alerted militia patrols about the car. Have you any appreciation of the scale of such an operation as you're demanding?"

"Just as I'm quite certain Comrade Beria would demand your lives if you failed to give every assistance." Lukin stood and stared at the men. "And I'm sure you'd much rather deal with me than him." He looked pointedly at his watch. "So, can I count on your help?"

The adjutant shot a nervous glance at his colonel, who stood up, nodded at Lukin and gave a heavy sigh, "Very well, Major," he said reluctantly. "Let me explain the situation and we'll take it from there."

The colonel crossed to a map on the wall near the window and Lukin followed. His arm hurt, the stump throbbing. He still reeked of fuel and smoke. A shower or bath would have been welcome. Down in the street he saw an elderly woman wearing several thick skirts, sturdy boots and a headscarf sweeping snow away from the front of the building. The broad frozen Neva River lay beyond the rooftops of the city that had once been the Tsar's capital. The battleship Aurora, whose cannonshot had signaled the storming of the Winter Palace and the start of the Revolution, lay anchored in the ice, the magnificent island fortress of Peter and Paul behind it, illuminated in a blaze of arc lights.

Lukin turned back as the colonel picked up a slim wooden baton and tapped it on the colored map of Leningrad, red flags pinpointing military installations and barracks.

"You're familiar with Leningrad, Major?"

"Unfortunately not."

"We're talking about a city of almost two million inhabitants. There are ten railway stations. One civilian and three military airfields. A public transport system that includes trams, buses and a Metro. Perhaps eighty transport stations in all. Major highways here ..." The colonel pointed to several blue veins leading from the heart of the city. here, and here."

He gave a thin, flickering smile. "And this one is the Baltic highway where you stopped the army truck after your unfortunate crash. We have a patrol on the way there now to recover the pilot's body and search for the missing colonel."

Lukin ignored the jibe. "What about hotels?"

The colonel shrugged. "Maybe forty, large and small, in the city. More on the outskirts. I can have my men do a check on new arrivals in the last six hours over the phone. That's the easy part. The difficult bit comes when we go to seal off the minor roads. There are hundreds leading in and out of the city. Have you any idea of the kind of traffic volume we're talking about? Over a quarter of a million people in transit at any one time, and much more during the peak rush-hour periods. You try to cover everything, you're going to stretch resources."

"How many men can you assemble?"

"At short notice? Perhaps a thousand, including militia. Any more and you'll have to wait." Lukin said, "Very well. If these people have already found refuge with a contact in the city, as I suspect, it's going to make our task difficult, therefore you should instruct your informers and block janitors to keep their eyes and ears open for the arrival of any strangers similar to the man and woman you have descriptions of-indeed, any strangers. And alert all militia and traffic police to be on the lookout. Also, as well as civilian, I want any military traffic stopped and checked."

The colonel snapped. "Military traffic? But that's ridiculous ... !"

"Hardly. The man has already impersonated an army officer. He may still be in that disguise, and both of them using their assumed names, though I doubt it. But I can't afford to take that chance."

The colonel sighed. "Is there any category we can eliminate to save time?"

"Animals and children. Everyone else, I want their papers checked. Disguise is a distinct possibility. And remember, I suspect the man and woman have already murdered a senior officer. They'll be armed and highly dangerous. If there's the slightest doubt about anyone's identity or their papers, they're to be detained or arrested with caution."

"I can see us filling every damned jail and barracks in the city," the colonel said irritably. "We are probably talking about checking the papers of half the population of Leningrad, you realize that, Major?"

"I don't care if I'm talking about the entire population. These people must be found. Is that understood?"

Spittle appeared on the colonel's lips and he looked as if he was going to have a fit. He didn't like being ordered about by a lower rank, but to hell with him, Lukin thought.

The colonel bit back his anger with a grim, tight-mouthed expression. "Understood."

Lukin crossed to the door. "Please arrange everything immediately. As soon as you can assemble more men, cover the minor roads in and out of the city. I'm giving you an hour to do it. And I'll need an office, manned with as many telephones as you can provide. Radio links to all the checkpoints we spoke about. And make sure any mobile patrols have field radios. I also want a fast car and a driver at my disposal who knows the city, with a couple of militia motorcycle outriders as guides. If there's any news, I'm to be contacted at once."

The colonel flung down his baton in obvious anger. "Anything else while we're here, Major?" Lukin ignored the sarcasm and said, "Yes, there is. Do you have a doctor in the building?"

The man looked at Lukin's stump, at the charred and ragged sleeve of his uniform, and wrinkled his nose at the smell of burned flesh. The major was obviously in pain but had refused a doctor earlier, first demanding to see whoever was in-charge. "No. But I can have one brought here."

"Then do so. And I'll need fresh clothes."

The colonel picked up his baton again and glared. "By the way, Lukin, for your information we alerted Moscow as to your accident as a matter of courtesy. A Colonel Romulka phoned back. He said to tell you he's on his way here by air force jet. He should be arriving within an hour."

The colonel half smiled. "If it's the same Colonel Romulka I think it is, he seemed rather interested in your progress. Naturally, I could tell him nothing since we hadn't spoken." Lukin said grimly, "Thank you."

The door closed.

The colonel waited until Lukin's footsteps had receded down the hallway, then he flung his baton against the wall in a rage. It bounced off the picture of Beria and clattered to the floor.

"The fucking jumped-up shit! Who the hell does he think he is, talking to me like that?"

The adjutant looked suitably sympathetic. "Who's this Romulka, sir?"

The telephone rang. The colonel picked it up and snapped, "What the fuck is it?" He listened for several moments, then said, "Have it brought to headquarters immediately," and slammed down the phone. The adjutant said, "More problems?"

"The militia found a car matching the Emka abandoned in Udelnay. They're bringing the vehicle here."

The adjutant smiled. "So, we've made a little progress?"

The colonel glared. "Hardly, you idiot! The passengers could be anywhere by now. If they're not still traveling in the car it only makes our work more difficult trying to find them. Go after Lukin and tell him. And arrange everything he wants and fucking fast. The last thing I need is that little shit Beria nosing up my ass."

Stanski wheeled the BMW into the middle of the storeroom and climbed on. He pulled on the helmet and goggles and wore the stinking heavy winter coat Vladimir had given him. Anna wore two sets of clothes under her coat to keep out the cold and their small suitcases were strapped to the carrier at the rear.

She climbed on and put her arms around Stanski's waist.

"You have the map?" Stanski asked.

"In my bra."

He laughed. "Whatever you do don't lose it or we're in trouble."

He nodded to Vladimir who stood by the door. "Ready when you are."

"Don't forget to take the route through the city I told you about. And take it easy until you reach the main Baltic highway. Breaking the speed limit won't help matters. The last thing you want is to be chased by a militia patrol car with a wailing siren."

Stanski nodded. "Wish us luck." He kicked the starter arm and the BMW came to life, the engine purring solidly under them.

Vladimir opened the door and then Stanski throttled the engine and kicked the machine into gear, but didn't release the clutch.

Vladimir went out into the street, looking left and right to check that there were no militia about before signaling for them to move out. Stanski drove out through the mouth of the archway.

Vladimir slapped Anna on the shoulder. "Go. And may the devil ride with you both."

The BMW roared off into the night. There was a crunch of gears as Stanski slowed and changed down, and then they drove at a leisurely speed along the Moika Canal.

Vladimir watched anxiously as the red taillight disappeared toward the Nevsky Prospect, then he went back and turned off the storeroom light and padlocked the door, before going up to his flat.

As soon as he was inside he opened the bottle of vodka and poured a large glass.

He wondered what the man and woman were up to in Moscow?

Still, it didn't really matter. After what they had told him and the man's lack of skill on the BMW he doubted they'd ever make it. Just so long as they didn't incriminate him.

He shivered slightly at the prospect.

As he thought of the couple he lifted the glass in a toast and said, "Good luck, you poor bastards," and swallowed the vodka in one gulp.

A female doctor dressed Lukin's arm.

They were in a large room on the second floor which the adjutant had organized, and already uniformed personnel were setting up telephones and a powerful radio transmitter.

The doctor gave him a mild shot of morphine, Lukin insisting that the injection not be so strong as to make him drowsy and unable to concentrate. Then the woman basted a foul-smelling green ointment onto his stump to ease the pain, and after dressing the wound she pinned back the sleeve of the fresh tunic an orderly had brought.

The doctor was young and pretty with gentle hands.

She smiled. "You're as good as new, Major. The wound isn't too bad, but you'll need to have a surgeon examine your stump. The morphine and bandage are only a temporary fix. Some of the burned flesh may have to be cut away. You were lucky. You have no other injuries apart from bruising and a large bump on the back of your head. Your skull seems to have suffered no really serious damage but I'd like to take an X-ray, just to be certain."

Lukin winced as the woman examined the back of his skull again.

"Another time, but thank you, Doctor."

The woman sighed and looked up as a man carrying several telephones and a roll of cable brushed past.

"As you wish. I can see you're a busy man. Do you mind telling me what's going on here?"

Lukin didn't reply as he looked at his arm and the foldedback sleeve. The false hand was bad enough but now he really did look like a cripple. He had a spare he kept in his desk, a crude affair with a metal hook on the end which he had first worn some months after he had been wounded, until his stump had healed enough for a proper prosthesis. it would have to wait until he got to Moscow.

Suddenly the door burst open and Romulka appeared, wearing an overcoat slung loosely over his shoulders, a swagger cane in his leather-gloved hand.

"There you are, Lukin. The adjutant told me I'd find you here. Still alive after your mishap, I see." He jerked his thumb ignorantly at the lady doctor and said, "You-get out."

The woman took one look at Romulka's frightening presence in the black uniform, packed up her black bag and scurried out. The other men setting up the equipment in the room took the hint and followed her.

Romulka pulled up a chair and sat. He lit a cigarette and looked around the room.

"They seem to be looking after you, I see. I've spoken with the colonel in charge. A car has been found, I believe." He glanced at Lukin's arm. "Tell me what happened."

Lukin told him. When he had finished, Romulka grinned maliciously. "Not a very promising start, was it, Lukin? You let the couple slip from your grasp. Comrade Beria won't like that." Lukin said shortly, "Why are you here?"

"This case is my responsibility too, or had you forgotten?

I'm here to assist you and ensure your health is sufficient to continue."

"It is. And if you've come to gloat over what happened, I can do without that kind of help."

Romulka stood, towering above Lukin. "Let's cut out the fencing, Lukin. I may be here on Beria's orders but I want you to know I also have a personal interest in this case. The woman especially." He tapped Lukin's chest with his stick. "As soon as she's caught I want to interrogate her, you understand that?"

"In case you've forgotten, I'm in charge. If she's caught alive, I decide who interrogates her."

Romulka's eyes narrowed in an icy stare. "I suggest you don't cross me, Lukin. Life wouldn't be worth living."

Lukin looked at the mess of equipment in the room and nodded toward the door. "I'm busy, Romulka. There's work to be done. Is there anything else you wish to say before you leave?"

Romulka grinned. "Actually there is. Another aspect to the investigation I thought you ought to know about. Unfortunately I won't be remaining in Leningrad. I'm leaving the pursuit in your hands. It is after all your apparent specialty, though I'm hardly inspired by the evidence so far. I have other pressing matters to attend to."

"What matters?"

"In case you failed to realize it, Lukin, it struck me the Americans would need someone in Moscow to help them. Possibly some person or persons to aid their escape once the deed is done, which it won't be if you do your job."

"I didn't fail to realize it. But what of it?"

Romulka removed a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it across.

"What's this?"

"A list of names. Foreigners who, because of important business interests vital to the state, are allowed to come and go in Moscow virtually unchecked."

Lukin examined the list. Almost all were European businessmen, with the exception of two Turkish gold dealers and a Japanese oil buyer. He looked up. "What are you suggesting?"

"One name on the list particularly interests me. A man named Henri Lebel. A French fur dealer."

"I know of him."

"Then perhaps you'll know that during the war he was a member of the Communist Resistance branch in Paris."

"I didn't, but go on."

"The man has considerable liberties in Moscow because of his trading status and monetary contributions to the French Communist Party. But that's about to change."

"What do you intend?"

Romulka smirked. "I've a feeling about Lebel. He isn't due in Moscow for another three days, but we can get around that considering the urgency of this matter."

"How?"

"Our friends in Paris can arrange it. We question him, discreetly. If he knows nothing, we let him go on his way." . "Presumably unharmed? The man is a suspect, not a culprit."

Romulka grinned. "That depends on how cooperative he is. If he's innocent, he has nothing to fear. But there's something to consider that implicates him."

"What?"

"We know he had connections through the resistance to the man named Massey who was involved in organizing the American mission."

Lukin thought for a moment, and nodded. "Very well. But I suggest you proceed with this cautiously. No doubt Lebel has important connections in Moscow and we don't want any embarrassment."

Romulka took the list and slipped it back into his pocket "Whether you agree or not, Lukin, the matter of this Frenchman is my responsibility. It's already been agreed to by Beria Besides, I have a feeling about Lebel. I assure you I won't be proved wrong."

Romulka turned toward the door and glared. "One more thing, Lukin. I meant what I said about the woman. Remember that. Do keep up the good work."

He laughed as he went through the door just as the adjutant came in, almost knocking the man over.

The startled adjutant said to Lukin, "A friend of yours, sir?"

"Hardly. Well, have you any news?"

"Nothing positive from any of the checkpoints. We're scouring the neighborhood where the car was found and alerting block janitors. We've also questioned people living in the area as to whether they saw a couple resembling the one we're looking for, but so far no one saw anything. As for the car, it was brought here ten minutes ago, but there was nothing in it of interest or that could have belonged to the couple. No blood on the seats to suggest you wounded anyone either. Our patrol recovered the body of the pilot in the woods, also the missing colonel. He was buried in a shallow grave nearby. He'd been shot through the head, I'm afraid."

Lukin sighed. "What about the hotels?"

"Most have been checked, and we're working on the others. So far any persons remotely resembling the ones we're looking for have had their identities and backgrounds thoroughly investigated."

"And?"

A smile flickered on the adjutant's face. "All we got was a divisional major sleeping with an adjutant's wife in the Kremski Hotel and a couple of homosexual army officers caught in a compromising position in a flea-ridden hotel near the Finland Station. I could go on, but I won't bore you with such unimportant details."

Lukin ignored the flippant remark and crossed to a map on the wall. The adjutant followed.

""We've also drafted another two thousand men, including army personnel, and done everything you've asked, Major. Field radios were issued and linked to the transmitter we've installed here and another in the exchange in the basement. I've got people standing by the radio and telephones there also. The pins on the map indicate where we've set up checkpoints. Now all we have to do is wait until something turns up," Lukin stared at the wall map for a few moments. "Something wrong, Major?"

Lukin looked back absentmindedly. "Something just occurred to me. The roads you've placed checkpoints on, they're all leading north, south or east of the city."

"That's so, Major."

"But not west toward the Baltic? You're supposing these people won't turn back."

The adjutant half smiled. "If they turn back then maybe you've nothing to worry about."

"The object is to catch them," Lukin said sharply. "We haven't manned the roads to the Baltic. Traffic either way. In or out." Lukin stared at the man, waiting for a reply.

"Of course, but the question of manpower-"

"Arrange it."

The traffic was heavy when they reached the Neva River, and Stanski veered left and took the road out toward Pushkin. He drove slowly, still getting the feel of the powerful BMW, flicking switches on the handlebars to familiarize himself with the machine. When they stopped at traffic lights on Turgenev Square, he spoke over his shoulder to Anna.

"All right back there?"

"Apart from the fact that I'm freezing to death.

Stanski smiled. "Push your body closer to mine. It may help."

"Help you or me? That coat you're wearing smells like it belongs in a pig sty."

Stanski laughed and she held him tighter as the lights turned green. He was about to change into gear when they both heard a whistle blow. A young policeman standing outside a traffic kiosk in the center of the square was staring at them and waving them over.

"Oh my God," said Anna.

"Relax. Let me do the talking."

"Can't we just drive on?"

"Do that and we're asking for trouble."

The traffic policeman blew his whistle again and Stanski nudged through the traffic and drove over. The man scrutinized the BMW as he slapped a black truncheon into the palm of his open hand.

"Just what the hell do you think you're on, comrade?"

"Sorry?"

"A motorbike or a suicide mission?" The man looked at Stanski with narrowed eyes, then tapped his truncheon on the headlamp. "You're driving with no lights on."

Stanski leaned forward to look at the headlight. He must have switched it off when he had been trying to familiarize himself with the machine and forgot to switch it on again. He smiled innocently at the policeman and began to fumble at the handlebars, looking for the switch. When he couldn't find it, the policeman said, "This your machine, comrade?"

"Yes."

"And you don't know where the light switch is?"

Stanski continued feeling for the switch, but the policeman reached over, flicked a knob on the handlebars, and the lights sprang on.

"Well, comrade? What's the matter? Are you dumb as well as blind?"

Stanski tried to look suitably fearful of the man's authority. "Thank you, comrade. I'm sorry. I only bought the machine today. I'm not familiar with the switches."

"If you're not familiar with it, why are you driving the beast? Let me see your papers."

Stanski told Anna to climb down and he propped up the heavy bike and found his papers. A second policeman, a sergeant, came over from the kiosk, curious.

"A problem?"

"This durak here thinks it's OK to drive with no lights."

The sergeant smiled thinly. "A serious offense. But if you want to commit suicide you should do it in your own apartment where you won't hurt anyone. Use gas like everyone else."

The man began to examine the BMW. "Good machine. How did you acquire it, comrade?"

"A friend sold it to me."

"His name?"

"Does it matter, Sergeant?"

"It matters if I ask." The face looked up at Stanski's. "Your friend's name?"

"Grenady Stavinka. From Flushkin."

"And this is . He looked at Anna.

"My wife."

The sergeant looked at Anna. "Your husband, is he always so reckless?"

"It's why I married him. Now I'm beginning to think it was mistake."

The sergeant laughed. He turned to his colleague. "At least the girl's got a brain. Let her man go with a warning this time, Boris. The woman has more sense than he has."

He looked back at Stanski. "Take heed of your wife, comrade, You'll live longer."

"She's a treasure indeed ' little brother."

"She is that. And if you want to keep her alive too, learn to use that light switch."

"I will, comrade, thank you."

"Be off, now."

Stanski climbed onto the machine and Anna followed him. He kicked into gear and the BMW drove away shakily.

The two policemen strolled back to the traffic kiosk in the center of the square and climbed inside.

"Fine ass on that woman, Sergeant."

"He ought to stick with saddling her and forget about the bike."

The policeman sniggered. The telephone rang in the kiosk. the sergeant picked it up and spoke.

"Traffic Kiosk 14, Turgenev Square."

The sergeant listened to the sharp voice at the other e then said finally, "Don't worry, we'll keep our eyes open."

He slowly put down the receiver and stared out at the ring of lights as traffic flowed around the kiosk. The other man looked at him.