Текст книги "Snow Wolf"

Автор книги: Glenn Meade

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"A problem, Sergeant?"

The sergeant's face looked a little pale as he scratched his chin. "I'm not sure. That was the central exchange. KGB Headquarters want us to keep a lookout for a man and a woman. The description could have been those two on the BMW."

"Did they say why they wanted them?"

"The man is armed and dangerous. An enemy agent. The woman's Russian, probably traveling as his wife. It's imperative they be stopped and arrested. They've already killed an army officer."

The other man gave a low whistle. "You think it was that idiot on the bike?"

"Unlikely. That fucker wouldn't know his ass from his elbow. I've seen the type before. Fourteen years in this game and you get to read faces, Boris. That durak wasn't a killer. Even my missus looks a lot more dangerous after she's had her quart of vodka."

"Still, they could have been the couple. Maybe I should report it?"

The sergeant looked over at his colleague as if he were a complete idiot.

"And have those guys from Central crawling up our asses asking all sorts of questions?" The sergeant shook his head. "Besides, according to the exchange, half the fucking army, the KGB and the militia are out looking for them. Every road around the city has been sealed off. Rest assured, they won't get far, wherever they are."

Baltic Highway, Leningrad.

As they came around a bend on the Baltic Highway, Stanski saw the string of red taillights up ahead. He pulled to the side of the road and doused the headlight. Alarmed, Anna said, "What's wrong?"

"Take a look."

As cars swished past, Anna peered over Stanski's shoulder. She could see several army and militia vehicles blocking the highway a hundred meters ahead, a traffic tailback of rear lights glowing in the darkness. Men in uniforms milled around, checking drivers' papers and climbing into trucks and cars. Traffic coming from the opposite direction looked like it was receiving the same scrutiny.

Stanski said, "Whenever I get suspicious, I get a headache. And right now I've got a blinder. I'll bet you a ruble it's us they're after."

"What can we do?"

"There was a minor road a couple of kilometers back. Let's try our chances there."

He kicked the machine into gear and swung around. He left the lights off until they had gone a couple of hundred meters, and when they reached the minor road on the right he turned into it. The country road was covered in patches of slush and Anna held on to him tightly as the freezing rush of air slashed at their faces.

They had driven another five kilometers when Stanski came around a sharp bend and they suddenly saw the blaze of lights up ahead. It was too late.

Two covered jeeps stood in their path. An army sergeant with a Kalashnikov and a militiaman wielding a rifle stood next to one of the jeeps, another young militiaman sitting in the front seat, manning a portable radio, his rifle resting across his knees.

The officer in charge stood nearby, casually smoking a cigarette.

Stanski felt Anna's arms tighten around his waist. He slowed the machine as the officer, a lieutenant, raised his hand for them to stop.

Stanski brought the BMW to a halt but kept the engine running.

The lieutenant came forward and said loudly, "Douse that light and switch off the engine."

Stanski did as he was told. The lieutenant flashed a light in their faces.

"Well, what have we got here? Two lovers out for a ride in the country?"

The men and the sergeant laughed. Stanski tried to assess the situation. Of the four men, the sergeant and the lieutenant looked capable enough, big and strong, their necks wider than their foreheads. But the two militiamen were barely out of their teens and they fingered their rifles nervously.

The officer tossed his cigarette away and stared at them suspiciously.

Stanski said calmly, "What's the problem, comrade? You frightened the hell out of us. I could have plowed into those jeeps of yours."

The lieutenant looked at the motorcycle, then Anna.

He said to Stanski, "Papers, both of YOU."

Stanski handed over his papers and Anna did the same. The lieutenant flashed the light from the papers to their faces. He didn't hand them back but said, "Your destination?"

"Novgorod," replied Stanski.

"That's a long drive on a cold night like this. Your purpose?"

Stanski jerked a thumb back at Anna. "My wife's mother is unwell. They don't think the old woman is going to make it through the night. You know how it is, Lieutenant. My wife needs to see her before it's too late."

"Where have you come from?"

"Leningrad. What the hell's going on tonight? This is the second time we've been stopped on this road."

The lieutenant hesitated. Stanski's reply seemed to ease his tension, then he slowly handed back the papers. "We're looking for two enemy agents. A man and a woman. They killed an KGB officer."

Stanski whistled and looked suitably worried. "Will the road be all right from here on? I mean, I hope we're not in any danger, comrade? My wife is distressed enough."

The officer smiled. "I doubt you'll be bothered. But if YOU do see anyone acting suspiciously, inform the nearest militia You may proceed."

"We'll do that, comrade." He glanced back at Anna, "Come, let's do as the lieutenant says."

They mounted the BMW, but then the lieutenant said softly. "One moment."

He stepped closer and shone the flashlight again in Stanski's face. Then Anna's. The light lingered on her.

He said suspiciously, "Where was the last checkpoint where you and your husband were stopped?"

The question seemed to hang in the air like a threat. When Anna hesitated, she felt Stanski's body stiffen under her arms. She noticed the two militiamen finger their rifles, taking up the cue from the sergeant, who was readying his Kalashnikov.

The lieutenant continued to stare at Anna. "I asked you a question' "

"Three kilometers back. There was a car and two militiamen."

The officer's eyebrows rose. "We drove that way not half an hour ago. There wasn't a checkpoint." He turned smartly to the young militiaman manning the radio in the jeep and called out, "Kashinsky, call up central exchange. Ask them if they have a checkpoint where the woman says."

The militiaman picked up the radio hand-mike and began to talk into it.

Stanski said to the lieutenant, "Look, comrade, my wife is upset enough ..."

"Relax, it won't take long. If there's a checkpoint back on the road then we're wasting our time hanging around here."

The militiaman in the jeep was talking away on the radio but Stanski couldn't hear the words, just a babble of static and crackle.

Finally the militiaman in the jeep climbed out with his rifle, a look of alarm on his face, beginning to speak before he reached the lieutenant.

"The bitch is lying! There's no checkpoint on that part of the road! "

It happened quickly. As the officer went for his pistol and the other men raised their weapons, Stanski flicked the switch on the handlebar and the headlight blazed into the darkness, blinding the men for an instant.

He wrenched the Tokarev from his coat and shot the officer in the chest, then fired twice at the sergeant, hitting him in the throat and face and punching him back.

He fired two quick shots at the two young militiamen as they scurried for cover behind the jeep, then he screamed back at Anna, "Hold on tight!"

He kicked the starter and the BMW revved wildly and roared forward, the front wheel lifting with the sudden burst of power, before he tore between a narrow gap in the jeeps.

Lukin was sitting at a table in the staff canteen eating a plateful of cabbage and pickled beef and potatoes, but despite his hunger he was barely tasting the food. A dozen or so officers and men sat around, eating and smoking during their break.

He had hardly taken a couple of mouthfuls when the adjutant burst in through the swinging doors. Lukin put down his fork and wiped his mouth as the adjutant strode over, carrying a map.

"Some news just in. A militia mobile patrol stopped a man and woman on a BMW motorcycle who resembled the ones we're looking for. It happened on a minor road west of Pushkin, near the Baltic Highway, about three minutes ago. When the couple were challenged, the man produced a gun and killed a lieutenant and a sergeant. the other two militiamen managed to raise the alarm. Right now they're pursuing the culprits in a jeep."

Lukin jumped to his feet and grabbed the map and spread it on the table. "Show me where."

The adjutant pointed to a spot on the map. "Here. About thirty kilometers away. By fast car, maybe half an hour if the roads are not bad. But it's going to be difficult to catch up with a motorbike, and they've got a head start. I've told the exchange the details and ordered six other patrols in the area to be alerted. Several are moving to surround the region right now. Maybe if we can fence them in we've got a chance. Make them go around in decreasing circles until we've cornered them like rats." Lukin grabbed the map and his pistol and holster and said, "Get my car. You have two motorcycle outriders ready?"

"Ready and waiting in the basement garage, along with your driver ..."

Lukin was already moving toward the door like a man possessed, shouting back over his shoulder at the adjutant. "You man the radios here. I want to be kept in touch at all times!"

Stanski was sweating as Anna clung to him and the BMW roared along the dark, narrow country road.

He was doing sixty kilometers an hour, taking corners as fast as he dared, skidding dangerously each time he tore around bends.

Anna shouted, "Slow down or you'll kill us both!"

"Those two militia are going to radio in what happened," Stanski roared back. "We have to get away from here fast."

At the next bend he didn't heed her warning, and as the motorbike rounded the sharp curve he felt the wheels start to go from under him and suddenly the bike skidded on a patch of slush. There was a screech of rubber and they careened across the road into a ditch, Stanski ending up on top of the revving motorbike, Anna flung off and landing in some bushes.

Stanski swore and struggled free, the engine still running. "Damn!" He switched off the engine and went to help her.

"Are you all right?"

She took his outstretched hand and he pulled her out of the ditch. "I ... I think so ... I don't know." The BMW's headlight was still working and Stanski saw that there was a deep cut on her forehead. Her clothes were covered in slush and bramble, and her hands were scratched. He wiped her face with her headscarf and then tied it around her bloodied forehead.

"It'll have to do for now, I'm afraid."

"What about the motorbike?"

"I'll have a look."

As he went to retrieve the bike he looked back and saw a blaze of headlights approaching at speed behind them on the road.

"The militia must have followed us or alerted another patrol."

He quickly righted the BMW and checked it as best he could. There didn't appear to be any real damage but the front wheel was tangled with grass and bramble.

He went to work frantically, tearing it away, and then he mounted the machine and kicked the starter arm. The engine made a sputtering sound and died. "Christ ... !"

"Try it again!"

He did. It sounded the same. They both looked back. The headlights were coming closer, moving rapidly. Stanski took out his pistol and handed it to Anna.

"if they get close enough, try to shoot out their headlights."

He tried to start the BMW once more but the engine died again.

"Damn it to hell!"

Suddenly Anna pointed and cried, "Look!"

Coming in the other direction along the road Stanski saw a convoy of lights, perhaps three vehicles in all, maybe a kilometer away or less. He turned back frantically, sweat on his face.

Across the road up ahead, twenty meters away, was a gate leading into a field covered in snow. It led down a long slope into darkness.

He pointed to the gate and shouted to Anna, "Open it!"

,,What?"

"The gate-open it–quickly Anna ran across the road and went to push the gate open. It refused to budge. She tried again. It was stuck hard.

Stanski ran over to her and kicked at the gate, hammering at it madly until it burst open. He said to her, "Stay there!"

He ran back to the BMW, climbed on, and with all his weight kicked the starter arm with terrific force and the engine thundered at last.

The convoy was almost on top of them but at that moment they heard the roar of an engine from the other direction, as a covered jeep came around the corner at speed, skidding to a halt.

Stanski drove toward Anna at the gate as they were both caught in the sudden glare of the jeep's headlights. Suddenly from both directions there were blasts of gunfire, bullets kicking up snow and stitching across the road, as voices barked orders and vehicles screeched to a halt, men jumping out of cars and trucks.

Stanski grabbed Anna's arm and pulled her onto the bike, revved the engine, and they tore through the open gate into the field and down the slope, as bursts of rifle and machine-gun fire crackled behind them.

Lukin's heart was pounding.

The wail of the siren screamed into the night as the Zil ate up the road, the driver working hard to keep the big car from skidding.

They had already covered thirty kilometers in twenty minutes, the two militia motorbike riders in helmets and goggles on either side of the car racing ahead every now and then to clear traffic in the way. As they sped through a country village the radio crackled and Lukin picked up the hand mike.

"Lukin."

The adjutant's voice came back. "Base here, sir. We ran into them again. The same country road six kilometers east."

"What happened?" Lukin said urgently.

"They're still on the motorbike. When the patrols caught up with them they drove into a field and disappeared."

"Don't lose them!" Lukin roared into the mike. "Cut them off! Cut them off!"

"We're doing that, sir. The patrols have gone after them on foot. According to one of the militia, the field runs down to a valley and a stretch of forest. Four minor dirt roads leading in and out. I'm having them all covered as we speak."

"Whatever you do, don't let them escape! I'm on my way." Lukin dropped the mike and said to the driver, "You heard him. The same road. And keep your foot down. We haven't got all day"'

The BMW roared down the slope and when they came to the bottom Stanski braked. There was a narrow frozen stream, a dark forest beyond it.

Anna looked back over her shoulder and saw lights. Figures were running down the incline after them, bullets cracking into the trees on either side.

Stanski shouted back ' "Hold on as tight as you can. This is where it's going to get rough."

Once across the frozen stream the headlight illuminated a rugged track through cavernous woods.

The tires crunched and bumped over the track, the smell of pine in the forest almost overwhelming. Minutes later they cut out onto a broader, heavily rutted road that had obviously been used by forestry vehicles. There were banks of freshly felled trees stacked nearby and Stanski said to Anna, "Have we been followed?"

"I haven't seen anyone. Not since we left the field."

He stopped the bike and pulled up his goggles, his face covered in dirt.

"Give me the map."

Anna removed it from her blouse and Stanski lit a match and tried to read it in the spluttering light.

"Where are we?"

"A place called Bear Valley Forest, by the looks of it. But how we get out of it, God only knows. There are no roads marked on the map."

Stanski looked around at her face. It was pale and frozen and he could see the terrible strain and fear. "Anna, if we get into trouble, keep your pill ready, you understand?"

"I thought we were in trouble already."

He smiled grimly. "Then let's hope it doesn't get any worse. OK, let's see if we can find a way out of here."

He revved the throttle and turned right onto the forest road.

Lukin's car halted and he saw the headlights and activity up ahead, half a dozen vehicles cramming the narrow road, uniformed men milling about.

He climbed out of the car and ran up to a captain who looked in charge.

He flashed his ID. "Major Lukin, KGB Moscow. I authorized this pursuit. What's going on here?"

The captain saluted. "They got away, sir. The crazy bastards drove into a forest down below. I've sent a dozen men down after them but we haven't got suitable transport to pursue."

Lukin noticed that a gate into a field was open, a single tire mark cutting down the starched white field. He saw figures at the bottom of the slope with flashlights. Loud voices reached him from the darkness below.

He turned back to the captain urgently. "Get on your radio and make sure all roads leading out of there are blocked off. I want every available man ringing those woods. Do it, man!"

"It's already been done, sir ..."

"Then get on the radio again and make sure it is. I'm holding you personally responsible. And inform any patrols going into the area I'm on my way down." Lukin looked around frantically, already knowing what he had to do. He saw a sergeant with a Kalashnikov and said to the captain, "I want that man's weapon."

"Sir?"

"The Kalashnikov, bring it here."

As the captain scurried over to the sergeant, Lukin ran back to the two motorcycle riders who had dismounted. He grabbed one of the machines, climbed on and kicked it into life.

As the startled rider began to protest, Lukin roared, "Out of my way!"

He drove over to the captain, grabbed the Kalashnikov from him and slung it around his neck.

The captain looked at Lukin doubtfully as he sat on the machine with only one good hand, and stepped in front of the motorbike. "Sir, it might be better if you waited. Going after those two alone is only begging for trouble. Besides-"

"Besides what? I'm a cripple? The advantage of one good arm, Captain, is that it soon gains the strength of two. Out of my way."

The machine roared and the captain jumped back just as Lukin drove across the road, through the gate and down the slope.

Stanski was lost.

The forest was a maze of narrow paths and in the darkness it was impossible to guess which led where. There were no signposts and more than once he had to stop to check the map and the compass.

Sweat dripped down his face and every time he glanced back at Anna he saw the raw fear in her eyes.

Suddenly the road widened and a wooden sign before a bend up ahead said "Caution-Exit to Kolimka Road. Traffic ahead."

As he came around the bend he squeezed hard on the brakes and skidded to a halt.

Half a dozen jeeps and trucks and a line of soldiers and militiamen stood across the road, waiting silently in the darkness, readying their weapons.

A voice called out, "Halt! Dismount and throw down your weapons! "

Stanski revved and frantically spun the BMW around.

There was a terrible volley of fire which exploded through the forest, lead zinging through the air and cracking all around them, as Stanski tore back the way they had come.

It was almost impossible.

Lukin had to use his feet for balance, finding it hard to control the machine with one hand.

He halted on the bumpy lane that led through the woods, his good arm aching from the effort of gripping the handlebar, sweat pumping from every pore.

He had followed the tire marks through the forest but now he switched off the engine, listening for noises in the woods or the sound of an engine, but all he heard was his own heart thumping in his ears.

And then A thunderous volley of gunfire erupted somewhere close and his heart skipped.

He started the motorbike again and drove toward the noise. He had gone only another fifty meters when he cut out onto a broader road.

He saw the single headlight flashing through the trees off to the right, coming toward him, and his heart almost stopped.

He pulled back in off the road and cocked the Kalashnikov slung around his neck.

The BMW roared past and he saw the man and woman. He shifted into gear and drove after them.

He was twenty meters behind the BMW when the woman looked back. Lukin saw her face in the beam from his headlight, her mouth open in a terrible look of fear and surprise.

And then she was turning, thumping the man's shoulder and screaming to warn him.

The man glanced around briefly, his face masked by his helmet and goggles.

The BMW suddenly picked up speed, racing dangerously fast over the forest path.

Lukin found it almost impossible to keep control of the motorbike, his feet skimming over the ground for balance. If he could only aim the Kalashnikov at the rear tire he stood a chance of slowing them, but it was impossible with one hand and he could barely manage to keep up speed as it was.

The man and woman were racing ahead of him now.

As the BMW rounded a corner in the forest, suddenly Lukin saw a bank of headlights, army trucks and jeeps straddling the road a hundred meters ahead, as another roadblock obstructed the way.

The BMW slowed and swung a hard right to avoid it, roaring up a bank leading into trees, Lukin realized that Stanski was trying to cut around the patrol.

The BMW shot up the bank and Lukin went after it.

He had gone hardly a couple of meters up when the machine wobbled beneath him, snaked violently, and he came off and landed hard.

He saw the BMW put on a burst of power and growl up the rise, but just before it reached the top it suddenly seemed to stall, bucking like a horse unwilling to jump the final fence.

The woman was thrown off, hit the earth hard, and rolled back down.

Lukin stumbled to his feet and raced toward her.

Up on the top of the rise he saw the driver fighting hard to control the machine, until it nosed down and the tires gripped and then it was safely at the top. Lukin saw the driver look back down in horror as the woman's body rolled to a halt at the bottom of the bank.

There was a moment of indecision, then a scream of despair. "Anna ... !"

Lukin gripped the Kalashnikov and fired wildly, the volley showering the woods with splinters, but the man turned and sped away into darkness.

Soldiers from the trucks ran forward, firing into the woods and climbing the rise after the BMW.

Lukin tossed away the Kalashnikov and lunged at the woman, just as she was trying to put something into her mouth, and as he landed on her hard she cried out in pain. He shoved his fingers into her throat.

February 27th-March 2nd 1953

Paris.

It was just before ten that same evening when the sleek black Citron pulled up on the boulevard Montmartre and Heiuile bel climbed out.

It was pouring rain, and as the chauffeur handed him an umbrella Lebel said, "You can go, Charles. Pick me up from Maxim's at midnight."

"Very good, sir."

Lebel stood watching as the Citroin disappeared into the sheeting rain before he crossed the boulevard and turned down a narrow street and came to a littered alleyway. A cat scurried past him out of the shadows, and when Lebel reached the end of the filthy lane he came to a blue-painted door on the right.

A flood lit sign above it said "Club Malakoff. Members only."

Lebel knocked on the door. A grille opened and a man's unshaven face appeared.

"Oui?"

"M. Clichy. I'm expected."

There was a rattle of bolts and the man opened the door and peered out into the rain-soaked alleyway before admitting his visitor.

Lebel went down a winding metal staircase to a picked, smoky room, the tables occupied by tough-looking working men drinking glasses of beer and cheap wine. An elderly man wearing an apron and polishing glasses behind a zinc bar smiled when he saw Lebel, then came over and said, "This way, monsieur, follow me."

Lebel followed him through some curtains behind the bar up a narrow flight of stairs to a door at the end of a shabby hall way.

The old man knocked and a voice said, "Come in if you're good-looking."

"It's Claude. Your visitor has arrived," the man said, and opened the door.

Lebel stepped into a tiny smoky room with a single lightbulb dangling low in the center, the rest or the room in shadows, an ancient scratched mirror covering one wall. A man in his middle thirties sat at a table in the center of the room, a bottle of pastis and two glasses in front of him. He was small, wiry, and had a hunched back. His two front teeth were missing, and the shabby black suit he wore was flecked with cigarette ash.

As he lit a Gauloise he winked to the barman. "Leave us, Claude.

When the door closed the man at the table gestured to a chair in front. "Henri, my old flower, always good to see you."

Lebel sat opposite and removed a pair of exquisite hide gloves. "Unfortunately, Bastien, I wish I could say the same."

"As always, the diplomat. Take a seat. Drink?"

"You know I only drink champagne. Anything less upsets my stomach."

Bastien gunned. "Tough. All I've got is cheap pastis. Not even the Chairman of the Party can afford the finer things in life, Henri."

"Then I'll decline.

Bastien shrugged and poured a drink for himself. He looked over at Lebel, who wore an expensive suit and silk tie with diamond pin, the collar of his beautifully tailored camel-haired overcoat trimmed with sable.

Bastien smiled, his missing incisors leaving a black gaping hole in his mouth. "You're looking well as usual, Henri. Business good?"

"I presume you didn't ask me here to discuss such a repulsive subject as my money-making? So perhaps you'd get to the point. What is it this time? Another contribution to the Party?"

Pierre Bastien stood up. Lebel always considered that the man wouldn't have looked out of place swinging in the bell tower of N6tre-Dame. Unkind, perhaps, but the man before him was a particularly nasty piece of work behind the simulated bonhomie.

"Actually, just a friendly talk, Lebel, and there's no need to get snotty, comrade."

"I'm not your comrade."

"Fighting the Germans together for two years counts to nothing, I take it?"

"Let's get the facts right as to who did the fighting. YOU like to tell people the Gestapo knocked out your teeth and injured your back when we both know it was really your former wife who did it. She pushed you down a flight of stairs as repayment for leaving her and your children alone to face the Gestapo who raided your home. Naughty, Bastien, especially since some of us had to endure real hardship and torture, while you sneaked from one safe house to another and never fired a shot at the Germans until the Allies had safely secured Paris.

Still, it got you the Croix de Guerre from De Gaulle. An(] you really ought to get something done about those missing teeth of yours. For too long you've been wearing that gap in your mouth like a badge of honor."

A look of contempt twisted Bastien's face. "Don't belittle me, Lebel. I did as much as any man. Besides, it was important I wasn't captured, for the sake of the Party, to continue the struggle after the war."

"Indeed. And remember this is the same scum who contributed so generously to your cause. Get to the point. I've a dinner appointment at Maxim's."

"No doubt with some tarry model?" Bastien said with a sneer.

Lebel sighed. "Envy will get you nowhere. Existing in the hell of a concentration camp with death hanging over me taught me two things. One, you can rely only on yourself, and two, enjoy life when you can. I do both every day and my private life is none of your concern. So, what do you want to talk about?"

Bastien grinned maliciously. "A sensitive matter. That's why I asked you here in person. You took the usual precautions?"

"Naturally. From the look on your face I can only conclude you have some unpleasant news to impart?"

Bastien finished his drink and slapped his glass on the table.

"A man named Jake Massey. Do you know him?"

Lebel looked up a little unsteadily, thrown by the question, and tried hard not to sho@% his alarm.

"What's this got to do with?"

"I asked a simple question. Do you know him?"

Lebel sighed and idly glanced at his watch so as not to betray his unease. "Look, Bastien, can we get to the point."

"That is the point. Do you know this Massey?"

"The name sounds familiar. He was an American OSS officer working with the resistance during the war. Why?"

"Have you seen him recently?"

Lebel saw that Bastien had a slight grin on his face, which was always dangerous. He decided to tell the truth.

"Actually, yes. He was in Paris recently and called at my suite to say hello. But what's this got to do with? Are you checking up on my social calendar, Bastien?"

"So, just a friendly visit, was it, Henri?"

"Of course. Look, what's the point of all this? I told you, I've got an appointment. I "What did Massey want to see you about?"

"Nothing in particular. I told you, he called to say hello and talk about old times. I asked him to join me for dinner, but he said he had another engagement."

"That's it?"

"That's it. Now, Bastien, unless there's anything else As Lebel went to rise, Bastien's hand fell on his shoulder. "Sit down. I'm not finished yet. Some important people have been asking questions about you."

"Who?"

"None of your business. But because we're old resistance comrades I asked you here to pass on a warning. The last thing I'd like to see happen is for you to get hurt. Then where would we be? Your contributions to us are quite generous, Henri."

Lebel shrugged. "I do what I can. But hurt how, by whom?

What kind of warning?"

"To be careful about the people you meet. And you can cut out the shit. You contribute because you have to. Because it ensures Moscow looks favorably on you and your business."

"You haven't answered my questions. How might I be hurt?

And by whom? For what reason?"

"It's best not to ask. But do yourself a favor. Next time Massey contacts you, tell me. He was OSS. Now he's CIA. Your private life may be no concern of mine but it is to Moscow. You get mixed up with someone like that, people may get the wrong impression."

Lebel pretended alarm. "Massey CIA? I had no idea.. "Well you do now. OK?"

Lebel nodded. "If you say so. "I do." Lebel said, "Is that it?"

Bastien nodded. "That's it. Just remember what I said." As Lebel stood, Bastien grinned slyly and said, "By the way, there's someone I'd like you to meet," He turned toward the mirror. "You can come in now, Colonel."