Текст книги "Snow Wolf"

Автор книги: Glenn Meade

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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 34 страниц)

A door opened somewhere in the shadows and a man appeared. He was big and brutish, his face a mass of pockmarks and scars, and part of his left ear was missing. Bastien said, "Colonel Romulka, KGB Moscow, meet Henri Lebel. Colonel Romulka here tells me you were due to travel to Moscow in two days' time. He wants to rearrange your travel plans and get you there a little earlier." Lebel said palely, "What's going on here?"

Romulka snapped his fingers and two men appeared from behind the door. They grabbed Lebel and rolled up one of his sleeves and Romulka came forward and jabbed a hypodermic in his arm.

Washington, D.C. February 27th, 8:30 P.M. Rain streaked against the Oval Office French windows and a flash of lightning lit up the black evening sky beyond the Washington Memorial, Eisenhower sighed as he sat down heavily at his desk and looked at the three other men in the room.

"Let me get this straight. You're telling me now it's impossible to stop this thing?"

Allen Dulles, the head of the CIA, sat near the President, Karl Branigan and Jake Massey in front of the walnut desk.

There were dark shadows under the President's eyes, the famous grin nowhere to be seen. The weather outside seemed to match his black mood.

Branigan sat forward in his chair. "I'm afraid it looks bad, Mr. President. As Massey explained, the only way we could get word to Stanski in Moscow was through Lebel. But now Lebel has vanished," Eisenhower said bleakly, "Tell me what happened."

"As you know, sir, Lebel was due to fly to Moscow in two days' time. We had our Paris desk try to contact him but Lebel couldn't be found. His chauffeur claims he was to pick him up from Maxim's club at midnight, Paris time, where Lebel had a business appointment. Our men were waiting for him at the club but Lebel never turned up. But something else did."

"What?"

"Our Paris desk monitored an unscheduled Soviet diplomatic flight leaving from Le Bourget airport with a flight plan for Moscow, not long after Lebel was dropped off on the boulevard Montmartre by his chauffeur. There's a club near the boulevard, the Club Malakoff, used by known French Communist Party members. We also know from our contacts in French counterintelligence that Lebel has been observed occasionally visiting the club. Lebel's chauffeur says his boss took a phone call earlier in the evening and claimed he had a private meeting to attend but didn't say where, only that he wanted to be driven to the boulevard Montmartre.

"But there's something much more worrying to consider. There were several passengers bundled on board the Soviet flight just before takeoff, one of them on a stretcher and accompanied by a doctor. According to the French, the Soviets claimed he was a member of their Paris embassy staff being taken to Moscow for urgent medical treatment. However, from talking with the French authorities who checked the Soviet passenger manifest and getting their descriptions of the people who went on board, we suspect now the man on the stretcher may have been Lebel."

"Jesus.

"Which leads me to believe Moscow has figured out Lebel's connection to Massey and they want to interrogate him."

Eisenhower put a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. "It gets worse by the hour."

"Mr. President, taking Lebel to Moscow would suggest he hasn't already cooperated. But in my opinion, no matter what we had ordered Stanski to do at this stage, I'm convinced he'd ignore our command."

Eisenhower looked up. "Even a direct command from me?"

"Even a direct command from you, Sir, if it were possible to relay one to him."

Eisenhower sighed again and turned in his chair. "Mr. Massey, do you want to say anything?"

Massey looked up. There were dark rings under his eyes and his face looked troubled. He had hardly slept for the last forty-eight hours, the long flight from Helsinki to Washington swiftly followed by a grueling four-hour debriefing by Branigan, the Assistant Director, and Allen Dulles, every detail of the operation gone over. There was a gnawing feeling of doom and a sickness in the pit of his stomach that hadn't left him in all that time. The news about Lebel only added to it, and there was an atmosphere of hopelessness in the room.

He looked over at Eisenhower, who was staring at him. "I don't know what to say, Mr. President."

Eisenhower flushed angrily. "Considering you're partly responsible I think you had better contribute something to this conversation. You've been sitting there for the past ten minutes like a man who's lost his way home. Don't you have any suggestions?"

"if Lebel's been abducted and taken to Moscow, then we've no way of stopping Stanski, short of sending someone in there to reason with him. As for Lebel's abduction there's no answer, unless you consider shooting down the aircraft he's on,"

"Impossible, even if I considered it," Eisenhower answered Sharply. "By now it'll be inside Soviet territory. And in answer to your first suggestion you heard what Branigan said. Stanski would never listen. What's your opinion about this Lebel? Do you think he'll break easily under interrogation?"

"Lebel was in a concentration camp after being caught: and tortured by the Gestapo, so he's been through the ordeal before. He may refuse to talk and deny his involvement, depending on what evidence Moscow has to implicate him. But they must have some, and they must be in a hurry, otherwise why abduct him, especially when he was to arrive there in two days' time?

Or Lebel may just as easily tell Moscow everything. I've no way of knowing."

"But you know the man, right? Give me your honest opinion. Will he talk?"

Massey thought for a moment. "I'd say Lebel will hold out as long as he can. He's no fool, and he'll probably try to deny everything at first. But considering the way the KGB have refined the art of torture, I wouldn't expect that to be for more than a couple of days, maybe a little more."

Alfred Dulles was wiping his glasses when he looked up slowly. "It strikes me that if Lebel can be counted on to hold Out, that gives us time, and maybe a way out of this mess."

"How?" asked Eisenhower.

"We kill Stanski and Khorev. Callous as it sounds, it's about the only solution I can think of."

There was silence in the room. Massey looked over at Dulles and said with feeling, "We're talking about two people risking their lives for us. Two people who had the guts to carry out this operation, and you want to kill them?"

Dulles fixed Massey with a stare. "This isn't a perfect world, Massey. But it's the only solution I can think of.-and maybe the only shot we've got left." He looked back at the President' "Branigan and I have been doing a little homework, trying to figure this thing out."

He plucked a file from the briefcase beside him. "Right now we've got four agents in Moscow. To each we send a brief encoded message usually every four weeks to keep in touch and let them know we haven't forgotten about them. The transmissions are made on regular radio programs on The Voice of America at prearranged times. To any ordinary listener the transmission sounds harmless, but our agents, once they decode a certain passage transmitted at a certain time, have got a message from us."

He leaned over and handed the file to Eisenhower. "These are two agents of ours in Moscow we think could help."

As the President picked it up, Dulles added, "They're freebooters. Former Ukrainian SS. In fact, Massey himself had them parachuted into the Ukraine six weeks ago. They arrived in Moscow a week later."

Eisenhower quickly read the file and replaced it on the desk.

"So what are you proposing?"

"We're due to send a routine message to these men on schedule tomorrow night. But instead we tell them about the man and woman we want located. Massey here has told us about Lebel's ladyffiend whom Stanski is to meet in Moscow. She's got a dacha he's going to use as a safe house. If we can confirm that Stanski and the woman will show up there, wel then, I think you can guess the rest. But I figure we'll need someone in place in Moscow to make sure the plan is carried out. There's no room for error. And it's got to be done fast. Like Massey says, our friend Lebel is eventually going to be made to talk and then the KGB will know about the dacha."

"Is there Any chance Moscow could decode your radio message?"

Dulles shook his head. "Highly unlikely, Mr. President. The message is decoded on one-time pads, and impossible to break.

"There's something vital you're leaving out. How in the hell do we get someone to Moscow?" Dulles said, "We're working on it, Mr. President. Mossad seems the most likely bet. They've got contacts through their Jewish League in Russia and Eastern Europe, and we know they have a number of agents and highly placed informers in Moscow, in the KGB and the Soviet military. If you give us the clearance, we ask Mossad's assistance without divulging our reasons. I think they'll agree. As you know, we've got a formal agreement with them on mutual security matters."

"You really think it could work?" Dulles said, "It's going to be risky and difficult, sir. And it needs to be done with great speed but also with great care. There's no room for error. Me, I think it's a chance we've got to take. But I believe Massey's the one to answer that question. He sent each of these people in."

All faces turned to Massey, and finally Eisenhower said, "Well, Mr. Massey, tell me if it's possible? Can it work?" Massey thought for a moment, then said flatly, "I don't know."

Eisenhower's face turned red. "Answer the goddamned question."

Massey looked over at him, and the President heard the anger in his voice. "Me, I don't want any part of this." Eisenhower flared. "The question I asked was can it work?

And let's not forget why we're here, Massey. You're partly responsible for what's happened. Answer the question."

Massey went to get up angrily and Eisenhower said, "Stay right where you are!"

He looked at Dulles and Branigan. "Take a walk, gentlemen. Leave us."

Dulles and Branigan stood and both of them left the Oval Office.

As Massey sat there, Eisenhower lit a cigarette with shaking hands, still angry, as he stood and walked over to the French windows. He opened them and stepped out onto a porch. There was a rush of cool air and the sound of pelting rain beyond the patio and Eisenhower said over his shoulder, "Step out here, Jake.

Massey went out to the patio. Rain came down in sheets beyond the porch, and as Eisenhower stared out he said, "Have you got family?"

"A son."

"What about your wife?"

"We're divorced."

Eisenhower looked back. "Would you consider yourself a patriot, Jake?"

" Mr. President, I love my country. I wouldn't be doing this job if I didn't. But I can't go along with this. Alex Stanski's a brave man, a man who's doing what no one else would dare do. As for Anna Khorev, she only agreed to go along to get her child back. But she's still a courageous woman, nonetheless. And maybe we've used her. But we can't kill her. It isn't moral and it isn't right."

Eisenhower sighed and flicked his cigarette away. "I want to tell you a story I haven't told to anyone in a long time. When I was a young officer I served in Panama. There was a boy I knew from my home town served with me. A nice redhaired kid, a good pal to get drunk with and always quick with a song. Had a sweetheart back home he was crazy about.

"One night our company got sent into the jungle where some guerrillas had artillery that was giving our battalion hell. Our objective was to silence those guns. Halfway through we got pinned down in the darkness by machine-gun fire. The kid I knew went ahead to silence one of the guns and took a hit in the belly. He crawled back through the jungle toward us with his guts hanging out, screaming his head off for someone to help him. The trouble was, he was giving our position away.

"I was maybe the best rifle shot in the company. My commander ordered me to shoot the kid. I couldn't bring myself to do it, so I fired wide. Someone else tried and failed. Five minutes later the guerrillas stormed our position and killed ten of our men."

There was a look like remorse on Eisenhower's face. "if I had had the guts to shoot that kid, maybe those men wouldn't have died. And there was worse. After we retreated the guns went on firing and decimated our battalion. I let my commander and my fellow men down. I let my country down."

He looked out grimly at the rain. "This ain't no jungle in Panama with the lives of ten men in the balance, or even the lives of a battalion. This is a war we're talking about. Not twenty lives or more at stake, but maybe twenty million. If I learned one thing that night in the jungle it's that you cut your losses when you have to and you take your pain. Hard decisions, sure, but we're talking about hard facts-two lives for a whole lot of others. Including maybe your son's. Because, make no mistake, if we fail to stop this thing there will be a war. If Stanski and the woman are caught alive, Moscow will have evidence and reason enough to start one. A war America's not ready for. A war we can't win. They're six months ahead of us with the hydrogen bomb and Stalin's just itching to use it if he has an excuse to. And with that kind of power he can blow us off the face of the earth."

Massey studied the President's face. There was a hard, determined look in the man's blue eyes and a grimness around his mouth he had never seen before in any of his photographs.

Eisenhower stared back. "The question I asked you was can the plan Dulles suggested work? I'd like your answer to that."

Massey sighed. "Maybe. But it's only an outside chance. Stanski's no fool and he's the best man we ever trained. Killing him won't be easy."

"Then even if there's just a slim chance we've got to take it. There's only one man I can think of who can identify Stanski and the woman and stop them. And that's you. I know you don't want to kill them, but you and I both know why you have to. Don't make the mistake I did all those years ago. Don't save two lives when you may lose millions."

Eisenhower looked into Massey's eyes. "I'm asking you, Jake, don't let your country or me down on this one."

Dzerzhinsky Square, Moscow.

A scream echoed somewhere in the distance and Anna came awake, her body drenched in sweat.

A single lightbulb shone overhead and it almost blinded her.

She was lying on a hard wooden bed in a tiny windowless cell. Water seeped down the shiny granite walls and the place smelled of damp and urine. There was a metal door in the far wall and beyond it she could hear the faint clanking of doors being opened and closed.

She guessed she was in a prison somewhere, but she had no idea where, or if it was day or night, or how she had got there.

One moment it seemed she was being choked by the KGB man and the next she was here. But everything in between was a blur. Where was Stanski?

Was he dead? Alive? In another cell?

The anxiety consumed her. She remembered the scream beyond the cell door. Had she been dreaming or had the scream been real? Perhaps it was Stanski? She felt totally confused and helpless, a terrible fear gnawing in her stomach which made her feel ill.

Her left shoulder was stiff and her mouth felt dry and her body weak. She looked at her shoulder.

A dressing had been applied, the bandage so tightly wrapped that it cut painfully into her flesh. She tried to move her arm and felt a sharp pain stab through her shoulder to the base of her back.

She cried out in agony.

She guessed her shoulder had been dislocated when the KGB major threw himself on top of her in the forest. She remembered the sharp pain when he landed, as if a bone had broken. Then she noticed a small red welt in the soft flesh of her arm where a hypodermic had punctured skin. They had put her to sleep.

As she went to drag her legs over the edge of the bed and sit up she heard the scream again, followed by a tortured cry that rang through the corridor outside.

She shuddered, and the pain stabbed through her again.

Where was she? What was happening? Who was screaming?

She heard the clatter of boots outside, a key being inserted in the lock, then the metal door creaked open on its hinges.

Two men in black KGB uniforms stood there. They crossed to the bed and gripped her roughly by the arms, jerked her up. The pain shot through her shoulder in agonizing waves.

As they dragged her from the cell she blacked out.

When she opened her eyes she was sitting on a chair in a room with black steel bars on the windows.

The room was bare and functional. Green walls and a wooden table and two chairs facing each other. The table was fastened to the floor with steel brackets. The metal door in the far wall had a small grille and a tiny peephole.

She felt sick with fear and she could still feel the waves of pain in her shoulder.

Watery sunlight flooded in through the window. Beyond the glass she heard the sound of engines starting up and moving off, gears crunching, and far off the faint hum of traffic.

She pushed herself painfully from the chair and went to the window.

There was a large cobbled courtyard below. She counted seven floors on the opposite side of the building, and there were bars on all the windows. A dozen or more trucks and cars were parked in one corner of the courtyard, and a half-dozen motorcycles were sheltered in a corrugated shed. Men crossed the courtyard busily, some in civilian clothes and carrying reams of papers, others in black KGB uniforms.

Her heart sank. As she turned away from the window the door opened suddenly.

The KGB man stood there. He wore his black uniform with major's shoulder boards and carried a manila file under his arm, but there was something different about his false hand this time. In place of the leather glove was a metal hook. He locked the door with a key from a chain in his pocket and put the folder on the table.

"How are you feeling?"

The voice was soft, inquiring, and when she didn't reply Lukin removed a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from his tunic pocket and placed them on the table. He pulled up the chair opposite and sat.

"Please, sit down. Cigarette?"

Again Anna didn't reply and Lukin lit a cigarette and glanced at her shoulder. "My fault, I'm afraid. You've got a nasty dislocation a physician had to reset. Nothing's broken but it's going to take a couple of days before the pain goes away." He smiled faintly and tapped his own arm. "Quite a pair of walking wounded, aren't we, Anna?"

Now that she saw him close up the man looked exhausted. There were swollen dark rings under his eyes, the strain and tiredness making him look older.

"Sit down, please."

She sat facing him.

"Even though we've met before perhaps I should introduce myself formally. My name is Major Yuri Lukin. I'm sorry you were hurt. I had hoped it wouldn't come to that. Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?

Water? Some food?"

"I'm not hungry, or thirsty."

"That's impossible. You haven't eaten or drunk anything in almost twelve hours. If you think by accepting my offer it would seem like a sign of weakness, you're being foolish, I assure you." When she didn't reply, Lukin said, "As you wish."

There was another scream from somewhere far away, the sound of a dull crack, as if a human skull was being struck against a wall. Lukin's eyes flicked to the door, a look of distaste on his face. He sighed and stood up. "I know what you're feeling, Anna. Fear. Anxiety. Confusion." He glanced at her shoulder, then back at her face. "Pain is the easist and least part of it. Do you know where you are? Dzerzhinsky Square, Moscow. You passed out when I made you cough up this."

Lukin took the cyanide pill from his breast pocket and held it up. "I managed to stop you crushing it just in time."

She looked at the pill, then turned her face away. "How long have I been here?"

"You were brought in late last night, by military transporter. I'm afraid it's not the most pleasant of places, with a deservedly bad reputation." He paused, and said without humor, "Some call it the First Circle of Hell, and perhaps they're right."

He dropped his cigarette on the floor and crushed it with his shoe, then opened the file on the table and flicked through the pages.

"I've been studying your file. You've had quite a life, Anna Khorev. A lot of pain. A lot of grief. So many tragedies. Your parents' deaths. Your husband's trial." He paused. "Not to mention everything that happened afterwards. And now this."

Anna looked at Lukin in amazement and said suddenly, "How ... how do you know who I am?"

"We've known you were involved in this for a long time. Even before you landed on Soviet soil. You and Stanski both."

Anna started to speak, but she felt so shocked the words wouldn't come.

Lukin said, "Anna, if you help me by telling me everything you know, it will be easier on both of us."

She looked at him steadily. "I have nothing to tell you."

"Anna, there are people here who could make you talk. People who would take pleasure in hurting you. Take pleasure in hearing your screams. Raping you. Torturing you. I am not one of those people. But I've seen their work and it's not pleasant. And if you don't talk to me, they will make you talk, please believe that." Anna didn't reply. Lukin said, "I know Stanski came to kill Stalin."

She looked up at Lukin suddenly, her face deathly white. Lukin continued to look at her. "I believe you were simply used by the Americans to help him get to Moscow, to pretend to be his wife and hence avoid arousing suspicion. But Stanski's mission has already failed. Last night he escaped, but he can't have gone far. And most certainly one of our patrols will hunt him down and find him. In the meantime, you may as well help me by telling me all you know. Who your contacts were when you landed in Estonia. Who were meant to be your contacts in Moscow and en route. I want to know how you were trained and by whom. And everything you can tell me of Stanski's plan to kill Stalin. Help me answer those questions and I will do my best to help you in return."

For a long time she stared at Lukin, the enormity of what he had said still ringing in her ears. "I know Stanski came to kill Stalin." Lukin said, "I can help you by pleading for mercy when your case comes to trial."

There was a look of resignation on her face and she didn't reply.

He said quietly, "Anna, you're either being very brave or very obstinate, but I have a job to do. To find Alex Stanski dead or alive and arrest whoever else is involved in this mission."

He picked up the folder and put it under his arm. "I'm going to give you a little time to reconsider. For your sake I hope you will talk to me, rather than the others. I really don't want to see you hurt any more than you have been."

He picked up the cigarettes and lighter from the table. As he stood there a moment Anna looked up at him. There was something in the soft brown eyes which seemed to suggest compassion, the way he looked at her and called her by her first name, but she dismissed the thought from her mind.

He crossed the room and unlocked the door. As she went to step out, he looked back at her.

"I'll have some food and water sent to you. We've a lot to talk about and you'll need to keep up your strength." He paused. "May I ask you a personal question, Anna?"

"What?"

"Are you in love with Stanski?"

She didn't answer.

Lukin stared at her for a moment, then the door clanged shut.

Only when she heard his footsteps fade beyond the door did she bury her face in her hands.

There was a message on the desk to call Beria's Kremlin office rgently. Lukin ignored the message and pushed it aside.

He had sent a report that morning. No doubt Beria would have some sharp comments on how he had allowed the Wolf to escape, but right now he felt too exhausted to worry about it.

The pain in his stump came and went in short, savage bursts. He looked at his hand; the primitive metal hook would have to do for now. He picked up the telephone and dialed the operations room. Pasha Kokunko answered.

"How did the interrogation go?" The Mongolian sounded tired. He had been up all night manning the telephones and communications equipment in the operations room.

"Not too good. Can you come over here, Pasha?"

"I'm on my way."

Lukin put the receiver down. He rubbed his eyes and felt the tiredness take hold, flooding his body. The woman had been unconscious in the military transporter to Moscow, despite the llyushin aircraft's buffeting in bad weather, out cold from the sedative she had been given. But he had slept for less than ten hours in almost three days. He felt exhausted, the words in the file a blur now. There was a cup of steaming coffee on the desk and he picked it up, sipped and swallowed.

The woman's capture had been a small victory, but really the whole business had been a defeat. The Wolf had escaped. And Lukin didn't like the look he had seen on her face when he questioned her. He knew from experience the kind who talked under interrogation and she wasn't one of them. There was a firm resignation in her face that was almost a death wish.

She was afraid, of course, but everyone imprisoned in the Lubyanka was afraid. He sensed that if he tried to cajole her into talking it wouldn't work. He decided the best approach with a woman like her was honesty. There was another way that might make her talk and he shuddered thinking about it.

But he had to find the Wolf.

Where was he? Out there somewhere. But where? An order had gone out to army, militia, and KGB commanders within a two-hundred-kilometer radius of the forest to mount patrols and checkpoints in case he had evaded the dragnet. But so far nothing had turned up, despite a search lasting through the night. If the Wolf had escaped and was headed toward Moscow, it made Lukin's job more difficult. There were so many places a man could hide in a densely populated city.

As he sat there, he again thought about the two missing pagi in the Wolf's file. Why had Beria not allowed him to see then What was in there that could be so secret? Something occurred to him. It was well known in Dzerzhinsky Square that He secretly despised Stalin, and ultimately wanted to succeed hit If the Wolf achieved his goal, that might play into Beria's hands. Perhaps he really wanted to impede Lukin's efforts? there was some clue in the missing pages which might be Lukin, then it was a dangerous game he was caught up in. The simplest way was to ask Beria for the pages and see what happened, but even that might be courting trouble.

The door opened and Pasha entered. His uniform was crumpled and his eyes bloodshot.

Lukin said, "You look like you've been sleeping in a ditch.

Pasha rubbed his neck and grinned. "No, just one of those bunks divisional stores stuck us with-a ditch would probably be more comfortable."

"Any more word from the patrols and checkpoints?"

"They still haven't found him. But something has to turn up soon-he can't have vanished off the face of the earth. So the woman didn't talk?"

"Not yet. I want you to arrange something for me." He wrote a phone number on a slip of paper, handed it across, at explained to Pasha what he wanted him to do. Pasha looked unhappy. "You're sure about this, Yuri?"

"I'm afraid so. Beria wants to see me, and he's going to want results fast."

Pasha shrugged and left. The telephone rang and Lukin picked it up.

"Lukin."

"Yuri?" Nadia's voice. "Is everything all right?"

Right now Lukin felt he wanted to lie in his wife's arms at sleep, drain the exhaustion from his body. He had been awake three days. Three days that seemed like hours to him, but must have seemed like weeks to Nadia because he hadn't contacted her.

"Yes, everything's fine, my love."

"I called yesterday. They wouldn't tell me anything. Whel you were or when you'd be coming home."

"The case I'm working on, it's taking longer than I thought How are you?"

"Missing you. Come home tonight for dinner. I know y(

when you're like this. You get so involved. Please, Yuri. It'll help you relax."

"I can't say, Nadia. You'd better not expect me."

The line was silent for a long time. "I love you, Yuri."

"I love you too."

Then it clicked dead.

It was almost two o'clock when Lukin drove through the main gates of the Kremlin and parked in the Armory courtyard.

Five minutes later he was ushered into Beria's sumptuous office on the third floor by a Guards captain. There were silk tapestries on the walls and Bolchara rugs scattered on the floor and the furniture was expensive Finnish oak. Beria sat behind his desk and he looked up from some papers as Lukin entered.

"Major, sit down."

Lukin pulled back a chair.

Beria looked over. "I believe congratulations of a sort are in order."

"Thank you, comrade."

Beria reached over to a cigar box on the desk and selected one. He frowned. "But you let the man slip from your grasp. Not good at all. You disappoint me, Lukin. Has the woman talked?"

"Not yet, comrade."

Beria's eyebrows rose as he lit the cigar. "But you interrogated her?"

"This morning."

"Considering the seriousness of the matter I thought even some slight progress would have been made by now. In the old days we used to be able to break women within hours. They're much more susceptible to torture, especially the threat of rape."

Lukin suppressed an urge to look away in disgust. "It will take a little time. She was injured, as my report explains-"

"I read the report," Beria interrupted sharply. "You failed to capture the American not once, not twice, but three times. I expected more from you, Lukin."

"I can assure you I'll find him, Comrade Beria."

"To do that you must have some idea where he is. Do you?"

Lukin hesitated. "I believe he's still in the forest area, hiding out. In that kind of weather and terrain he can't have gone far. There are over a thousand men searching the area as we speak. I've also alerted regional KGB commanders and requested roadblocks be set up on all major and minor roads in the area.