Текст книги "Snow Wolf"

Автор книги: Glenn Meade

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All public and private transport will be searched. It's only a matter of time before the Wolf turns up, dead or alive."

"I hope that's so, Lukin. For your sake." Beria fingered a pen on his desk, the slim fingers playing with it a moment, then he said, "But so far you haven't exactly inspired confidence. Perhaps I should interrogate the woman myself? I think it's time to take off the gloves, don't you? A little violence to soften her. I know you think it's easier to catch flies with honey than vinegar, but you see, we old hands do have a way in these matters."

Lukin looked at him. He could see the gleam in Beria's eye as a grin played on his face. The images Lukin had seen on the screen flashed before his mind and he felt sick.

"With respect, I don't believe simple torture is going to work in her case. I don't believe she'll respond to it. I need just a little time to gain her trust and confidence. The best way to do that is to deal with her alone. Just me and her.

"But will she talk then?"

"I believe so."

Beria toyed with his pen, as if trying to decide. He sighed. "Very well. We play it your way for now. I'll give you forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours to make her talk and to find the man. After that, if you haven't succeeded, you hand her over to me and Romulka will deal with her and take over the case. You're dismissed. That is all."

When Lukin hesitated, Beria stared at him. "What's the matter, Lukin? Is there something on your mind?"

"I have a request to make."

"And what request is that?"

"I couldn't fail to notice there were two pages missing from the Wolf's file. I'm certain Comrade Beria had good reason not to include those pages in my copy. However, it strikes me that all information concerning the Wolf should be made available to me. It may help me apprehend him."

Beria half smiled. "You're quite right about the pages, Lukin. But you already had the chance to catch the Wolf and failed, three times, without the supposed benefit of the pages you speak of. But believe me, you have all the information relevant to your mission. Your request is denied. You may leave."

Lukin stood and walked to the door.

"Lukin ..."

He turned back. The black piggish eyes stared at him.

' "I believe you and Romulka had a slight disagreement yesterday. Try to remember, you're working together, not as adversaries. See that it doesn't happen again. And something else you should know about. Romulka is bringing the Frenchman, Lebel, to Moscow, arriving this afternoon. I think it best that Romulka deal with him alone. He's much more experienced in these matters." He paused and puffed on his cigar. "Forty-eight hours. Not a second more. Don't fail me, Lukin."

Moscow.

February 28th, 8:30 A.M. The underground train thundered into the Kiev Station with the sound of a thousand pounding hammers and squealed to a halt. As the doors rolled open, Stanski stepped out onto the platform.

Like most of Moscow's Metro stations, the Kiev was an absurdly ornate construction; an underground palace of glittering chandeliers and marble walls, decorated with bronze reliefs and red flags hanging from the ceiling.

The station was packed with early morning commuters and the air reeked of stale food and tobacco and sweating bodies. As Stanski stood there trying to get his bearings, he felt a tap on his shoulder and spun around.

A young Tartar wearing a blue militia overcoat over his uniform stood there. He held a cigarette in his hand as his slanted eyes stared at Stanski. "You have a light, comrade?"

Stanski hesitated, then shook his head. "Niet."

The Tartar grumbled and moved away into the crowd.

The militiaman had startled him. He stood there for several moments, sweating, trying to regain his composure as people swarmed past. He was on unfamiliar territory and the noise and the crowds made him feel uneasy. He saw the steep escalators at either end of the platform and took one to the top.

There was no letup in the crowds when he reached ground Lebel. The station entrance hall teemed with milling bodies. He saw a number of military uniforms in the crowd, mostly army officers carrying briefcases as they hurried briskly to and fro, but they paid him no attention.

There was a public toilet across the hall and he went inside. The place was filthy and stank to heaven but there was a wash basin and a cracked mirror on the wall. He looked at his face.

It was a mess.

His eyes were red and swollen from lack of sleep. Disheveled and unshaven and covered in grime, he still wore the coat Viadimir had given him. But he had abandoned the motorbike in a remote wood outside the suburb of Tatarovo, buried Anna's and his own suitcase and the helmet and goggles a distance away, using his hands to dig in the hard-packed snow. He had worn the extra clothes to keep out the cold on the motorbike and now the garments stuck to him with sweat. He had walked a kilometer to the nearest train station at Tatarovo before transferring to the Metro. He ached for sleep. He had been driving for almost fifteen solid hours through forest and on minor roads, having to avoid at least half a dozen checkpoints in the first two hours alone.

As he ran the water he thought: I look terrible.

The fear of what might have happened to Anna had left him depressed and he tried desperately to keep the black mood from crowding in on him. But it refused to go away. Was she still alive? Had Lukin caught her? He hoped for her sake she had bitten the pill, even though that thought made him more despondent, but he remembered looking back at the last moment, recognizing Lukin, and seeing him lunge at her. Somehow the major had survived the helicopter crash. How, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that the man was alive and determined to catch them.

If Anna was alive, he dreaded to think what Lukin might do to her, and suddenly a terrible surge of hate flooded him. He wanted to kill Major Lukin. Kill him with a vengeance.

The door to the toilet opened. A sergeant in army uniform came in and began to use the urinal. After a few moments the man glanced over idly.

Stanski finished washing himself and stepped out into the station hall again. He glanced back but the sergeant hadn't followed him. He noticed a number of militia and army personnel moving through the crowd, but none of them seemed remotely interested.

He left the station quickly and walked two blocks to sky Prospect, the charge of people and traffic in the morning hour were almost overwhelming.

It took him almost ten minutes to find the right bus stop on the Prospect and he looked behind him before he climbed on board, but saw no one watching or following him.

The sign above the wrought-iron gates said "State Orphanage Number 57. District of Saburovo."

Lukin showed his pass to the attendant in the lodge and drove the BMW in through the gates. Pasha sat beside him in the car. He looked uncomfortable.

"You mind going in alone, Yuri? These places always give me the creeps."

"Me too. But as you wish."

When Lukin halted outside the grim four-story red-brick building and climbed out, he saw the massive front doors open. A middle-aged woman wearing a white doctor's coat came slowly down the steps. Her face was a picture of stern authority and her cold eyes studied him before she held out a limp hand.

"Major Lukin, I presume? I'm the orphanage matron."

Lukin ignored the woman's hand and showed her his ID. Her hard stare registered the affront and she inspected his ID card closely before she looked back at him.

"I must say the request your comrade lieutenant made was most unusual. No doubt you have the written authority I require?"

"I think that ought to cover everything."

Lukin handed her the signed letter from Beria. The woman's tone changed immediately.

:"Why ... of course, Comrade Major."

"My time is rather limited. The child, if you please."

"Follow me."

The matron went back up the steps, opened one of the massive doors and stepped inside. A smell of carbolic soap and stale food wafted out of the building.

As Lukin went to follow the matron up the steps, some instinct made him look up.

At a window on the second floor, two scrawny-faced young boys stared down wide-eyed at the green BMW with Pasha sitting inside. Their faces had the look of caged and frightened animals. When they saw Lukin notice them they vanished from the window.

Lukin felt a shiver down his spine as he followed the matron inside.

The dacha was in the Ramenki district, eight kilometers from Moscow.

Stanski got off the bus two stops early and walked the last five minutes down a secluded birch-lined road until he found the address.

The wooden house was big, two-story and painted green. It was set in its own large grounds surrounded by tall birch trees. There were several other dachas nearby, lining either side of the road, but judging by the shuttered windows they were deserted.

A narrow pathway led up to the dacha and there was a large woodshed off to the right toward the back.

He watched the place for five minutes, walking up and down the empty street. Because of everything that had happened he was two days early, and he wondered if the woman was home. The shutters were open but he saw no movement behind the curtained windows. He decided to risk knocking on the front door.

He walked up the pathway and knocked hard. Moments later the door opened and a woman appeared. He recognized her from Massey's description.

She looked at him cautiously. "Yes?"

"Madame Dezov?"

"Yes?"

"I'm a friend of Henri's. You were expecting me."

The woman went visibly pale. She studied Stanski for several moments, then looked out nervously into the street.

"Come inside."

She led him into a large kitchen at the back. There was a stove lit in one corner, and beyond the kitchen window Stanski saw a long broad garden dotted with withered fruit trees and bare vegetable plots.

The woman said anxiously, "You're here two days early. And there were supposed to be two of you? I was expecting a man and a woman."

Stanski looked at her. She was undeniably handsome. She had a full figure, generous hips and breasts. She wore nail varnish, and the long nails were perfectly manicured, her eyebrows plucked and darkened. He noticed she wore no wedding ring.

"I'm afraid there was a problem. My friend didn't make it."

The woman said hesitantly, "What happened?"

Stanski told her but didn't go into detail or mention Lukin. He saw the look of fear on the woman's face and said, "Don't worry, she knew nothing about you."

"Are you certain?"

"You have my word you're safe."

He looked at the woman. He realized he was more nervous than he thought and that made him suspicious. He noticed the concentration camp numbers tattooed in blue ink on her wrist, then he saw a framed photograph on the wall. It showed a man in a colonel's uniform. A hard and ugly face that looked like it had been beaten with rifle butts.

"Who's that?"

"My husband, Viktor. He was killed during the war."

"I'm sorry."

The woman laughed, then looked at the photograph with contempt.

"Don't be. The man was a pig. I wouldn't have cut him down if he was hanging. All I ever got from him was a widow's war pension and this place after he died. I only keep his picture there to remind myself how lucky I am without him. Every anniversary I get drunk and spit at it. Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

"Sit down. I'll make you something."

The woman busied herself cutting several thick slices of bread and sweaty goat's cheese. As Stanski ate ravenously she heated a pot of soup on the stove, then poured them each a glass of vodka and joined him at the table.

"You look like you've been to hell and back."

"I guess that's close enough."

"Eat and drink some more. Then I'll heat some water for you to wash and shave." The woman wrinkled her nose. "You smell worse than a cattle train. Give me your jacket and shirt for a start. There's some old things of Viktor's somewhere that should fit you."

"If the KGB took my friend to Moscow, where would they have taken her?"

The woman shrugged at the question. "The Lubyanka prison. Or Lefortovo. But most likely the Lubyanka, because it's part of KGB Headquarters. Why?"

Stanski didn't reply as he removed his jacket and shirt and stood there bare-chested as he handed them over.

"You're certain I'm safe here? What about the neighbors?"

"Perfectly safe. Most of the dachas around here are never used in winter. They're owned by army officers and Party officials." The woman smiled. "And if anyone asks, you're my cousin come to visit. Whether they believe it or not is another matter, but they won't bother us."

"I'll need transport."

The woman crossed to the stove and poured thick soliyanka soup into a bowl and placed it in front of Stanski, cut more bread and poured another vodka for him.

"There's an old Skoda under a tarpaulin in the woodshed. Viktor brought it back from Poland in '41, along with a mistress and a bad case of syphilis. The car still works perfectly well and the tank's full."

"Can you drive?"

The woman nodded, "I was a driver in the army during the war. I sometimes take the Skoda into the city."

"Can you show me around Moscow?"

"Will it be dangerous?"

"I doubt it. Just a nice leisurely drive to help me get my bearings. You have a map of the city?"

"An old one, from before the war."

"That'll do fine."

The woman stood. "I'll get the map. Have your soup before it gets cold."

"One more thing."

The woman looked at his face and Stanski said, "What do I call you?

Madame Dezov?"

Her eyes took in his bare chest as she laughed. "You? Anything you want. But lrena will do for now."

Moscow. February 28th, 2 Pm.

The small park off Marx Prospect was empty that afternoon.

With its ponds and landscaped gardens and wooden pavilions, the park had once been a favorite haunt of Tsar Nicholas until the KGB had decided to acquire it for their own private use. Tall birch trees protected it from the prying eyes of passers-by and the wrought-iron gate was constantly guarded by an armed militiaman.

Lukin was sitting in the BMW outside when he saw the Emka pull up in front of the gate.

Two plain-clothes KGB men climbed out of the back. Anna Khorev was handcuffed to one of them. Someone had given her a man's overcoat and it hung loosely over her shoulders.

Lukin climbed out of the BMW and crossed to the men. "You can take off the handcuffs. That'll be all, I don't need you any more." When the handcuffs had been removed the two men left. Lukin saw the confusion on Anna's face. In the oversized coat she looked vulnerable. He nodded to the militiaman to open the gate, then looked back at her. "Come, let's walk."

Silver birch trees lined the narrow walks and the place was peaceful apart from the faint hum of traffic. As they strolled toward a pond, Lukin pointed to one of the wooden benches. "Let's sit, shall we?"

He brushed away a dusting of snow and when they had sat down he looked at her. "How are you feeling?"

"Why have I been brought here?"

"Anna, I told you my job is to find Stanski dead or alive. I'm going to be honest with you and tell you so far our searches have turned up nothing. He could be dead, of course, but I believe he's still alive. He's a very resourceful fellow. By now he could even be in Moscow. You're the only one who can help me find him. I told you I'd give you time to consider your situation. But I have to be frank and tell you my superiors are becoming impatient. They want answers and they want them fast. If I can't get you to talk, then they'll use someone who will. The kind of brute I told you about."

"You're wasting your time. I told you already. I can't help YOU."

"Can't or won't? You know the people who helped you on your journey to Moscow. And there may be other things you know that could offer me some clue that could help me find Stanski."

"I have nothing to say."

"Anna, I'm asking you to think again. Even if Stanski is alive and in Moscow, it's impossible for him to succeed, The Kremlin or Stalin's villa can't be breached. And make no mistake, sooner or later Stanski will be caught. It would be better for your sake if you played a part in that by helping me. I know you won't break easily under pressure. Anyone who has suffered as you did has to have nerves of steel. But in the Lubyanka cellars even a strong woman would talk eventually. These people have drugs, implements of torture. They've made braver and more stubborn people than you confess to crimes they didn't even commit." He hesitated, then shook his head. "I don't want you to have to suffer that. It's not worth it, Anna. Not for someone who's going to be caught eventually."

Something in the tone of Lukin's voice made Anna look at him. That same look of compassion was discernible in his soft brown eyes.

"Do you mean it when you say you don't want me to be hurt?"

"Of course. I'm not a beast, Anna. But if I don't succeed, you'll be tortured and hurt. Much more terribly than you can imagine."

"Then if I asked you to kill me to save me from that pain, would you do that?"

"You know I couldn't do that."

"You know what – I think'? I think you just want me to believe that you're half human. And that way you think I'll confide in you and talk."

Lukin sighed and stood. He took a deep breath before he looked down at her. "My father, you know what he used to say? Begin with the truth. He was a principled man. Perhaps far too principled for this life. I've tried to begin with the truth. I've tried to tell you what will happen if you refuse to talk. You know that your position is impossible. But there may be a future for you if you help me."

"You know I won't be set free."

"True, but any alternative to death is a welcome one."

"What alternative?"

"If you help me, I'd ask the prosecutor to consider penal servitude in the Gulag instead of a death sentence when your case comes to court."

For a long time Anna said nothing. She looked out at the trees and the snow on the ground, then she looked back. "Have you ever been in the Gulag, Major Lukin?"

" No."

"Then you've never seen what goes on there. I think if' you did you'd know that death is a better alternative. There's nothing but brutality and hunger and slow death. You're treated worse than an animal. I can't tell you what you want to know because I really don't know where Stanski might be if he's alive. Whether you believe me or not is up to you but it's the truth. And even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you. Your friends in the cellars can do what they want, but the answer will be the same. As for those who helped us they knew nothing of Stanski's plans. To tell you their names wouldn't help you find Stanski, but simply expose them to suffering and death."

"But you can still reveal what you planned to do when you reached Moscow. You can still tell me their names."

"I'll only tell you one thing. Go to hell."

Lukin saw the angry defiance on her face as she turned away.

"I'm sorry it's come to this. I admire your bravery but I think you're being a foolish woman. Foolish because your bravery is unnecessary and foolish because you have a choice. Help me and I will try to help you. It may mean having to face a life sentence in a camp, and that's not pleasant, I agree, but it's surely better than the alternative." He paused." I But whatever your decision, I want you to have this moment.'

She looked up at him and frowned. "What do you mean?"

Lukin nodded to the militiaman at the gate. A moment later Pasha appeared. A little girl clutched his hand. She was very pretty. She wore a red winter coat and a woollen hat and gloves and tiny brown boots. She looked about her uncertainly.

When Lukin turned back he saw the shock reaction on Anna Khorev's face. Disbelief and confusion, a look of both joy and pain. Her cry shattered the silence of the park.

"Sasha! "

The little girl started at the sound of her name and her face looked a mask of confusion. She stared over at her mother uncertainly, then her lips trembled and she began to cry.

Pasha let go of her. Anna ran to her daughter and swept her up. She smothered her in kisses, touched her face and stroked her hair, washed away all the confusion the child felt, until finally the little girl had stopped crying and her mother held her tightly.

For a long time Lukin stood there watching, until he could bear it no longer.

He looked at Anna. Her wet eyes met his.

He said, "You have an hour. Then we talk again."

Stanski unfolded the street map and stared out beyond the Skoda's windshield as Irena drove.

The broad boulevards of Moscow were jammed with yellow trolley buses and covered trucks spurting black clouds of exhaust. Droves of small Enika taxis whizzed by, and a few shiny black limousines, Soviet officials sitting stern-faced beside their drivers.

Irena drove the little gray Skoda erratically, paying no heed to the icy slush that covered the streets as she wove in and out of the chaos of traffic. It was anything but a leisurely drive, but Stanski noticed that most of the other vehicles seemed to be driving just as carelessly.

lrena explained that because most cars had no heaters, drivers often drank vodka to keep out the cold.

The pavements seemed crowded with a million different faces: Russians and Slavs, dark-eyed Georgians and yellow, flat-faced Tartars and Mongolians. When they reached the Arbat, the old merchant district of the city, Stanski saw the golden domes and cupolas of the Kremlin in the distance. Waves of raw plastered apartment blocks lay beyond in the suburbs on either side of the Moscow River.

They drove around the city for another half-hour, Stanski referencing the streets to the map, until Irena said, "Now what do you want me to do?"

"Drive to KGB Headquarters on Dzerzhinsky Square and drop me off." frena looked at him in disbelief. "Are you crazy?"

"Pick me up outside the Bolshoi Theater in an hour."

frena shook her head in horror. "Definitely, your brain has to be missing. The KGB are looking for you and you want me to leave you outside their front door?"

"That's the last place they'll look for me."

A car honked as Irena cut recklessly across its path. She honked back and raised her arm in an angry gesture.

"Idiot!"

"What did you drive in the war, lrena? A tank?"

She looked over and smiled. "A Zil truck. Don't laugh, I was a good driver. I told you, most of the madmen on the roads are drunk. At least I'm sober."

"The war's over, so take it easy on the accelerator. The last thing we need is a militiaman troubling us for speeding."

"Bah! You can talk about trouble! You're the one who wants to be left at Dzerzhinsky Square."

The Skoda had suddenly left the Arbat and then Stanski saw the red walls and the mustard-yellow buildings of the Kremlin. On a broad cobbled street in front stood St. Basil's, its candycolored towers soaring into the skyline. Minutes later lrena had turned into a series of narrow cobbled streets near the Boishoi Theater and finally came out onto a massive square.

A giant metal fountain stood in the center, the water turned off in the icy temperature in case it froze and cracked the metal, and traffic and trolley buses hurtled around it. Directly across the square stood a huge seven-story yellow sandstone building.

Irena pointed to it. "Dzerzhinsky Square. KGB Headquarters. The place once belonged to an insurance company before Felix Dzerzhinsky, the head of the secret police, took it over."

Stanski saw a pair of massive brown oak doors set in the front entrance. Searchlights ringed the top and uniformed militiamen patrolled the pavement around the building.

Irena said, "The entrance to the Lubyanka prison is around the back. There's a pair of big black metal gates and security is tight-no one's ever escaped, anyone in Moscow will tell you that." She looked at Stanski's face as he studied the building if your friend's in there, you're wasting your time. if you think you can rescue her. You'd be committing suicide to even try."

"Let me out over there."

He pointed to a huge wrought-iron archway on the left side of the square opposite the KGB building. A sign above the archway said "Lubyanska Arcade." The pavement was crowded with people entering and leaving the arched entrance and beyond it Stanski saw lines of drab-looking shops down either side of the arcade.

lrena drove over and pulled in but kept the engine running. "Only the KGB could think of having a public shopping arcade next to a house of torture."

Stanski opened the passenger door. "An hour from now, at the Boishoi."

Irena touched his arm. "Be careful."

He smiled at her as he climbed out and then he slammed the car door and moved onto the crowded pavement.

Lukin looked at Anna Khorev's face as they sat on the park bench.

She looked miserable and her eyes were red from crying. The park was empty again. Pasha had taken the little girl away. Lukin had seen the fear on Anna's face when she refused to let go of her daughter. She had clung to the child as if her life depended on her. The little girl was confused and upset and had started crying again, and the militiamen on the gate had to help Lukin hold her mother down while Pasha took the child to the car.

Tears had racked Anna Khorev's body as she saw the car drive away. Then she slumped onto the bench, inconsolable, in despair.

Lukin felt overcome by a terrible feeling of guilt. He had put her through a terrible trauma; she had not seen her daughter in well over a year. He had given her the child, and taken her away again. He imagined Nadia in such a situation, having to endure the same trauma, and he felt sick.

He understood her pain, wanted to tell her so, but knew she wouldn't believe him. It was pointless. Besides, he was becoming emotionally affected, not a good thing. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed her wet face.

She pushed him away.

He touched her arm.

"Anna, before I take you back to the Lubyanka we have to talk."

She pushed him away again.

"Don't touch me!"

Her tears had stopped but she seemed in shock, her eyes glazed, and he wondered if she had gone over the edge. There was something deeply disturbing about the look on her face and he wondered if he should take her to a doctor.

Anna, look at me."

She didn't look back at him as she spoke, the red eyes staring into space, pain in her voice. "Why have you done this to me?

Why have you put me through this?"

"No matter what happens I thought you would want to see Sasha again."

"Because I'm going to die?"

"I told you the alternative. And if you help me, I'll do all I can to make sure that you be allowed to take your daughter with you."

She looked at him, grief in her face. "And what sort of life would that be for my daughter? Livina in the hell of a camp in some frozen wasteland. You think she'd survive that?"

"At least you'd be together."

"She'd survive in the orphanage. In a camp she'd be dead within a year."

Lukin sighed, not knowing whether to say it, seeing the desolation in her face. "Anna, if you don't talk, it's not only you who'll die. Sasha may die with you."

He saw her face turn white as she stared at him. "No ... you couldn't do that. She's ... she's only a child ..

Lukin stood and looked down at her.

It's not up to me, Anna. But I know Beria. And I know Romulka, the man who will interrogate you if I fail. They'd do it if they can't make you talk. I'm going to be honest with you. Beria's given me until tomorrow night. If I fail, I hand you over to him. He'll break you, Anna, be certain of it. And once you're out of my hands I'll have no say in the matter."

He looked down at her wet eyes. "Help me, Anna. For Sasha's sake, help me find Stanski."

As Stanski walked through the crowded Lubyansky Arcade, bodies pressed in on him, people bustling past and jostling to squeeze into the tiny, drab shops that lined the arcade.

When he came out of the arcade at the far end he was in a narrow cobbled street. He turned right and came around onto the street opposite the side entrance of the west wing of KGB Headquarters. He saw another pair of tall double oak doors like those at the front, but here there was no guard. Twenty meters beyond the doors he noticed a cobbled street at the back of the KGB building. It was crowded with parked military trucks and, a couple of civilian cars.

He saw a pair of massive black gates set between the stone walls and guessed it was the entrance to the Lubyanka prison. Two uniformed guards stood beside a sentry hut, rifles slunover their shoulders. Powerful searchlights ran the entire length of the top of the building and every window had steel bars.

The place looked impenetrable.

Suddenly the guards stood back and the gates swun– in and a covered Zil truck thundered out and turned left into the traffic.

Stanski glimpsed a courtyard inside and ranks of parked trucks and cars and then the gates swung shut again.

As he stood there one of the guards on the gate noticed him. He turned around and walked back along the square.

One whole side of the square seemed to consist of dingy cafes and restaurants. As he passed the window of a cafe he saw a number of men in dark blue uniforms sitting inside. He guessed from their appearance and uniform markings that they were guards from the prison on their break.

He went inside the cafe and got in line to pay for a glass of tea, then took his receipt to a stoutly built woman serving behind the counter. She handed him the glass in a metal cup and he took it to a table near the prison guards. '

He made a mental note of the guards' rank and uniform markings. They were a hardened-looking bunch of men, talking in whispers among themselves. He wondered if any of them were guarding Anna. If she was alive.

There was a burst of coarse laughter from behind.

When Stanski glanced around he saw a flash of color. Half a dozen small, wiry men, their Uzbek faces brown and wrinkled, were leaving their table and heading toward the door. Wisps of beards dangled from their chins and their shortcropped heads were covered in brightly colored skull caps. Some wore brightly dyed silk or cotton gowns over their shoulders and they chatted in a dialect Stanski couldn't understand. They looked like a flock of exotic birds in the drab surroundings.