Текст книги "Snow Wolf"

Автор книги: Glenn Meade

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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 34 страниц)

He looked back at the KGB building across the street. Suddenly he heard a jabber of excited voices and saw two of the Uzbeks push their way to the window and stare out into the street. A distinctive olive-green BMW had halted at a set of traffic lights in front of the cafd. The Uzbeks pointed excitedly at the car and jabbered among themselves.

Stanski looked at the man and woman seated in the BMW and his blood froze.

Lukin sat in the driver's seat, Anna beside him.

Stanski could hardly believe his eyes. It was definitely Lukin. The false hand was unmistakable, but this time it was a metal hook. And Anna's face he saw clearly through the windshield.

Suddenly the traffic lights turned green and the BMW started to move. Stanski stood up frantically and pushed past the Uzbeks, knocking one of them over in his race toward the door.

As he stepped out, the BMW was already moving away toward the back of Dzerzhinsky Square and the entrance to the Lubyanka.

Stanski broke into a run. He was hardly aware of passersby staring at him; he was like a man possessed as he chased after the BMW, wanting to wrench Lukin from the car, shoot him, grab Anna and run.

Up ahead now the BMW halted in the middle of the road, the right indicator on as it waited for a break in the oncoming traffic to turn into the cobbled street that led to the Lubyanka.

Stanski kept running along the pavement, pushing through the crowds, his eyes on the car.

Fifty meters. Forty.

He saw Lukin's fingers tapping the steering wheel impatiently. Tapping. Tapping. Thirty meters. Twenty.

He moved out onto the road and as he ran he kept his eyes on Lukin, watched the fingers still tapping on the steering wheel, waiting for the traffic to let him pass. Ten meters. Close enough to get a shot. He wrenched the Tokarev from his inside pocket.

At the angle he approached the BMW he could see only the back of Anna's head, but he saw Lukin's face clearly, and hate raged inside him like an inferno. Five meters. Lukin still hadn't turned to see him. Stanski cocked and aimed the Tokarev.

Suddenly a truck coming in the opposite direction screeched to a halt. Stanski saw the truck driver stare in disbelief at the gun.

Just as he reached the BMW, Lukin applied a burst of power, thinking the truck driver was stopping for him. The BMW screeched forward and accelerated as it swung right toward the massive black gates of the prison.

One of the guards hammered on the gates and they swung open and the car disappeared inside.

Stanski caught a glimpse of Anna's face before the guards swung the gates shut again. He swore as he quickly put the gun away. Too late.

The Gates of Hell had opened and closed and swallowed her up.

Henri Lebel opened his eyes.

Not that it mattered much because it was dark. For a while he lay there, his body so stiff he couldn't even feel that the hard wooden bed under him had no mattress. Whatever was in the syringe had knocked him out cold for a long time. And then something clicked in his head and he was filled with a terrible unease.

He got to his feet shakily, took a cautious step forward and bumped into a stone wall. He stepped back and turned, took three paces, his hand outstretched, and felt another wall. Four hesitant paces to the left took him to a metal door.

He was in a cell, no question.

He stumbled his way back to the wooden bed and sat down, overcome by a dreadful feeling of doom. The same black feelings he had endured in Auschwitz returned.

He remembered what had happened at the club. What did the colonel named Romulka want? But Lebel knew, and that thought filled him with an even greater dread. He should never have got involved in this. Never. He had signed his own death warrant. Or something worse than death-harsh imprisonment in a labor camp.

As his body shook with fear he suddenly heard voices outside, feet scraping on concrete, and a light burst on overhead, blinding him, as the cell door opened.

He blinked and saw Romulka step into the cell.

"So, our sleeping beauty is awake."

"Where am I'? What's the meaning of this outrage?" Lebel demanded.

"To answer your first question, you're in the Lubyanka prison."

Lebel looked at Romulka in disbelief.

"As to the second, I think the reason for your presence ought to be obvious."

Lebel shook his head. "I ... I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really, Lebel, you're wasting my time. I know all about your connection to Massey. So let's put the pretense aside and get down to business, shall we? My time is limited." He stepped closer. He held a riding crop in his left hand and he put the tip of it under Lebel's chin.

"Your intention in Moscow was to help a certain couple. I want to know how, when and where you were to meet them and who your accomplices are."

"You're out of your mind."

"Something else disturbs me that's turned up in my investigation. A man named Braun who used to work for us, who's now unfortunately dead. You made certain inquiries about him from an employee at the Soviet Embassy in Paris in return for a considerable sum of francs. Do you deny it?"

Despite his best effort, Lebel went noticeably pale. "I really don't know what you're talking about. This is some sort of conspiracy-"

The riding crop flicked back and struck Lebel a stinging blow on the face. He cried out and put his hand to his cheek. He felt a gash and saw blood on his fingers.

"How dare you. You have no right to treat me like this. I have important connections in Moscow. I demand to see the French Ambassador."

Romulka's crop prodded his chest. "Shut up, you filthy little Jew, and listen to me. You can demand all you like but I want answers and I want them quick. Talk, and I have you back in Paris on a plane before you can say goodbye. Refuse, and I'll grind you to dust. Understand? Now, are you going to talk?"

"I told you ... I don't know what you're talking about .. You're making a dreadful mistake."

"Very well, play it your way." Romulka turned and snapped his fingers. "In here."

Two brutal-faced men in black KGB uniforms came through the door and crowded into the cell. They each grabbed Lebel by the arms.

Roniulka said, "Take him down to the cellars. A little Lubyanka hospitality ought to soften him up."

"I tell you, this is a mistake!"

As Lebel protested, Romulka smashed a fist hard into his face, and the men dragged him from the cell.

Lukin stood at his apartment window.

Across the river he saw the lights of the late evening traffic moving across Kalinin Bridge, headlights probing the thin icy fog that had descended on Moscow.

Nine P.m.

He had arrived home an hour ago, needing to get away from headquarters and from the powerful grip of hopelessness he felt crushing him.

And he needed to see Nadia.

She had made supper for them both, soup and cold sausage and a half-liter of Georgian wine. The wine had lifted his spirits just a little but now its effect had worn off and he felt wretched again.

To make matters worse he had hardly spoken to Nadia during the meal.

He saw her reflection in the window as she cleared away the supper plates. She looked over at him for a moment, then went into the kitchen. When she came out again he was still standing at the window.

"Yuri."

He looked around absentmindedly. She stood watching him. She wore a cardigan over her shoulders, and as she brushed a strand of hair from her face, she said, "You hardly touched your food."

Lukin smiled weakly. "The soup was good. I just wasn't hungry. I'm sorry, my love."

"Come. Sit with me."

She went to sit on the couch. Her brow was creased in a worried frown and the corners of her mouth were turned down with tension. He hadn't helped to improve her mood. His own was worse. He felt desperate, totally lost.

Anna Khorev still hadn't talked. And now there was nothing he could do to save her. That prospect troubled him.

The roadblocks and the searches to find the Wolf had turned up nothing. If the man was still alive, Lukin felt certain he was in Moscow. But where? And how did you search a city of five million souls?

Nadia's voice brought him back. "Sit beside me, Yuri."

Lukin went to sit next to her on the couch. She touched his arm. "This is the first time I've seen you in four days. But you're not really here in spirit, are you, Yuri? Is there anything you need to talk about?"

Lukin reached for her hand and kissed it. He never talked to his wife about his work. It was a rule he had made with himself. But right now he had a powerful urge to tell her everything and lighten the terrible weight that crushed him.

"I'm sorry, my love. It's not something I can talk about."

"I understand. But you worry me, Yuri."

"Why?"

"Because whatever's troubling you is tearing you apart. I've never seen you like this before. Distracted. Lost. Dejected. You're like a different man."

He let out a deep sigh of frustration and stood. His body ached all over. He had gone almost three nights without sleep. He looked down at his wife and shook his head. "Please. Not now, Nadia."

"What time do you have to leave?"

"Six A.M."

She stood. Her hand gently touched his face, then fell away. "You're exhausted. You need to sleep. Let's go to bed."

Lukin went into the bedroom, undressed and got into bed.

When Nadia came in she removed her clothes and lay down beside him. He felt the heat of her body as she snuggled up close, her small, hard nipples brushing against his bare chest.

"The baby is kicking. Can you feel it, Yuri?"

He laid his hand on his wife's belly and felt the rise, and then suddenly a feeling like a sharp jolt. He put his head on Nadia's stomach and kissed her bump.

For a long time, as he lay there silently, Nadia's hand stroking his hair, he thought of Anna Khorev in the park that afternoon. Her screams when they took her daughter away. The memory playing over and over in his mind until it almost crushed him and he felt smothered by a wave of remorse. He sighed, a long, troubled sigh.

Nadia whispered, "Tell me, Yuri. For God's sake, tell me what's troubling you before it breaks your heart."

For several long moments he didn't speak, then he said, "I can't. Please, don't ask me."

He heard the anguish in his own voice and then her arms went around his neck and she held him close.

Something seemed to break then, like a dam bursting inside his head. His whole body shook and his shoulders trembled.

In the darkness he heard himself crying, for Anna Khorev, for Nadia, for his unborn child, for himself.

Stanski sat in the kitchen at the back of the dacha. Irena sat facing him. She had returned from Moscow in the Skoda minutes before, carrying a large shopping bag and looking exhausted.

Stanski said, "OK, tell me what you got."

She searched in her pocket and placed a slip of paper on the table. "The most important thing first. Have a look at that."

He picked up the slip of paper, read what was written on it, and smiled. "Did you have any problems?"

"There were over a dozen Yuri Lukins listed in the city telephone directory in the post office in Gorky Street. I called them all just to be certain, but when I got to the last I was pretty sure I might have got the right one."

"How?"

"A woman answered. I asked for Major Yuri Lukin. She said he wasn't there and asked who was calling. I said I was with the army pensions office. Some of our files had got mislaid and I was trying to trace a Major Yuri Lukin who had serve, with the Third Guards Division of cavalry during the war. said it couldn't have been her husband; he was certainly a man. but he hadn't served with the army. I apologized for calling the wrong number and put down the phone. Only one other Major Yuri Lukin turned up in all the calls I made. But he was attached to an artillery battalion in Moscow."

"What happened then?"

"I went to the address given in the phone book. It's an apartment off the Kutuzovsky Prospect. I spoke to one of the neighbors' children. It must be the same Lukin. He drives a green German BMW. And the long and the short of it is, he's marrie( with a wife and no kids. The apartment is on the second floor.' "Good. Did you get to see his wife?"

"Are you joking? I wasn't going to knock on the door an@ let her see my face. That might've been tempting fate too far."

She hesitated. "You're a very brave man but something tells me this could get us both killed."

Stanski shook his head. "Relax, Irena. You're not going to be in any real danger."

"What you're going to do is still crazy and you're playing with fire. You said your friend in the Lubyanka knew nothing. Why try and rescue her?"

"Because the plan's simple and with a little luck it can work. Just open the bag, Irena. You got everything I asked?"

She opened the bag and spread the contents on the table. "it wasn't easy. But you can get anything you want on the black market once you have the money."

"Let me have a look."

He examined everything carefully. There was a heavy-duty army flashlight with two sets of batteries, several thin ropes and an army penknife. There was a hypodermic syringe and two small glass bottles, one of clear glass and the other opaque brown. He picked up both. They each contained clear liquid. He examined them, then put them down again.

"You did better than I hoped. Had you any trouble getting these?"

"The Adrenalin and the hypodermic were easy enough."

She picked up the brown bottle of liquid. "But this was difficult. Ether isn't easy to come by. It cost two hundred rubles. I could live for a month on that."

Stanski smiled. "I'll remember you in my will. Did anyone ask why you needed this stuff?"

She laughed. "Are you joking? The gangsters in the Moscow black market would deal with the devil himself if he had a wallet full of rubles. And they keep their mouths shut. A loose tongue means a trip to the Gulag or the firing squad."

"What about the rest of the things?"

"Viktor's old uniform I've taken in so it should fit. The divisional markings are probably out of date but you'll have to live with that. Considering what you're going to do, Viktor is probably turning in his grave right now and it serves the bastard right."

"The man didn't deserve you. Thanks, frena,"

"I must be mad to go along with this."

He had explained everything to Irena that afternoon because he needed her help. He had lost his chance to rescue Anna but now he had a plan. A simple plan. When he told Irena she had turned pale.

"What'? Now I know you're really insane." She had shaken her head resolutely. "I'm not getting involved. If you want to risk your life, you go ahead. Me, I'm taking enough risks as it is. I don't want more trouble."

"There won't be any trouble if you do as I tell you." When she still refused, Stanski said, "The woman's your passport out of here. You think Lebel is going to like it when you turn up without her?"

Irena had hesitated then, doubt on her face. It had taken Stanski another half an hour to convince her and to go over the details of the plan, but even though she still didn't like it, in the end she reluctantly agreed.

"On one condition," she demanded. "If it fails, you forget about her and I leave Moscow alone."

"Agreed."

The plan had come to him as he walked back to the Boishoi. The image that kept coming into his mind was of Lukin sitting there in the car, tapping the steering wheel impatiently with his fingers. And then Stanski remembered the ring. A gold wedding ring on his hand. Major Yuri Lukin was married. He had a weak point that could be exploited. If the plan worked Anna would be free and Lukin dead.

if it worked.

He danced at his watch and looked back at lrena.

"You'd better get some sleep. We've got a busy day tomorrow." He saw the fear and strain on her face. "Thanks for helping."

"You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think maybe you love this woman."

Moscow. March 1st Lukin arrived at Dzerzhinsky Square the next morning at six.

While he drank his first coffee of the morning, he spread out the map of Moscow and laid several sheets of paper on his desk. He looked at the map. If the Wolf was in Moscow, as he suspected, people had to be helping him. Perhaps Romulka was right about the Frenchman, Lebel. He had phoned Romulka's office the previous evening but so far he had not returned the call. He would deal with that later. Right now there were other avenues to explore.

He spread the sheets of paper in front of him. They were lists of names of dissidents, mostly Jews, known supporters of the immigrant groups. If any group were suspect and likely to be involved, it was this one. Eight pages that contained 312 names and addresses. It was a mammoth task to check them all, search their homes and pull them in for questioning, but it had to be done. Some of the people on the lists had already endured harsh prison sentences. Others were allowed to remain free but were secretly watched by the KGB and informers.

There was the chance, of course, that whoever was helping Stanski wasn't even on the list at all, and at this thought Lukin sighed. The hotels in the city still had to be checked, but he doubted that Stanski would be so foolish as to stay in a hotel. It was too public, a guest had to register, and besides, there weren't that many hotels in Moscow in which to hide. But they would have to be eliminated. He considered visiting the woman's cell again, but felt it was pointless. In the meantime, he had to do something.

He would need at least fifty men to check the hotels and pick all those on the list.

As he reached for the telephone to call the Fostering office, the door opened and a tired-looking Pasha came in. He had stayed through the night in case any news came in from Len ingrad. Lukin put down the phone as Pasha went to sit in the .,_chair opposite, put his feet on the desk, flung off his cap and yawned. Lukin said, "Any news?"

Pasha shook his head and ran a hand over his face. "Not a whisper. It's been as quiet as the grave. Apart from a visit from Romulka, that is."

Lukin sat up. "What happened?"

"He turned up last night. Said to tell you he had a French man named Lebel. Who the hell's he?"

Lukin explained and Pasha said, "Who knows? Romulka might be right. He also said he wanted to see the woman."

"And?"

"And I wouldn't let him. I told him he'd have to see you first. He said he's going to put me on report. But I say fuck it, the mood he was in he would have probably done her damage.

Let Romulka crawl to Beria and moan all he likes. What can they do, send me to a labor camp? Where I come from, it gets much colder and the food's no worse."

"Thanks, Pasha." Lukin guessed that Romulka had ignored his phone call because of Pasha's refusal. "How is she?"

"Awake, last time I looked."

"How does she seem?"

"Like someone switched the lights off inside her heart."

"You tried to talk with her?" Pasha nodded. "Sure, like you asked. I brought her some food and coffee last night and this morning. But she just sits there, saying nothing and staring at the walls." He sighed.

"You really think she'll talk?"

"God only knows, but somehow I doubt it. And I don't have much time left. The question is, can she really help us? I doubt it somehow. I get the feeling she may not know where Stanski is, as she claims. The problem is, that means we're going to have to hand her over to Beria soon. It wouldn't be beyond him to harm the child to make her talk. We have to find Stanski, if only for the child's sake."

Pasha stood. "Whatever happens, either way the woman's dead. You know that, Yuri. Beria won't send her to a camp He'll kill her." Lukin said solemnly, "I know."

"What happens now?" asked Pasha.

Lukin told him what he intended. "It may turn up something but I wouldn't count on.it." Pasha said, "I've been thinking about the missing pages ii the Wolf's file. If we could see the original, maybe there' something in there that could help us. Relatives he had in Moscow, friends of his family he might be tempted to approach. he's desperate."

"I already asked Beria. He said no. If Beria doesn't want you to see everything in a file, you don't see it.'@

Pasha grinned. "True, but there are other ways to crack nuts."

"How? The Archives office is out of bounds without a per mit. There are sensitive files kept there, top-secret files. A man could lose his head if he's caught."

"The Chief of Archives is a Mongol. He drinks like a came after a month without water. I could get him drunk and borro his keys and have a look for the original."

"Forget it, Pasha, it's too risky, and it's unlikely the Wol would use such people in Moscow. He's been away too long.' "How about I simply ask the Chief?"

Lukin shook his head. "I told you what Beria said. His wor is law. And there's probably nothing much in there relevant to the case. Besides, it isn't worth it if you're caught riffling through files without permission. Forget it."

Pasha shrugged. "If you say so."

It was dark as the Skoda pulled up on Kutuzovsky Prospect just before seven that morning.

Stanski climbed out dressed in the major's uniform and said to lrena, "You know what to do. I'll be as quick as I can."

"Good luck."

He watched as Irena drove off and then he walked back along the street. There was hardly any traffic but the trolic buses were running, blue sparks illuminating the morning darkness as they whirred along the Prospect. He could make ot the numbers of the big old apartment houses under the porch lights. and he counted them off as he walked.

Number 27 looked much like its neighbors. It was a big ol granite four-story residence from the Tsar's time, which had obviously once been the home of a wealthy family but was now converted into apartments. There was no sign of the olive-green BMW outside in the street.

Stanski saw that the blue-painted entrance door was open and walked up the front garden path. He saw the names and numbers of the occupants written on small white cards above recessed letter-boxes inside on the porch.

Apartment 14 reported the name Lukin. He pushed open the front door and stepped into a long dark hallway.

A stairway led up from the hall and there was a faint wash of light from one of the upstairs landings. The hallway smelled of lavender polish. Two bicycles were stood against a wall, and he heard muffled voices somewhere off in the building He climbed the stairs up to the second floor. The landing light was on and he saw the door, number 14 stenciled on the wood. No name, just the number. He examined the locks. Two. One on top, one on the bottom. He put his ear to the door but heard no sound from inside. He guessed Lukin's wife was still sleeping.

He went down the stairs again and walked around to the rear of the apartment block. The side path had been freshly swept of snow. There was a long communal garden at the back, covered in a blanket of white. A lamp was on, illuminating a paved walkway. There were a couple of wrought-iron summer benches set under bare cherry trees and some overgrown melon patches under a small glass-house partly covered by snow.

He looked at the back of the block. There were some lights on but the curtains were still closed. At the end of the garden he saw a wooden door set in a crumbling granite wall. He guessed it led to an alleyway at the back. He went down the path and saw that the door was almost rotted through. He pushed. It barely moved and he had to kick away the snow piled at the bottom before the wood budged. The door opened onto an alleyway behind the house, as he had expected. It was dark and appeared deserted, but to the left and right at the end of the alleyway he saw street lights. He guessed the alleyway led to side streets off Kutuzovsky Prospect.

He stepped back into the garden and went halfway up the path.

He looked up at the second floor, counting off the windows until he guessed that number 14 was situated to the right of the middle. There were no lights on behind the curtain and he walked back around to the front of the building.

As he walked back down the front path suddenly a voice behind him said, "Can I help you, comrade?"

Stanski turned and froze. An old man stood just inside the porch. He wore a greasy black peasant's cap and a patched overcoat with string tied around the waist, a thick woollen scarf around his neck. He looked like he wasn't long up, his eyes red raw, and he had a garden broom and some twigs and dead leaves in his hands.

Stanski smiled. "I'm looking !'("for an old friend of mine."

"Really. And who would that be?"

He guessed the man was the block janitor. A pair of cautious eyes stared at him suspiciously.

"Major Lukin. I believe he's in apartment fourteen."

"He's a friend of yours, is he?" The old man took in the uniform shoulder boards.

"From the war, comrade. I haven't seen him in years. I'm on leave in Moscow. Just got in from Kiev this morning on the overnight train. Is the major at home?"

"He left early, I'd say. His car's not here. You ought to-) find him at Dzerzhinsky Square. But his wife ought to be back soon. She usually goes shopping early on Saturday mornings to the market. She gets back before dark."

"Of course, Yuri's wife. I'm afraid I can't remember her name."

The old man gave a cackled laugh as he leaned on his broom handle. "Nadia. A redhead. Good looker."

Stanski smiled back. "That's her. Lukin did all right for himself." He looked at his watch. ""Call back later. But do me a favor. If you see Nadia, don't tell her– I called. I'd like to surprise her. You know how it is."

The old man winked as he touched his cap. "As the major wishes."

Stanski tapped him on the shoulder and looked down at the swept path. "You're doing a fine job Here, comrade. Keep up the good work."

Stanski walked back and crossed over to the other side of the street. A cafe stood fifty meters beyond. The lights were on and he went inside. It was a dismal-looking place but full of early morning worker.@. Taxi end tram drivers and @sleepy-looking shop girls from the stores along KULUZOVSKY Prospect havin– coffee or breakfast. It smelled of rancid food and stale cigarette smoke and everyone in it looked bored to death or half asleep.

It took him almost ten minutes to get a glass of tea. He found a free table by the window.

He sat smoking a cigarette. The street lamps were on and the light was reasonable, so he had a good view of the apartment block across the street. The old janitor was still clearing away debris from the front garden, but ten minutes later he disappeared into the building.

Meeting the old man had been a help-now he had the name of Lukin's wife and a brief description-but he could also be a problem. If he didn't stay out of the way, Stanski would have to deal with him, and he hoped to avoid complicating things.

It was fifteen minutes later when he saw the woman across the street. He didn't notice her red hair at first because she wore a fur hat, but when she turned into the pathway he spotted the flame-red color at the nape of her neck. She carried a heavy shopping basket and was dressed in a fur-collared coat and knee boots. From the brief glimpse he had of her face she looked pretty. He watched her go in the front door.

He sat in the cafe for another five minutes, waiting to see if the janitor reappeared. He didn't, and Stanski crushed out his cigarette and stood up.

He crossed the street briskly, and when he rounded the corner nearest the apartment block he saw Irena sitting in the parked Skoda, a woollen scarf partly covering her face. The Skoda's license plates were muddied and unreadable.

He tapped on the passenger window and he saw her start as she looked around, then she opened the door for him and he climbed inside.

Irena looked frozen. "What kept you? I was beginning to get worried you weren't coming back."

"Lukin's wife was out. I think she's just come back. She's alone, so far as I can tell."

"What if she isn't?"

" Let me worry about that. I'll just have to play the cards as they fall. There's an alleyway around the next corner that leads to the back of the apartment block."

Ireia nodded. "I saw it."

"A door leads out from the garden. It's about midway along. Wait for me at this end of the alleyway."

"What if someone asks me what I'm doing there?"

"Just tell them the car's broken down and you're waiting for a friend. Keep the scarf covering your face."

He saw the doubtful look on her face and smiled. "Trust me."

"You're a crazy man, and I don't know why but I do."

"See you soon."

He stepped out of the Skoda and walked back around to the front of number 27.

He went up the path and still saw no sign of the janitor. He climbed the stairs to the second-floor landing.

He took the bottle of ether out of his pocket and uncorked the top. He doused a handkerchief with a splash of the liquid. The pungent vapor was sickly and overpowering and he quickly stuffed the bottle and the handkerchief back in his pockets. He checked that his holster flap was undone and left the safety off. He knocked on the door.

The woman appeared almost at once. It was the same woman he had seen go up the path. Red-haired, pretty. She had removed her coat and wore a dress and cardigan and a kitchen apron. When she opened the door she frowned slightly at the sight of the uniform, but when Stanski smiled she smiled back and wiped her hands on her– apron.

"Yes?"

Stanski glanced over her shoulder. The narrow hallway behind her looked empty.

"Madame Lukin? Nadia Lukin?"

"Yes."

At that moment Stanski pushed in the door and lunged at the woman.

As she started to scream his hand went over her mouth and he kicked the door shut behind him.

Lukin was standing at the office window shortly before noon, smoking a cigarette, when he saw the gates in the courtyard below swing open and two Zil trucks drive in and brake to a halt on the cobbles. Plain-clothes KGB men and uniformed militia jumped down and began to force a crowd of civilian prisoners from the trucks, beating them with rifle butts.

As he stood watching there was a knock on the door. "Enter."

Pasha came in, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. "I thought I'd see how the men were making out with the city hotels."