Текст книги "Snow Wolf"

Автор книги: Glenn Meade

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 34 страниц)

"Any luck?"

"They've covered half on the list but nothing so far."

Lukin nodded down into the courtyard as the trucks disgorged their cargo. "What's going on down there?"

Pasha came to the window and looked down. "More work for the bully boys in the cellars, by the look of it. They're the people on the dissident lists being brought in for questioning. The rest are still being rounded up. The interrogation teams will let us know if anything turns up. We should have everyone on the lists covered by tonight. The men are working flat out."

Lukin sighed and nodded. "Hardly quick enough. OK, keep checking the hotels. When you're finished, I want you to have the men check all the cooperative guest houses to within a twenty-kilometer radius of Moscow."

"Yuri, there must be hundreds ..."

"And I want them checked, Pasha. All of them. And another thing ..."

Lukin nodded down at the, courtyard. "Tell whoever's in charge below to go easy on the prisoners. They're citizens, not cattle for the slaughter."

"As you say." Pasha nodded and left.

Lukin looked at his watch. Another twelve hours and Anna Khoiev's time was up. If she didn't talk soon, he'd have to deliver her to Beria and face him himself. He'd have to try to interrogate her again. The door burst open without a knock.

Romulka stood there smiling. "I thought I'd find you here. Well, Lukin, any progress,?"

"Not as yet. What do you want?"

"Just a friendly chat."

"The prisoner, Lebel, where is he?"

"Odd, but that's what I came to see you about. Right now he's in one of the cellars being softened up."

"I told you to be careful, Romulka. The man has connections. I want to see him."

Romulka shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Lukin. The Frenchman is mine. And Beria will tell you that if you care to ask."

"As officer in charge I demand it."

Romulka stepped closer and tapped the riding crop in his palm. "Demand all you like. of course, we could always come to an agreement. Let me interrogate the woman and you get access to Lebel in return."

"Go to hell."

Romulka grinned. "A pity. I would have enjoyed a little fun with her. Still, another twelve hours and she'll be mine."

"You're the lowest form of life, Romulka."

"A matter of opinion, surely? Think about the offer, Lukin. And remember, it's not my life at stake, it's yours."

With that he went out of the door. Lukin returned to the window and bit back his anger.

He heard more vehicles entering the courtyard. Another two Zil trucks pulled up and this time a couple of militiamen tied back the canvas flaps and jumped down. As they unslung their rifles, a group of frightened-looking men and women prisoners began too climb out of the trucks@ One of the women fell to her knees and a militiaman struck her across the face with his rifle.

As Lukin went to turn away in frustration, he saw Pasha cross the courtyard and have words with the sergeant in charge.

So many people were going to suffer unnecessarily because of the Wolf. Many would end up in prison or the Gulags. Some would die.

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He had slept badly last night, tossed and turned for four hours, and his mood had upset Nadia. He wanted to forget he had ever become part of this nightmare. But he had to get the woman to talk.

As he reached for his cap, the telephone jangled. He picked it up.

A man's voice said, "Major Lukin?"

"Yes, this is Lukin." There was a pause, then the voice said, "Major, we need to talk."

Lukin saw the white plaster walls of Novodevichy Convent in the wash of the BMW's headlights. As he swung around onto the entrance road and braked to a halt, his heart was pounding in his chest.

He switched off the engine, doused the lights, and stepped out.

The gilded onion domes of the deserted convent rose up into the twilight. A frozen river lay at the rear and he walked down toward it. Blood hammered in his temples and his body was drenched in perspiration.

When he reached the river he found the bench near the edge of the bank and sat. There was a small birch wood behind him and he peered anxiously over his shoulder but saw nothing except the dark outline of trees and bushes.

His mind was on fire.

"Novodevichy Convent," the note said. "Be at the east wall, the second bench by the river at three o'clock. Come alone and unarmed or you don't see your wife alive again."

No signature on the note but he had no doubt it was Stanski. It was almost three o'clock now and darkness was falling. Two minutes after the call to his office, Lukin had driven frantically to his apartment.

The man's voice on the telephone had said, "We need to talk."

"Who is this?"

"An acquaintance of yours from Tallinn, Major Lukin. I've left a message for you at your home."

And then the line clicked dead.

At first Lukin had been confused, and then a terrible realization dawned and he felt an icy chill go through him-it was Stanski, it had to be. He felt a surge of fear and cold rage. No. It wasn't possible!

Nadia.

If Stanski had harmed Nadia ... He had left the office in a daze. Ten minutes later he was bounding up the steps to his apartment. When he unlocked the door there was a pungent smell in the hallway. A handkerchief lay tossed on the floor, a small brown bottle beside it.

He called out Nadia's name and when he got no answer he felt his stomach sink.

He picked up the handkerchief and moved into the rooms. A flowerpot and stand had been knocked over. There had been a struggle here, Lukin was in no doubt. He was shaking with rage and fear, consumed with worry for Nadia. God, don't let her be harmed.

He put the handkerchief to his nose and sniffed the pungent smell.

Ether.

He checked the bedroom–empty-then moved into the kitchen. He saw the note on the table. He read it and turned even paler, and his body shook. He raced back down the stairs to look for the block janitor. He found him in the boiler room, drinking vodka.

Yes, a man had called, early that morning. Tall, blond, smiled a lot. Said he knew you. friend from the war, he said. When Your wife wasn't here he said he wanted to call back and surprise her. Why? Is everything all right, Major Lukin? You,look pale, Major Lukin."

Lukin had looked at the old man distractedly and lied. "Yes ... yes, fine. Thank you. I imagine they've gone somewhere together."

He went back upstairs and sat at the kitchen table for almost an hour, wondering what to do next.

Nothing.

He could do nothing until he met Stanski.

He felt a livid urge to kill the man. If he harmed a hair on Nadia's head he'd tear him apart.

What if she had been hurt? What if Stanski had injured her?

God ... let her be safe. She's all I have.

And then another thought: how had Stanski known where he lived? Had he been watching him? Had he simply found his address from the city telephone directory? Lukin was too confused to think straight. He left the question aside. All that mattered was Nadia's safety.

He imagined Nadia hurt, Nadia ill, Nadia frightened and locked up somewhere, and he almost drove himself insane with worry.

He had to stop it. He went into the bathroom, splashed icy water on his face. The mood wouldn't go away. God, he wanted to destroy Stanski.

Why had Nadia been taken?

Why?

And then he understood.

Stanski wanted to trade. Nadia for Anna Khorev.

It was so obvious that in his turmoil he hadn't seen it.

But that would be impossible.

It was two hours later when Lukin left the apartment. Stanski had chosen his meeting place well. Novodevichy Convent was deserted, the nuns long ago shot or deported to the penal camps.

And as Lukin sat by the frozen river, he tried hard to control himself. Would the Wolf come himself or send someone'?

He heard the rustle behind him and turned.

A man stepped out of the shadows. He wore a long dark overcoat and his face was visible in the twilight. Stanski. He held a Tokarev pistol in his right hand.

Rage erupted inside Lukin. He felt an overpowering urge to rush Stanski and wrench the gun from his hand.

"Where's my wife?"

"Stay where you are. Don't move and don't talk."

Stanski reached over and his free hand searched Lukin's body.

Lukin said, "I'm unarmed."

"Shut up."

When Stanski finished he stepped back. Lukin said again, "My wife, where is she?"

"She's safe. For now. But her safety really depends on you."

"What do you want?"

"I want Anna Khorev. And I want her tonight."

LUKIN felt sweat drip down his back. He shook his head. "That's impossible. I can't release her, I don't have the authority. You must know that."

"Don't lie to me, Lukin. You can do anything you want."

"I couldn't release her without permission. It's impossible."

"Impossible or not, you bring her here tonight. Eight o'clock. Just you and her. You tell no one what you're doing. My people will be watching you every step of the way. Just like we watched you taking her into the Lubionika this afternoon. And these are the rules-you fail me, or try anything foolish, you won't see your wife again. Is that understood?"

Lukin was numb with shock. Stanski had him watched. In the middle of Moscow this American had him watched. He felt the anger flare inside him and clenched his teeth.

"I have a condition."

"No conditions."

"You bring my wife here tonight. I get her back when I hand over the prisoner. You agree or I don't bring the girl."

"I'll think about it."

Lukin shook his head. "No, no thinking. You agree or you don't. I don't trust YOU."

"Very well. But remember the rules. You do anything foolish, you get no second chances."

"And you understand. When this is over, I'm going to find you and I'm going to kill you."

Stanski grinned. "But you'll have to catch me first." He pointed the Tokarev in Lukin's face. "Close your eyes, tightly. Count to twenty. Nice and slow."

Lukin shut his eyes. Silence. Cold. But not feeling the icy air; his anger boiling, like a furnace inside his head. A win@ whistled through branches.

He counted to twenty.

When he snapped open his eyes the Wolf was gone.

The Lenin Hills were covered in a patina of white as Lukin parked the BMW on the rise of a hill and climbed out. He ran the rest of the way to the top of the hill.

In the valley below, Moscow was a million winking lights. When he reached the top he knelt, panting, in the snow. His body shook. So close to Stanski. So close and he couldn't kill him. He felt he was losing his grip, his mind throbbing with confusion as the image of Nadia raged through it.

He felt hopelessly lost.

The Wolf was clever. Very, very clever.

He smashed his fist into the snow. He wanted to scream but closed his eyes instead, opened them again, blinked several times.

Whichever way he looked at it, he was dead.

By releasing Anna Khorev he was signing his own death warrant. Perhaps Nadia's also.

How could he explain to Beria? How?

The man would never listen.

There had to be a way out of this-had to be. He just couldn't see it.

How had Stanski known where he lived? How had he known about him taking the woman out of the Lubyanka that morning?

Stanski had to have help in Moscow. And the man was far more capable than he ever imagined.

Lukin drew a deep breath, let it out sharply. He tried to think furiously but his head felt like a block of ice. Not responding.

Think.

Think.

He forced himself to think hard, until the action was like an ache in the top of his skull. A wind raged across the hill. The icy chill gouged at his eyes, but his mind was racing now, as a plan started to form in his head.

It was dangerous, very dangerous, but it was his only hope. If it went wrong, he and Nadia were dead. They were dead anyway if he released the woman. This way they stood some chance. He had to risk it. He checked his watch. Four P.m. He had enough time to do what he needed to do before taking Anna Khorev from the Lubyanka to the convent.

He turned and started to race back down the hill.

Austria.

The hilly streets of the old wine town of Grinzing in the Vienna woods were busy that Sunday afternoon, the cozy restaurants and taverns crammed with off-duty Allied occupation troops and Viennese couples enjoying their first spring weekend.

Gratchev stepped off the number 38 tram and crossed the street. The snow lay thin on the ground but the air was crisp and dry and he walked for several minutes until he reached the tavem near the end of the town. When he was satisfied he hadn't been followed, he stepped inside.

The place was crowded and there was a three-man ensemble with accordions and zither playing lively Austrian folk music as they moved through the noisy tavern. Gratchev made a face. He hated that sort of fucking music and the sound did nothing to improve his mood.

He recognized the handsome, dark-haired woman seated alone in a wooden booth. It had been a year since they had last met and her slim, firm body still brought out an urge in him. She smiled when she saw him but Gratchev didn't smile back.

He crossed over and eased his bulk into the seat opposite. He was short and stockily built with bushy eyebrows and, like most men used to a lifetime of wearing a military uniform, he wore his civilian clothes uncomfortably.

The woman said, "It's good to see you, Volya."

Gratchev looked at her and grunted. "I wish I could say the same."

"What's it to be? Vodka?"

"These days I prefer American bourbon. Ice and water."

The woman called the waiter and ordered their drinks. When the waiter had gone she lit a cigarette and offered her companion one.

Gratchev accepted the cigarette. "What made you pick this place?"

The woman smiled. "Everybody's too busy getting drunk to pay any attention to two old friends tawng. Besides, your people watch the city."

"True enough. So what's this about?"

The waiter returned with their drinks and as the woman lit his cigarette she looked at her companion's face. It was a livedin face. Deep lines like scars on his jaws and forehead and the narrow Slavic eyes that were dark and unpredictable. A Russian face, no question. Deep and brooding, but with a touch of humor, wrinkles at the corners of the man's mouth from smiling. But he wasn't smiling now.

She said, "You got my message?"

"Would I be here if I hadn't?" He looked at his watch dismissively. "I presume you didn't come to talk pleasantries, Eva. I'm supposed to be at an opera matinee. It finishes at five and I've got to be back at the base by six. I had to tell my driver I was seeing a certain lady acquaintance. It cost me a bottle of vodka to keep his mouth shut. And even that's compromising. So tell me why you're here."

The woman leaned forward. "I have a favor to ask, Volya."

"I guessed as much." The Russian put down his bourbon almost angrily. "When will you Jews ever leave me in peace?"

"Mossad has asked very little of you, Volya. But if you do this one thing we wipe the slate clean and we never contact you again. Ever."

Gratchev's eyebrows rose. "That's a promise?"

"You have my word."

Gratchev sighed. "Then it must be important. Tell me what it is you want. More of your friends flown to Vienna?"

The woman glanced around the room. The tavem buzzed with conversation and music as the three musicians wandered from table to table. No one was paying her and her companion the slightest attention. She looked back at the Russian.

"Not this time. We need to get a man into Moscow secretly, and back if necessary. We need you to do it and provide him with the necessary travel papers."

Gratchev's eyes opened wide. "Moscow? Impossible."

"Hardly. You're a colonel in the Soviet Air Force. Such a thing would not be beyond possibility."

"I may be a colonel, but what you're asking is dangerous and impractical. Who is this man?"

"One of our people."

"Mossad?"

"Yes. And we need it done tonight."

The Russian blinked, then sat back and laughed. "My darting Eva, you need to cool that pretty head of yours. It's been frying too long in the Middle East sun."

"I'm not joking, Volya."

The Russian nervously fingered his glass. "Then you're crazy."

The woman hesitated. "If you don't agree to help, your file will be handed over to the Soviet Embassy in Tel Aviv tonight."

Gratchev's face turned red and he clutched his glass so hard the woman thought it would shatter.

"You little bitch! To think I once loved you."

"Temper, Volya. I'm only a messenger."

The three men with the accordions and zither wandered over to the table, playing with beaming smiles on their faces.

Gratchev looked at them icily and said, "Why don't you fuck off and bother someone else?"

The grins changed into a shared look of affront, and the musicians moved on.

The woman laughed. "I see you haven't lost your charm and diplomacy."

Gratchev snorted. "Remember how those Kraut bastards used to play the same music near the front lines? It still drives me crazy."

The look of anger disappeared from Gratchev's face. His mind flashed back almost ten years. A captain, he had been shot down over southern Poland in '43 and captured by the Germans. For four days and nights he had been frightened and in solitary confinement, while the Gestapo had interrogated him in the local police barracks and in the process almost beaten him to death. On the fifth day a group of partisans attacked the barracks to rescue one of their comrades.

Jews, mostly, who had escaped the Warsaw uprising, they showed no mercy to the captured Gestapo, executing them on the spot. Eva Bronski was in command. She had asked Gratchev if he wanted to join them, and he, was grateful for the reprieve, had no difficulty saying yes. They battled the Germans together for over a year, and he had loved her for her courage and beauty like he had loved no other woman, not even his wife.

When the Russians had eventually pushed south and overrun the German lines, she took Gratchev to the district Red Army commissar and explained that he had been shot down over partisan territory. She told the commissar that Gratchev had helped lead and organize the partisans, and the way she told it he had been a hero, the bravest man she had ever known. She made no mention of his capture and interrogation by the Gestapo, for that could have cost him a prison sentence, his rank, and maybe even his life.

They said their emotional good-byes that same day, and by the end of the war he was a wing commander, decorated by Stalin, two years later a full colonel.

The first month he was posted to the Soviet air base in Vienna. Three years later he was sitting in a coffee house minding his own business when a woman sat opposite him. Gratchev's face dropped.

Eva said, "Hello, Volya."

Before he could reply she slid an envelope across the table and told him to open it. When he did he saw copies of his Gestapo arrest documents, a transcript of his interrogation, with replies by him that would have been enough to destroy him utterly.

It was simple blackmail after that. The woman had saved him to use him. He was forced to help smuggle Jews on Soviet Air Force flights to Vienna, bound for the new state of Israel. Not often, but often enough to give him sleepless nights.

. Now, sitting in the tavern, Gratchev sighed and stood up. "Walk with me."

"Where?"

"Outside, in the street."

Gratchev tossed some notes on the table and they went outside and walked until they found a spot that overlooked the lights of Vienna. Gratchev stopped. "You were serious? About leaving me in peace?"

""If you do this, definitely."

"Your man speaks Russian, obviously."

"Obviously."

Gratchev sighed and thought for a moment. "There's a military transporter leaving for Moscow from Vienna at six this evening. There's a house on Mahler Strasse. Number four. I have a mistress there. Have your man at the address at five o'clock. No later."

He looked at the woman. "So this is the last time we meet?"

"You have my word."

He continued looking at her face almost wistfully. He went to kiss her, then seemed to change his mind and let his hand trace the outline of her face. "Shalom, Eva. Think of me sometimes."

"Shalom, Volya."

He turned and walked back toward the town and the tram op.

Moments later a black Opel pulled up at the curb and the woman climbed in. The man in the driver's seat turned around. Branigan said, "Well?

How did it go?"

The woman nodded at Massey, sitting beside her. "Your friend leaves tonight."

There was an expression of relief on Branigan's face as he looked at Massey. "I guess you're in luck, Jake."

Massey didn't reply. Branigan tapped the driver's shoulder and the car pulled out from the curb.

Moscow.

The guard unlocked the cell door and Lukin stepped inside.

Anna Khorev barely acknowledged him as she sat on the edge of the wooden bed. As the door clanged shut behind him, Lukin said, "Anna?"

She looked up at him slowly but didn't speak. Her eyes were red from crying, her face drawn and pale. Lukin thought she looked as if she were in a trance. What had happened in the park appeared to have left her deeply traumatized.

He said, "Anna, I want you to listen to what I have to say. I'm releasing you."

She looked up, a puzzled frown on her face.

He said, "It's no trick. Something's happened you need to know about."

He told her what had happened to his wife and when he had finished he saw the shocked reaction but she didn't reply.

"I'm exchanging your life for hers. That's what Stanski wants. If I don't agree he says he'll kill my wife." When she still looked unconvinced, he said, "Anna, this is no elaborate trick, you must believe me. You have to come with me now, there isn't much time. Please."

"Where are you taking me?"

"A rendezvous near Moscow. The convent of Novodevichyas far as the chief warden is concerned you're being transferred to Lefortovo prison. But I need your cooperation. Please don't do anything rash when we leave the building and don't speak to anyone but me. And when we meet Stanski I want you to do something for me."

"What?"

"Persuade him not to harm my wife. She's pregnant. Stanski can do what he wants to me, but if he harms my wife, I'll kill him. Whatever's between Stanski and me doesn't concern her. Will you do as I ask?"

Anna Khorev continued to look at him as if she didn't believe what was happening. She seemed to be studying his face.

His voice had sounded dead with despair. She must have seen the dark rings under his eyes and the tension in his body, and he was aware how absurd the situation was; he was no longer the interrogator, but pleading with her. He didn't know whether she hated him or not, or if she was getting some grim satisfaction from his dilemma, but then she nodded.

"Yes."

"Thank you." Lukin moved toward the door. "We'd better go."

"What will happen to you?"

"Because of this? Does it matter? Ultimately we're all dead. You and Stanski because I doubt You'll get out of Moscow alive after Beria learns about this. And my wife and I for what I've allowed to happen."

"What will happen to my daughter?"

"Anna ... "Tell me."

Lukin saw the utter misery in her eyes. She was on the edge of tears but she didn't cry. He shook his head. "I can't answer that, Anna. I honestly can't."

He saw the grief flood her face and despite his own despair it almost broke his heart.

He touched her shoulder gently. "We'd better leave now. There isn't much time."

Anna sat in the front passenger seat as Lukin drove. She stared out beyond the windshield at the lights of Moscow.

He had signed the release and transfer papers in front of a warden before he put the handcuffs on her. Five minutes later they drove out of the Lubyanka courtyard and he had pulled up to the curb and removed the handcuffs. After that he had been silent. She didn't care whether he spoke or not. All she could think of was Sasha. It had almost broken her heart to see her again. Holding the child in her arms had brought back a flood of memories and she thought she was going mad with anguish. She felt as if someone had stuck a dagger in her heart.

So much about her daughter had changed and yet she was still Sasha. She remembered the smell of her, the feel of her skin. And then came a flood of grief when she realized all the moments they had missed together in their lives.

And then Lukin had taken her away and she would never see her again.

She had wanted to die at that moment in the park, because only death would put an end to her suffering. And now she was consumed with worry; what would happen to her daughter?

Despite what Stanski had done, somehow she didn't seem to care. She looked at Lukin as he drove. She hated him. Hated him for what he was and what he had done to her.

She wanted to kill him.

Looking at his face, she realized he was close to the breaking point. For a brief moment in the cell she had felt compassion for him, but now she thought of Sasha again and her anger came back.

Finally, she couldn't bear the silence any longer.

"Give me a cigarette."

Lukin looked across at her. "Are you all right?"

"Just give me a cigarette."

He pulled in and searched in his pocket. He gave her his cigarettes and lighter and pulled out from the curb again. Anna lit a cigarette and saw that her hands were trembling.

"May I have one too?"

She lit another and handed it across. Lukin glanced at her. "Stanski must love you."

"Why?"

"To do what he's done. He's either very courageous or else he loves you so much he's being reckless." When Anna didn't reply, Lukin said, "Does he love you?"

"He's not doing this for love."

"Then why is he doing it?"

"Because he doesn't want to see me harmed or killed by bastards like you."

Lukin looked across at her steadily. "Anna, let me tell you something. I've never killed or hurt a woman in my life. And as far as asking for the job of finding Stanski, I was ordered to. But one thing I will tell you. If he harms Nadia, I'll kill him."

Lukin switched off the engine and doused the headlights. As he stepped out of the car he said to Anna, "Please wait, and don't leave the car."

He started to walk toward the deserted convent. Halfway there he looked back at the BMW. Anna Khorev was still sitting in the passenger seat. He heard an owl hoot.

There was an arched entrance in front which led into the convent. When he reached the archway he halted. A rusted trellis gate stood at the end. He stepped up to the gate. It was padlocked with a heavy chain. Beyond stood a collection of dilapidated whitewashed buildings set around a small courtyard with a fountain in the center.

He heard a voice behind him.

"Turn around slowly."

Lukin turned, his pulse racing, as Stanski stepped toward him out of the shadows, the Tokarev pistol in his hand.

"Up against the wall and spread your feet."

Lukin bit back his rage and did as he was told. When he had finished searching him, Stanski said, "Where's Anna?"

"in the car."

"You came alone?"

"Only with the woman. Where's my wife ... ?"

"Later."

Lukin was spun around to the right and Stanski pushed him forward. "Walk toward the car."

"My wife ... we agreed, Stanski."

Lukin glanced back and felt the barrel of the gun in his neck.

"How do you know my name?"

"We knew all about you and the woman before you parachuted onto Soviet soil."

"What else do you know?"

"You're here to kill Stalin."

There was a silence, then Lukin felt the gun press hard into his neck. "Keep looking straight ahead and walk. You try anything and I drop you."

"You're either a very brave man or a complete fool. After tonight you won't stand a chance of getting near Stalin. The entire army will be searching Moscow for you. Take my advice and forget what you came to Moscow to do. You're throwing your life away. And Anna's."

He felt the sudden sharp blow on the back of his skull and a bolt of pain jolted him. "Now why don't you shut the hell up and keep walking."

They reached the BMW and Stanski flashed an electric flashlight in Anna's face. "Are you alone?"

"Yes."

"Were you followed?"

"I ... I didn't see anyone."

Stanski shone the light around the inside of the car. "OK, step out slowly."

When Anna stepped out, Stanski said, "At the back of the convent there's a road by the river. You'll see a car parked. Someone's waiting in the driver's seat. Get going, fast."

Suddenly Stanski fired a shot into the BMW's right front tire. It hissed and deflated. He did the same with the driver's side.

He came back and aimed the Tokarev at Lukin's head, then said to Anna, "What the hell are you waiting for. Go!"

Anna didn't move as she looked at Stanski. "What about Lukin's wife?"

"Get going. Leave this to me."

"Don't kill him."

"Just do as I say. Get going. Now!"

"No. Not until you release his wife and promise me you won't harm them. Not until you do that."

Stanski stared at her in disbelief. "Just whose side are you on, for God's sake! Move!"

Anna didn't flinch. "I mean it. I'm not going until I know his wife's safe and you won't harm him."

Stanski had a wild look on his face and for a moment Anna thought he would kill both her and Lukin.

"Please, Alex." He said angrily, "Go to the car. The woman's inside. Bring her here. Quickly. I haven't got all night."

"You won't kill him?"

"No. Now move. Get his wife."

She moved away toward the convent at a run.

Stanski gestured to LUKIN with the gun. "Get down on your knees. Then lie flat on your stomach.@' Lukin turned pale. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Do it or I take your head off now."

Lukin knelt, then lay in the snow on his stomach. "if you're going to kill me do it now. Do it before my wife comes. I don't want her to see this."

Stanski put the tip of the barrel against the back of Lukin's skull. He cocked the hammer.

For a long time he hesitated, then he said, "It's tempting, but not this time, Lukin. I think your life's just been saved. I can't think why. But let me tell you this. If I see you again after tonight you're dead."

Stanski heard a noise and turned. Anna raced out of the shadows of the convent wall, clutching Lukin's wife by the arm.

They had come halfway when Stanski shouted, "That's far enough! She comes the rest of the way alone."

Anna let go of the woman's arm. Stanski was already moving back toward the convent, the Tokarev still aimed at Lukin. He passed Lukin's wife and then shouted at Anna, "Get back to the car."