BYLANDET ISLAND
Massey came awake on his back with a splitting headache. He groaned. Slowly, the pain and fog washed away. He opened his eyes and looked about the room. He was in one of the bedrooms of the island house, the blankets tossed carelessly around him on the bed. He heard the wind gusting wildly outside, and the brightly lit room was bitterly cold. He remembered the darkened figures bursting in through the front door and the blow across the back of the neck, but after that, nothing.
Who the heck had struck him? He got to his feet in a panic and stumbled to the window, ignoring the dizzying spasms of pain. He pulled back the curtain.
Flakes of snow dashed against the glass, and he saw a blaze of light below. Two black American Fords were parked outside the house, and half a dozen men stood around, rubbing their hands to keep out the cold. Massey recognized none of them.
Suddenly he heard footsteps climb the stairs and looked around. The footsteps halted outside the door. Massey felt his heart race as the door opened.
Branigan stood with a grim look on his face. He wore an overcoat and scarf and leather gloves. He stepped into the room. “So, you finally decided to join us.”
Massey said hoarsely, “What’s going on, Branigan? You almost killed me!”
“I could ask you the same question.”
Massey went to brush past him, but Branigan moved to block his way. “And where do you think you’re going?”
“Downstairs—there’s a radio beacon—landing lights on the ice—”
“If you’re thinking about your friend Saarinen, forget it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s dead.”
Massey turned white.
Branigan looked at him coldly. “We need to talk.”
TALLINN, ESTONIA
The Zis army truck jerked to a halt, and Slanski raised himself from the floor and peered out beyond the canvas flap.
They had halted in a narrow alleyway beside what looked like an ancient inn. Beyond lay a deserted cobbled square. Shabby, brightly painted medieval houses ringed the square. He guessed they were in the old town of Tallinn.
Anna sat beside him, and as she dragged herself up they heard the doors of the front cab open and the sound of feet hitting the ground and crunching on snow. A moment later the sergeant tore back the canvas flap. The KGB officer grinned up at them. “Right, bring your things and follow me.”
Slanski jumped down, and he and the sergeant helped Anna from the truck. They followed the officer down a foul-smelling alleyway to a door at the side of the inn. The place stank of stale beer.
The officer brushed snow from his face and knocked on the door. They heard the sound of metal bolts, and then a big, stoutly built man with a bushy red beard appeared in the open doorway. He wore a filthy white smock, and a cigarette dangled from his bearded lips.
The officer smiled and said in Russian, “Your guests arrived on time, Toomas. Got a bit of a shock when they saw the uniforms. Good job we found them before the army did. The Russians are swarming all over the place.” The officer jerked his thumb at Slanski. “For a moment there I thought our friend here was one of them.”
The innkeeper wiped his hands on his smock and grinned. His teeth were stained yellow, and his red beard hid half his face. “You’d better not hang around, Erik. Get that truck back to the barracks immediately.”
The officer nodded and was gone, and they heard the Zis start up and move out from the alleyway.
The innkeeper ushered them into a hallway. When he had closed and locked the door he shook their hands. “My name is Toomas Gorev. Welcome to Estonia, my friends. I take it everything went well with the drop despite the lousy weather?”
Slanski said, “Apart from the shock of having the KGB waiting for us, reasonably good.”
The innkeeper grinned. “A necessary change of plan, I’m afraid. Some pig of a Russian general decided to put the army on maneuvers at the last minute. Two divisions are moving south toward the coast for the next couple of nights. The area you landed in was smack right in the middle of their route. Using the army truck was the only way our resistance could pick you up. But don’t worry, you’re safe now.”
Slanski said, “There’s a problem. I buried some belongings back in the woods.”
Gorev shook his head. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to leave them there. For the next few days there’s going to be too much military activity in those parts. It would be more trouble than it’s worth.”
He gestured toward an open door at the end of the hall, a shabby kitchen beyond. Dried fish and moldy-looking slabs of meat hung from hooks. “In Estonia, we have a saying: never welcome a guest without offering liquid refreshment. Come, I have a bottle of vodka opened. I’m sure you both need warming after dropping through that filthy storm.”
• • •
The staff car turned into the main square of Tondy barracks just after 3 a.m. and ground to a halt.
As Lukin climbed out tiredly he looked around and shivered. The snow had lightened, but the early morning air was ice cold. The old barracks had once belonged to the tsar’s cavalry, its red brickwork faded and crumbling, but now it served as Red Army Headquarters in Tallinn.
There was a captain waiting at a barrack door. He saluted. “Captain Oleg Kaman. I was ordered to be at your service, sir.”
“Carry on.”
The captain led Lukin up a stone stairwell to an office on the third floor. The room overlooked a broad square and was barely furnished: just a desk, a couple of hardwood chairs, and a rusting filing cabinet set against one wall. A map of the Baltic States and Estonia hung on another. A red folder lay on the desk, and when the captain had taken Lukin’s overcoat he said, “Some tea or coffee, Major?”
Lukin shook his head and sat down. “Perhaps later. You’re familiar with Tallinn, Captain?”
“My father comes from these parts, and I’ve been stationed here for five years. My commander was called away to supervise winter maneuvers and sends his regrets.”
“Good. You have a progress report ready for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then proceed.”
Lukin sat back wearily in the chair. In Moscow there had just been time for a quick phone call to his wife before a Zis had sped him away to the airport. The MiG had lifted off during a lull in the snow, but the flight had taken half an hour longer than expected as the pilot tried to avoid the worst of the weather, Lukin cramped in the rear cockpit seat. The visibility at Tallinn airport was dangerously bad and the landing had been frightening, the lights of the runway visible for only the last few hundred yards.
Now Lukin looked up and saw Kaman stare at him. Lukin said, “Well?”
“I’m sorry, Major. You seemed distracted.”
Lukin’s stump itched in the cold and he scratched his arm. “It’s been a tiring night. Give me your report.”
The captain picked up the folder from the desk and opened it. He cleared his throat. “So far, what we know is that at approximately nine p.m. local time a MiG 15P all-weather fighter on coastal patrol disappeared. The aircraft was being tracked here in Tallinn, from the radio tower in St. Olaus’s Church near Pikk Street, but because of bad weather only intermittent contact was made.”
The captain pointed to an area of sea on the map. “We think the MiG vanished somewhere here. When the alarm went up three other MiGs on patrol north of Leningrad were sent to scour the area. They flew low and spotted two areas of wreckage in their lights, crashed onto the ice. One was the MiG. The other appeared to be what remained of a light plane.”
When the captain hesitated, Lukin said, “You’re certain about the second aircraft?”
“Absolutely. That’s what the pilots reported. They suggest a midair collision occurred. The weather’s now cleared a little over the Gulf of Finland, but it’s still pretty bad. We’ve sent a foot patrol out onto the ice, but it may be dangerous to go too close to the wreckage. After the crash the ice nearby will be weakened. But the patrol ought to be able to get a better look as soon as they get there. We’ve already alerted the local militia that enemy agents may have been dropped and the commander ordered a dozen patrols out to scour inland and along the coast, but we’ve turned up nothing so far.” The captain paused. “That’s it, basically.”
“How long before the foot patrol reaches the crash site?”
The captain glanced at his watch. “A couple of hours. But it depends on the weather conditions, obviously. They’re in radio contact.”
Lukin rubbed his eyes. “You think the light aircraft managed to drop these people before it crashed?”
“Difficult to know, sir, but it’s likely.”
“Why?”
Kaman pointed at the map. “The local radar picked up several spurious blips west of Tallinn, along this route here. Three fast, one slow. Assuming the slow one was the light aircraft, its altered heading would suggest the drop had already been made and it was turning back. The radar people suggest that Finland was the likely destination. So we must assume the drop has been made, and the man and woman you’re seeking are on Russian soil.”
Lukin stood. The file Beria had given him had contained a photograph of the woman, Anna Khorev. Despite her scrawny appearance she looked rather beautiful, which helped him. It was always easier for the militia to spot a good-looking woman. Plain ones tended to blend into the crowd.
There were details in the file as to why she had been arrested and sent to the Gulag and information on her escape. The woman’s past made unpleasant reading. She was the daughter of a disgraced army officer, her husband had died in a camp, and her child was in the care of a Moscow orphanage.
The man’s file didn’t go into much detail. Alexander Slanski, a Russian-born, naturalized American citizen. Lukin had read the brief character sketch compiled by the 1st Directorate with interest, but there was no information concerning Slanski’s childhood in Russia, and Lukin had wondered about that. Such information might help him.
“A question, Captain. If you were an enemy agent parachuted onto Russian soil with your destination being Moscow, how would you proceed?”
“I don’t understand.”
“What route would you take? What disguises would you use? How would you try to avoid the enemy?”
The captain thought a moment. “It would depend.”
“On what?”
“On whether I knew the enemy was aware of my arrival.”
“Go on.”
“If the enemy was unaware, I’d probably take the direct route, with precautions. A train, main line, or some such public transport, bus, or plane. I’d probably not travel in uniform because there are periodic checks on military personnel at such stations.”
“And if your enemy did know of your arrival?”
The captain thought a moment. “Lie low for a couple of days. Then take a less direct route using public transport. But in disguise. And I would try to behave like a local, so as not to arouse suspicion. Assume a local’s dress, his demeanor, his habits. Walk the way he walks, speak the way he speaks.”
Lukin nodded. “Good. These people would hardly know the aircraft has crashed, but allowing for both scenarios I want checkpoints placed on every major and minor road, every railway and bus station, and the airport. Identity checks at all those points. Use every available man. You’ll be looking for a woman aged twenty-six. But cover the ages between eighteen and forty.
“As for the man, his description is less helpful. We know he’s in his mid-thirties. Again, check all males between twenty-five and sixty. Take particular note of identity papers. And remember that makeup or disguise can change appearances. Put any backup men in plain clothes, not uniforms. That only attracts attention. And I want hourly reports. Inform the local militia that if anyone is spotted acting questionably, or if parachutes or any suspicious equipment is found, I want to know about it. If all that dredges up nothing, we start sector searches. Area by area, house by house.” Lukin handed over the photographs. “Have copies of these made and distributed to the officers involved. The images are not the best, I’m afraid, but they’re all I have.”
“Very good, sir.”
The captain gestured to a door leading off from the room. “I’ve taken the liberty of having a bed made up for you in the next room.”
“Thank you, Captain. Carry on.”
Kaman saluted and left.
The meeting with Beria and the implicit threat had disturbed Lukin. Of one thing he was certain: he couldn’t fail. He could imagine the outcome if he did. The way Beria played the game, Lukin would forfeit his own life, and perhaps even Nadia’s. The man was that merciless.
The executions and the image of the girl being tortured replayed in his mind like a bad dream. To men like Beria and Romulka, torture and death were pleasures and all part of the game. But not to him.
Lukin remembered a spring day in a forest near Kursk. The young German girl he had cornered, no more than eighteen, parachuted in on a reconnaissance mission behind Russian lines by the Abwehr in a last-ditch German offensive.
He and two of his men had tracked her down to an abandoned house in some woods. She was wounded, helpless, and frightened. Lukin had gone in by the back door with his gun drawn, but when he saw her, frozen with fear, huddled in a corner with a coat thrown over her, something had made him drop his guard. The girl had reminded him of a long-ago innocent face. His young sister, age four, crying as she clutched a rag doll on their father’s doorstep, with the same frightened, helpless look. The resemblance was uncanny.
But the indecision had proved almost fatal. The ragged burst from the girl’s machine pistol hidden under her coat had nearly torn off Lukin’s arm. One of the other men had to shoot the girl. Two months after he recovered, Lukin was transferred back to Moscow.
His heart wasn’t in it anymore.
But now was different. Now it was find this man and woman or die. With the descriptions and information he had and the swiftness of Moscow’s response, he imagined it would be over quickly. By dawn, hopefully. Estonia was a small country, Tallinn a small town, the places the couple could run to or hide in, limited.
And this time there could be no mistakes.