Gorev, his face pale, looked from Slanski to Anna as they sat in their bedroom. The innkeeper had ushered them upstairs as soon as they returned. “Bad news. I had a visit from the local militia sergeant.”
Slanski said worriedly, “What did he want?”
“To see the inn’s guest register. Luckily I hadn’t written in your names. When he saw the ranks of the two KGB officers in the register he left. We’re in the clear for now, but it doesn’t look good.” Gorev wiped his hands anxiously on his grimy smock. “According to Erik, the army and militia are setting up roadblocks everywhere. They’re watching the bus and railway stations and the airport with great interest. It seems almost everyone’s papers are being checked. Apparently, some KGB major arrived here from Moscow last night to take charge of the operation. His name’s Lukin, and barrack rumor has it he’s working directly for Beria. Erik says he’s got everyone on his toes. The militia shot one man already at the railway station. A deserter, unlucky soul.”
“Did Erik know exactly why this Major Lukin was in Tallinn?”
“That’s the really rich part. Erik heard he’s looking for two agents who parachuted in last night. Apparently, a MiG disappeared and crashed off the coast. A foot patrol was sent out onto the Baltic ice last night. This morning they found the wreckage and another of a light aircraft that had crashed midair into the MiG. No doubt it was the aircraft that dropped you. That explains why the army and militia are swarming all over Tallinn like flies on dung.”
A muscle twitched in Slanski’s jaw. He looked at Anna. There was a shocked look on her face. He turned back to Gorev. “But how could this Lukin have known about us?”
“Search me. Maybe some yokel found your buried parachutes. But he does, and that spells trouble for all of us.”
Slanski saw Anna’s face pale.
Gorev said quickly, “My intention was to put you on the train for Leningrad, but that’s out of the question now with the station being watched. Even the buses are being stopped and checked, and the airport is definitely out. Security will be too tight.”
Anna said anxiously, “What can we do?”
Gorev stroked his beard. “Heaven only knows. Normally our resistance people in the forests would hide you. But getting you through the roadblocks would be too difficult, and their nearest camp is too far. I doubt Erik could try to borrow the truck again, that would be tempting luck too far. Besides, this Lukin seems to have commandeered every available vehicle and man at the barracks. And even if I got you to our resistance there are risks involved. The boys may not welcome your company right now—they get enough flak from the Reds as it is.”
Slanski slammed a fist on the table in frustration. “We’re in a huge mess!”
Gorev said, “Erik tells me they’ll start house-to-house searches if they haven’t found you both by tomorrow.”
Anna glanced at Slanski, a look of indecision on her face, and then she said, “What do we do?”
“Either way, I’m on this ride to the end of the tracks. But if you want to take your chances alone trying to hide out with the partisans, I’m sure Gorev will oblige.”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I stay with you.”
“Then there’s no choice at all, really. We have to move. We haven’t a chance staying here.”
“But that doesn’t seem possible. How can we get out of Tallinn?”
Gorev said, “You could try the sewers under the old town, but you’d be asphyxiated by the fumes before you got ten paces.”
“Where do the sewers lead?”
“To the edge of the old town. But after that, where do you go? And Erik says the Reds are everywhere.”
“It could be worth a try.”
Gorev shook his head firmly. “Forget it. We used the sewers once to hide weapons from the Germans. The gases killed two of our men, and another died from blood poisoning. A couple of sniffs of that foul air and you’d be on your backs in the mortuary. And even if you did manage to stay conscious, most of the tunnels lead to under the KGB Headquarters. You take the wrong turn, and you’d save this Major Lukin the effort of finding you.”
“Still, it looks like we’ll just have to take our chances. Could Erik find us some gas masks at the barracks?”
Gorev shrugged. “I can ask, but there’s still the risk of drowning or poisoning yourselves in the effluent. But it’s your heads on the chopping block, I suppose.”
They all heard a screech of tires on the cobbled street below, and they looked out of the window nervously. The Emka had drawn up, and the two KGB officers, Zinov and Bukarin, stepped out, two young women accompanying them. They all looked the worse for drink, and the women laughed as the young captain staggered drunkenly toward the inn.
Gorev’s face screwed up in disapproval. “Drunken wasters. Back for more drink at the bar and a roll in the hay with their girlfriends from the town.”
Slanski thought for a moment, then asked, “Did you tell your guests who we were?”
“Only that you were my niece and her husband on honeymoon. Why?”
“Nothing more? No names?”
Gorev shrugged. “It didn’t seem important to elaborate. Besides, they didn’t seem that interested.”
“When do your two friends leave?”
“Zinov drives back to Leningrad tomorrow morning, presuming he’s sober enough to drive. Bukarin, the younger one, tells me his girlfriend wants him to stay behind another couple of days. Why?”
“Maybe there’s another way out of this rattrap.” Slanski smiled. “You think you could find me an army officer’s uniform?”
• • •
Zinov was sitting at the bar when Slanski went in. One of the women, a blond, curvy girl, sat next to the colonel, nibbling his ear. A bottle of champagne was in front of them, two glasses poured. The young captain and his girlfriend were nowhere to be seen.
Zinov said, “Ah, my friend, you’re just in time for some champagne. We helped ourselves, I’m afraid. No sign of Gorev.”
The colonel’s eyes were glazed from alcohol, and as Slanski sat down he said, “Your wife isn’t joining you?”
“Tired, I’m afraid. She decided to have a nap.”
Zinov grinned crookedly. “My captain friend and his lady had the same problem. Shame. This Crimean champagne is really excellent. It has Maria here as tight as a rusty nut.” The young woman giggled and almost fell off her stool. Zinov grabbed her. “Hey, steady, old girl. We’ve still got another night to go.”
The girl was pretty, her blond hair cut short, but she wore too much makeup. She tried to focus on Slanski as she patted the bar stool next to her, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. “Here, you sit beside me.”
Zinov sipped champagne and grinned. “You’re talking to a newly married man, old girl. Right now he’s beyond temptation. Give him a couple of years of married life and try again.”
“Well, I still think he’s nice,” the woman gushed drunkenly.
“We’re all nice until you marry us.” Zinov patted the girl and winked at Slanski. “Perhaps it’s just as well that good wife of yours isn’t here, my boy. She probably wouldn’t approve. I know mine wouldn’t.” The colonel chuckled at his own joke.
“Each to his own, Colonel.”
“That’s what I always say. Well, don’t just stand there with a dry mouth. Have a drink.”
Zinov poured a glass of champagne for Slanski and another for himself and the girl.
Slanski said quickly, “Actually, I came to ask you a favor.”
“Oh, and what’s that?”
“I received an urgent call to report back to Leningrad. My unit is setting out for winter training maneuvers tomorrow night.”
“Funny, I thought you had a slight look of the army about you. But why didn’t Gorev say you were a military man? What’s your rank and division?”
“Captain. The 17th Armored. I brought my uniform with me, half expecting a call, but not so soon.”
“What a shame. Rather upset your honeymoon plans, hasn’t it? I know one or two of the boys up the military ladder in Leningrad. You want me to try to twist a few ears so you can stay on?”
“Thanks for the offer, sir, but I’m anxious to get back. I’ve already promised my wife to make up for the honeymoon with a trip to Odessa.”
“Good for you. Duty first, eh?”
“I was really hoping you might be able to oblige us with a lift. The last train for Leningrad left half an hour ago, and the first one tomorrow morning leaves too late. Toomas mentioned you were traveling to Leningrad, and I wondered if you had a couple of empty seats in the Emka. But forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn.”
Zinov smiled drunkenly. “Nonsense. A pleasure, and I’d be glad of the company. I have an early start, mind. Seven a.m. Does that suit you?”
“Perfectly.” Slanski finished his champagne and put down the glass. “My thanks for the drink, Comrade Colonel.”
“You’re going so soon?”
“I’ve got some packing to do, I’m afraid. And I’d better tell my wife.”
“Right, see you at seven, then.”
The girl began rubbing Zinov’s chest, and the colonel slapped her thigh. “That’s assuming, of course, this little tigress here doesn’t kill me with passion before the night’s out.”
• • •
It was almost midnight, and Slanski sat at the bedroom window smoking a cigarette. Anna came over and looked at him. “You think it will work?”
He shrugged. “I can’t think of anything else besides the sewers, and we can’t stay here. There’s a chance the checkpoints won’t be as suspicious of a car with two officers in uniform. And an officer’s wife traveling with her husband shouldn’t arouse too much curiosity.”
“What if we’re stopped?”
“Try not to seem like you’re frightened. The KGB can smell fear.”
“You think it was Janne’s plane that alerted them?”
“Probably.”
There was a knock on the door. Slanski opened it, and Gorev came in carrying an army captain’s uniform, brown leather belt and holster, overcoat, cap, and boots. “It’s the best I could do at short notice. Erik got everything from the army stores. The size should be all right, but the divisional flashes are a problem, I’m afraid. All they had was the 14th Armored.”
“I’ll just have to manage and hope Zinov was too drunk to remember I told him otherwise. Where is he?”
“In his bedroom with his girlfriend, drinking and wrecking my bed.”
Slanski smiled. “Thanks, Toomas.”
Gorev nodded and said anxiously, “Well, good luck, both of you. See you in the morning.”
When he left Slanski tried on the uniform. He buckled on the holstered Tokarev pistol and leather belt over the tight-waisted officer’s smock tunic, then adjusted his cap in the mirror.
Anna came in from the bathroom where she too had been dressing, and Slanski said, “What do you think? Do I pass?”
She looked at him. The blue eyes stared out arrogantly from under the broad-peaked officer’s cap, and in his polished boots and captain’s stiff shoulder boards and waisted tunic he looked the part. “I have to admit it suits you. Only try not to look so menacing.”
“I’m a Russian officer. It comes with the territory. Right, let me see what you’ll be wearing.”
Anna had changed into her clothes for the morning, a dark pleated skirt and a blouse opened at the neck. Her hair was down, and her makeup emphasized her good looks. Slanski shook his head. “An officer’s wife ought to look suitably attractive, but not that attractive. Your blouse would be better buttoned up to the neck, and your hair’s got to come up. Try to look a little dowdy.”
“Thanks.”
He reached over and pulled up her hair and tied it severely with a bow. “That’s better. Any militiaman will be drawn to look at a pretty face. Use your makeup more cleverly to avoid looking too good, and keep your scarf up around your neck. Are you wearing underwear?”
“What?”
He half smiled. “You heard me. Are you wearing the flimsy variety or something sturdier and warmer—the kind my old babushka used to swear by?”
“It’s been ten below freezing outside. What do you think?”
Slanski smiled. “Good. Tuck these into your underwear tomorrow.” He handed her his sets of false papers. “I suggest you do the same with your own, just in case they try a body search at the checkpoints. A militiaman usually won’t probe a woman’s undergarments unless he’s a complete animal. But if he does, play the cards as they fall.” Anna took the papers.
Slanski said, “And you’d better leave your pistol with Toomas before we go. If we are stopped and searched and they find it on you, it would only complicate matters.”
“What about you?”
“I’m in uniform.”
“How would you explain the silenced Nagant revolver?”
He smiled. “Let me worry about that.” He looked at her face seriously. “But let’s be honest, we both know it’s not going to be easy from now on.”
“Of course.”
“You know what to do if we get separated and there’s a risk of being caught?”
She nodded solemnly.
HELSINKI
Branigan was standing at the window on the second floor of the American Embassy, drinking his third cup of coffee. Massey sat in a nearby leather easy chair, looking grim as he stared at the lights of the islands out in Helsinki bay.
There was a knock on the door, and Douglas Canning came in holding a slip of flimsy paper in his hand. Massey stood anxiously. “Bad news, I’m afraid. I did as you asked, and according to our radio monitoring boys here in the embassy there’s a ton of transmission activity going on in Tallinn. Some kind of search, by the sound of it. Our boys gather from the gist of it that they’re looking for two people, a man and a woman. Looks like your two friends are definitely in for trouble.”
Branigan put down his coffee and snatched the paper from Canning’s hand and stared at it, then crumpled the paper and flung it angrily against the wall. “Terrific.”
Canning said to Massey, “Doesn’t anyone get to tell me what’s going on here?”
Massey didn’t reply, and Branigan looked across at him sternly. “I told you already, no questions. This is a top-secret matter. You keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for you.”
The diplomat flushed and looked offended. “Look, as you say, it’s none of my business and I don’t know what the heck is going on, but are you and your people planning on staying around here?”
Branigan sighed and shook his head. “We’re into a whole different ball game.” He looked over at Massey. “I was right. You really messed up, Jake. Big-time.”
Massey said worriedly, “What happens now?”
Branigan ignored the question and said to Canning, “I need to make an urgent call. Have you got a secure line I can use?”
Canning smiled. “Sure. But I wouldn’t suggest you phone the ambassador at this hour. The old man gets mighty sore about late-night calls to his home.”
Branigan stared back at the man with angry contempt. “You moron. I don’t want to talk with the ambassador. I want to talk with the president.”
TALLINN
FEBRUARY 27
Zinov looked red-eyed from a blinding hangover when Anna and Slanski entered the dining room before seven. His jowls were like rubber, and his brow furrowed as he sat alone at a table.
He waved to them silently across the room and returned to his breakfast.
When Gorev came in to serve them coffee, Slanski noticed that the innkeeper’s hands shook. “What’s the matter?” he asked quietly.
Gorev leaned over to pour coffee and whispered, “I took a walk down to the market square at six. The town is crawling with militia and KGB, and there are checkpoints everywhere. Without sounding like a defeatist, the moment you’re gone I’m going to go stay with my friends in the forest until I think it’s safe to reappear. If you’re caught, that could be never.”
Across the room, Zinov suddenly stood, wiped his mouth with his table napkin, and came over. He managed a weak smile at Gorev. “That champagne of yours could kill a man. My head feels as if someone’s been pounding it all night with a rubber club.”
“Every indulgence has its price, Colonel.”
“Indeed,” replied Zinov dryly. He looked at Anna and smiled again weakly. “May I say you look very fetching this morning, my dear.”
Anna wore heavy makeup that was far from pleasing and guessed Zinov was being polite. “Thank you, Colonel. My husband told me you’re driving us to Leningrad. I’m very grateful.”
“Nonsense. We have to look after our men in uniform. I’m just sorry this business of his has upset your honeymoon plans.” Zinov looked at his watch and said briskly, “I’ll be leaving in ten minutes, so try not to dally. They’re expecting me in Leningrad for a staff lunch at one.”
He turned to go, then hesitated and said to Slanski, “We’ll leave by the old East Tower, by the way. It takes us directly out onto the coast highway. And just so you know, I heard last evening the authorities are looking for a couple of enemy agents who parachuted in the other night so there are probably going to be checkpoints. Hopefully they won’t bother us.”
Slanski pretended surprise. “Really? Enemy agents from where?”
“You know, I didn’t even ask. A man and a woman. That’s all I know.”
• • •
Lukin had awakened at six, still exhausted after sleeping badly. He shaved and dressed before sitting at the table and reading through the night’s reports that Kaman had brought in. Kaman had also left a samovar of tea and some fresh rolls and foul-tasting plum jam on a breakfast tray. Lukin had dismissed the captain, saying he would call if he needed him. Now he spread the reports in front of him and sifted through the pages. The words danced on the paper, his eyeballs raw and sore from lack of sleep.
There was nothing much of interest. Every hotel and inn in the city and old town had been visited, and all the guests had been accounted for, their backgrounds checked and verified by KGB Headquarters on Pikk Street. The deserter tally had risen to twenty-one arrested.
There was a joke in the army that if you were going to desert, you headed west to the Baltic. The women were beautiful and the drink stronger, and at least a man might have some fleeting enjoyment before being sent to a Siberian penal colony for desertion.
Lukin looked up briefly to stare out at the darkness. Winter in this part of the Baltic was brooding, only three hours of sunshine at most. He longed for some warm Crimean sun: the scent of orange blossoms and wild jasmine and a hot wind on his face. He had promised to take Nadia to the Crimea this summer. He wondered if he would still be alive then to keep his promise.
He thought of her now and dreaded to consider what might become of her if he failed. He couldn’t fail. Lukin sighed in despair and concentrated again on the reports, tension and frustration coiled up inside him like a spring.
Twenty-one deserters, a black marketeer, and a youth of fifteen with a rusting unlicensed German Luger but no ammunition. The boy had been arrested during the night and questioned about the parachute drop, but it was obvious he knew nothing. Reading between the lines of the report by the local KGB, Lukin knew the boy had been tortured during interrogation. It was unlikely he was even a partisan. They hid in the forests, brave but futile Estonian men and women armed with decrepit German weapons, but they still harried the army even eight years after the war.
Lukin shivered as he put the report aside. The poor boy would most likely be shot. Having an unlicensed weapon in the occupied territories meant certain execution, regardless of age. He pushed back the chair and lit a cigarette, felt the strong makhorka tobacco reach the pit of his lungs.
There was a knock on the door, and Kaman entered and saluted. “The car’s ready for your checkpoint inspection, sir. The East Tower is first, I believe.”
Lukin stubbed out his cigarette. “Very well, Kaman, the East Tower it is.”
• • •
It was pitch dark and freezing as the Emka rattled down the narrow cobbled roads of the old town. Like most small Russian cars, the Emka was pretty basic and had no heater, so Zinov wore a heavy sheepskin jacket to keep warm. He had suggested that Anna and Slanski sit together in the backseat and use the heavy woolen blanket he kept for passengers to cover their legs. When he turned left onto a narrow road that led toward one of the ancient granite towers, they all saw the checkpoint ahead.
A group of plainclothesmen and uniformed militia manned a temporary red barrier placed across the road between two oil barrels, just in front of the tower. There was a line of three vehicles in front, two delivery trucks and a private car, halted and waiting to be allowed to pass. The militiamen appeared to have finished searching the first truck, and it drove through when the barrier was removed.
Zinov eased on the brakes and pulled in behind the car in front. He tapped the steering wheel impatiently with his fingers. “Damn it. I suppose there’s not much we can do but wait our turn.” He looked back at Slanski and Anna as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Smoke, anyone? Crimean black. Guaranteed to leave you gasping.”
Slanski took one, but Anna declined. Slanski touched the flame of his match to Zinov’s cigarette, then looked back at Anna. Her mouth was tense with strain, and she stared back at him.
They all heard a vehicle rattle on cobbles. Slanski looked ahead and saw a green army Zis drive up to the checkpoint from the opposite direction. The car braked to a halt, and a man stepped out. He wore a black KGB uniform, an officer’s cap, a heavy black overcoat, and galoshes. Slanski noticed he wore only one leather glove on his left hand. The other hand looked stiff, and he guessed it was fake.
The KGB man crossed to a uniformed officer at the checkpoint and spoke heatedly with him. Moments later the officer turned and barked an order, and the militiamen manning the checkpoint started to work more smartly. Klieg lamps and arc lamps sprang to life, flooding the cobbled street. More militia appeared, as if some of them had been sleeping in the backs of their cars and had been shaken awake. The KGB officer had obviously made an impression, because the second truck was being searched more thoroughly. There was a bustle of activity, and the darkness came alive with stern orders and answering voices.
Slanski felt Anna’s hand grip his tightly as they watched the scene. He counted twelve militia and army personnel, plus the KGB man with the leather glove and his driver. Five agonizing minutes passed, and the truck showed no sign of being allowed through. Behind them, more vehicles had joined the queue.
Zinov finally slammed his fist on the steering wheel. “Curse it! At this rate we’ll be lucky to make Leningrad by midnight.”
Suddenly the truck was allowed through, and the car in front of them started to move up. It was searched just as thoroughly, the driver’s papers scrutinized, and the KGB man watched it all with interest as he leaned against a wall smoking a cigarette. Slanski gritted his teeth and felt a cold sweat break out all over his body. He quietly unbuttoned the flap of his Tokarev pistol and made sure the safety catch was off. He leaned across to Anna, sensing her growing fear. “Get ready to move if we have to run for it,” he whispered. “Try to make it back to the inn.”
Zinov glanced around suddenly. “You said something?”
Slanski smiled and said quickly, “Perhaps we should have taken the train, Colonel.”
“My apologies, this is ridiculous.”
“Not your fault.”
“True, but I think it’s time I had a word with the officer in charge. We can’t hang around all day, blast it, or we’ll both be late.”
But suddenly it was their turn as the car in front was waved through. The barrier came down again as Zinov advanced the Emka, halted, and rolled down his window. The flood from the arc lamps washed the car in a blinding pool of light, and a militiaman ran forward. “Right, get out of the car, and have your papers ready.”
Zinov flushed red at the militiaman’s bluntness. He flashed his ID. “You’re talking to a colonel in the KGB. Watch your manners.” He waved toward the barrier. “Allow us to pass, and be quick about it.”
The militiaman looked at Zinov’s ID and shook his head. “Everyone’s got to be checked and their vehicles searched. So just do as you’re told, and we’ll get this over with as quickly as possible.”
Zinov could hardly contain his anger at the man’s impertinence. “We’ll see about that! Who’s in charge here?”
“It won’t make any difference, comrade. His name’s Major Lukin, KGB Moscow. So in the meantime, step out of the car.”
Slanski and Anna tensed at the mention of the name, but Zinov seemed to lose his head completely. “Shut up, you insolent fool, and tell the officer in charge I want to see him. Now!”
The roar from Zinov made the militiaman jump. The man turned and raised a hand and signaled the KGB man, the one named Lukin, who had been watching the proceedings.
He strode over. “Is there a problem?”
“Look here, Lukin, or whatever your name is,” said Zinov. “You’re talking to a colonel in the KGB, and my friends and I are in a hurry. We’ve got important business in Leningrad.”
“I’m afraid no one passes without being checked and searched.”
“On whose authority?”
Lukin produced his ID and held it out for Zinov to inspect. “On mine. There is a search in progress for enemy agents.”
Zinov examined Lukin’s ID and said, “That’s all very well, but as you can appreciate, you’re delaying us.”
“I’m delaying everyone, Colonel, but I’m sure you realize I have a job to do. Now, would you all please step out of the car and have your papers ready?”
Zinov grimaced, then stepped out and slammed the door after him. The militiaman examined his papers first while two men moved to search the car. Slanski and Anna slid out from the rear as Lukin’s eyes showed a sudden interest. He stepped forward. “Papers, please, Captain.”
Slanski handed them across. For a long time the major looked at Slanski’s face, then examined the papers before he looked up and asked, “And who is this lady?”
“My wife, Comrade Major. We’ve been staying in Tallinn on a short visit.”
“And the purpose of your visit to Tallinn, Captain Petrovsky?”
Slanski smiled and nodded at Anna. “Our honeymoon, comrade.”
“Where were you staying?”
“With a relative of my wife’s in the old town. Is there a problem, Comrade Major?”
Lukin studied Slanski’s face. “Indeed there is. We’re looking for a man and a woman, enemy agents who parachuted into Estonia the night before last. As it happens, our information suggests they’re about the ages of you and your wife here.” He looked at Anna. “So you say this lady is your wife?”
Slanski said proudly, “Indeed she is, comrade. We were married three days ago.” He smiled. “And I can assure you, Major, she’s not an enemy agent.”
There was a laugh from one of the militiamen standing nearby, but Lukin’s expression didn’t change. He said evenly, “My congratulations to both of you. May I see your papers also, madam?”
“Of course.” Anna fumbled in her handbag and handed them over.
Lukin examined the documents thoroughly, flashing his light on the paper, feeling it, rubbing his thumb against the page. He didn’t hand them back to Anna but looked at Slanski, then examined his papers again, doing the same. “Your destination, Captain Petrovsky?”
“Leningrad.”
“For what purpose?”
“To rejoin my division.”
“And which division is that?”
“The 14th Armored. There are winter maneuvers imminent at Novgorod, and I’m afraid I have to rejoin.”
The major glanced at Slanski’s 14th Armored uniform flashes. “Would you mind if we searched your luggage?”
Slanski shrugged. “Of course not, Major.”
Lukin snapped his fingers, and a militiaman appeared. “Remove the captain’s luggage, and search it thoroughly. His wife’s also.” He looked at Slanski again as suddenly two militiamen came forward with their Tokarev machine pistols at the ready, as if sensing trouble.
Zinov came over and interrupted. “Look, Major, is that really necessary? We’re in a hurry. This officer is known personally to me. And also the young lady. I happen to stay frequently with her uncle here in Tallinn.”
“Quite. And I’m sure you are in a hurry. But so are we all. This won’t take long.”
Zinov again flushed angrily. The militiaman removed all the bags, and Lukin said to Slanski, “Please indicate your luggage.” Slanski pointed out their two suitcases. Lukin examined both suitcases externally first, very carefully, running his fingers along the joins. Slanski felt sweat on the back of his neck and tried to judge how many shots he could get off rapidly, deciding there and then to shoot Lukin first.
The major looked up. “Open the cases, please, Captain.” Slanski did as he was ordered. Lukin knelt and flashed a light through the belongings. He examined the clothes’ labels and felt the material of each garment. Finally he stood up and studied Slanski again. There was a look of indecision on the major’s face, indicating something was bothering him. “You look familiar, Captain. Have we met before?”
“I can’t say we have, Major.”
“Did you serve during the war?”
“With the Fifth Kursk.”
“Infantry?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Really? You knew Colonel Kinyatin?”
Slanski pretended to think for a moment, then shook his head. “I was only with the Kursk for three months before I was transferred. I’m afraid I never heard of the man.”
Zinov shivered from the cold and said again, “Really, Major, the poor fellow and his wife have had their honeymoon plans upset as it is. You can see he’s a genuine officer. Are you going to make a fool of yourself and arrest him, or are we all to just stand here and freeze to death?”
The major gave Zinov a withering stare, then looked at Anna and Slanski again, as if still unable to make up his mind. “A question, Captain. What’s your wife’s month of birth?”
“Sir?”
“Her month of birth. A simple question.”
Slanski smiled faintly. “July. A man could hardly forget that, especially being just married, sir.”
“You seem a little old to be just getting married, Captain.”
“Sir?”
“Is this your first marriage?”
Slanski shook his head and looked as if he was suitably hurt. “No, sir. My first wife died in the war. Really, sir, is this all necessary?”
Lukin hesitated for a long time, then slowly handed back the two sets of papers. “My apologies for the delay. You may proceed. Have a pleasant trip, Captain. You, too, madam. And you, Colonel.”
“About time, too,” said Zinov, puffing a breath of steaming air.
They all climbed back into the car. As Slanski slid in beside Anna in the back and threw the woolen blanket over their legs, he felt her hand reach for his and grip it tightly, her fingers digging painfully into his flesh. He felt her shaking, and there was sweat dripping inside his own shirt despite the cold, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.
As the Emka moved off and rattled over the cobbles, Zinov was muttering to himself in the front. “Those Moscow types think they run the whole show.” He growled venomously, “And don’t you worry, Major Lukin, you puffed-up little nobody. I’ll see to you when I get to Leningrad. You’ve not got an ounce of respect for senior rank.”
As Zinov railed on, Slanski glanced back through the rear window. The KGB major stood staring after the car, a look of uncertainty clouding his face. Slanski turned back. The major had been clever, asking harmless questions, but questions that could have told him a lot. Somehow, by the look on his face, Slanski could see he was still not completely convinced. Slanski tensed and shivered as the Emka rounded the next corner.
Anna whispered in the darkness of the cab, “What’s wrong?”
“I think someone just walked over my grave.”
• • •
It was just before nine when Lukin returned to the Tondy barracks. Kaman was waiting with a sheaf of papers. He looked exhausted. “Some more reports for you, Major. Still no sign of the man and woman, I’m afraid.” He placed the papers on the table. “You think at this stage we’re wasting our time?”
Lukin fixed him with a stare. “On the contrary. I want the operation continued and expanded.”
Kaman sighed. “Has the major considered that these people could have been killed when they parachuted into Estonia? Parachutes sometimes fail. Perhaps we should be searching the countryside for bodies.”
“One death from an unopened parachute I can accept, but not two. The order stands. Widen the net to include up to ten miles beyond the town center. Every house, inn, and shop in the town is to be thoroughly searched.”
“But that will take days!”
“You have twelve hours.”
“Major, what you’re proposing will include a quarter of the population of Estonia!”
Lukin rounded angrily. “I don’t care a whit. Just do it. And quickly, man!”
“Yes, Major.” Kaman saluted and left, closing the door.
Lukin ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. He had been harsh with the captain—the man looked as tired as he was himself—but too much was at stake. The roadblocks and checkpoints and the checking of the hotel registers should have yielded something.
But nothing. Not even a suggestion that the man and woman were in Tallinn.
They were somewhere out there. It was ridiculous. With so many checkpoints something should have turned up by now.
He thought of the captain and his young wife at the East Tower. Something odd about him he couldn’t quite figure. He was sure he had seen the man’s face somewhere before. The remark had been no ploy, like some of the other questions. But where had he seen him?
The captain’s wife was attractive but hardly beautiful. Her makeup had spoiled her face. A little too heavy. Maybe it was deliberate? The man had said they were on their honeymoon. She should have been happy. She just looked anxious. Or was it his imagination?
But the man had shown no sign of fear, just bemusement. Lukin had found it hard to decide about him. The question he had asked about his wife’s birthday had influenced his decision, but only just. He had once caught a couple of German agents in Kiev who had been traveling as man and wife. A husband always remembered his wife’s birthday, and the German had faltered too long, then finally made a run for it before he was caught. But the captain that morning had known.
Still, the couple was borderline, and he should have checked their story. The colonel’s statement that he knew his passengers personally had swung it in their favor.
But what really bothered Lukin still was the man’s face. Something about him seemed oddly familiar. But Lukin was too troubled, too stressed, and memory worked best when the mind was at peace, not tired and in turmoil. It would come to him eventually, but right now, even though he racked his brain, it was a total blank.
Lukin picked up the photographs of the woman and the man known as the Wolf. He looked down at them for a long time. The Wolf’s picture was really too blurred to be useful and had been taken from too great a distance. Another thing kept bothering Lukin—the fact that there were two pages missing from the man’s file. Perhaps Beria had his reasons for withholding the pages, but Lukin felt somehow less than trusted. It was as if his path were being made deliberately more difficult. Pasha was right. It was usual that an investigator be given access to all information concerning a case.
The photograph of the woman showed her with no makeup, her hair cropped short, and her face gaunt. There were obvious dark circles under her eyes from stress or lack of sleep, or both. Lukin tried to imagine what she would look like with more flesh on her cheekbones and her hair longer and wearing makeup. Impossible, really. A woman could completely change her appearance with cleverly applied makeup. Still, instinct told him something wasn’t right. And the checkpoints had turned up no other likely suspects.
He picked up the phone and quickly dialed Kaman’s extension. “Lukin here. I want a Captain Oleg Petrovsky checked out immediately. See if he’s with the 14th Armored at Leningrad. Get onto his commanding officer or whoever’s next in line. I want details from his personal file. Background, marriage, and so on. And verify if the division is planning winter maneuvers at Novgorod. Have them call me.”
Kaman said, “Who is he?”
“Never mind that for now, just do it. And phone the local air force commander and have a helicopter stand by in case I need it. If he quibbles, put him onto me. And find out where a KGB colonel named Zinov was staying in Tallinn.”
Lukin replaced the phone. There was still plenty of time to stop the Emka before it reached Leningrad. The drive took five hours, so that left Lukin the best part of three. He checked his watch. Nine a.m. With luck, the information should be back from the Leningrad Divisional Headquarters within ten minutes.