Snow Wolf (26 page)

Lebel went to check in. The clerk was
busy talking with two men in civilian clothes at the far end of the desk, who
were riffling through some index cards. One of them had a gloved false hand,
and the other was a squat Mongol with slit eyes. The two men glanced briefly at
Lebel, then went back to their discussion with the clerk. When the clerk
finally came to attend to him after a long delay, he handed over his room key
always for the same suite on the fourth floor-but did not ask to see a
passport. That was up to the office known as the Service Bureau, across the
hall, which was in reality the KGB's office in the hotel.

When he had finished checking in, Lebel
carried his bag across to a glass-fronted door.

He saw a woman seated behind a desk smile
and gesture for him to enter.

"Back for more sable or just the
sinful delights of Moscow, Henri?"

Lebel knew the woman well. She had once
worked at the Trade Ministry and spoke six languages, all fluently. Lebel
smiled. "Wild horses can't keep me away."

The woman took out a batch of forms and
began filling them in. "How long's your stay?"

"Two nights."

"Tickets for the opera, the
ballet?"

"Not this time, Larissa. I've a busy
schedule." Lebel handed over his passport and document of citizenship, and
the woman placed them in a metal tray that would go in the office safe. Both
passport and document would be kept until his departure.

"Any foreign currency'?
Valuables?" the woman inquired.

"No valuables, but I've got five
hundred dollars in cash. The same in Finnish marks."

Like all visitors and citizens, Lebel was
not allowed to carry foreign currency, only rubles. He removed the money from
his wallet, handed it across, and said playfully, "All for you, my sweet
Larissa, if you'd let me take you out to dinner." The woman frowned and
Lebel said, "It's only a joke, Larissa."

."Don't joke, Henri. "The duty
officer's around, doing his usual check on arriving visitors.

Lebel had come to@know most of the
Service Bureau personnel but had never got used to Russian paranoia and their
fear of authority. "Who's on duty this time?"

"A Major Lukin. You haven't met him
before and he's only filling in. But he shouldn't keep you long. He and a
comrade "Just left the office to check the re ister."

Every foreign visitor had to have his
passport checked and registered by the KGB 2nd Directorate officer on duty in
the Service Bureau. Performing such duties, the KGB men always wore civilian
clothes. All guests from abroad, important or not, were- their responsibility.
Lebel knew he had nothing to fear. His document of honorary citizenship meant
it would be merely a perfunctory check. But this time, knowing what he had to
discuss with lrena, he felt a little nervous. He watched as the woman counted
out the dollars and marks, filled in a form, then put the bills in the tray
alongside the passport and had Lebel sign for both.

The door opened and the two men Lebel had
seen chatting with the desk clerk came in.

"M. Lebel? My name is Lukin, and
this is Comrade Kokui)ko." The man with the leather glove extended his
good hand and shook Lebel's. The Mongol said nothing, just stared at him through
slit eyes, which made Lebel feel distinctly uncomfortable.

"How do You do." Lebel
answered.

"Just a short visit this time, I
believe?" Lukin said.

"I'm meeting with the Ministry of
Foreign Trade tomorrow morning,. I think you'll find everything is in order."

"i'm sure it is." Lukin held
out his hand to the woman. "May I see Mr. Lebel's passport,
Lari.@sa?"

The woman handed it across, along with
the document of citizenship. The major studied both, then held up Lebel's
document. "You have honorary citizenship, I see. We don't come across too
many of these."

"I do a lot of important business in
Moscow. I'm a fur dealer and have an office here. I'm here to arrange a
shipment of sable."

For some odd reason, even though the
major seemed polite enough, the man made Lebel feel uneasy. He put it down to
his own conscience, knowing what he was really in Moscow to do. and he tried
hard to appear calm. In another two hours he would hopefully be out on the
streets of Moscow, going through his well-rehearsed routine of checking to make
sure he had not been followed, before he carefully made his way to ]rena's
dacha. He was desperately looking forward to seeing her again, and excited by
the prospect of their future freedom together. But out of nervousness, he
seemed to be explaining too much to Lukin.

The major was watching his face. He
seemed an intelligent sort, with eyes that looked at you intently, as if
pressing you to fill the void and talk. His Mongol colleague also just stood
there, staring silently across. Lebel had the feeling that the major was
suspicious of something, but he tried to put it down to his own heightened
sense of' anxiety on this trip. He checked himself, stared back at Lukin, and
said nothing more.

Finally, the major handed back the
passport and document to the woman, and said politely, "Enjoy your stay in
Moscow, Mr. Lebel. I hope your business goes well."

"I'm certain it will."

New York.

February 19th, 5 Pm.

In the tenth-floor office of the Soviet
Mission in the United Nations building in Manhattan that late afternoon, Feliks
Akashin stood hunched over the half-dozen black-and-white photographs and
frowned as he scratched the mole on his jaw.

He turned to the man standing beside him
and said, "You're certain about this, Yegem?"

Yegem Orainov was small and thin and wore
thick black spectacles. He had the look of a distracted professor about him,
wild tufts of wiry black hair sprouting from his head, but despite his
appearance he held the rank of KGB captain in the New York Soviet Mission.

"Certain as we can be. I had the
photo prints checked out with our people here and in Europe. It definitely
looks like the man named Massey."

"Tell me about him."

"He runs the Munich CIA operations
office. Apparently, he's been a thorn in our side for a long time. The question
is, what do we do about it?"

Akashin shook his head. "The
question is, surely, what's he doing with the woman, Anna Khorev?"

I went through the file you gave me, the
one on the woman. Then I had some copies of these photographs sent to Helsinki
in one of our diplomatic bags. We think Massey was present when our people
interviewed her, although as you'd expect he used a different name. Colonel
Romulka's aide remembers him, and the description would seem to fit. Also, our
man who watched her at Helsinki airport saw the photographs and thinks Massey
was with the Americans who escorted her to the plane."

"What about the second man?"

Orainov smiled. "Now that's where it
gets even more interesting. We're not a hundred percent sure, but we're pretty
certain it's a man named Alex Stanski." Akashin said, "The Alex
Stanski'? The one they call the Wolf?"

Oraiiiov nodded. "The same. Moscow
has a price on his head, as you know. We've wanted him a long time. Remember
Grenady Kraskin who got hit in East Berlin over two months ago'? We think
Stanski did it."

Feliks Akashin stepped toward the window
and rubbed his fleshy face. Beyond the glass lay East 67th Street with its
cluttered chaos of traffic, and to the west, Central Park. He always considered
the situation in America's commercial capital to be ridiculous, and the
Americans tolerant fools. Under cover of the Soviet trade mission, consulate,
or Soviet news agencies, and sealed off' from the other parts of the UN mission
and with their own independent communications to Moscow, their files immune
from search and with reasonable ability to move freely about New York, KGB
branch chiefs and their officers went about their daily business as if they
were working in Moscow Headquarters itself. Crazy, but it worked to their
advantage.

For several moments Akashin was deep in
thought, then turned to his visitor and said, "You can go now, Yegeni.
Leave the photographs. Well done."

The man left and Akashin lit a cigarette.
Yegeni Oramov had supplied him with the confirmation he needed of Braun's
latest report. He stood there a moment before he crossed back to his desk. He
picked up the internal telephone and dialed a three-digit number to his
superior's office. As he waited for the other end to answer he glanced over at
the portrait of Joseph Stalin on the wall above his desk. The face stared down
at him, a wry smile on the lips. Akashin shivered. The line clicked.

"Leonid'@ Akashin here. Can I come
up'? This won't take a minute. Something's come up I think is important and I'd
like your opinion."

Leonid Kislov was a stout man in his late
fifties who chainsmoked four packs of American cigarettes a day.

As senior KGB station officer in the New
York Mission, with the rank of colonel, he had a lot of worries, not least of
which were a duodenal ulcer and a fiery Georgian wife who harried him
constantly. That morning he was in a foul mood, his ulcer playing up, and as he
gestured for Akashin to sit he said, "Make it quick, Feliks, I've got a
meeting with the Ambassador in half an hour."

"Problems?" Akashin asked
sympathetically.

Kislov burped and rubbed his chest before
he slipped a couple of tablets from a glass bottle and reached for a glass of
water on his desk.

"There are always fucking
problems." He swallowed the ulcer tablets and sipped the water.
"Washington is up the Ambassador's ass again over the matter of the Jewish
doctors. They want to know what's going on."

"What will he tell them?"

"That it's none of their fucking
business." Kislov grinned. "But politely of course. That's what
diplomacy is all about. Just as well they don't know what else is going on.
They'd have a fucking fit. But fuck them, I say. Their day's going to come, and
sooner than we all think."

"Anything you'd care to tell
me?"

Kislov looked across sternly. "It's
none of your business, comrade. But I'll slip you a little hint. If things go
according to plan we won't be here in another six months. This hydrogen project
of ours is almost complete. There's a plan to evacuate us before the trouble
starts. And start it will, you can be sure of that," Akashin went slightly
pale. "You mean Stalin's almost ready to start a war?" Kislov
grinned. "Like I said, it's not your business." He tapped a cigarette
from the pack on his desk and lit it, glanced at his watch and said gruffly,
"What did you want to see me about?"

Akashin explained about the photographs
and the woman as he lay the shots on the table and Kislov examined them.

The photographs were taken from a
distance and rather clumsily too. The images were grainy and of poor quality.

"These photographs are crap,"
commented Kislov.

Akashin half smiled. "True. But
Lombardi's men are not trained photographers and they couldn't risk getting too
close in case they were spotted. Still, we're as sure as we can be that the two
men in the shots are Massey and Stanski."

Kislov knew about the woman, but up to
now hadn't been interested in the details and preferred to let Akashin get on
with it. But now he leaned forward and drew on his cigarette.

"Interesting."

"That's what I thought."

"But it hardly matters in the
overall scheme of things, does it'? Why Moscow wastes its time on pitiful
matters such as this is beyond me."

"So what do you propose?"

" Something tells me Massey is up to
something. And with this Stanski in the picture it might suggest Massey perhaps
has an agent drop in mind. Maybe even using the girl. She'd be an ideal choice,
considering she knows our country."

Kislov shrugged his bulky shoulders.
"Possible, but speculative. So why come to me?"

"We have three choices. One, take
out the woman, as we intended. Two, take her out and kill Massey and Stanski in
the process as a bonus. Or three, we keep tailing them and see what they're up
to. If it's a drop Massey intends, we could try to find out where and when and
take them when they land on Soviet soil."

Kislov sat farther back in his chair and
thought for a moment, then drew on his cigarette.

Finally he shook his head. "The
second option is not the best way to go and the third is risky and speculative.
We may not be able to discover when or where they're going to drop, if that's
what's happening. The first seems the best choice, and besides, it's what
Moscow ordered." He frowned. "You never told me how you know where
these people are? Massey, Stanski, the woman?"

Akashin smiled. "Simple really.
Lombardi had a couple of his men follow Massey and the woman when they took a
train to Boston. They were met there by this man-Stanski." Akashin pointed
to a grainy photograph taken at Boston railway station of Massey shaking hands
with Stanski, Anna Khorev beside them.

"As you know, Colonel Romulka has
taken a personal interest in the woman's case." Akashin smiled faintly.
"Apparently, she made quite an impression when she met him in Helsinki.
There's more to it than that, of course, but no doubt Romulka wants his pound
of flesh. And with respect, Leonid, I'd hardly call the Wolf a piffling matter.
He's been a scourge for quite some time."