Snow Wolf (29 page)

"we ?" Massey said hopefully,
"I was kind of expecting you'd come along for the ride. Just the two of
us. I'll need someone watching my back. Anna can stay here with Vassily."

"You're sure you know what you're
doing, Jake?"

Massey nodded and Stanski said,
"When?"

"Tomorrow."

It was almost seven when Massey and
Stanski left for New York the next morning, but Demitri Popov had risen early
and left at six to drive back to Boston.

It was ten minutes later when Popov saw
the Packard with New York license plates overtake him at speed. Five minutes
later he saw the same Packard parked off the road, the driver kicking the front
nearside wheel in anger.

The man waved him down and Popov pulled
in and rolled down the window. "What's the problem?"

"I hit a fucking pothole in the
snow. I ask you, mister, is this what we pay our taxes for?" The man held
up a wheel jack. "The tire's warped as a bent nickel and my jack's broken.
You got one I could borrow?"

Popov grunted and stepped out of the car.
the little fat man with the thin mustache looked useless, all blubber with a
New York accent and gold rings on his pudgy fingers. Popov found the jack in
the boot and brought it over to the man, then pushed him aside and said,
"Here, let me."

"Hey, thanks, mister, you're an
angel."

The tire looked undamaged but as Popov
bent down to examine it he felt the crushing blow of something metallic on the
back of his skull and then another before he keeled over.

Then a foot slammed hard into his crotch
and before he could yell in agony he heard the rush of feet from out of nowhere
and the fat man's voice saying, "Get the fucking hick into the car.

Then something sharp jabbed into his arm
and he went under.

New York. February 22nd It was just after
one and raining hard as Massey pulled up outside the apartment block in
Brooklyn. It was an old redbrick tenement building with a fire escape at the
back, and the place looked seriously in need of attention. "How do you
want to handle it?"

"The simplest way is always the
best." Massey smiled and held up a piece of headed paper with the seal of
the US government. "Internal Revenue come to have a friendly chat, Braun's
apartment is on the top floor at the back. You go up the fire escape and cover
me, while I go in the front. Once I'm inside, we take him."

Stanski tossed his cigarette out of the
window and took out a Tokarev pistol with a silencer, then slipped it into his
waistband under his coat. "You're sure you know what you're doing,
Jake?"

Massey removed a snub-nosed Smith and
Wesson .38 from the glove compartment and checked the chamber before slipping
it into his pocket.

"Trust me."

Feliks Akashin was tired. There were dark
rings under his eyes from lack of sleep and as he turned from the bedroom
window of Braun's apartment he looked at Popov's body slumped in the chair.

Two of Lombardi's men had delivered him,
and the ropes around the big man were tied securely, but Akashin knew there was
no need. The man was barely conscious from the drug and hardly capable of
moving.

Akashin lit a cigarette and came back
from the window. He stared down at Popov's bruised face, at the trickle of
blood running from his mouth down his beard, then his hand reached over and
lifted the man's chin. "You're really making this very difficult. Don't
you think it would be a lot easier if you told me what Massey is up to at the
lake?"

Popov grunted and his eyes flickered,
then his head rolled in Akashin's hand and slumped to one side. Akashin
si-he'd. He and Braun had spent an hour trying to make the man talk and he had
barely uttered a word.

His wallet lay on the table. His name was
Demitri Popov, which told him nothing except he was Russian or Ukrainian. No
doubt one of the immigrant the Americans used. There was a hypodermic syringe
on the table and a phial of scopolamine, the truth drug, Akashin's last resort.
As he reached for them he heard the knock on the door and turned, slightly
alarmed.

He was about to reach for the Walther
pistol on the coffee table when he heard the voice.

"I really wouldn't, not unless you
want to lose your fingers.

The blond man who stood behind him held a
silenced Tokarev pistol in his hand and the window that led to the fire escape
was open, the curtain blowing in the breeze. Akashin paled when he recognized
Stanski.

, Just drop the gun on the table, then be
a good boy and open the front door, nice and easy."

Akashin did as he was told, placing the
Walther on the table, breaking out in a cold sweat as he crossed to the door.
His face dropped when he saw who stood there.

As Massey came in, Stanski said quietly,
"Jake, I think you'd better take a look at who our friend's got in the
bedroom."

Massey sat in the chair opposite Akashin
and said in a hard voice, "You'd better tell me what the hell is going on
here, and fast."

Akashin smiled nervously. "I could
very well ask the same. It would be interesting to know what you're up to. But
I ought to tell you I'm an accredited diplomat with the UN Soviet Mission and
as such immune from law."

"Wrong. It makes your situation all
the more difficult, so cut the crap." Massey held up the gun in his hand
and clicked back the hammer. "Five seconds and I'm counting."

Just then Stanski came back into the room
supporting a dazed-looking Popov. When the big Ukrainian saw Akashin his eyes
blazed.

"If you don't pull the trigger,
Jake, I will."

Massey said to him, "Tell me what
happened."

Popov wiped a trickle of blood from his
mouth and pointed to Akashin. "Our friend here's after the woman. They've
been tailing her. After I left the cabin some of' his men fooled me into
stopping my car and knocked me unconscious. Then they took me here and tried to
get me to talk. His name's Akashin."

Stanski tossed a handful of maps and
photographs on the table. "These were in the bedroom. It looks like
Akashin's got a keen interest in photography. And in us."

Massey looked at the photographs. Some of
them were of Anna alone, others of him and Anna and Stanski together coming out
of a hotel and at the Boston railway station. The maps were of New Hampshire
and he noticed the ducks that circled the lake.

Massey turned pale and looked over at
Akashin. "Where's your friend Braun?" Akashin said gruffly, "I
don't have to answer any Of Your questions."

Massey crossed to him and put the gun
against his forehead and said, "That might be true or not, but if you
don't so help me I'm going to punch a hole in you so big you could run a train
through it."

"I really don't think that would be
wise or necessary."

"I don't give two shits for your
immunity, Akashin. And it doesn't matter. What you're involved in here is
kidnapping. That's a serious federal offense. So talk before I lose my patience
and this thing goes off."

Akashin sighed and spread his hands in a
gesture of helplessness. "You understand, we couldn't let the woman get
away just like that."

"Who's we?"

"The embassy had orders from
Moscow."

Suddenly everything was clear to Massey
and he stepped closer. "How did you know where to find her?"

"We tailed her from Helsinki. We've
been following her since she arrived in this country." Massey was silent,
then he said, "Why'? She's a nobody."

Akashin smiled faintly. "Where
people like you and me are concerned, ours is not to reason why, Massey. We
simply do what our masters tell us,"

"How do you know my name?"

"Your activities are well known to
us. Finding out your identity from the photographs wasn't difficult."

Massey's face flushed angrily.
"Where's Braun?"

When Akashin hesitated, Stanski pushed
the silenced Tokaiev hard into his temple until the man's eyes opened wide in
terror.

"Gone to get the woman."

"Alone?"

Akashin shrugged. "Does it matter
now'? You won't be able to stop him."

"What's he going to do with
her?"

"Put her on a Soviet boat in New
York Harbor."

"How long has Braun been gone?"

When Akashin didn't reply, Stanski struck
him hard across the face with the pistol, drawing blood.

Akashin staggered back. When he had
recovered he wiped blood from his nose. "That wasn't necessary."

Stanski's face was white with rage and he
gestured to Popov and said, "It'll get a lot worse if I let my friend here
repay you for what you did to him. When did Braun leave?"

Akashin glanced nervously over at Popov.
then said, "He left for Boston two hours ago by train." Stanski said
to Popov, "Take him inside and tie him up. Good and tight. So he can't
move or talk."

"With pleasure. And then I'm going
to beat him to pulp."

Massey glared at the Russian. "After
this you won't see daylight for a long time, Akashin. Assisting an illegal
resident, intent to murder, kidnapping, cari-vin" an illegal weapon. And
I'm sure there's more your immunity won't cover. You're finished."

Akashin turned noticeably pale.

As Popov went toward him, Arkashin
grabbed for the Walther on the table. When Popov reached to wrench it from him
he was too slow and the gun went off, hitting the Ukrainian in the face. As
Popov was flung back, Stanski fired once, hitting Akashin in the heart.

Massey had turned white as he went to
feel Popov's pulse. "Christ ... he's dead ..."

Stanski came back from Akashin's body
sprawled on the floor, the Russian's clothes bloodied from the wound in his
chest.

"Akashin too. Jake, this is getting
muddier by the minute What now?"

"We get out of here fast. Leave
everything as it is. I'll figure out what to do later."

Stanski said softly, "We're never
going to get to the lake in time. It's six hours @ by car and Akashin's people
have a head start."

"Then let's get going."

Massey was already moving toward the fire
escape when Stanski gripped his arm and said, "Wait ... ! "

He crossed to the table and picked up one
of the maps. There was sweat on his face as he looked back at Massey and said,
"There may be a quicker way. But it's 'just a chance."

New Hampshire.

Carlo Lombardi watched the countryside.
He wrinkled his nose as Vince rolled down the Packard's window and the blast of
cold fresh air swept in, "Put the fucking thing up. What are you trying to
do? Kill me?"

Vince did as he was told as Braun sat
silently in the back. They had come off the highway ten minutes ago, Lombardi
doing the driving after pickina up Braun from Boston station. The quaint New
England wooden houses flashed past, but Lombardi wasn't impressed.

"What's the story with the hick with
the beard?"

Braun flicked him a look. "He's
Akashin's problem now. How much farther?"

"Another hour."

Lombardi turned to Vince. "You know
the plan. Anybody gets in the way you blast them.

Vince climbed down and hefted up a canvas
bag and removed three handguns, two sawed-off shotguns and a carbine, Lombardi
said, "Jesus ... what the fuck are You expecting?" Vince shrugged.
"You said there could be trouble. You never know."

Lombardi turned to Braun seated in the
backseat and smiled. "I'll say this for- the kid. He comes prepared."

Vassily stepped out of the boat and
helped Anna onto the wooden walkway.

They had spent an hour fishing on the
lake and caught three large trout, and as they walked back up to the cabin,
Anna said, "Tell me about the photograph in the cabin. Is it of Alex's
family?"

"His father and mother, brother and
sister. He told you about them?"

"Enough to make a guess about the
photograph."

"Then he must like you, Anna."

"Why do you say that?" He
looked at her knowingly for a moment, then said, "Alex never talks about
them. I think you must have found a chink in his armor."

She smiled. "When I came up here the
first day I have to admit I found him difficult."

Vassily laughed. "That's nothing
compared to the first day he came here."

"What was he like?@'

"Like a wild little wolf cub.
Impossible to tame. He'd refuse to eat or talk. Just wanted to be on his own,
like he had a pain so deep in his heart no one could reach."

"But you reached it."

Vassily shook his head. "I don't
think anyone's ever reached it, And I don't think anyone ever will."

"So why did you let him stay?"

They had reached the cabin and Vassily
put down the fishing things and the trout and sat on the veranda.