Snow Wolf (39 page)

He saw the little light aircraft dead
ahead, approaching on a direct collision course. He banked frantically to
starboard.

If there was a hell, then this was it,
Janne Saarinen decided.

Static arced across the cockpit window,
veins of electricity dancing before his eyes, and the little Norseman bucked like
a wild horse. shuddering as big lumps of hail smashed into the fuselage again.

He had been in bad weather many times
before, but nothing as bad as this. Besides, if you saw storm cloud you avoided
it if at all possible.

This time it wasn't possible. A second
later, as he scanned his instruments, a sudden downdraft dropped him out of the
cloud, and as the aircraft was spat out into a patch of clear dark sky,
instinct made him look up sharply as he heard a faint howling in his ears.

Jesus!"

He @saw the lights of the Mig as it
roared toward him.

"Jesus ... NO"'

He frantically pushed the stick to the
right and the Norseman banked sharply with such a force that his skull cracked
into the cockpit door.

The Mig crashed into Saarinen's left
wing. Tore it off with a shreek, terrible, shuddering bang, and then came a
grating sound of shearing metal, exploding in his ears, the Norseman yawing
violently to the left.

Saarinen suddenly felt an odd sensation,
as if he were suspended in midair, and then came a second bang somewhere behind
him as the Mig exploded in a burst of violent, intense light.

The third explosion came a split second
later, but this one tore through Saarinen's cockpit like a roll of thunder as
his own fuel tank ignited.

There was a brief, intense feeling of
searing hot pain, and then he was consumed by a ball of orange flame.

Stanski sank through the freezing air, a
vicious cold cutting into his bones, icy wind rushing in his ears.

A sparkle of lights that was Tallinn
glowed in the distance off to his left. He had counted to ten and now he tugged
hard on the ripcord. There was a deafening crack as he was sucked upwards, his
breath snatched away as the parachute blossomed.

As he floated down he saw fields of white
and patches of dark forest below. He tried quickly to find his bearings and saw
a ribbon of road far off to the right, pools of light and shadow from street
lamps on either side. What appeared to be the lights of a convoy of military
vehicles snaked along the road, and he guessed it was a highway. He craned his
neck and swung in the harness, trying to see Anna's parachute.

Nothing.

When he looked down again the snowy
fields were coming up rapidly to meet him. As he braced himself to hit the
ground a sudden gust of wind blew him to the right. He saw the dark outline of
a bank of trees looming up and tried frantically to steer himself away, kicking
his legs and avoiding the trees just in time, holding firm on the harness
straps until the last moment, and then he let his body tension go, hitting the
snow hard and rolling right.

He tore off his harness and gathered up
his 'chute as he stumbled to his feet and looked around him. Behind lay a tall,
thick line of birch trees on top of a raised bank of earth. In front of him he
could make out the frosty Baltic in the distance, a dim expanse of gray ice. He
figured he was a couple of hundred meters away from the drop zone.

But where was Anna?

It took him several minutes to remove the
jumpsuit and bury the parachute and equipment. He decided to remove the uniform
from the suitcase and buried it fifty meters away, digging a hole near some
undergrowth, and then he tugged on his cloth cap and started to move up toward
the bank of trees, carrying his case.

As he came down the other side of the
bank, he saw a narrow road below, then froze when he saw a Zil army truck with
red stars pulled in by the side.

As he reached for the Tokarev he heard
the click of a weapon and spun around, A beam of light suddenly flashed in his
face from somewhere in the trees, blinding him instantly, and a voice said in
Russian, "Don't move or I shoot!"

Stanski blinked. The beam of light moved
slowly off his face and traced down his body. Then the light moved out from the
trees and he could make out two men in uniform, another figure between them.
One of the men was armed with a pistol and the other held a flashlight.
"Come forward. Slowly."

Stanski moved closer. He saw that one of
the men was a young KGB captain in his twenties, the other a burly army
sergeant, and then his heart sank.

Anna stood between them. Her helmet and
goggles were gone, her hair tousled and her jumpsuit torn, and there was a look
of pain on her face as the sergeant held her firmly by the arm.

The captain with the Tokarev looked over
at him and grinned. "Welcome to Estonia, comrade."

February 25th-27th 1953

Moscow.

February 25th The black Zil glided
silently to a halt outside the Kremlin Armory courtyard at exactly three
minutes to midnight.

Major Yuri Lukin stepped out of the car
into thickly falling snow. A young captain waiting at the bottom of the
courtyard steps was dressed immaculately in a Kremlin Guard's uniform, and as
he stepped forward he said, "This way, Major. Please follow me."

The captain climbed a flight of stone
steps up to an archway and Lukin followed, two uniformed guards standing either
side snapping smartly to attention. There was a large battery of trucks drawn
up at one end of the square, crack Kremlin Guards with blue bands on their caps
sitting in the back, armed with machine-pistols.

Lukin felt the sweat on the back of his
neck and wondered what was going on.

The call to his apartment had come half
an hour ago. He was to be ready within ten minutes for an urgent appointment at
the Kremlin. The sleek black Zil pulled up on the street outside even as he
spoke on the telephone, and three minutes later he had dressed in his best
uniform and kissed an anxious Nadia goodbye before he went down the stairs to
the waiting car.

Now, as he walked beside the Kremlin
Guards officer, the feeling of apprehension and confusion still had not left
him. He guessed his summons to the Kremlin at so late an hour could only spell
trouble of some sort.

At the top of the steps two massive oak
doors were set in between the archway. Another two uniformed guards snapped off
salutes before the captain opened one of the doors. "Inside, Major. Watch
your step."

Lukin entered a long, ornate hallway. The
captain followed him inside and shut the door. A draft of warm air hit Lukin's
face, mixed with the smell of wax polish and damp must. The walls were pastel
blue, and plush red carpets covered the floor. A glittering chandelier hung
overhead-, there was a pair of shining floor-to-ceiling doors at the end of the
hallway, more guards either side. Security at the Kremlim was always tight, but
tonight it seemed extraordinary to Lukin, and again he wondered what was
happening. The captain's face was set in a blank stare and Lukin said quietly
as they walked, "I presume you know why I'm here?"

The young man shook his head and smiled
briefly. "I haven't a clue, Comrade Major. My orders are simply to deliver
you."

"Security seems rather tight here
tonight?"

"Not my business, Major. I'm just to
make sure you get to your destination."

Before Lukin could speak again they
reached the end of the corridor and one of the guards examined the captain's
signed pass carefully before admitting both men. They entered a large, plush
outer office of red carpet and magnificent Tsarist tapestries and Bokhara rugs.
A faint sound of music came from behind a pair of double oak doors directly
opposite.

A fat, pasty-faced colonel sat at a
mahogany desk flicking idly through some papers, his double chins spilling over
his collar. On either side of him stood a couple of armed Kremlin officers,
hands resting on their holstered pistols, and at a desk opposite was a
middle-aged woman in uniform. The captain showed him the signed pass, saluted
and left. The colonel smiled at Lukin. "Comrade Major, please, take a
seat." He led Lukin to a chair opposite and said politely, "Some tea
or coffee? Or perhaps you'd prefer mineral water?"

Lukin shook his head. He flicked a look
at the officers nearby. Their watchful eyes studied him before he looked back
at the colonel.

"Am I permitted to know why I've
been brought here, comrade?"

The colonel shot a meaningful look at the
woman, then looked back at Lukin and grinned.

"Relax. You'll know soon
enough."

Lukin sat and tried to relax, but it was
impossible, and his stomach churned with apprehension. The stump of his hand
hurt, the cold metal prosthesis like a block of ice. It had been freezing in
the back of the Zil, the cold outside fifteen below. Off in the distance he
heard the Kremlin clock tower chimed midnight, and at that precise moment one
of the oak doors burst open.

A colonel in KGB uniform stood half in,
half out of the room, blue light flickering in the darkness behind him.

Lukin didn't recognize him, but he looked
like a man of powerful energy, tall and broad, his muscled body straining under
his immaculate uniform.

Cold blue eyes were set in a
brutal-looking face, pockmarked with acne scars. Lukin noticed part of the
man's left ear was missing. A pair of black leather gloves was tucked into his
tunic belt and he carried a manila file under his arm. He looked at the fat
colonel, who jerked a thumb at Lukin.

The rugged colonel stared over at Lukin.
Then he wagged a finger and said curtly, "This way."

Lukin stood and stepped toward the door.

There was a blaze of colored light and
music and a strong smell of tobacco smoke. As the door closed behind him, Lukin
saw he was in a large private cinema. Several rows of plush red leather seats
faced the front, heads jutting from the darkness in the front row. A color film
flickered on a screen as Lukin looked up.

He had never seen the actors or actresses
before but he guessed it was an American film. Girls in frilled dresses danced
on a bar while a man wearing a cowboy hat sang in English and strummed a
guitar. The scene looked ridiculous.

The colonel prodded Lukin with a finger
like an iron rod, "In there, Lukin. And keep quiet." He pointed to
one of the chairs in a row at the very back, "The show isn't over yet and
the Kremlin doesn't like its entertainment interrupted," Lukin sank into a
deep red leather seat and the big colonel slipped into the seat beside him.

It took several moments for Lukin to
accustom his eyes to the semi-darkness. There were perhaps half a dozen men in
the front row. A blur of cigarette smoke curled to the ceiling and a table was
set against the far right wall, a shaded lamp on top, its Pool of yellow light
spilling about the floor.

Two uniformed orderlies stood on either
side and Lukin saw the silver trays of vodka, brandy and mineral water laid out
neatly. A large box of chocolates lay open beside one of the trays, an enormous
basket of fruit next to it. Plump grapes, oranges and pears and bright red
apples. Such fruit was rarely seen in Moscow in winter, but obviously the
Kremlin had no problem with luxury supplies.

Every now and then a hand rose and waved
from the blackness to be silhouetted against the screen, and moments later an
orderly crossed to the table to pour some refreshment and place some chocolates
or fruit on a small tray and return.

Ten minutes later the film reeled to a
close and a fit of coughing erupted, but no one moved and the lights stayed
off. Lukin sat there in confusion. He saw the projectionist, a young man in a
captain's uniform, flick on a torch and feverishly load a fresh can of film.
The screen flickered to life again.

This time the images were silent and in
black and white. White words on a black background announced GUILTY OF CRIMES
AGAINST THE SOVIET PEOPLE AND STATE.

The banner faded out.

A cobbled courtyard covered in snow
appeared on the screen. A half-dozen frightened men and women were led out in
single file and made to stand against a wall. Lukin realized that one of the
men was a scrawny boy of no more than fourteen, his face drawn and pinched from
cold and fear, and he appeared to be crying.

A firing squad was lining up, a line of
uniformed KGB men readying their rifles.

Lukin saw the officer in charge raise his
hand and silently bark a command. Puffs of smoke erupted from the rifles and
the men, women and boy were punched back against the wall and slumped to the
ground.

As they lay there, the boy's body twitched.
The officer stepped forward and unholstered his pistol and aimed at the boy's
head. It jolted obscenely and the body fell still. Then the officer walked
along the row of corpses and fired a single shot into each. Lukin turned away
in revulsion.

The colonel beside him seemed to be
enjoying himself, his mouth set in a cruel grin.

For another ten minutes the brutal film
rolled on, the executions repeated as more groups were led out to the
courtyard. At least fifty men, women and children were brought out into the
snow and shot. In the middle of it all, a hand rose in the darkness of the
front row and an orderly placed some fruit and chocolates on a silver platter
and brought them over.