Snow Wolf (62 page)

He spread the sheets of paper in front of
him. They were lists of names of dissidents, mostly Jews, known supporters of
the immigrant groups. If any group were suspect and likely to be involved, it
was this one. Eight pages that contained 312 names and addresses. It was a
mammoth task to check them all, search their homes and pull them in for
questioning, but it had to be done. Some of the people on the lists had already
endured harsh prison sentences. Others were allowed to remain free but were
secretly watched by the KGB and informers.

There was the chance, of course, that
whoever was helping Stanski wasn't even on the list at all, and at this thought
Lukin sighed. The hotels in the city still had to be checked, but he doubted
that Stanski would be so foolish as to stay in a hotel. It was too public, a
guest had to register, and besides, there weren't that many hotels in Moscow in
which to hide. But they would have to be eliminated. He considered visiting the
woman's cell again, but felt it was pointless. In the meantime, he had to do
something.

He would need at least fifty men to check
the hotels and pick all those on the list.

As he reached for the telephone to call
the Fostering office, the door opened and a tired-looking Pasha came in. He had
stayed through the night in case any news came in from Len ingrad. Lukin put
down the phone as Pasha went to sit in the .,_chair opposite, put his feet on
the desk, flung off his cap and yawned. Lukin said, "Any news?"

Pasha shook his head and ran a hand over
his face. "Not a whisper. It's been as quiet as the grave. Apart from a
visit from Romulka, that is."

Lukin sat up. "What happened?"

"He turned up last night. Said to
tell you he had a French man named Lebel. Who the hell's he?"

Lukin explained and Pasha said, "Who
knows? Romulka might be right. He also said he wanted to see the woman."

"And?"

"And I wouldn't let him. I told him
he'd have to see you first. He said he's going to put me on report. But I say
fuck it, the mood he was in he would have probably done her damage.

Let Romulka crawl to Beria and moan all
he likes. What can they do, send me to a labor camp? Where I come from, it gets
much colder and the food's no worse."

"Thanks, Pasha." Lukin guessed
that Romulka had ignored his phone call because of Pasha's refusal. "How
is she?"

"Awake, last time I looked."

"How does she seem?"

"Like someone switched the lights
off inside her heart."

"You tried to talk with her?"
Pasha nodded. "Sure, like you asked. I brought her some food and coffee
last night and this morning. But she just sits there, saying nothing and
staring at the walls." He sighed.

"You really think she'll talk?"

"God only knows, but somehow I doubt
it. And I don't have much time left. The question is, can she really help us? I
doubt it somehow. I get the feeling she may not know where Stanski is, as she
claims. The problem is, that means we're going to have to hand her over to
Beria soon. It wouldn't be beyond him to harm the child to make her talk. We
have to find Stanski, if only for the child's sake."

Pasha stood. "Whatever happens,
either way the woman's dead. You know that, Yuri. Beria won't send her to a
camp He'll kill her." Lukin said solemnly, "I know."

"What happens now?" asked
Pasha.

Lukin told him what he intended. "It
may turn up something but I wouldn't count on.it." Pasha said, "I've
been thinking about the missing pages ii the Wolf's file. If we could see the
original, maybe there' something in there that could help us. Relatives he had
in Moscow, friends of his family he might be tempted to approach. he's
desperate."

"I already asked Beria. He said no.
If Beria doesn't want you to see everything in a file, you don't see it.'@

Pasha grinned. "True, but there are
other ways to crack nuts."

"How? The Archives office is out of
bounds without a per mit. There are sensitive files kept there, top-secret
files. A man could lose his head if he's caught."

"The Chief of Archives is a Mongol.
He drinks like a came after a month without water. I could get him drunk and
borro\ his keys and have a look for the original."

"Forget it, Pasha, it's too risky,
and it's unlikely the Wol would use such people in Moscow. He's been away too
long.' "How about I simply ask the Chief?"

Lukin shook his head. "I told you
what Beria said. His wor is law. And there's probably nothing much in there
relevant to the case. Besides, it isn't worth it if you're caught riffling
through files without permission. Forget it."

Pasha shrugged. "If you say
so."

It was dark as the Skoda pulled up on
Kutuzovsky Prospect just before seven that morning.

Stanski climbed out dressed in the
major's uniform and said to lrena, "You know what to do. I'll be as quick
as I can."

"Good luck."

He watched as Irena drove off and then he
walked back along the street. There was hardly any traffic but the trolic buses
were running, blue sparks illuminating the morning darkness as they whirred
along the Prospect. He could make ot the numbers of the big old apartment
houses under the porch lights. and he counted them off as he walked.

Number 27 looked much like its neighbors.
It was a big ol granite four-story residence from the Tsar's time, which had
obviously once been the home of a wealthy family but was now converted into
apartments. There was no sign of the olive-green BMW outside in the street.

Stanski saw that the blue-painted
entrance door was open and walked up the front garden path. He saw the names
and numbers of the occupants written on small white cards above recessed
letter-boxes inside on the porch.

Apartment 14 reported the name Lukin. He
pushed open the front door and stepped into a long dark hallway.

A stairway led up from the hall and there
was a faint wash of light from one of the upstairs landings. The hallway
smelled of lavender polish. Two bicycles were stood against a wall, and he
heard muffled voices somewhere off in the building He climbed the stairs up to
the second floor. The landing light was on and he saw the door, number 14
stenciled on the wood. No name, just the number. He examined the locks. Two.
One on top, one on the bottom. He put his ear to the door but heard no sound
from inside. He guessed Lukin's wife was still sleeping.

He went down the stairs again and walked
around to the rear of the apartment block. The side path had been freshly swept
of snow. There was a long communal garden at the back, covered in a blanket of
white. A lamp was on, illuminating a paved walkway. There were a couple of
wrought-iron summer benches set under bare cherry trees and some overgrown
melon patches under a small glass-house partly covered by snow.

He looked at the back of the block. There
were some lights on but the curtains were still closed. At the end of the
garden he saw a wooden door set in a crumbling granite wall. He guessed it led
to an alleyway at the back. He went down the path and saw that the door was
almost rotted through. He pushed. It barely moved and he had to kick away the
snow piled at the bottom before the wood budged. The door opened onto an
alleyway behind the house, as he had expected. It was dark and appeared
deserted, but to the left and right at the end of the alleyway he saw street
lights. He guessed the alleyway led to side streets off Kutuzovsky Prospect.

He stepped back into the garden and went
halfway up the path.

He looked up at the second floor,
counting off the windows until he guessed that number 14 was situated to the
right of the middle. There were no lights on behind the curtain and he walked
back around to the front of the building.

As he walked back down the front path
suddenly a voice behind him said, "Can I help you, comrade?"

Stanski turned and froze. An old man
stood just inside the porch. He wore a greasy black peasant's cap and a patched
overcoat with string tied around the waist, a thick woollen scarf around his
neck. He looked like he wasn't long up, his eyes red raw, and he had a garden
broom and some twigs and dead leaves in his hands.

Stanski smiled. "I'm looking
!'("for an old friend of mine."

"Really. And who would that
be?"

He guessed the man was the block janitor.
A pair of cautious eyes stared at him suspiciously.

"Major Lukin. I believe he's in
apartment fourteen."

"He's a friend of yours, is
he?" The old man took in the uniform shoulder boards.

"From the war, comrade. I haven't
seen him in years. I'm on leave in Moscow. Just got in from Kiev this morning
on the overnight train. Is the major at home?"

"He left early, I'd say. His car's
not here. You ought to-) find him at Dzerzhinsky Square. But his wife ought to
be back soon. She usually goes shopping early on Saturday mornings to the
market. She gets back before dark."

"Of course, Yuri's wife. I'm afraid
I can't remember her name."

The old man gave a cackled laugh as he
leaned on his broom handle. "Nadia. A redhead. Good looker."

Stanski smiled back. "That's her.
Lukin did all right for himself." He looked at his watch. ""Call
back later. But do me a favor. If you see Nadia, don't tell her- I called. I'd
like to surprise her. You know how it is."

The old man winked as he touched his cap.
"As the major wishes."

Stanski tapped him on the shoulder and
looked down at the swept path. "You're doing a fine job Here, comrade.
Keep up the good work."

Stanski walked back and crossed over to
the other side of the street. A cafe stood fifty meters beyond. The lights were
on and he went inside. It was a dismal-looking place but full of early morning
worker.@. Taxi end tram drivers and @sleepy-looking shop girls from the stores
along KULUZOVSKY Prospect havin- coffee or breakfast. It smelled of rancid food
and stale cigarette smoke and everyone in it looked bored to death or half
asleep.

It took him almost ten minutes to get a
glass of tea. He found a free table by the window.

He sat smoking a cigarette. The street
lamps were on and the light was reasonable, so he had a good view of the
apartment block across the street. The old janitor was still clearing away
debris from the front garden, but ten minutes later he disappeared into the
building.

Meeting the old man had been a help-now
he had the name of Lukin's wife and a brief description-but he could also be a
problem. If he didn't stay out of the way, Stanski would have to deal with him,
and he hoped to avoid complicating things.

It was fifteen minutes later when he saw
the woman across the street. He didn't notice her red hair at first because she
wore a fur hat, but when she turned into the pathway he spotted the flame-red
color at the nape of her neck. She carried a heavy shopping basket and was
dressed in a fur-collared coat and knee boots. From the brief glimpse he had of
her face she looked pretty. He watched her go in the front door.

He sat in the cafe for another five
minutes, waiting to see if the janitor reappeared. He didn't, and Stanski
crushed out his cigarette and stood up.

He crossed the street briskly, and when
he rounded the corner nearest the apartment block he saw Irena sitting in the
parked Skoda, a woollen scarf partly covering her face. The Skoda's license
plates were muddied and unreadable.

He tapped on the passenger window and he
saw her start as she looked around, then she opened the door for him and he
climbed inside.

Irena looked frozen. "What kept you?
I was beginning to get worried you weren't coming back."

"Lukin's wife was out. I think she's
just come back. She's alone, so far as I can tell."

"What if she isn't?"

" Let me worry about that. I'll just
have to play the cards as they fall. There's an alleyway around the next corner
that leads to the back of the apartment block."

Ireia nodded. "I saw it."

"A door leads out from the garden.
It's about midway along. Wait for me at this end of the alleyway."

"What if someone asks me what I'm
doing there?"

"Just tell them the car's broken
down and you're waiting for a friend. Keep the scarf covering your face."

He saw the doubtful look on her face and
smiled. "Trust me."

"You're a crazy man, and I don't
know why but I do."

"See you soon."

He stepped out of the Skoda and walked
back around to the front of number 27.

He went up the path and still saw no sign
of the janitor. He climbed the stairs to the second-floor landing.

He took the bottle of ether out of his
pocket and uncorked the top. He doused a handkerchief with a splash of the
liquid. The pungent vapor was sickly and overpowering and he quickly stuffed
the bottle and the handkerchief back in his pockets. He checked that his
holster flap was undone and left the safety off. He knocked on the door.