Snow Wolf (67 page)

"Do you remember what type of
car?"

"I ... I'm not sure."

"Think, Nadia. What type? What
color?"

"Everything happened so fast. I
don't remember what type."

"Do you remember the color?"

"Gray, maybe. Or green. I can't be
certain."

"What about the license plates'? You
didn't see the license plates?"

"No."

Lukin sighed. "Do you remember
anything about the driver?"

"He had his back to me."

"Think, Nadia. Please."

"When the smell of the drug went
away I could smell something else ..

"What?"

"A clean smell. Like perfume ... but
I'm not sure."

"Could the driver have been a
woman?"

Nadia shook her head. "I don't know.
I suppose, but I really don't know. Can we stop this, please, Yuri ..

Lukin saw the strain and tension on her
face. She was close to breaking point but he needed some clue. Something that
might help him.

"Tell me about the room you were
kept in."

"I told you, I was
blindfolded."

He put his hand to his wife's face and
covered her eyes. She started to move away but he held her still. "Nadia,
this is important. Imagine you're in that room again. Imagine you're
blindfolded. What smells were there? What sounds?"

"There was no ... sound of traffic.
I heard birds outside but it was very quiet and still. It seemed like somewhere
in the country, but it was Moscow, I'm sure of it."

"Why are you sure?"

, "When I was taken to the convent I
was still blindfolded but I couldn't have been in the car for more than half an
hour. But where we drove from ... I don't know ... it could have been anywhere."

"Think. What else do you
remember?"

Nadia went to push his hand away but he
kept it there.

"Yuri, please ... I can't take any
more, please ..

Lukin removed his hand. Nadia was crying,
tears streaming down her face. He pulled her close and held her tightly.

"It's all right, my love. It's all
right. Come into the bedroom. Try and sleep."

She wiped her face and pushed away from
him. "How can I sleep after what you've told me?"

"Because you need to. Take one of
the pills the doctor gave you." He stood up and saw the alarm on her face.

"Where are you going?"

"Nadia, I have to try to find
Stanski. He won't come back here, he wouldn't risk it. But if it makes you feel
better I'll have one of the men come over and stay. But tell him nothing and
lock the doors while I'm away."

He picked up the brown bottle. "This
is what Stanski used to put you asleep erlier. It's a controlled substance, an
anesthetic and solvent. And that means it can only be bought through legal
channels. I need to check if any of the names on the lists of dissidents are
chemists or doctors, or work in hospitals where they could have access to such
supplies, or even if any has been reported stolen. It's not much to go on, but
it's all I can think of. If Pasha calls, tell him where I've gone. I'll have
one of the men stop by as soon as I get to my office."

"Yuri, please be careful." He
kissed her forehead. "Of course. Now try and rest."

Lukin, watched as she crossed to the
bedroom door. She looked back at him, a frightened look that almost broke his heart,
and then she went into the bedroom.

He put his hand to his forehead and sat
there, in turmoil. Everything had gone wrong. The ether was a thin strand, but
he had to give Nadia some hope. He had to find Stanski and find him fast before
Beria discovered that the woman was missing. He found it difficult to
concentrate as he tried to rack his brain for clues.

Nadia's information hadn't been much.
Maybe a house on the outskirts of Moscow. A quiet place in the country with no
traffic. A dacha, perhaps. Maybe a woman involved. It was nothing much to go
on. Nothing.

He needed solid clues. He looked down at
the ether bottle. Right now it was all he had.

It was almost ten that evening when the
Tupolev 4 military transporter arriving from Vienna touched down on the snowy
runway at Moscow's Viiukovo airfield.

Among the military-only passengers that
evening was a bulky man in his early forties with cropped hair. He wore an air
force maan's uniform an had hardly spoken throughout the bumpy four-hour
flight, pretending to sleep in his seat at the rear of the aircraft, while the
other military passengers drank and played cards or wandered up and down the
aisles to ease the boredom.

Now, as he carried his duffel bag down
the metal steps, an imposing black Zil drew up alongside the Tupolev and a
young lieutenant in air force uniform introduced himself and led the major to
the waiting car.

It took almost ten minutes to exit the
airport, the papers the lieutenant produced being checked thoroughly at the
special gate reserved for military traffic. But the documents were all in order
and the Zil was waved through.

Half an hour later the car pulled up on a
dark country road on the outskirts of Moscow. The young officer looked around
and smiled.

"This is where I was told to drop
you, sir."

The man looked Out of the window at the
falling snow and said, "You're certain this is the place?"

"Certain, Comrade Major."

Massey climbed out silently, dragging his
bag after him. The lieutenant watched him disappear into the darkness as the
snow fell lightly beyond the windshield.

Lukin pulled up opposite the entrance to
the small park near the Kiev Metro station. As he stepped out of the car, he
noticed that the lights were on in the park. He saw a dozen or more
tough-looking men huddled beyond the bare trees twenty meters away. Most of them
had the dark look of the south: Uzbekistans, Turkestaiis, Georgians, gypsies
from the Crimea with ugly, elaborate tattoos on their hands and arms. Hardened
petty criminals who ran the Moscow black markets and risked five years in
Siberia for additional trading.

He saw the rusting green Emka parked
across the street, but there was no sign of Rizov.

He noticed that some of the men under the
trees were closing suitcases and canvas bags, stashing them onto the backs of
bicycles or carrying them to the trunks of rusted cars award vans outside the
park. Another ten minutes and the place would be deserted.

Through the bare trees Lukin saw a trader
with a heavy black mustache. A barrel-chested fat man with one led shorter than
the other, wearing loose, baggy clothes and a bushy beard. Oleg Rizov. Rizov
the Bear.

He was arguing with a woman carrying a
shopping bag. The woman held up a dented can of tinned peaches, trying to
bargain. Rizov kept smiling a gold-toothed smile and shaking [ his head from
side to side. Finally the exasperated woman threw the can into the bushes in
disgust and uttered a mouthful expletives before turning on her heel. The other
men standing under the trees laughed and Rizov growled at them, then limp( over
and retrieved the can of peaches and swore after the woman.

Lukin watched as moments later Rizov
picked up two worn suitcases and came out through the park gates to rusty Emka,
waddling like a man with legs of rubber. Rizov locke the cases in the trunk,
then went around to the front. He removed two windshield wipers from inside his
coat and fit them to the wiper arms, then climbed into the Emka.

It started in a puff of blue exhaust
smoke and moved ol from the curb. Lukin pulled out after it.

The apartment block off the southern end
of the Lenin Prospect had been built just after the war, but despite its
newness it looked shabby. Raw unplastered cinder block and lines of fro zen
washing hanging on balconies.

The Emka halted and Lukin saw Rizov climb
out, retrieve his two suitcases and remove the wipers again before he locke(
the car. He stepped on a line of wooden planks that covered the slushy patches
in front of the building before he limped into the apartment block.

Lukin locked the BMW and followed.

He went up to the third floor and knocked
on Rizov's door There was a rattle of bolts and locks and Rizov appeared. His
face dropped when he saw Lukin.

"Major ... what a surprise ..

Lukin brushed past him.

The room was squalid, untidy and in
disarray, but it was a storehouse of luxury. The two suitcases from the car
were open, their contents scattered. Jars of Dutch jams and some cans of
peaches and red caviar. From hooks in the ceiling hung sides of smoked salmon
and bunches of dried salted herrings. On the table Lukin saw half a dozen
bottles of Ukrainian champagne and a couple of kilo jars of pickled sturgeon's
roe.

"About to give a party, Oleg? Or did
I disturb your supper?"

Rizov closed the door and nervously
licked his lips. "What can I say, Major?"

"Caught red-handed would do nicely.
For this little lot alone you could get five years." Lukin rummaged
through one of the suitcases and plucked out two bright red camisoles.

"Yours?"

"I'm holding on to them for a
friend."

"The French Ambassador's wife, no
doubt?"

Rizov smiled nervously. "Consider
them a gift."

Lukin let the garments fall. "Sit
down, Rizov."

Rizov pushed some dirty clothes off the
bed and sat. "Perhaps if the major told me to what I owe the pleasure of
his visit? Can I get the major a drink?"

"You know, it never ceases to amaze
me, Rizov."

"What does?"

"We must have the tightest borders
and ports in the world and yet people like you still manage to smuggle in just
about anything."

Rizov shrugged amiably. "The major
knows if I can provide a service for the good citizens of Moscow, it makes me
feel good. I consider it social work, not crime."

"I'm sure a judge would see it
differently. You'd sell your own grandmother for a profit, Rizov. You're a
rogue beyond redemption." He removed the brown bottle from his pocket and
placed it on the table.

"What's that?"

"Ether. You've heard of ether,
Rizov. A chemical liquid used as an anesthetic."

"I know what ether is." Rizov
pointed to the bottle. "But what's this got to do with me?"

"Do you know how to get ether in
Moscow?"

"No, but I've got a feeling the
major will tell me."

"Unless you're a doctor or a
hospital administrator or work in certain industries, it's impossible to buy.
Its purchase is strictly controlled and monitored."

Rizov shrugged. "You learn something
every day. What's it got to do with me?"

"If somebody wanted a small quantity
of ether and fast, no doubt your friends on the black market would find a way
to oblige for a price?"

Rizov pursed his lips and nodded at the
bottle. "Was it bought, on the black market?"

"Perhaps. Or stolen from a hospital
or surgery."

Rizov shrugged. "I heard some of the
illegal abortion clinics buy it on the black market."

"Among your friends, who'd be daring
enough to steal it?"

Rizov shook his head. "Major,
really, I know nothing about such things. Food and drink, sure. But stuff for
hospitals, forget it. Five years in a camp is one thing. A bullet in the neck
for stealing prescribed chemical substances is another." . "Answer
the question, Rizov. I'm not in the mood for playing around. This is important.
Who'd be daring enough to steal ether?"

Rizov sighed and put a hand to his
forehead and thought for a moment, then looked up. "Perhaps the Crimean
gypsies. Or the Turkmenistans. They're a bunch of reckless bastards who deal in
drugs and stuff. They'd steal the food off a policeman's plate if they thought
there was a profit in it."

"Give me names."

Rizov shook his head and laughed.
"Major, as Stalin is my judge, I keep away from that lot. They're not only
mad, they're dangerous. Even sending them to the camps doesn't frighten them.
Like weeds, they'd thrive in fucking shit."

Lukin's hand slapped hard on the table.
"Names, Rizov. I want names. They're acquaintances of yours. You work the
black market together."

"On the grave of my dead mother I
know none of them. And even if I did and ratted they'd have my balls for Worry
beads."

Lukin grabbed the little man by his shirt
collar. "You're, a lying rogue, Rizov. And your mother's alive and living
in Kiev."

"I don't associate with these
people, Major. Drugs, stuff like that, it's too risky. Me, I stick to food and
clothes."

Lukin looked about the room. "You
like living here?"

Rizov threw an eye quickly over the
filthy, tiny flat and said flippantly, "Sure. I love it." He saw the
look on Lukin's face and his tone became more respectful. "it could be
worse."