Snow Wolf (70 page)

Again, Lukin read the file carefully. In
many ways the information seemed unimportant. The tragedy made him better
understand a powerful motive of revenge on Stanski's part, but little else. But
there was nothing there that could really help his investigation. Nothing that
would point a way for him.

No names of family friends Stanski might
try to contact in Moscow. And it did not explain how Stanski had survived while
all the other members of his family had perished.

That puzzled Lukin. For a long time he
sat there. He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke curl in front of his face.

There had to be something in all this he
didn't see. Had to be. But what?

And why? That was the question. Why had
Pasha given him the file?

A little later the door opened softly.

Pasha stood there. He had the bottle of
vodka and the two glasses. He poured a generous measure into each before
putting the bottle down on the bench and handing one of the glasses to Lukin.

"Take it.

"Are you trying to get me
drunk?"

"No, but I think you're going to need
it."

"Why?"

Pasha studied Lukin's face. "Did you
find nothing familiar in what you just read and saw?"

"In what way familiar?"

Pasha stared back, unblinking. "I
meant the way the information in the file fits together like a puzzle."

Lukin shook his head, confused. "I'm
afraid I don't understand."

Pasha sat down opposite. He placed his
glass beside him and sighed. "Nothing in the file about Stanski's parents
struck you as odd? Who they were? What happened to them?"

"What happened to his father and
mother happened to many children during the purges. What I don't understand is
how Stanski survived. The file said the entire family were killed."

Pasha slowly shook his head. "That's
not what I meant, Yuri. Let me remind you of something about Stalin, something all
of us in the KGB know. Some evil streak in him gets delight in inflicting a
very personal form of punishment. It was especially so during the purges in the
thirties. When Stalin's victims were parents, their children over the age of
twelve were killed also.

"Those younger were sent to the
orphanages controlled by the KGB. Many of the boys, when they came of age, were
inducted into the same KGB. And so they became the one thing their parents
would probably never have wanted them to become. Dedicated to Stalin, the sword
and shield of the Party, a member of his secret police. Most likely to become
the same kind of man as the one who arrested and killed their parents. Stalin
finds it cruelly amusing." He paused. "You see, there's another
reason you were chosen to find and kill this American, but you still haven't
figured it out yet. A reason why the page and photograph were missing from the
Wolf's file."

"Why?"

A look of concern crossed Pasha's face.
"Stalin probably told Beria not to let you see them. Because once you did
you'd see through his sick joke. It was no doubt Stalin's idea to pick you to
hunt down and kill Stanski. He had a perverted reason which amused him. Think
back, Yuri. Like me you were in orphan. What happened to my parents could have
happened to Stanski's. Think back to your own life, before you were sent to the
orphanage. Think back to your family."

"I ... I can't remember."

"You can. But you don't want to.
You've tried to blot everything about your past from your mind, and were made
to do so at the orphanage, just like me, weren't you?"

Pasha removed another flimsy page and a
photograph from his tunic pocket. He handed the photograph over.

"That was also in Stanski's file.
It's a photograph of the couple's children." He held up the page. "So
was this-the second missing page. It says the order to kill the children was
rescinded at the last moment. Instead, they were sent to an orphanage in
Moscow. It says two of them, a boy and a girl, were later given different
names. One of the names you know well. Study the photograph, Yuri. Study it
closely."

Lukin looked down at the photograph. It
was of two small boys and a very young girl with blond hair. They stood
together in a wheat field laughing out at the camera. The oldest of the three,
the one in the middle, was obviously Stanski as a child. He had his arms around
the smaller children protectively.

Suddenly the two other faces in the
photograph jolted Lukin. The girl was aged no more than four or five, her pale
face angelic. And the second boy, his face was suddenly and frighteningly
familiar.

Lukin felt a shock go through him and
looked up.

Pasha said, "The little girl's name
was Katya. She was your sister. The couple in the photograph were your parents.
The boy on the right is you, Petya Stefanovitch, before you were given the name
Yuri Lukin. You were seven years old."

Lukin turned white. Not a muscle moved on
his face as he stared back at Pasha, his body numbed with shock. Pasha said,
"Alex Stanski is your brother."

Lukin signed in at the entrance hall of
the Officer's Club on Dzerzhinsky Square and climbed the winding marble
staircase to the second floor.

The large room he entered looked like a
miniature palace, with its marble columns and gilded chandeliers and
redcarpeted floors. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and a babble of
voices. Lukin pushed his way through the crowd to the bar and ordered a large
vodka, but as the white-coated orderly poured he said, "I've changed my
mind. Give me the bottle."

He took the bottle and glass to an empty
table by the window.

He was hardly conscious of the noise at
the bar behind him as he filled the glass to the brim and swallowed. He had
swallowed three glasses and poured a fourth before he noticed he was shaking.

He felt icy cold and sweat poured down
his temples. He felt anger and a terrible feeling of confusion. He felt ... He
didn't know what he felt.

As he sat there he stared out through the
window. The massive form of the KGB Headquarters stood on the far side of the
square, lit up by the soft white glow of the security arc lamps. For a long
time he stared out at the building in a daze.

Suddenly he felt tears welling up and a
powerful feeling of distress overcame him. He could hardly believe what Pasha
had told him. The man and woman in the photograph were his parents. The little
girl his sister Katya. Alex Stanski his brother, Mischa. Lukin's own name was
Petya Ivan Stefanovitch.

But now he had read the second missing
page from the file he knew it was true. He shuddered and a wave of anger rose
and almost smothered him. He swallowed the fourth vodka in one gulp and poured
another.

His mind fogged. Then cleared. He racked
his brains for memories from his past, a past he had always been forced to
block at the Moscow orphanage. Racked his brains until his head hurt. Once he
had always tried to forget; now he could do nothing but remember.

That day he had gone to collect Anna
Khorev's daughter and saw the urchin faces at the orphanage window he had
stiuddered. He had shuddered because it was his own past. He remembered always
looking out of the window after his brother had escaped; always hoping. Hoping
Mischa would come back. Hoping Mischa was still alive. But they told him Mischa
was dead.

Not dead.

Alive.

He had been lied to. Katya had been lied
to.

Lukin felt so overcome with emotion he
thought his brain would burst a blood vessel.

He had a vague recollection of the man
who had been his father; but a stronger memory of his mother. Lukin was a small
boy. She was walking with him in a wood. It was summer. She was picking
flowers. One of her hands held his, another held his brother's. The woman
smiled down at him ... Think.

Remember.

And then he saw his brother's face
clearly, as if a curtain had lifted inside his head. The same face as in the
photograph.

Stanski.

He knew there was something oddly
familiar about the face at the checkpoint in Tallinn.

A fog rolled away, He remembered the day
the wolves came and he had run to his father's arms.

"Wolves, Papa!"

"Bah! He's afraid of
everything," Mischa laughed.

"Then why did you run too?"

"Because you ran, little brother.
And I couldn't stop you."

His father carried them into the warm,
happy house and his mother fussed over them. And afterwards, that same night,
lying in his bed, the storm came and he heard the wolves again, howling in the
woods, and Mischa's voice saying across the darkened room, "Are you
afraid?"

Lightning flashed and thunder rolled
beyond the bedroom window. Lukin had started to cry then, fearful of the noise
and light, and the wild animals out there in the woods baying in the terrible
storm.

"Don't be afraid, little brother.
Mischa will protect you. Come, sleep beside me."

He had snuggled in beside his brother,
still crying, and Mischa's arms went around him and hugged him close.

"Don't cry, Petya. Mischa will
always protect you. And if anyone or anything ever tries to hurt you I will
kill them. You understand, little brother? And when Mama has her baby, Mischa
will protect baby too."

And all through the night Mischa had held
him close, warm and safe and comforted.

Mischa "I'm surprised you find time
to relax. Enjoy it while it lasts, Lukin."

He started at the voice behind him and
turned, not even aware of the tears at the edges of his eyes. Romulka stood
there, a mocking grin on his face, a glass of brandy in his hand.

Lukin wiped his face and turned away.
"Go to hell."

Romulka smirked. "Now that's no way
to speak to a fellow officer. You ought to be more respectful. What's wrong,
Lukin?

Worried what might happen to you and your
wife when Beria learns you've failed him? I just thought you'd like to know the
Frenchman still hasn't talked yet, he's holding out remarkably well." He
held up his glass and grinned. "It's thirsty work, and I needed a little
refreshment before I really go to work on him. But if a little more torture
fails, then I have something in store for Lebel that's certain to loosen his
tongue. That can only mean one thing, Lukin. Once I find the American you'll be
finished and the woman will be my responsibility."

"I said go to hell."

Only something bothers me. I hear you had
the woman transferred to Lefortovo this evening. But you know what's odd? The
prison has no record of receiving her. Now why is that?"

When Lukin didn't reply, Romulka leaned
in closer and said threateningly, "If you're trying to hide her from me
I'll make you shorter by a head. Where's the woman, Lukin? Where is she?"

As Lukin stared up at the man's face he
felt a terrible overpowering rage.

"You know what your trouble is,
Romulka? You and your type are the scum of the KGB. Goddamned cowards all of
you. And like all cowards you get pleasure inflicting pain. You bastard, you
haven't an ounce of pity in you. You want to know where the woman is? Here's
your answer."

He threw his drink in Romulka's face.

Romulka flung away his glass in a rage
and reached over and grabbed Lukin by the collar, twisting him around in the
chair. A fist smashed into Lukin's face and he was flung back.

As he crashed onto the floor Romulka was
already moving in for the kill. For a big man he moved fast, but not fast
enough.

Lukin stumbled to his feet and ducked
right as Romulka punched the air. He saw his chance and swung his hand up and
the metal hook impaled itself in Romulka's forearm.

Romulka's eyes snapped open and he
screamed in agony.

Lukin pulled him in like a baited fish
and his knee smashed into the man's groin. Romulka yelled in pain as Lukin
pulled out the hook and blood spurted on the carpet.

Romulka fell to the floor, still
screaming in agony, and a couple of army captains rushed forward to break up
the fight.

Lukin roared, "Leave him!"

The men took one look at the rage on
Lukin's face and stopped in their tracks, Romulka stared back up, murder in his
eyes, pain twisting his face. "Understand one thing, Lukin-i'm going to
find the Wolf. Do you hear me? I'm going to succeed and you'll have failed. And
then you're finished, Lukin! Dead!"

Lukin took a handkerchief from his pocket
and wiped the metal hook, "And you understand this-I see you within two
paces and so help me I'll kill you."

He noticed the entire room had gone deathly
silent. Faces gaped at him and a few stern-faced elderly officers scowled their
disapproval. But no one moved, and from the look on their faces they obviously
thought he was deranged, Lukin turned to the two officers. "I suggest you
call a doctor before the colonel here ruins the carpet."

Then he turned and strode out of the
door.