Snow Wolf (80 page)

For a long time he knelt in the frozen
woods, no longer hearin- the wailing sirens and the noises in the forest, only
his own sobbing and the wild thumping of his heart in his ears as a painful
anguish flooded him, almost physical in its intensity.

There was a timelessness to everything,
and then it seemed as if a dam burst inside his head, and when the scream
finally came, it came from deep inside him.

"Mischa!

The scream seemed to go on forever in the
white darkness.

It had started to rain again.

The sky over Moscow darkened like
twilight, then a flash of forked lightning lit up the clouds and thunder
cracked and the heavens opened. Anna Khorev stood at the window and stared out
through the sheeting rain toward the distant red walls of the Kremlin. When she
finally turned back she smiled, a brief sad smile.

"And there you have your story, Mr.
Massey. Not entirely a happy ending, but then life rarely surprises us with
happy endings."

"It's a remarkable story."

She lit a cigarette. "Not only
remarkable, but true. You're one of the few people to know what happened that
night at Kuntsevo. It took almost four days for Stalin to die, but die he did.
The drug caused him to have a hemorrhage, the bullet made sure he'd die. And
there was nothing his doctors could do to save him. Of course, the irony was
they were too afraid to lift a finger after what happened to their Kremlin
colleagues."

"So the official version of how
Stalin died was a lie."

"The Kremlin claimed he died
naturally, of a cerebral hemorrhage. But you'll also read in some history books
that the bodies of two men were taken from the dacha grounds the night Stalin
fell fatally ill. It's not a widely known fact, but it's the one small grain of
truth that hints at something unusual happening that night. The bodies were
those of Alex and your father. But of course, there was never any mention of
that. Some secrets are best kept just that-secret." I didn't answer for a
moment, then I said, "Why did you tell me your story? Was it because you
had to?"

Anna Khorev smiled back. "Partly
that, I suppose. But perhaps I needed to tell someone and I'm glad we finally
met. What happened all those years ago has been such a secret part of my life.
Perhaps too big a secret to keep all to myself until the day I die. And to be
honest, now that I've told you I feel quite relieved."

She smiled again, and then a distant, sad
look appeared on her face.

"What about afterwards?" I
said.

She sat down. "You mean what
happened to everyone? Oh, Beria I'm sure you know about. After Stalin's death
he made his play for power and failed. He was accused, ironically, of having
been an agent for the West. But really he had made too many enemies who wanted
him dead. He was arrested in the Kremlin and shot soon afterwards. So he got
his just reward in the end. Some even said he was killed because he knew what
had really happened to Stalin, and his comrades in the Kremlin wanted to cover
it up."

"So what happened after you escaped
from Moscow?"

"Russia was in chaos for days
afterwards. With Romulka dead, our escape wasn't that difficult. We made it to
Finland but there were problems, of course. The CIA, naturally, thought I and
the others might be an embarrassment if the mission was ever leaked or
discovered. And Henri Lebel was fearful for his life when he realized he had
been in a small way party to Stalin's death. But Henri had been rather clever.
After your father had first struck a deal with him in Paris he had transcribed
all the details and sent them in a sealed envelope to his lawyer, with
instructions that the contents be made public if Henri ordered it, or if he or
Irena were ever harmed. That way, he was insuring himself against the CIA ever
trying to blackmail him into working for them again, or double-crossing him. So
the CIA kept your father's promise. They arranged secretly through Mossad for
myself and Sasha, along with Henri and frena, to live in Israel under new
identities. They thought we'd all be safer there and out of harm's way, if ever
the KGB wanted to exact revenge on us, but thankfully that never
happened."

She looked away, toward the window.
"Mossad was quite happy with things as they turned out. With Stalin dead,
the purge of the Jews stopped, the camps were never completed, and the
surviving doctors were released. The Americans arranged a nice apartment for
Sasha and me in Tel Aviv and looked after us financially. I was warned never to
disclose my real identity or divulge anything about the mission because it
might put our lives in danger. But the new rulers in the Kremlin never made
public the fact that the mission succeeded, or even that it had ever existed.
That would have been an embarrassment for them and would perhaps have caused a
war nobody really wanted, least of all the Soviets, who were without a leader,
and that suited Washington completely. Khrushchev eventually succeeded Stalin,
and later denounced him for his crimes. No one went entirely unpunished for his
death, however. Not long after, the KGB systematically and brutally
assassinated a number of extremist Russian and Ukrainian immigrant leaders in
Europe, probably in the mistaken belief that they were )n some way partly
responsible. But whether the CIA pointed a finger at them or not, I've no way
of knowing."

"Why did the CIA claim my father
committed suicide?"

"At the time your father's death was
a problem for Washington. They had to cover it up somehow and without any of
his colleagues becoming suspicious. The official explanation given was that he
had committed suicide while traveling in Europe. They said that after he had
been recalled to Washington from Munich he had been put on leave, for health
reasons. They claimed that he was depressed and unstable. The date they gave
for his death was before our mission began, so that no one might ever connect
him to what subsequently happened. It wasn't fair to the character of your
father, of course, but it had to be done for the sake of security. And, of
course, no body was buried, just a coffin full of stones."

"What happened to Lebel and
Irena?"

Anna Khorev smiled. "Henri opened a
clothing business in Tel Aviv and they married and lived happily together until
Henri died ten years ago. lrena followed him soon after."

"And Yuri Lukin?"

For a long time Anna Khorev stared out
silently at the sheeting rain. There was a look of sadness on her face. Then
she looked back.

"He made it to the train that night,
much to the relief of his wife, but he was distraught, as you can imagine. He
had found his brother after all those years, and then lost him again. When we
arrived in Helsinki we were all debriefed for several days by Branigan. I never
saw Yuri Lukin again after that. I would have liked to very much. He was a
remarkable man, Mr. Massey.

"Do you know what became of
him?" She crushed out her cigarette and said, "Do you really want to
know?"

"He's the final part of the
puzzle," I offered. "I can only tell you what I heard from the CIA.
After Helsinki, he and his wife were flown to America. They were given new
identities and settled in California, where his wife gave birth to a son. Then
three months later they told me Yuri was killed in an automobile
accident."

"You think the KGB had him
killed?"

No, I don't believe they did. It was
definitely a freak accident, Mr. Massey. And I'm certain the CIA didn't kill
him for that matter. In many ways, had it not been for him, the mission
wouldn't have been so successful. But I suppose his death was probably
convenient for both the Kremlin and Washington. There was one less person alive
who knew the real truth."

:"What happened to his wife and
son?"

"I have no idea, I'm afraid."

I sat there for several moments, taking
it all in. Beyond the glass the rain had stopped. The sun appeared from behind
the sullen Moscow clouds, glinting off the Kremlin's golden domes and the
bright, candy-colored whorls of St. Basil's.

I looked back. "May I ask you a
personal question?"

She smiled. "That depends on how
personal."

"Did you ever remarry?"

She laughed gently. "Good lord, what
an odd question. But the answer is no. Sasha eventually married a nice Russian
immigrant in Israel. They have a son they named Ivan Alexei Yuri. And a
daughter, Rachel, whom you met when you arrived."

She smiled. "I loved two remarkable
men in my life, Mr. Massey. My husband and Alex. And that's really been quite
enough."

So you really did love Alex
Stanski?"

"Yes, I loved him. Not in the way I
loved Ivan, but I loved him. It was never destined to have a happy ending, I
think we both knew that. What is it they say? A lost soul. That summed up Alex
perfectly. I think he knew he'd die on the mission, perhaps even wanted to. I
think he always knew his destiny was to die in Moscow. To kill Stalin was worth
the sacrifice of his life and the ultimate revenge for what had happened to his
family. And in paying that price Alex did the world a great service, Mr.
Massey. There were as many sighs of relief in Moscow as in Washington when Stalin
died."

The door opened softly. The dark-haired
girl stood there. She had changed into a blouse and skirt and she looked
remarkably beautiful, her long legs tanned and her hair down about her
shoulders. "Nana, the embassy car is here for the airport."

The girl smiled at me and I smiled back.
She had the same features as her grandmother. The same brown eyes and presence.
I guessed she must have looked much like Anna Khorev had over forty years
before. I could understand Alex Stanski, and even my father, falling in love
with her, "Thank you, Rachel. We're almost finished. Tell the driver we'll
be with him in a minute."

The girl smiled at me again.
"Promise me you won't keep my grandmother much longer?"

"I promise."

She left, closing the door after her. Anna
Khorev stood. "So there you have it, Mr. Massey. I've told you everything
I can. I'm afraid you must excuse me now. Rachel and I have a flight to Israel
to catch. I hope you understand? It's been a brief visit, but one I've wanted
to make for a long time."

"May I ask one more question?"

"And what's that?"

"Do you really think my father would
have killed you and Alex?" She thought for several moments, then she said,
"No, I don't believe he would have. Though God knows what the outcome
would have been if Yuri Lukin hadn't done what he did. Your father came to
Moscow because he was ordered. But I think if it had come down to it, he
wouldn't have killed us. He would have stopped us, certainly, but figured some
way of getting us out of Moscow. He was a fine man, Mr. Massey. He was a father
you would have been proud of, And to be honest, maybe I was a little in love
with him, too."

Finally, she glanced at her watch before
picking up the bunch of white orchids I had brought. "We have some time,
so why don't you ride with us in the car, Mr. Massey? We can drop you at your
hotel on the way to the airport. And if you don't mind I'd like to pay a visit
to Novodevichy on the way."

The sun came out as we walked together to
the graves. Rachel had waited in the car and as the sunlight washed down
through the chestnut trees the graveyard hardly seemed like the same place. The
sky was clear and blue and the dry heat of the afternoon lingered under the
trees. Old women walked among the shaded pathways with bunches of flowers and
bottles of vodka, come to sit and talk and drink with their departed.

When we came to the two gravestones Anna
Khorev placed a spray of orchids on each of them.

I stood back then, to let her say her
final prayer. She wasn't crying, but I saw the pain in her eyes when she
finally turned back.

"I decided a long time ago that this
will be my final resting place when my day comes, Mr. Massey. I know Ivan, my
husband, would have understood."

"I'm certain he would have." I
looked at her, stuck for something to say, seeing the faraway look in her brown
eyes. "Everything that happened that night must seem like a dream."

It was all I could offer.

"Sometimes I wonder did it really
happen. And wonder who would believe it."

I do.

She half smiled and went to say something,
glancing at the two graves as if there was something else I should know, but
then she seemed to change her mind and shivered.

"Are you ready, Mr. Massey? I'm
afraid graveyards are not one of my favorite places. Even on a warm, sunny
Moscow day.

I nodded and took her arm and we walked
back to the car.

I heard that Anna Khorev died six months
later.

There was nothing in the newspapers but
Bob Vitali called from Langley and said he thought I'd want to know she had
passed away in the Sharet Hospital in Jerusalem. She had suffered from lung
cancer. The funeral was to be in Moscow four days later.

I ordered plane tickets, for some reason
wanting to be part of the end of things.

it was snowing when I landed at
Sheremetyevo, the fields and steppes of Russia frozen like some vast ghostly
tapestry, flurries of snow sweeping the Moscow streets, the country in the
harsh grip of another bitter winter, and I thought it must have been like this
all those years ago when Alex Stanski and Anna made their way across Russia.