Lukin sat up. "What happened?"

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

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

"And?"

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

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

"Thanks, Pasha." Lukin guessedthat Romulka had ignored his phone call because of Pasha's refusal. "Howis she?"

"Awake, last time I looked."

"How does she seem?"

"Like someone switched the lightsoff inside her heart."

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

"You really think she'll talk?"

"God only knows, but somehow I doubtit. And I don't have much time left. The question is, can she really help us? Idoubt it somehow. I get the feeling she may not know where Stanski is, as sheclaims. The problem is, that means we're going to have to hand her over toBeria soon. It wouldn't be beyond him to harm the child to make her talk. Wehave 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 acamp He'll kill her." Lukin said solemnly, "I know."

"What happens now?" askedPasha.

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

"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 areother ways to crack nuts."

"How? The Archives office is out ofbounds without a per mit. There are sensitive files kept there, top-secretfiles. 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 andborro\ 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 toolong.' "How about I simply ask the Chief?"

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

Pasha shrugged. "If you sayso."

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

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

"Good luck."

He watched as Irena drove off and then hewalked back along the street. There was hardly any traffic but the trolic buseswere running, blue sparks illuminating the morning darkness as they whirredalong the Prospect. He could make ot the numbers of the big old apartmenthouses 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 hadobviously once been the home of a wealthy family but was now converted intoapartments. There was no sign of the olive-green BMW outside in the street.

Stanski saw that the blue-paintedentrance door was open and walked up the front garden path. He saw the namesand numbers of the occupants written on small white cards above recessedletter-boxes inside on the porch.

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

A stairway led up from the hall and therewas a faint wash of light from one of the upstairs landings. The hallwaysmelled of lavender polish. Two bicycles were stood against a wall, and heheard muffled voices somewhere off in the building He climbed the stairs up tothe second floor. The landing light was on and he saw the door, number 14stenciled 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 soundfrom inside. He guessed Lukin's wife was still sleeping.

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

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

He stepped back into the garden and wenthalfway up the path.

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

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

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

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

"Really. And who would thatbe?"

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

"Major Lukin. I believe he's inapartment fourteen."

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

"From the war, comrade. I haven'tseen him in years. I'm on leave in Moscow. Just got in from Kiev this morningon the overnight train. Is the major at home?"

"He left early, I'd say. His car'snot here. You ought to-) find him at Dzerzhinsky Square. But his wife ought tobe back soon. She usually goes shopping early on Saturday mornings to themarket. She gets back before dark."

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

The old man gave a cackled laugh as heleaned 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. ""Callback later. But do me a favor. If you see Nadia, don't tell her- I called. I'dlike to surprise her. You know how it is."