Pasha slowly shook his head. "That'snot what I meant, Yuri. Let me remind you of something about Stalin, something allof us in the KGB know. Some evil streak in him gets delight in inflicting avery personal form of punishment. It was especially so during the purges in thethirties. When Stalin's victims were parents, their children over the age oftwelve were killed also.

"Those younger were sent to theorphanages controlled by the KGB. Many of the boys, when they came of age, wereinducted into the same KGB. And so they became the one thing their parentswould probably never have wanted them to become. Dedicated to Stalin, the swordand shield of the Party, a member of his secret police. Most likely to becomethe same kind of man as the one who arrested and killed their parents. Stalinfinds it cruelly amusing." He paused. "You see, there's anotherreason you were chosen to find and kill this American, but you still haven'tfigured it out yet. A reason why the page and photograph were missing from theWolf's file."

"Why?"

A look of concern crossed Pasha's face."Stalin probably told Beria not to let you see them. Because once you didyou'd see through his sick joke. It was no doubt Stalin's idea to pick you tohunt down and kill Stanski. He had a perverted reason which amused him. Thinkback, Yuri. Like me you were in orphan. What happened to my parents could havehappened to Stanski's. Think back to your own life, before you were sent to theorphanage. 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 madeto do so at the orphanage, just like me, weren't you?"

Pasha removed another flimsy page and aphotograph 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. "Sowas this-the second missing page. It says the order to kill the children wasrescinded at the last moment. Instead, they were sent to an orphanage inMoscow. It says two of them, a boy and a girl, were later given differentnames. One of the names you know well. Study the photograph, Yuri. Study itclosely."

Lukin looked down at the photograph. Itwas of two small boys and a very young girl with blond hair. They stoodtogether 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 aroundthe smaller children protectively.

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

Lukin felt a shock go through him andlooked up.

Pasha said, "The little girl's namewas 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 nameYuri Lukin. You were seven years old."

Lukin turned white. Not a muscle moved onhis 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 ofthe Officer's Club on Dzerzhinsky Square and climbed the winding marblestaircase to the second floor.

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

He took the bottle and glass to an emptytable by the window.

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

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

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

Suddenly he felt tears welling up and apowerful feeling of distress overcame him. He could hardly believe what Pashahad told him. The man and woman in the photograph were his parents. The littlegirl his sister Katya. Alex Stanski his brother, Mischa. Lukin's own name wasPetya Ivan Stefanovitch.

But now he had read the second missingpage from the file he knew it was true. He shuddered and a wave of anger roseand almost smothered him. He swallowed the fourth vodka in one gulp and pouredanother.

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

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

Not dead.

Alive.

He had been lied to. Katya had been liedto.

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

He had a vague recollection of the manwho had been his father; but a stronger memory of his mother. Lukin was a smallboy. She was walking with him in a wood. It was summer. She was pickingflowers. One of her hands held his, another held his brother's. The womansmiled down at him ... Think.

Remember.

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

Stanski.

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

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

"Wolves, Papa!"

"Bah! He's afraid ofeverything," 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 thewoods, and Mischa's voice saying across the darkened room, "Are youafraid?"

Lightning flashed and thunder rolledbeyond the bedroom window. Lukin had started to cry then, fearful of the noiseand light, and the wild animals out there in the woods baying in the terriblestorm.

"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 willalways protect you. And if anyone or anything ever tries to hurt you I willkill them. You understand, little brother? And when Mama has her baby, Mischawill protect baby too."

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

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

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

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