"How long before the foot patrolreach the crash site?"

The captain glanced at his watch. "Acouple of hours. But it depends on the weather conditions, obviously. They'rein radio contact."

Lukin rubbed his eyes. "You thinkthe light aircraft managed to drop these people before it crashed?"

"Difficult to know, sir, but it'slikely."

"Why?"

Kaman pointed at the map. "The localradar picked up several spurious blips west of Tallinn, along this route here.Three fast, one slow. Assuming the slow one was the light aircraft, its alteredheading would suggest the drop had already been made and it was turning back.The radar people suggest that Finland was the likely destination. So we mustassume the drop has been made and the man and woman you're seeking are onRussian soil."

Lukin stood. The file Beria had given himhad contained a photograph of the woman, Anna Khorev. Despite her scrawnyappearance she looked rather beautiful, which helped him. It was always easierfor the militia to spot a good-looking woman. Plain ones tended to blend intothe crowd.

There were details in the file as to whyshe had been arrested and sent to the Gulag, and information on her escape. Thewoman's past made unpleasant reading. She was the daughter of a disgraced armyofficer, her husband had died in a camp, and her child was in the care of aMoscow orphanage.

The man's file didn't go into muchdetail. Alexander Stanski, a Russian-born, naturalized American citizen. Lukinhad read the brief character sketch compiled by the 1st Directorate withinterest, but there was no information concerning Stanski's childhood inRussia, and Lukin had wondered about that. Such information might help him.

"A question, Captain. If you were anenemy agent parachuted onto Russian soil, with your destination being Moscow,how would you proceed?"

"I don't understand."

"What route would you take? Whatdisguises would you use? How would you try to avoid the enemy?"

The captain thought a moment. "Itwould depend."

"On what?"

"On whether I knew the enemy wasaware of my arrival."

"Go on."

"If the enemy was unaware, I'dprobably take the direct route, with precautions. A train, main line, or somesuch public transport, bus or plane. I'd probably not travel in uniform becausethere are periodic checks on military personnel at such stations.

"And if your enemy did know of yourarrival?"

The captain thought a moment. "Lielow for a couple of days. Then take a less direct route using public transport.But in disguise. And I would try to behave like a local, so as not to arousesuspicion. Assume a local's dress, his demeanor, his habits. Walk the way hewalks, speak the way he speaks."

Lukin nodded. "Good. Though thesepeople would hardly know the aircraft has crashed. But allowing for bothscenarios I want checkpoints placed on every major and minor road, everyrailway and bus station, and the airport. Identity checks at all those points.Use every available man. You'll be looking for a woman aged twenty-seven. Butcover the ages between eighteen and forty.

"As for the man, his description isless helpful. We know he's in his mid-thirties. Again, check all males betweentwenty-five and sixty. Take particular note of identity papers. And rememberthat makeup or disguise can change appearances. Put any backup men in plainclothes, not uniforms. That only attracts attention. And I want hourly reports.Inform the local militia that if anyone is spotted acting questionably, or ifparachutes or any suspicious equipment are found, I want to know about it. Ifall that dredges up nothing we start sector searches. Area by area, house byhouse." Lukin handed over the photographs. "Have copies of these madeand distributed to the officers involved. The images are not the best, I'mafraid, but they're all I have."

"Very good, sir."

The captain gestured to a door leadingoff from the room. "I've taken the liberty of having a bed made up for youin the next room."

"Thank you, Captain. Carry on."

Kaman saluted and left.

The meeting with Beria and the implicitthreat had disturbed Lukin. Of one thing he was certain. He couldn't fail. Hecould imagine the outcome if he did. The way Beria played the game, Lukin wouldforfeit his own life, and perhaps even Nadia's. The man was that merciless.

The executions and the image of the girlbeing brutally tortured replayed in his mind like a bad dream. To men likeBeria and Romulka, torture and death were pleasures and all part of the game.

But not to him.

He remembered a spring day in a forestnear Kursk. The young German girl he had cornered, no more than eighteen,parachuted in on a reconnaissance mission behind Russian lines by the Abwehr ina last-ditch German offensive.

He and two of his men had tracked herdown to an abandoned house in some woods. She was wounded, helpless, andfrightened. Lukin had gone in by the back door with his gun drawn, but when hesaw her young face, frozen white with fear, huddled in a corner with a coatthrown over her, something had made him drop his guard. The girl had remindedhim of a long-ago innocent face. His young sister, aged four, crying as sheclutched a rag doll on their father's doorstep, with the same frightened,helpless look. The resemblance was uncanny. But the indecision had provedalmost fatal. The ragged burst from the girl's machine-pistol hidden under hercoat had nearly torn off Lukin's arm.

One of the other men had to shoot thegirl. Two months after he recovered, Lukin was transferred back to Moscow. Hisheart wasn't in it anymore.

But now was different. Now it was findthis man and woman or die. With the descriptions and information he had and theswiftness of Moscow's response, he imagined it would be over quickly. By dawn,hopefully. Estonia was a small country, Tallinn a small town, the places thecouple could run to or hide in were limited.

And this time there could be no mistakes.

Tallinn. February 25th The kitchen at theback of the inn was warm and cozy and a table was set. Plates of cold fattymeat and oily salted fish, goat's cheese and dark bread. Despite Gorev's effortat hospitality, the food looked unappetizing. Gorev poured three measures ofvodka into large tumblers before he lit a cigarette.

"Eat. The fish are called saltymanyards. They go well with the vodka. In fact, it's about all they go with.The alcohol kills the taste. Since the Russians took over the food's been lousy."

He dug a hand into the plate of tinysalted fish and scooped out half a dozen, swallowed them heads and all, thenwashed them down with a gulp of vodka.

Stanski drank the vodka but he and Annaignored the food. "Where did your friends get the truck anduniforms?"

Gorev laughed. "The truck came fromthe Red Army supply depot in Tallinn. The Estonian resistance, the ForestBrothers, supplied the KGB uniform. The officer and sergeant who took you hereare Red Army conscripts."

He saw the look on their faces and hisgrin widened. "Don't worry, they're also in the resistance and completelytrustworthy. And Erik happens to be well in with the quartermaster. He told himhe wanted a truck to travel to Parnu to meet his girlfriend. For a crate ofgood Estonian beer, the quartermaster obliged."

"You trust him?"

"The quartermaster?"

"I meant Erik."

The innkeeper looked offended."Don't worry about us in these parts, my friend. We hate the Russians.Half the country has had family shot or shipped off to Siberia by thebastards."

"And you?"

Gorev nodded up at a family photograph onthe wall. "My wife, she died during the war. The young man on the left wasour only son, a priest. Erik and he were like brothers. After the war the Redscame to Tallinn and took my son away. I haven't seen him since." He spaton the floor in contempt, then looked over at them. "You'd better tell mewho you're supposed to be while you're here."