Estonia.

It was a nightmare.

Lukin woke, shivering, in freezingdarkness. His limbs were painfully stiff and it felt as if ice flowed throughhis veins.

He was numb, soaked in sweat, feverish.

There was frost on his clothes and faceand he felt like someone had scaled him in a block of ice. Cold bit into hisflesh and bones like fire.

As he lay there in the snow, half in,half out of consciousness, he became aware of a strong smell of kerosene fuel,niiyp-d with an acrid, sugary stench.

He remembered the stench. Anyone who hadbeen near battle never forgot it. Like an animal carcass, but sweeter. Burninghuman flesh.

He craned his neck to look around andfelt a pain shoot down his left arm which made him scream in agony.

He closed his eyes slowly, then openedthem again, and looked down at his body, as much as he could in the poor light.

He was lying in the snow and the back ofhis head was touching something hard. From the way he lay he saw he was proppedagainst a fallen tree trunk. There was a dull ache at the back of his skull andhe felt a throbbing pain flow through his body. His clothes had been shreddedby the explosion, the material scorched, and he smelled of burned material andfuel.

And something else.

To his horror he saw his false hand hadbeen sheared off, exposing his stump, and the end of the flesh had burned toblack.

Lukin stared at the wound in agony andalarm. He tried to move his arm but the stump refused to budge, his whole bodyfrozen stiff, from cold or shock, he couldn't tell which.

Perhaps he was paralyzed and theexplosion had shattered his spine?

He couldn't recall, but he must have beendoused in fuel when the helicopter's tanks ignited. All he remembered withcertainty was the awesome crash as the MIL hit the ground and an eruption offlames moments before. He vaguely recollected the passenger door bursting openfrom the force of the fall. He had been flung out and his skull had hit somethinghard.

After that was blank.

He had landed in the snow. It must havedamped the flames on his clothes and arm and prevented them from spreading.Still, the pain in his stump was excruciating.

A thought occurred to him; if his backwas broken would he still feel pain in his limb?

Somewhere near he could sense light andheat.

There was a tangle of hissing metal,steam rising from the wreckage of the MIL. The forest had not caught fire butthere was a small blaze in what remained of the cockpit, lying at the base of ahuge electricity pylon. Severed metal cables swung in the wind, a shower ofsparks erupting every time they brushed against the pylon.

Flames licked in the center of a tangledheap of metal. He saw the body of the pilot lying half in and half out of theshattered wreckage. His body had been half burned, the man's left arm danglingover a chunk of jagged metal. The bone had cracked cleanly and was only held onby the exposed tendons.

Lukin winced. The man was certainly deadand it was his fault. He had been too intent on capturing Stanski and thewoman. Too intent on stopping them from escaping. But they had escaped and hehad lost them.

So close ... he had been so close.

He was unaware of how much time hadpassed but he guessed it hadn't been long because the wreckage was stillburning. Flakes of snow began to fall and hiss on the flames.

He was barely conscious but he knew hecouldn't remain in this temperature for long. He tried to move but still hisbody felt numb.

Suddenly he was aware of a flash of lightthrough the trees and heard the rumble of an engine. He remembered the highway.Perhaps someone had come to investigate the explosion or the damaged pylon.

He cried, hoarsely, "Help!"

It was a weak cry, a cry of desperation,and no one answered.

Seconds later the noise and the lightvanished beyond the trees.

It was useless. Waves of pain rolled upfrom his scorched arm. His eyelids fluttered.

. He wanted to close his eyes and sleep,forget about his suffering.

Not sleep, he thought: I'm living.

For a moment, in his feverish mind, hesaw Nadia's face, smiling at him.

Leningrad.

The storage room at the end of thecourtyard was in pitch darkness when Vladimir unlocked the two heavy padlocksand flicked on the switch. The room flooded with light and he beckoned theminside and closed the door. The large room had obviously once been one ofseveral individual stables belonging to the house during the Tsar's time,entered through the courtyard. Vladimir's storeroom was packed with ancientrotting furniture and on a narrow workshop table were bits of engine parts.There was a dusty sheet in a corner, covered with paint stains.

Vladimir pulled it off to reveal a GermanArmy BMW dispatch rider's motorcycle with twin leather saddle pouches hangingat the back. The bike's gray paintwork had been repainted dark green and thetires were broad, deeply grooved thick rubber made for rough terrain. Vladimirsmiled and ran a hand lovingly over the leather saddle.

"I could say a lot against theGermans but the bastards still made the best motorcycles. There are lots ofthese models still around and they're much better than the Soviet variety. Eventhe army uses them. I took her for a spin last week. The engine still runssweetly." He wheeled the BMW out into the center of the room and said toStanski, "You've ridden a motorcycle before?"

"Never."

"Christ! Now you are fucked, littlebrother."

"I could learn, quickly."

"On Russian roads? You may as wellput a gun to your head and squeeze the trigger. Here, you'd better start it andtry it for size. Don't worry about the neighbors, they're used to me ridingthis thing."

Stanski took the handlebars and climbedonto the machine. It felt rugged and heavy.

"Of course, it'll be damned coldriding it," Vladimir remarked. "You have to be well wrapped up oryour balls will freeze hard as rocks."

"I'll try to remember that."

Vladimir smiled at Anna. "Sit on theback, dear. Get a feel for it."

Anna slid onto the machine behind Stanskiand put her arms around his waist.

Vladimir said, "Right, start her up.The kick starter's on your right. That's the metal arm that swivels out."

Stanski found the kick starter, flickedit out, gave it a blow with his foot and the machine started first time. Asteady, reassuring throbbing filled the storeroom.

Vladimir smiled. "See? She stillstarts first time. Well, what do you think?"

"Considering we don't have manyoptions, it's worth a try."

Vladimir poured them each another vodkaas they sat in the kitchen again and spread out the map.

"Not bad for a first-timer. You didwell."

Stanski had ridden around the yard forhalf an hour to get the feel of the machine. Difficult at first, but withVladimir's instructions he managed to keep the BMW reasonably well controlled,learning how to change gears, operate the various switches on the handlebars,and what to do if the engine flooded. A group of curious, scrawny children hadcome down from the tenement flats to beg Vladimir for a ride until he hadshooed them away and wheeled the BMW back into the storeroom.

Now Stanski looked at the man and said,"Tell us what you have in mind."

"The KGB and militia are probablygoing to be checking the railway and bus stations, the airport, and maybe evendoing spot checks on the Metro." He pointed to the map, a web of roadsleading out of Leningrad to all points on the compass. "They may even setup roadblocks on all the main roads out of the city if they haven't alreadyfound that car you abandoned. And when they do find it they'll definitely getto work trying to find you. It's over six hundred kilometers to Moscow. Usingthe motorcycle you should be able to avoid the main roads out of Leningrad. Butthe one road they probably won't be checking is the road back to Tallinn."Anna said, "I don't understand."