Vladimir grinned. "Simple. Youdouble back on the Baltic road, past Pushkin, to here." He pointed to aplace on the map. "It's a town called Gatchina, approximately eightykilometers from the city. At this point you take any of the minor roads thatfork southeast to Novgorod. That leaves you with just over five hundredkilometers to cover to get to Moscow. But once you get to Gatchina and beyond,there are so many minor roads through hilly, uninhabited forest that it wouldtake half the Red army to find you, and you could make it to Moscow withoutmuch difficulty.

"That motorbike out there wasdesigned for rough terrain and can easily travel over dirt tracks, no trouble.The route I'm suggesting is an indirect one, and longer, but probably thesafest, considering the circumstances. Don't worry about getting lost; you cankeep the map and I'll give you a compass. With luck you could be in Moscow injust over twelve hours. "There are also several trains that run there byan indirect route from smaller towns along the way if you have to abandon themotorcycle. It means changing trains many times, of course, but that can't behelped and this is the best route I can suggest. Don't worry about removing thelicense plates on the bike if you ditch it. Like most of the German motorcyclesstill around, mine isn't registered." He grinned as he looked at them."How does all that sound?"

Stanski smiled. "When do weleave?"

"Who knows how long before the cityis ringed with checkpoints'? For your own sake, the sooner you leave thebetter."

Stanski checked his watch. "Let'ssay this evening. As soon as the traffic starts to fill the main roads it'llhelp give us a better chance of not being noticed."

"That would be perfect-"

Estonia.

Lukin heard a sound like an animal cryand came awake with a start. The pain in his stump hadn't gone away and hisbody shivered with agony. How long had he been lying here?

He moved the fingers of his left hand,slowly. An effort. But there was no pain there and at least he could movesomething. He tried his wrist next. It budged slightly. Enough so he could readhis watch.

A quarter past one. over three hours.

He had been lying in the frozen woods foro Blasts of freezing air raged through the trees in gusts. His limbs still feltlike ice and his bones ached through with the intense cold. His teethchattered. He licked his lips. They felt dry and the chilled air bit into hisface like slivers of ice. He inhaled his lungs filling which made him cough Heheard the cry again.

He had heard that sound before, inchildhood. He and his brother as small boys, playing in a field near theirfather's house one winter's evening. His father off in the distance by thehouse, chopping wood, looking up, waving at them.

And then the noise that startled them.When they looked around they saw the two pairs of piercing yellow eyes staringat them from the trees, until the eyes moved out of the woods and becamebodies.

Two white wolves.

Snow wolves.

Their white coats so bright they werealmost luminous. Lukin had screamed in flight and run back to his father as theman raced toward him. He swept him up in his arms and Lukin still rememberedhis comforting smells, an odd mixture of disinfectant, soap and sweat.

"Wolves, Papa!" Lukin hadscreamed.

"Bah! He's afraid ofeverything," his brother Mischa tested, laughing.

He looked at his brother accusingly."Then why did you too?"

"Because you ran, little brother. AnMischa smiled. couldn't stop you." His father said, "Wolves don'tkill humans. Not unless they're threatened. Remember that. Now, come, Mama hassupper ready."

His father carried them into the warm,happy house and there was bread on the table and hot soup their mama had made.A log fire crackled in the hearth and cast shadows about the old room. Hismother was hugging them, fussing over them, her belly swollen with a child,warning them not to go into the woods again alone.

And afterwards? What had happenedafterwards? He tried to think, but a fog rolled in. It was a long, long timeago. Fog and memories a blur the years had eroded. He remembered little of thattime, before Mischa had died.

Maybe he was remembering now because hewas close to death; the way they said recollections flashed before dying eyes.He blinked and pushed the fleeting memories from his mind. Now was important,not the past.

He focused on the wreckage and thehalf-burned corpse the pilot. Maybe the wolves had smelled the cooked flesh.

He tried to push that prospect from hismind. The fire still dying, the hot embers smoldering. If he could get close tothe fire for heat, maybe he could thaw out his bones. Slowly he dragged himselfover to the fire. It took a long time, trying to block out the pain in hisstump, but he finally made it.

The heat from the embers was like a balmas it started to soak through his body.

God, it feels good.

There were two sparking cables danglingbeside the debris. Lukin couldn't understand why someone hadn't come toinvestigate the damaged pylon. Until he noticed there were still half a dozenor more cables intact at the pole. The repairmen would come, eventually. Butwhen?

And by then he could be frozen to death.The helicopter's radio would have been useful if it was still working, but thewreckage told him that thought was a waste of time.

After five minutes, he tried to stand,but his legs felt like rubber.

He swore. He needed more heat. The firewas definitely helping. He shifted around until his legs were closer to theembers.

The shock had gone now, replaced byanger. Somehow he had to get down to the highway. If he could alert the militiain the nearest town-though he knew that by now the man and woman could be inLeningrad, or at any other point on the compass-there was still a slight chancehe could catch them. He could alert every barracks along the route and haveroadblocks set up on the highway.

He felt his legs start to warm. He triedto haul himself up.

As he did so he heard the rustle in theundergrowth and a low growl.

He instinctively reached for his pistol.The belt and holster were gone. The rustling came closer.

A magnificent white wolf appeared out ofthe woods.

Lukin's heart almost stopped and hefroze.

The animal stood staring at the wreckage,eyes pinpricks of yellow in the shadows. He lay still as the wolf movedcautiously out from the trees and nosed toward the wreckage. It hardly seemedto notice Lukin. When the animal came to the dead pilot it sniffed the half-severedlimb, then started to lick the flesh. Finally, it sank its fangs into the arm,tore it from its socket, and tossed it to the ground with a shake of its head.

The wolf chewed hungrily at the flesh.

Lukin's heart hammered in his chest.

Wolves were not supposed to attack livehumans, unless provoked, but he guessed any animal would if hungry. And thiswolf looked sleek and hungry.

There was another rustling in the bushesand a second wolf appeared. This time Lukin saw the animal stare at him.

He tried not to move his head as helooked around frantically for something to defend himself with. He saw hisempty belt and holster lying among the scattered wreckage. It must have comeloose when he was tossed through the door of the MIL. In horror, he saw thatthe pistol wasn't in the holster.

It had been in his hand, he remembered,he had been firing out through the helicopter's window. Then he saw somethingmetallic lying off to his right. The butt of a pistol.

The wolf padded out of the forest andtoward him.

Lukin screamed, then twisted his body androlled over, jabbing at the gun.

The wolf bared its fangs in a snarl, thenthe other started, stopped chewing and growled at him.