He drove over to the captain, grabbed theKalashnikov from him and slung it around his neck.

The captain looked at Lukin doubtfully ashe sat on the machine with only one good hand, and stepped in front of themotorbike. "Sir, it might be better if you waited. Going after those twoalone is only begging for trouble. Besides-"

"Besides what? I'm a cripple? Theadvantage of one good arm, Captain, is that it soon gains the strength of two.Out of my way."

The machine roared and the captain jumpedback just as Lukin drove across the road, through the gate and down the slope.

Stanski was lost.

The forest was a maze of narrow paths andin the darkness it was impossible to guess which led where. There were nosignposts and more than once he had to stop to check the map and the compass.

Sweat dripped down his face and everytime he glanced back at Anna he saw the raw fear in her eyes.

Suddenly the road widened and a woodensign before a bend up ahead said "Caution-Exit to Kolimka Road. Trafficahead."

As he came around the bend he squeezedhard on the brakes and skidded to a halt.

Half a dozen jeeps and trucks and a lineof soldiers and militiamen stood across the road, waiting silently in thedarkness, readying their weapons.

A voice called out, "Halt! Dismountand throw down your weapons! "

Stanski revved and frantically spun theBMW around.

There was a terrible volley of fire whichexploded through the forest, lead zinging through the air and cracking allaround them, as Stanski tore back the way they had come.

It was almost impossible.

Lukin had to use his feet for balance,finding it hard to control the machine with one hand.

He halted on the bumpy lane that ledthrough the woods, his good arm aching from the effort of gripping thehandlebar, sweat pumping from every pore.

He had followed the tire marks throughthe forest but now he switched off the engine, listening for noises in thewoods or the sound of an engine, but all he heard was his own heart thumping inhis ears.

And then A thunderous volley of gunfireerupted somewhere close and his heart skipped.

He started the motorbike again and drovetoward the noise. He had gone only another fifty meters when he cut out onto abroader road.

He saw the single headlight flashingthrough the trees off to the right, coming toward him, and his heart almoststopped.

He pulled back in off the road and cockedthe Kalashnikov slung around his neck.

The BMW roared past and he saw the manand woman. He shifted into gear and drove after them.

He was twenty meters behind the BMW whenthe woman looked back. Lukin saw her face in the beam from his headlight, hermouth open in a terrible look of fear and surprise.

And then she was turning, thumping theman's shoulder and screaming to warn him.

The man glanced around briefly, his facemasked by his helmet and goggles.

The BMW suddenly picked up speed, racingdangerously fast over the forest path.

Lukin found it almost impossible to keepcontrol of the motorbike, his feet skimming over the ground for balance. If hecould only aim the Kalashnikov at the rear tire he stood a chance of slowingthem, but it was impossible with one hand and he could barely manage to keep upspeed as it was.

The man and woman were racing ahead ofhim now.

As the BMW rounded a corner in theforest, suddenly Lukin saw a bank of headlights, army trucks and jeepsstraddling the road a hundred meters ahead, as another roadblock obstructed theway.

The BMW slowed and swung a hard right toavoid it, roaring up a bank leading into trees, Lukin realized that Stanski wastrying to cut around the patrol.

The BMW shot up the bank and Lukin wentafter it.

He had gone hardly a couple of meters upwhen the machine wobbled beneath him, snaked violently, and he came off andlanded hard.

He saw the BMW put on a burst of powerand growl up the rise, but just before it reached the top it suddenly seemed tostall, bucking like a horse unwilling to jump the final fence.

The woman was thrown off, hit the earthhard, and rolled back down.

Lukin stumbled to his feet and racedtoward her.

Up on the top of the rise he saw thedriver fighting hard to control the machine, until it nosed down and the tiresgripped and then it was safely at the top. Lukin saw the driver look back downin horror as the woman's body rolled to a halt at the bottom of the bank.

There was a moment of indecision, then ascream of despair. "Anna ... !"

Lukin gripped the Kalashnikov and firedwildly, the volley showering the woods with splinters, but the man turned andsped away into darkness.

Soldiers from the trucks ran forward,firing into the woods and climbing the rise after the BMW.

Lukin tossed away the Kalashnikov andlunged at the woman, just as she was trying to put something into her mouth,and as he landed on her hard she cried out in pain. He shoved his fingers intoher throat.

February 27th-March 2nd 1953

Paris.

It was just before ten that same eveningwhen the sleek black Citron pulled up on the boulevard Montmartre and Heiuilebel climbed out.

It was pouring rain, and as the chauffeurhanded him an umbrella Lebel said, "You can go, Charles. Pick me up fromMaxim's at midnight."

"Very good, sir."

Lebel stood watching as the Citroindisappeared into the sheeting rain before he crossed the boulevard and turneddown a narrow street and came to a littered alleyway. A cat scurried past himout of the shadows, and when Lebel reached the end of the filthy lane he cameto a blue-painted door on the right.

A flood lit sign above it said "ClubMalakoff. Members only."

Lebel knocked on the door. A grilleopened and a man's unshaven face appeared.

"Oui?"

"M. Clichy. I'm expected."

There was a rattle of bolts and the manopened the door and peered out into the rain-soaked alleyway before admittinghis visitor.

Lebel went down a winding metal staircaseto a picked, smoky room, the tables occupied by tough-looking working mendrinking glasses of beer and cheap wine. An elderly man wearing an apron andpolishing glasses behind a zinc bar smiled when he saw Lebel, then came overand said, "This way, monsieur, follow me."

Lebel followed him through some curtains behindthe bar up a narrow flight of stairs to a door at the end of a shabby hall way.

The old man knocked and a voice said,"Come in if you're good-looking."

"It's Claude. Your visitor hasarrived," the man said, and opened the door.

Lebel stepped into a tiny smoky room witha single lightbulb dangling low in the center, the rest or the room in shadows,an ancient scratched mirror covering one wall. A man in his middle thirties satat a table in the center of the room, a bottle of pastis and two glasses infront of him. He was small, wiry, and had a hunched back. His two front teethwere missing, and the shabby black suit he wore was flecked with cigarette ash.

As he lit a Gauloise he winked to thebarman. "Leave us, Claude.

When the door closed the man at the tablegestured to a chair in front. "Henri, my old flower, always good to seeyou."

Lebel sat opposite and removed a pair ofexquisite hide gloves. "Unfortunately, Bastien, I wish I could say thesame."

"As always, the diplomat. Take aseat. Drink?"

"You know I only drink champagne.Anything less upsets my stomach."

Bastien gunned. "Tough. All I've gotis cheap pastis. Not even the Chairman of the Party can afford the finer thingsin life, Henri."

"Then I'll decline.

Bastien shrugged and poured a drink forhimself. He looked over at Lebel, who wore an expensive suit and silk tie withdiamond pin, the collar of his beautifully tailored camel-haired overcoattrimmed with sable.