She cried that night until her heart feltit was going to explode with grief. She didn't eat her meager rations of blackbread and cabbage soup and within a week she was suffering the effects ofsevere malnutrition. When she finally collapsed on her work detail she wastaken to the drafty wooden hut that served as the camp hospital. The slovenlydrunken doctor who visited once a week examined her with little interest andwhen she still refused to eat she was marched to the camp commandant.

The commandant gave her a stern lectureon his responsibility to his prisoners but she knew by the man's tone that hedidn't care if she lived or died.

When the telephone rang in another roomand he was called outside, Anna Khorev noticed the map on the wall.

Something took root in her mind becauseshe found hers elf staring at the map. It was a relief image of the surroundingarea, the terrain and border posts, the roads and little red and blue flagsmarking military bases and civilian prison camps. She moved closer and staredat the image intently for almost five minutes, burning every detail into hermind.

When the commandant finally dismissed hershe went back to her barrack hut. She found a piece of charcoal in the metalstove and redrew everything she could remember of the Map on the back of theletter she had received informing her of Ivan's death. Every detail she couldrecall; every road and river and little blue and red flag.

That evening she ate her first meal ineight days.

And that night she made up her mind. Sheknew she would never see her child again and that her life would never be thesame. But she wasn't going to die in the wasteland of the Arctic Circle and shewasn't going to remain a prisoner.

The border toward Finland was a tortuouslandscape of thick forest and hills teeming with wolves and bears, glacialravines and wide frozen rivers. To attempt to escape across such territory inwinter would be suicidal. The most accessible crossings were guarded but thatwas her best chance, even if just as dangerous. She didn't know what might liebeyond the Finnish border but she knew that somehow she was going to escape.

There was a middle-aged camp officer shehad noticed, a rough and lustful man who took the risk of bedding the femaleprisoners, trading extra food for sex. She had noticed the man watching her.She knew by his leering grin that he wanted her body. She let it be known thatshe was available.

The officer came to her after dark threenights later. They met in a small woodshed at the rear of the camp. She timedthe day so the officer was off duty next morning.

She waited until he had undressed her andwhen he had taken off his Coat and tunic and went to suck her breasts she drovethe six-inch metal blade deep into his back. It had taken her three weeks tomake the weapon in the hours after darkness, but only moments to use it. Theman was slow to die and tried to strangle her, but she dug the blade in againand again until the floor was awash with blood.

Ten minutes later she had unlocked theside gate with the man's keys and walked through into the freezing, snowynight, wearing his bloodied uniform and coat and fur hat, carrying his pistol,taking the narrow road through the birch forest. The sentry in the nearestwatchtower hadn't even bothered to challenge her. a Khorev had Within fourhours, frozen and exhausted, Ann finally reached the border with Finland.

She spoke with Massey for almost an hour.

He sat there listening quietly, noddinghis head in understanding when she faltered or the pain of her memories becametoo much and she had to break off.

Every now and then she saw the shockedreaction on his face as she told him her story, the look in his eyes that wasno longer detached, as if he suddenly understood the enormity of her pain andwhy she had killed as she had.

When she finally finished he sat back andlooked at her with compassion, and she knew he believed she was telling him thetruth.

There would be other men who would wantto speak with her, he said. Other questions to be asked, and maybe she wouldhave to tell her story again, but for now she was to rest and try to build upher strength. The following day they would move her to a private hospital inHelsinki. He would do his best to help her.

she watched him go and then she was leftalone in the small white room. Somewhere off in the distance she could hear aradio playing cheerful dance music and it made her think of another time and anotherplace, the first night Ivan Khorev had taken her dancing on the banks of theMoscow River, and in laughing voices echo beyond the room. the corridor sheheard She felt the grief suddenly flood in on her like a tidal wave and shetried not to cry.

It was a long way from the icy wastes ofNicochka. A long way from the cold and despair and the pain she had lived withfor months, the aching in her breast that felt like someone had stuck a knifein her heart and she was slowly bleeding to death.

And all the time the image in her mindthat wouldn't go away.

She and Ivan walking in Gorky Park insummer, Ivan smiling, the look of pride and love on his face as he held Sashain his arms.

Berlin. December 15th The Ilyushintransport plane with red stars on the wings bumped to a halt on the icy runwayat Schbnefeld airport in East Berlin. A thin man with sharp features-a pursedmouth, long face, and small bright eyes--disembarked and walked quickly acrossthe tarmac to a waiting Zil car.

As the car drove out through the gatesand headed east away from the city, Colonel Grenady Kraskin took off his capand rubbed a hand along his thinning hairline. At sixty-two, he was a veteranand senior KGB officer with over thirty years' experience. Answerable only toBeria and Stalin, he was responsible for special interior operations, whichcame under the control of 2nd Directorate, based in the seven-story KGBHeadquarters in Moscow's Dzerzhinsky Square. In this capacity Krasicin hadtraveled to East Berlin for his monthly inspection tour of top-secret Sovietresearch facilities, which he carried out with customary thoroughness.

After a thirty-kilometer drive, the blackZil turned off the main Potsdam highway onto a minor road that finally led pastthe sleepy German hamlet of Luckenwaide. At the end of a road lined with tallfir trees stood a double gate with a metal barrier. Beyond the barrier lay atarmac track with barbed-wire runs on either side. Two uniformed guards snappedstiffly to attention as the Zil drew up and an officer came out of a concreteguard hut to check the passenger's identity cards. Moments later the barrierwas lifted and the car drove through.

A half kilometer down the barbed-wire runKraskin saw the mouth of an underground tunnel, like giant concrete jawserupting from the earth. The car drove down and finally came to a halt.

When Krasicin stepped out he was in avast bunker that looked like an enormous underground car park. There was asickly smell of diesel fumes and stale air. Intense neon light blazed overheadand a dozen or more military vehicles were parked on the concourse. Off to theright was an elevator, its metal doors open and waiting.

The officer in charge saluted smartly andled Kraskin across. Both men stepped in. The doors closed and the elevatordescended.

The Pan American Airways DC-6, Flight 209from Paris, was almost empty and the blond-haired man sat in a window seat tworows from the front.

As the aircraft banked to port and camein over Berlin's Wannsee Lake, the man saw the broad ribbon of the Unter DenLinden stretched below him. Here and there the surrounding suburbs were stillpeppered with old bomb craters, and looking east he saw the still crumbling,gutted buildings in the Russian Zone.

It was ten minutes later when the plane landedin West Berlin's Tempelhof airport. The immigration and customs checks werethorough and there was a military presence everywhere since the Russians hadsealed off East Berlin with a ten-yardwide shoot-to-kill strip. But theuniformed West German official did not spot the false American passport and theman passed through without too much delay.