Kraskin raised his eyes before he drew onhis cigarette. "And what rumors are they?"

Enger hesitated. "That we're gearingup for war. That Stalin wants the bomb completed fast, so he can drop it on theAmericans before he dies. They say he's taken to walking alone in the Kremlingardens, talking aloud to himself. That his behavior has become more erraticand unpredictable. They say he trusts no one, not even himself. Doesn't thatworry you?"

Kraskin looked sternly at Enger."And who tells you such things?" Enger said nervously, "They'resimply rumors, Grenady. But everybody here speaks of them."

Kraskin's voice had a hint of menace."I think you'd be wise to ignore such rumors and not doubt ComradeStalin's mental health too loudly, my friend. There are people in Moscow whomight hear and start to doubt yours. Statements like that could have you lockedin a rubber room.. Or shoveling salt in a Siberian mine. Or worse."

"Then just answer me this, They saythe purges are about to start again. That people are being arrested in hugenumbers and shot or sent to the camps. Especially Jews. Is it true?"

Kraskin looked at Enger but left thequestion unanswered. "You're a Party member and a valuable scientist. Youhave nothing to fear."

"I'm Jewish, Grenady. It concernsme.". Enger's face darkened. "Something's in the air. I can sense it.Please tell me what's happening." Kraskin said sharply, "I thinkyou're too long down in that bunker of yours talking to rumor-mongers. You'd dobetter to concentrate on your work. Pay no heed to malicious gossip coming fromMoscow."

There was a hard edge of menace inKraskin's voice, all reasonableness gone. He stubbed out his cigarette andended the discussion.

"Come, it's getting late, we'dbetter finish the inspection. I want to be out of this godforsaken place andget back to Berlin."

The blond-haired man stood at the windowof the apartment on the Kaiserdamm. It was cold outside, a bitter wind sweepingthe street. He heard the rumble of British Army trucks as they passed below thewindow, but he didn't look down.

He turned as the woman came in. Shecarried a brownwrapped parcel tied with string and a doctor's black leatherbag. She placed them on the table and went to join him at the window.

She looked at him.

He had an air of stillness and ofisolation. Alex Stanski was tall, in his middle thirties, and wore a darkdouble-breasted suit, shirt and tie. His short blond hair was brushed off hisforehead and his face was clean-shaven and handsome.

There was a trace of a smile on his lips,as if fixed there permanently. But it was the eyes which she always noticed.Intense pale blue and infinitely dangerous.

"Kraskin should finish theLuckenwalde inspection by midafternoon. After that he's holding a briefing atKGB Headquarters at Karlshorst. At seven-thirty tomorrow morning he's due tomeet with the Soviet Zone Commander, so our guess is he'll go to bed early. Henever stays in any of the army barracks, but always uses the private apartmentat his disposal. It's by the Tierpark. Number twenty-four, a blue door.Kraskin's apartment is on the second floor, number thirteen." The womanhalf smiled. "Sometimes not such a lucky number. But for you, Alex, I hopeso."

Alex Stanski nodded. The faint smiledidn't leave his lips. "Tell me about the crossing."

"You'll use one of our tunnels thatexits near Friedrichstrasse. A Red Army jeep will be left parked and waitingthere." The woman went over the details for several minutes, and whenStanski was satisfied she handed him an envelope. "Those are your papers.You're a Red Army doctor from the Karishorst Military Hospital making a call toone of your military patients. Kraskin is a wily old snake, so be careful.Especially if there's someone else in the apartment."

"Should there be?"

"He likes little boys."

"How little?"

"Ten-year-olds seem to be hispreference. He also has a boyfriend. A major at Karlshorst named Pitrov. Ifhe's in the apartment, you know what to do."

Stanski heard the hard edge of bitternessin the woman's voice. She nodded at the brown-wrapped parcel. "Everythingyou need is in there. Make sure you don't fail, Alex. Because if you do,Kraskin will kill you."

He opened the parcel in the bedroom onceshe had left.

He tried on the uniform and it fitted himwell. He felt a shudder go through him as he looked in the mirror. The major'solive-brown wasted uniform with the wide silver shoulderboards and the polishedboots gave him a threatening look. The brown leather holster and belt lay stillin the wrapper. He took them out and slid out the pistol. It was a Tokarevautomatic, 7.62 millimeter, the standard-issue Russian Army officer's sidearm,but the tip of the barrel had been grooved. He screwed on the Carswellsilencer, then removed it again. There were two loaded magazines and he tookeach in turn and pried out the bullets with his thumb.

He checked the action of the magazinesand weapon again and again, until he was satisfied neither might jam, then strippedthe gun down and cleaned it with an oily rag left in the parcel. When he hadfinished, he replaced the bullets in the magazines, slammed home a magazineinto the butt of the gun, and slipped it into the holster.

He crossed to the bed and unfastened thebuckles on his suitcase and removed the knife from the doctor's black bag hetook from inside the case. The silver blade gleamed in the light as heunsheathed it. He stood there running his thumb gently along the razor edge forseveral moments, feeling the sharpness of the cold steel. He replaced the knifein the sheath, slipped it into the doctor's bag, and snapped the metal catchshut.

Before he removed the uniform he took thephotograph from his suitcase and slipped it into the tunic pocket. He wrappedthe uniform neatly back in the brown paper. He did not dress again but went tolie naked on the bed. The alarm clock on the bedside locker said three o'clock.

He would try and sleep until six and thenit would be time to go.

It was almost seven when Kraskin's carpulled up outside the apartment block facing the Tierpark. There was a crack ofthunder and it started to rain as Kraskin climbed out. The black Zil pulledaway and the colonel went up the stairs to the second floor and inserted thekey. When he stepped inside and closed the door he took in the smellimmediately.

He had been too long a military man notto recognize the stench of cordite after a weapon had been fired, and at oncehis suspicions were aroused.

The door to the bedroom was open and Kraskinsaw the body of Pitrov, dressed in a blue silk dressing gown, sprawled acrossthe bed. Even from a distance his eyes didn't deceive him. He saw the bulletwound to the head and the dark crimson patch spread on the white cotton sheets.

"Oh my God," Kraskin breathed.

"Strange words for a communist,Colonel Kraskin."

There was a faint click behind him.Kraskin turned at once and saw the man. He was seated in the shadows by thecurtained window. His face was barely visible. But there was no mistaking thesilenced Tokarev in his hand.

Kraskin made a move for his holsteredpistol, managed to get the flap undone, but the man stood up smartly and cameout of the shadows. He pointed the Tokarev at Kraskin's head.

"I really wouldn't, comrade. Unlessyou want to lose an eye. Sit down, at the table. Keep your hands on top."

Kraskin did as he was told. The manstepped toward him.

"Who are you?" Kraskindemanded, his face chalk-white.

"My name is Alex Stanski. I'm hereto send you to Hell."

Kraskin's face flushed white."You'll never get away with this." He nodded toward the bedroom doorwhere the body lay. "And for the crime that's just been committed you'llbe hunted down like the vermin that you are."