"You're hardly one to talk aboutcrimes, Kraskin. By the laws of any land you ought to be put down like a maddog. You were responsible for the shooting of at least fifty schoolchildrenduring the kulak wars. I believe your specialty was to sexually assault thembefore you dispatched them with a bullet in the head. When they find Pitrov'sbody and yours they'll put it down to a lovers' tiff that turned tragicallyviolent. The gun I'm holding is Pitrov's. You killed him and thenyourself."

"Yes, very convenient,"saidKraskin dryly. "So who sent you?" He shifted again in his chair, feltthe flap of his holster lift against the tablecloth.

"That really doesn't matter. Butthis does." Stanski removed a photograph from his tunic pocket and tossedit on the table.

"Pick it up."

Kraskin did as he was told.

"Look at the photograph. Do yourecognize the girl?"

Kraskin saw a young dark-haired girlstanding on a deserted beach. She was smiling for the camera, and held a childin her arms.

"No, why should I?"

"Her name was Ave Perlov. And thisis where it gets personal, Comrade Kraskin. You interrogated her in Riga a yearago. If I'm not mistaken, you had quite a time with her before you sent her tothe firing squad. Torture is too mild a word. She had to be taken to the wallon a stretcher."

Kraskin smiled. "I remember now. Oneof the partisan bitches."

"She was only nineteen, youbastard."

Kraskin saw the flash of uncontrolledanger and knew it was time to make his move. As he tossed the photograph awayhe saw Stanski's eyes flick to it and Kraskin's right hand reached into hisholster and the Tokarev came out smartly.

Kraskin managed to get off a quick shotand it chipped Stanski's left arm below the elbow.

But it wasn't enough.

Stanski leaned in close and shot himbetween the eyes.

As the gun exploded, Kraskin was flungback in his chair, the close shot cracking open the back of his skull andtearing out half his brain.

Stanski picked up the photograph from thefloor and replaced it in his tunic pocket. He looked down at the neat holedrilled in his uniform sleeve, saw the patch of blood spread. There was nopain, not yet, just a dull ache in his arm. He found a towel in the bathroomand wrapped it around the wound before he pulled on the military overcoat.

When he came back into the room, he openedthe doctor's black bag and removed the knife. He knew he had very little timebefore someone reacted to Kraskin's gunshot, but he worked calmly.

He moved back to Kraskin's body andunbuttoned the man's trousers. He removed the flaccid penis. The knife flashedand the organ was severed in a gorge of blood. The man stuffed the severed lumpof flesh deep into Kraskin's gaping mouth. He wiped the blade on Kraskin'stunic and replaced the knife in the doctor's bag.

He could hear the noises in the hallway now,fists starting to pound the door, but already he was moving toward the windowand the fire escape.

Helsinki. October 26th That evening twomen sat down to a late dinner at Helsinki's Savoy Restaurant, a favorite hauntof embassy staff and foreign diplomats. The tables in the eighth-floor gourmetrestaurant overlooking the Esplanadi were spaced generously enough apart forconversations to be conducted in private.

Doug Canning's title at the AmericanEmbassy was Political Counselor but his real function was as a CIA seniorofficer.

Canning had made the initial report onAnna Khorev and the incident at the border crossing to the American Ambassador,and once a joint decision had been made to call in more expert help tointerrogate and assess the woman, Jake Massey, a senior Soviet expert and thehead of the CIA's Soviet Operations office based in Munich, had been put on aplane for Helsinki that same night. After Massey had delivered his assessment,he got a phone call to join Canning for dinner to discuss the matter.

Doug Canning was a tall, lean Texan withblond thinning hair and tanned good looks. He had Southern charm in abundanceand wielded considerable influence with the US Ambassador.

It was the Ambassador who wouldultimately decide Anna Khorev's suitability for political asylum. Relationsbetween the Soviets and Americans were at their lowest in years, and those whoescaped over the border were often considered more a headache than a help.Massey knew Anna Khorev was a problem the American Embassy would rather nothave to deal with and that her worries were far from over.

Canning had ordered a bottle of Bordeauxand the house specialty, Vorschmack, for both of them, and when he had sippedhis wine appreciatively he smiled across the table.

"it sounds from the report as thoughthe girl had a pretty rough time. But is she telling you anything we could finduseful, Jake?"

Massey had hardly touched his food, andnow he shook his head.

"There's nothing much she can tellus. It's been eight years since she was discharged from the Red Army. So anybackground information in that regard would be pretty much out of date bynow."

Canning looked out toward Helsinki'smassive illuminated Dome Cathedral in the distance, then back again. "So Iguess she's really no use to us?"

Massey knew it was a crucial question buthe replied honestly. "I guess not. But there are other circumstances toconsider here, Doug."

"Such as?"

"What the girl's been through. She'staken a hell of a beating in the last six months."

"And you think she's telling you thetruth?"

"Yes, I do. I think her story'sgenuine. Whether or not she can help us with intelligence information, onhumane grounds alone I think she has a case."

Canning hesitated, then wiped his mouthwith his napkin and sat forward. "Jake, let me give it to you straight.Some pretty strong noises are being made at the highest levels. It seems Moscowhas got a bee up their ass on this one. Like it's a matter of principle theyget her returned. They say she's a common criminal and in order not to furtherdamage the already delicate relationship between our two countries, we ought tosend her back over the border." He smiled. "Now you and I know that'sa load of reindeer shit but I want you to be aware of the fact that they don'tlike the idea of us helping the little lady one little bit."

"What about the Finns?"

"They want us to make a quickdecision. But if we don't grant her asylum, they sure as hell won't. As it is,the Russian Ambassador's up their ass with a big stick."

After the Finns had endured a savage andhumiliating war with Russia thirteen years before, Massey knew they treatedtheir closest neighbor with caution, like a bear they didn't want to rouse toanger. But Finland also took a delight in frustrating Moscow. They had allowedAnna Khorev to be moved to a private hospital rather than keep her in thespecial prison on Ratakatu Street, headquarters of Finnish counterintelligence.And they had granted her temporary refugee status while the Americans made uptheir minds.

"So what do you think's going tohappen?"

Canning looked across the table, aconcerned look on his face. "We don't need the kind of diplomatic troublethis can bring, Jake. So my guess is that the Ambassador will send her back.And there's something else you ought to know. Helsinki has an agreement withthe Russians that allows them to interview any border-crossers convicted ofserious crimes. The Soviet Embassy has already made it clear it wants to dothat. It gives them a chance to save face and exert a little pressure to try toget the escapee to return with promises of leniency, before they really put onthe pressure at embassy Lebel. There's a senior official in town right nowwho's handling it. Some guy called Romulka, from Moscow."