She looked at him, surprised. "Whyshould you take me there?"

"No reason, except maybe you deserveit after all our hard work. And besides, like you said, maybe it's time westarted to act like man and wife. Massey's going to be back tomorrow night togo- over some final things, so we haven't much more time to get to know oneanother." He went to turn, but hesitated. "Wear a dress tomorrownight if you have one."

She hesitated. "Why are you doingthis?"

"Doing what?"

"Going into Russia. What's yourmotive?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I think maybe you volunteered. Andhappy men don't volunteer."

Stanski looked up at the night sky, thenback at her. "None of your business, I'm afraid. Just as yours is none ofmine. You'd better get back up to the house soon. You'll catch your death outhere."

He turned without another word and walkedback up to the cabin.

As he sat in his bedroom Stanski heardAnna come in ten minutes later and climb the stairs. He heard her wash andundress and then the creak of springs as she climbed into bed.

The house went silent again, except forPopov's snoring Stanski \ crossed to the corner of the bedroom. Hunching downnear the window, he took out his penknife and flicked open the blade. Heslipped the blade between the two short wooden floorboards and pried. The woodgave easily, and he removed the two foot-long sections. He put his hand intothe recess and removed the old rusting biscuit tin, and beneath it, the singlemanila file Massey had given him to study.

This had been his childhood hiding placewhen he first came to the cabin. He had trusted no one then, not even Vassily.It had once hidden the only possessions he had brought with him to America as aboy.

Now he opened the file on Joseph Stalinand read through it again. It contained only the information Massey had said,and no details of the mission. Stalin's habits, information on his health, hispersonal security arrangements, and particulars of his elite bodyguard. Theentire body-guard system comprised almost fifty thousand people, dedicated tohis protection and divided into ' departments according to their expertise:Stalin's transport, his food, his health, his physical protection, hisentertainment.

Every morsel he ate was produced onspecial farms, rigidly controlled by the Guards Directorate, which supervisedthe growing of foodstuffs and the slaughtering of animals, and then transportedthese supplies along guarded routes to its own storehouses. And even then thefood was laboratory-tested and fed to test animals, as well as Stalin'spersonal staff, before being consumed by Stalin himself.

The file also contained two detailedmaps, one of the Kremlin and Stalin's personal quarters, and another of hisKuntsevo villa with information on its security system.

Before the drop Stanski would commitevery word and detail to memory. When he had finished studying the file hereplaced it in the recess in the floor.

He picked up the rusted biscuit tin,opened it and removed the contents. Two locks of hair tied neatly with redbinding thread and a small photograph album, its black lacquered cover crackedand worn.

He remembered how he had clutched themboth for months after his escape, clutched them hard to his chest, especiallyduring the long cold journey across the tossing Atlantic swells, hidden in thehold of the stinking boat, hunger in his stomach like a pain but not as bad asthe terrible pain in his heart, what was in that little box the only tangiblereminder of his family. It offered a small lost boy the only sanity in the wholewide, confused world.

He looked down at the locks of hair. Hehad loved them both, Petya and Katya, had always wanted to protect them. Hevaguely remembered the night a storm came, and little Petya had been so afraid.Lyin- in his bedroom in the darkness, Stanski heard him crying, fearful of thenoise and light, of the terrible and frightening sounds outside.

"Are you afraid?"

Lightning flashed and thunder rolledbeyond the bedroom window. Petya wouldn't stop sobbing.

"Don't be afraid. Come, sleep besideme."

Petya had snuggled in beside him, a massof dark curls and puppy fat, still sobbing as Stanski's arms went around himand hugged him close.

"Don't cry, Petya. I'll always keepyou safe. And if anyone or anything ever tries to hurt you I'll kill them. Youunderstand, Petya'? And when Mama has her baby, I'll keep baby safe too."

He had held Petya close all night, warmand safe.

But he hadn't kept him safe afterwards.Nor Katya.

Stanski put the locks of hair aside, onedark, one faded blond, all that remained of Petya and Katya, then opened theold album and stared down at the images.

The two men had parked the car five milesaway off the forest road and trekked through the snowy woods in @darkness up tothe clearing. It stood on a ridge across the lake, sheltered by pine trees, andit was the best location they had found the previous day, with a reasonableview of the cabin.

It took them twenty minutes to set up theequipment, the white camouflage canvas tent and the tripods for the powerfulmilitary binoculars. By then it was after two and bitterly cold, a little snowon the ground, and they climbed wearily into their sleeping bags and tried tosleep.

Manhattan, New York. February 21st CarloLombardi sat opposite Kurt Braun in the private office above the club on theLower East Side docks. Lombardi said, "Your friends are still here at thelake house. I have my people watching it, but nice and discreet. Another guyarrived last week with @ a beard, looks like a fucking hick. He's in the cabin.It was in the last report. still sta-@

Braun frowned and leaned forward. "Iread that. You got photographs of him?"

"Not this time, and it's too riskyfor my men to get close."

Lombardi made a face as he looked at themap. "Who the fuck in their right mind would want to live LIP there'? Realshitkicking country." Braun said, "This man who arrived at the cabin,I'll need to know who he is and what he's doing there."

Lombardi shrugged. "Tell your friendArk@ishin, he'll figure something out. Me, I don't want to blow this thing justto have my boys get a closer look." He looked at Braun. "So what'sthe deal'?'@, Braun spoke for almost ten minutes When he finished explainingLombardi whistled. "Serious business." He whistled again."Serious fucking business."

Braun removed an envelope from his pocketand threw it on the table. Lombardi picked it up and riffled through the thickwad of bills inside. He suppressed the urge to whistle again.

He had a broad grin on his face as hestood. "Vince can come along."

"I presume he's capable?"

Lombardi smiled. "Capable"Mister, let me fucking tell you something" Vince cut his teeth on guns inthe fucking cradle. So when do you want it done?"

The Soviet vessel will be arriving in NewYork in twenty-four hours, I think the sooner the better, don't you?"

New Hampshire.

Stanski parked the pickup in the town'smain street. The windows of the pretty New England town were lit up in theevening darkness as they walked to the hotel on Concord Street. There was adance band playing on the rostrum and the waiter showed them to a window tableset with fresh flowers and a red candle. He came back with two bottles of beerand poured it into their glasses before taking their order and leaving. Annalooked around the hotel restaurant. It was Friday night and the people therewere mostly middle-aged, but some young couples were on the dance floor.

When their meal came Stanski said,"It's not exactly New York, but this is where the locals come for theirnight out."