Oleg Medeved, meanwhile, was ordered to keep after the Longfellow vehicle.
Upon hearing all this, Colonel Viktor Bucharov, traveling at top speed toward Leningrad, broke in with his car radio. “It is a ruse,” he warned KGB Moscow and the other drivers. “That’s not Nikolai in the trunk of the Mallard vehicle. Stop it now, and you will see.”
General Masirov, monitoring the radio traffic from his office, picked up his transceiver, and issued an order contravening what Bucharov said. “Nonsense,” he said in his command voice. “It is Nikolai Semenov in that trunk. I want four officers to follow him to Vyborg and intercept him there. Arrests are to be made, and the criminals brought here and chained in the dungeon. Then I will interrogate them with the aid of General Barishsky. That is all.”
Bucharov switched off his KGB radio. He had heard all the KGB nonsense he could stand for one day. He knew Masirov was wrong, that he had fallen for a classic bait-and-switch. More than ever, he knew Nikolai was on the Leningrad train as reported by the stationmaster. Bucharov planned on meeting him there, shooting both him and his daughter, and returning to Moscow a hero. He shook his head at Masirov’s stupidity, yet again dumbfounded how the KGB continued to support the General and follow his lead.
Bucharov turned up the volume on his classical music station and roared on toward Leningrad.
71
12:00 p.m., Neighborhood Park, Helsinki Finland
Magnuson and Bolling unwrapped the sandwiches they had brought along and ate their lunch. They were only hours away from greeting Nikolai on Finnish soil if all went according to plan.
72
1:30 p.m., Leningrad Churnicha Cafe
The Longfellows had prearranged to meet a contact. It had been decided it would look best if Roy and Sue Ellen and Angie stopped for lunch. They found the cafe the CIA had chosen in Leningrad and parked in front. A single KGB Saab parked beside them. The Brits piled out of their vehicle, carelessly opening their trunk, retrieving baby things, to show they had nothing to hide. They took the necessary baby items for a diaper change and feed for Angie and went inside for lunch. The KGB didn’t follow.
Inside, they headed for the third booth on the right and joined the single man waiting there. His name was Daniel Danbury, and he was CIA out of Estonia. The waitress brought menus. Following the small talk, the table fell silent. Longfellow, appearing to study the menu, said from the side of his mouth to Danbury, “I’m guessing Tallinn is about four hours up the road.”
Danbury replied, “Unless we get pulled over, I’m thinking six o’clock.”
“That’s a big unless. What about the thug outside?”
“Thug? You mean thugs.”
Longfellow looked out to see that the one KGB trailing car had become two. Three agents leaned against their car, smoking and laughing.
Danbury said, “It’s time for me to help you lose them.”
Longfellow’s eyes widened. “That’s a great attitude, but what does it mean?”
“It means we’re going to outfox these bastards.”
Longfellow looked from the window to Danbury across the table. “They’re going to follow us to the church in Tallinn unless our cars can outrun the Volgas. Maybe we can get far enough ahead to swerve into the church street while they go tearing past.”
“That’s our plan? To outrun them and hope they don’t see us turn off? That sounds like some Walt Disney cartoon. We have to do better than that.”
Longfellow nodded grimly. “Unless you have something better.”
“I say we pull off the road and lead them into the forest.”
“Really? And then? This is very thin ice. We could be murdered confronting them.”
Danbury shrugged. “I could cause an accident and delay them.”
“They would only call ahead and tell the border to stop us.”
“And Nikolai?”
“We pray he can make his way to the ferry and somehow cross over. I don’t have an answer for that.”
“You’re right, what a terrible plan. I don’t see anything except a dead KGB fugitive at the end. I’m sorry to be so negative.”
“I know. You’re reading my mind.”
Longfellow poked disinterestedly at his hamburger patty. He administered a plop of mustard out of the plastic bottle. He took a tasteless bite.
Then they were loading in and pulling away from the cafe. On the outskirts of Leningrad, they passed a large GAI police post with a watchtower. Moments later, a blue Volga with two male passengers and a tall radio aerial tucked behind them.
“No,” said Longfellow.
“We’re finished, then,” Danbury said in his car.
They could only drive on to the rendezvous, both drivers trying not to panic and make a premature run for it.
Still, the KGB followed.
73
2:15 p.m., Main railway station, Leningrad
He placed Sasha into the knapsack and stood. This time, he put the top flap loosely over her sleepy head, secured the straps, and hoisted the pack onto his back. Nikolai and Sasha were first off the train when it pulled in and rocked to a stop. Afraid to look behind, he walked swiftly down the elevated platform to the station entrance. It was dark on the platform, the enormous structure covered to keep the rain and snow outside. He was wearing the Soviet Border Troops' uniform with a soldier's knapsack on his back and drew no looks or double-takes as he made his way along the platform.
Waiting just inside, his hand clutching the hidden gun inside his pocket, Colonel Victor Bucharov was scanning the faces milling around. Then he saw the train pull in and, from a distance, saw the man who he thought looked like Nikolai Semenov. But he wore a Border Troop uniform, so he kept looking. There must have been seventy or eighty people walking up the platform all at once. Bucharov was bobbing and weaving and trying to keep his head above to spot Nikolai.
Nikolai knew Bucharov's face and picked it up just ten paces away from the station's doors. He averted his face and looked away as he stepped inside. However, it did not escape his notice that Bucharov was gripping his gun inside his coat pocket and meant to shoot as soon as his target was spotted. Nikolai stepped to the side of an older woman, slowed, and was abreast of her as they passed by Bucharov. She shielded him from view as he grasped her arm and offered to help with her bag. She refused to release the bag, jerking it away, but by now, they were beyond Bucharov, so Nikolai hurried in a slow trot for the exits.
Bucharov stood planted in the doorway, forcing passengers to pass around him, and once they were considerably thinned out, he decided he would board and search the entire train himself. It was better anyway because, when he fired his gun, there would be less chance of hitting a bystander and creating the kind of stew that always made. It had happened to him before, and he would just as soon avoid the red tape an inadvertent shooting would spark.
Nikolai hurried outside to the taxi stand. Except there were no taxis in the area. But several private cars circled, their drivers leaning toward the crowd, looking for fares. Nikolai climbed into one. "To the bus station," he said.