Chernobyl Murders (16 page)

After the car passed, a truck came, its lights flashing in the trees.

When the truck appeared for a moment between buildings, Juli saw figures in off-white uniforms hanging onto the back.

An hour later, Juli sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the curtains closed over the balcony door. Even if the curtains had been open, she wouldn’t have been able to see anything because the balcony faced north. After coming up the stairs, they had run to look out the south-facing window at the far end of the hallway. The fire was definitely at the Chernobyl plant. Flames leapt into the sky at the base of its towers, and Juli knew the glow in the sky meant death.

Marina sat cross-legged behind Juli on the bed, massaging Juli’s shoulders as she spoke. “There’s nothing you can do,” said Marina.

“Worrying about it won’t help. Even if it was the number four reactor, Mihaly would have been one of the first out of there because he would have known if something was going wrong. He’s home right now, sealed in his apartment.”

“Mihaly wouldn’t have left, Marina. There’s no answer at the plant switchboard. They were going to do a shutdown. And now there’s no answer …”

“How bad could it be?” asked Marina. “My Vasily lives closer to the plant than we do. I wish he had a phone so I could call him.

What about the dosimeter you put out on the balcony? Will the dosimeter tell us if it’s safe?”

Juli stood, walked to the balcony door, and opened the curtains.

She slid the door open a few centimeters, reached quickly outside, pulled the dosimeter inside, and slammed the door.

“You should have asked me to get it,” said Marina.

“Why? You said it’s probably nothing.”

Juli took the dosimeter into the bathroom, turned on the bright overhead light, and held the small lens to her eye. At first she thought she saw the hairline resting at zero. But it was only the zero marker line. Then she thought there was no hairline, and she had trouble keeping the markings in the dosimeter in focus. Her hand shook, so she held the dosimeter with both hands, steadying her knuckles against her forehead.

The hairline was where she had never seen it during her years at the laboratory. If turned in to the rack on Monday morning, it would bring a crew of safety technicians down into the sub-basement to remove her from the vicinity of the sensitive counting equipment.

Marina spoke from behind Juli. “What does it say?”

Juli turned and did her best to remain calm. “Thirty millirems.”

“Is that a lot?” asked Marina.

“Some workers are exposed to as much as a thousand millirems a year. Anything above five thousand a year is considered dangerous.”

“Then it’s okay, Juli. See? It’s fine. Everyone will be fine. Mihaly and Vasily … everyone.”

“How long did I leave it on the balcony?”

“I don’t know,” said Marina. “Maybe half an hour.”

Juli worked out the figures in her head. It was no use remaining calm. “At this rate, in a day outside on the balcony, the exposure would have been over a thousand. In five days it would have been beyond the danger level. We’re three kilometers from the explosion, and the worst of the radioactivity might not even be here yet!”

Juli turned, placed the dosimeter on the edge of the sink, and began washing her hands and arms vigorously, especially her right because it had reached out into the blackness to retrieve the dosimeter.

“But if something’s happened, where’s the militia?” asked Marina, looking worried.

The ceiling began shaking with a pounding vibration, rattling the balcony door. “What’s that?” screamed Marina.

Juli looked up as the pounding became louder before suddenly fading. “A helicopter heading to the plant.”

“Should we go out and see?”

Juli went to Marina and held her shoulders. She spoke in a voice that did not seem her own. “We’ll stay here. Technically I should go to the plant because I’m a dosimetrist, and in the event of a spill, I should be monitoring the area. But this is no spill. This is a disaster.”

Not everyone in Pripyat was frightened. Many slept as moist air swept through open windows. Others, even though they knew of the explosion, did not believe radiation could be allowed to be let loose. Dawn would bring action. Weren’t there plenty of sirens now? Weren’t firemen being called to extra duty? Obviously the explosion, and the resulting fire, was something entirely controlla-ble? To some, even the metallic taste and smell in the air was a good sign. “Nothing but an ordinary industrial fire,” they said.

Lectures from Juli’s classes years earlier in Moscow haunted her. Strontium, krypton-85, cesium-137, and the concerns of her co-worker Aleksandra Yasinsky—all of these things from her years of training and working with radiation took on new meaning. Not because of concern for herself, but because of the vulnerability of the baby growing inside her.

And what about Mihaly? One second she imagined Mihaly and his co-workers safe inside the bunker beneath the administration building. The next second she imagined him at home with his wife, both of them looking out their balcony window facing the plant.

Yes, Mihaly either at home or in the bunker. In the bunker briefing the power plant Party secretary on the explosion and what could be done. Both of them tying up the phone lines calling in more helicopters. Mihaly and the Party secretary filling in KGB operatives on duty. Mihaly in charge to make sure no one was killed or injured, especially the young, especially the unborn, especially his child growing this very moment inside her.

While Juli watched Marina use the last of the cellophane tape on the side of the sliding door, reality returned. The world she had known was ended. Perhaps the world everyone had known was ended. The great environmental disaster had come, not slowly as Aleksandra had been predicted, but with great speed.

Juli and Marina stuffed rolled-up wet towels at the bottoms of the doors, taped the windows, even taped a plastic bag over the exhaust vent above the stove. There was nothing to do but seal themselves inside and wait. Sealed inside like babes in a womb.

With a shaking hand, Juli held the dosimeter up to the light again.

“What does it say now?” asked Marina.

“Still at thirty.”

“And it doesn’t mean it’s thirty now?”

“No. It’s a cumulative measure. Since it was recharged at the lab, it’s accumulated thirty millirems. As long as it doesn’t keep going up, we’re fine. Even if it goes up a little, we’ll be okay. At least in here.”

“How long will the radioactive dust or smoke or whatever it is stay in the air?”

“Until it blows away. But if the reactor keeps sending out more …”

Marina crossed the room, turned on the radio again, switched between the three stations they could receive. Beethoven on one, Prokofiev on another, some jazz on the third. Next she tried the television. Still too early, only snow.

“Why don’t they say anything?” asked Marina. “And Vasily lives so close to the plant. I hope he was out somewhere. At one of those men’s clubs in Pripyat, drinking himself silly. He’s such a joker. He’s …”

Juli and Marina looked to the ceiling as more helicopters flew over. They hugged until the helicopters passed.

“Why can’t Vasily go somewhere where there’s a phone and call me? Why is his mother so cheap she can’t have a phone?”

Juli looked to the balcony, where Mihaly had held her and kissed her last winter. Everything seemed so long ago. She picked up the phone, dialed the number at the plant, and, again, received a busy signal after a wait of several minutes.

A little past six in the morning, the electricity went out, and Marina brought out her portable radio. At six thirty, the curtains over the balcony door looked the way they did any other morning before work. The glow of day bringing life to the world. But there was not the yellow glow of sunrise on the edges of the curtains. The morning was overcast.

At seven o’clock, Juli tried the plant again, received a busy signal. Without knowing what she would say, she dialed Mihaly’s home number.

As the phone rang, Juli imagined Mihaly answering, pretending he was talking with someone else, telling her everything was fine. A small explosion, some release of radiation, and he was fine. But the phone kept ringing.

On the far side of the room, Marina picked up a glass egg she had transferred from a shelf to her bed when the helicopters began flying over. She held the egg in both hands. “No one answers,”

she whispered. “In the legend, Easter eggs must be decorated every year, or the world will end. No one will answer because they are decorating eggs.”

When Juli hung up the phone, Marina came to her, and they hugged.

Meanwhile, several residents with apartments facing the street held curtains apart and watched as a tanker truck came from the center of town, rinsing the street. The water draining into the sewers was dark with a metallic luster.

11
Although it was Saturday and Nikolai knew he and Pavel were not due back in their stuffy PK room at the Pripyat post office until Monday, here was Pavel at his door. Pavel wore jeans, his hair was messed up, he needed a shave, and he kept glancing up and down the hallway.

“What do you want?” asked Nikolai.

“Let me in. I don’t want to speak out here.”

Once the door was closed, Nikolai pulled his robe more tightly about his waist and went to the bedroom adjoining the small living area. “I have a business matter to discuss with an associate,” he said into the bedroom before closing the door.

Nikolai and Pavel sat at the small table in the kitchenette.

Nikolai nodded to the bedroom. “Without company, it would be a lonely weekend.”

“I keep forgetting you are not blessed with a wife.”

“Sarcasm?” asked Nikolai.

“Perhaps,” said Pavel. “But more importantly, Captain Putna called early this morning. We’re getting a new assignment.”

“Not at the post office?”

“There’s been an explosion at the Chernobyl plant, and Captain Putna has put the PK on special duty.”

“What kind of duty? What happened at the plant? Is it sabotage?”

Pavel glanced to the bedroom door, which remained closed. He leaned forward over the table and spoke softly. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear it. One of the reactors exploded. Early this morning there was a crimson glow in the sky. Now there’s smoke spreading north. Captain Putna says it’s not an ordinary fire. Radiation may have been released, but we’re not supposed to talk about it. Some technicians working at the plant have been seen fleeing the area.

On the way here, I saw people out on their balconies. Even though they’ve been told to remain indoors, they get a great view from the upper floors.”

“Who told them to remain indoors?” asked Nikolai. “No one told me.”

“You and your friend have remained indoors, haven’t you?”

“What’s an accident at the plant got to do with us? What about those ministries? Medium Machine Building or Energy and Elec-trification. Aren’t they in charge?”

Pavel took a notebook from his inside jacket pocket, opened it to a page, and put it on the table. He spoke softly, glancing occasionally to the closed bedroom door. “Captain Putna says he’s not sure if it involves sabotage, but we need to investigate the possibility.”

“Is it the Gypsy Moth theory we heard about?” asked Nikolai.

“What Gypsy Moth theory?”

“Don’t you remember? We were watching for mention of the code name in correspondence. We put it in our report to Captain Putna.”

“Pure speculation,” said Pavel. He pointed to the open page of his notebook. “Here are the facts. We’ve been given a list of Chernobyl employees and their addresses. Some have been ordered to the plant to assist emergency personnel but have refused to go.

Some were under observation before this happened.”

Nikolai took Pavel’s notebook, studied the list. “A familiar name or two. Especially Juli Popovics and Mihaly Horvath, the lovebirds.

I thought Juli Popovics was pregnant and went to visit her aunt in Visenka.”

“If you remember our last report, she’s to go there next month,”

said Pavel.

“Does Captain Putna think a pregnant woman is involved in sabotage?”

“I don’t know what Captain Putna thinks,” said Pavel. “I know only of this list of people we’ve been ordered to report on. Captain Putna said Major Komarov is angrier than shit and wants to know the cause of the explosion. Komarov is heading up the investigation himself.”

“This radiation,” said Nikolai, “do you think it’s dangerous?”

“They’re hosing down streets on the south side of town.” Pavel stood and pulled the chain on the overhead light, but the light did not come on. “The electricity is out at my place, too.”

“I hadn’t noticed. We didn’t need lights.” Nikolai smiled, then became serious. “What about your wife?”

Pavel walked to the window, looked up at the mix of smoke and clouds in the overcast sky. “I put her on the early bus to Kiev.”

“Were there others on the bus?” asked Nikolai.

“The bus was full,” said Pavel.

From inside a helicopter flying at a thousand meters, the fire looked like a kerosene smudge pot used to mark road construction. But as the helicopter flew closer, vibrating violently because of the heavy load of sand swinging below, the fire grew in size.

The helicopter pilot steered south, staying out of the cloud of bluish smoke. He dropped to five hundred meters and saw the spray from several fire hoses below. At one hundred meters, individual firemen were visible. Masks with cylindrical snouts covered the firemen’s faces. In their masks and coats and hats, the firemen looked like multicolored beetles.

“It’s a graphite fire!” shouted the pilot.

“Graphite’s supposed to stop the neutrons!” screamed the co-pilot. “Drop the load and go!”

Inside the low-level counting laboratory, two technicians in off-white caps who had just climbed the stairs from the basement watched the helicopter drop its load of sand and disappear beyond the trees to the west. The man and woman stayed inside the double doors of the building. On the road out front, an ambulance headed for the fire.