The Boy From Reactor 4 (17 page)

Kirilo stumbled backward against his will. Someone was pulling him. Men were shouting. Stop! Stop what? His lungs heaved. Blood pounded against the skin of his face. His fists trembled. His knuckles were red.

“Hey, man,” Misha said, grinning, as the bodyguards released their grip on Kirilo’s shoulders. “No violence in the car wash.”

Kirilo righted himself.

Blood streamed from the poser’s nose. His right eye swelled. The American girl screamed in English while the Ukrainian girl cradled his head in her hands.

“One more time,” Kirilo said. “What is your name?”

When the poser opened his mouth, his teeth appeared stained with beet juice. “Radek,” he said with a nasal twang. “I’m just a singer. A singer in a band.”

“Band?” Kirilo said. “What band?”

“It’s called F in Mathematics.”

Stefan threw both purses to the ground. “Nothing.”

Misha glared at Specter. “How can this be?”

Specter turned on the GPS receiver and showed Kirilo. The light blinked at a slower pace. “The signal’s weaker here. It was stronger outside. The tracking device is outside somewhere.”

They followed Specter outside to the car wash itself. Two vehicles were being hand-washed in separate bays while another six waited behind each. Specter homed in on the tracking device until the light turned solid red. He ended up beside a beer delivery truck parked on a strip of grass on the far side of the car wash. The truck’s hood was open.

The driver chomped nervously on a cigar as Kirilo, Misha, and their entourage approached.

“Engine?” Kirilo said with a sympathetic tone.

“Timing belt,” the driver said.

Kirilo grimaced. “Sorry to hear that. We need to take a look in the back. We think you have something of ours.”

The driver didn’t waste time. He unlocked the rear and swung the doors open. Stefan jumped inside and found the tracking device behind a stack of cases of Obolon beer. They questioned the driver if he had seen anyone hovering around his truck.

“Nope. I made my delivery and broke down on the way out. Some boys helped push my truck out of the way.”

Kirilo, Misha, and Specter stepped away from the van.

“She figured out we were tracking her and threw the device in his truck,” Specter said, “figuring the beer guy would go on to his next delivery and it would take us time to stop and ask questions.”

“Smarter than throwing it out the window,” Misha said.

“More clever,” Specter said. “But in this case, too clever. Seventy-two percent of all Soviet-era cars break down every year.”

“You were right about this woman,” Kirilo said with a savage edge to Misha. “I like her. I haven’t killed anyone in eleven years, but in her case, I may have to break that streak. Just to see the look in her eyes at the last second, when she gives up hope, you know?”

Misha and Specter looked at him as though he were insane. Good. That meant they had some morals, which meant there were limits to what they would do, which meant they were vulnerable.

Misha said, “The driver left his taxi here. Why?”

“Your man on the expressway made him,” Specter said. “They know we know the car. And this is a safe place where the taxi company can come get it.”

“Which means the driver is helping her,” Kirilo said. “What do we know about him?”

They paused and looked at each other.

“Phone number,” Specter said. “Of the taxi company. On the side of the car.” Specter and Stefan ran toward the parking lot on the opposite side of the building.

“If they left the taxi here, how did they get away?” Misha said.

“They got a ride or borrowed someone’s car,” Kirilo said.

“Someone who got an F in mathematics?” Misha said.

Kirilo and Misha hurried back to the bar. When they got to the second floor, Radek and the two women were gone.

Specter burst inside as they descended back to the first floor. Stefan lagged behind, out of breath.

“Anything?” Kirilo said, lungs heaving.

Specter shook his head. “The taxi’s gone. You?”

Misha shook his head. “They’re gone.”

“It’s possible your man got the phone number off the car on the expressway when they lost him,” Specter said.

“Find him,” Kirilo said. “The taxi driver. He’ll lead us to the girl.”

CHAPTER 31

N
ADIA WATCHED THE
black-and-white images on the projection screen. They popped and crackled with distortion at the Chernobyl National Museum in Kyiv. Firemen piled up a stairwell toward the blaze in the reactor. They were never to return. Divers waded into the cooling ponds to seal the pipes. No one told them the water was contaminated.

On April 26, 1986, the world’s worst nuclear disaster took place at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant in the Ukrainian SSR, an administrative region of the Soviet Union. It was the only Level 7 event on the International Nuclear Event Scale before Fukushima. A systems test caused a catastrophic power surge. An emergency shutdown caused a rupture in Reactor 4 and exposed it to air.

The ensuing fire sent a cloud of radioactive smoke over the western Soviet Union and Europe. At least 350,000 people were evacuated after the central authorities realized what had really happened. At first, they thought it was a routine fire. Operator error was initially blamed for the disaster. A subsequent investigation concluded that human factors contributed to the explosion but design deficiencies caused it.

The soldiers, coal miners, and construction workers who were assigned the task of ultimately containing the nuclear
disaster were called liquidators. In English, the word conjures images of people facilitating a sale at bargain prices. For these liquidators, it was a bad bargain.

The United Nations Atomic Energy Commission estimated that fifty deaths could be directly attributed to the explosion at the power plant, and the final death toll from radiation exposure would be less than four thousand. European parliaments, Greenpeace, and medical institutions in Britain, Germany, and Scandinavia disagreed. Of the two million people who were officially classified as victims of Chernobyl, five hundred thousand were already dead. The UN attributed the death toll to rising poverty and unhealthy lifestyles. Meanwhile, the Ukrainian Scientific Center for Radiation Medicine was overwhelmed with cases of cancer and genetic mutation.

The names of five thousand liquidators hung on a wall at the museum. Pictures of children born after the disaster hung on another. It was a bad bargain for them, too. The incidence of thyroid cancer among children in the area rose twenty-two-fold over the next ten years. According to the World Health Organization, however, no increase in overall cancer mortality could be associated with radiation exposure.

Nadia moved past the display of children’s pictures and checked her watch: it was 3:20. Anton was waiting in Radek’s Volkswagen van around the block. She heard a clatter of footsteps and turned.

A woman nodded at her. It had to be Clementine. She’d seen Nadia at the Caves Monastery. Clementine’s heart-shaped face was the color of muddy water. Her unkempt hair fell to her shoulders in greasy black strands and contrasted sharply with narrow hazel eyes. A pink Juicy Couture warm-up suit hung loosely on her wire-tight frame. She had dark semicircles under her eyes but seemed more composed in person than she’d sounded on the phone, as though she’d had a fix. She bore a distant resemblance to the boy in the photo whom Damian had claimed to be his son.

“You’re sure you weren’t tailed?” Clementine said.

Nadia said, “I’m sure.”

“Follow me.”

They passed a pair of ancient computers salvaged from the plant. A sign said
DO NOT TOUCH
.

“I knew this place would be empty,” Clementine said. “No one ever comes here. The tourists would rather go to church, and the locals don’t want to know it exists.”

A banner across the top of an archway read,
There is a limit to grief, but no limit to fear
.

The exhibit room contained a replica of Reactor 4. A red-and-white chimney enclosed in scaffolding towered over the plant. Nadia did a double take at the smokestack. It looked like the chimney in the background of the photo of the boy.

Clementine put her hand on her hip. “Okay, show me the money.”

Nadia frowned. “What? What money?”

“The money you’re going to pay me for telling you how to find Damian. Your uncle, right?”

“No one ever said anything about money.”

“Well, I’m saying it now. One thousand dollars.”

“Show me your driver’s license first,” Nadia said. “I want to make sure I’m dealing with the right person.”

Clementine hesitated before pulling a wallet out of her bag.

Nadia checked the state of issuance. “Alaska?” she said.

“The Last Frontier.”

Nadia removed traveler’s checks from her wallet. “I can only give you three hundred. If your information’s good, I’ll send you the rest when I get back home. What’s your connection to my uncle?”

“My sister had his child.”

“So there really is a boy.”

She was puzzled by the statement. “Of course there’s a boy.”

“Your sister had his child? Where’s your sister now?”

“She died. About eleven years ago.”

“What was she doing here?”

“She dropped out of school in Kotzebue and moved to LA to make it in Hollywood.”

“School?”

“Yeah, school. Community college,” Clementine said with a dollop of exasperation. “Her career in Hollywood took a different turn. She got in with the wrong people and couldn’t handle it. She ended up in Moscow, then Kyiv. It’s none of your business.”

“And you? What are you doing here?”

“Succeeding where she failed. What do you care? Five hundred.”

“What does my uncle have that might be worth so much money?”

“I don’t know, but I get five percent of whatever he gets when he sells it. That’s why I’m here.”

“Sells what? What does he have to sell?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. Just said it was something
countries
would pay money for. That sounded rich to me.”

“He didn’t say anything about cash?”

“Cash?”

“Yeah, cash. Like ten million dollars.”

Clementine cackled. “Uh, no. I think I would have remembered that. No, no cash. He’s got something to sell. Or at least he says he does.”

“Why couldn’t he meet me himself? Why did he have to get you involved?”

“Because he doesn’t officially exist.”

“What do you mean, he doesn’t officially exist?”

“He lives here,” Clementine said, pointing to the wall of the exhibit room. “And you’re not allowed to live in the Zone, so he doesn’t officially exist. He has no address.”

Nadia looked around and frowned. “He lives here? In the museum?”

“No.” She shook her head as though Nadia were an imbecile. “Not here.
Here
. In the Zone. Near Pripyat.”

“Pripyat?”

“Chernobyl is an old village. It’s also the name of the power station. Pripyat is the name of the town built right next to the reactors to house the workers. The Zone is the Exclusion Zone. It’s a thirty-kilometer radius around the power plant. They set it up right after the disaster. The Zone is radioactive.”

The lure of the money and meeting her uncle helped push the thought of radioactivity out of her mind. “Where and when do I meet him?”

“Give me the money first.”

Nadia considered her options and handed her the checks.

“Tomorrow. Thursday,” Clementine said, backpedaling toward the exit. “Nine p.m. Hotel Polissya. Go to the check-in desk for instructions.”

“Sounds very civil.”

“Remember you said that when you see it.”

They left in opposite directions. Nadia jumped into the passenger seat of Radek’s van, a block away from the museum.

“Radek called,” Anton said. “The truck broke down.”

“What truck?” Nadia said.

“The beer truck where you threw the tracking device. It broke down at the car wash. And Radek stayed to have a drink with the girls instead of leaving right away. They found him. They punched him.”

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Anton. Is he okay?”

“He has a broken nose. He’ll live. They found the tracking device. Radek and his girls got away in the taxi while they were looking for it.”

Anton powered onto the expressway.

Nadia summarized the meeting with Clementine. Anton remained mute when she told him she was supposed to meet Damian in Pripyat.

“You’re not saying anything,” Nadia said.

“There is nothing to say,” Anton said quietly. “That is not a place we talk about.”

“Is it even safe to go there at all? Do I risk contamination?”

Anton lowered his voice. He did not turn to look at Nadia. “If you talk about it, if you ask questions about radioactivity, no. It will not be safe for you. You may get sick. But if you don’t talk about it, if you don’t ask questions and you follow the rules there, you will be fine.”

“I…I don’t understand. Why won’t it be safe if I ask questions about it?”

“That’s how it is. You talk about it, things go bad. You keep quiet, everything is fine. Trust me, it works.”