The Boy From Reactor 4 (36 page)

Everyone climbed out of the vehicle. The sun burst into an orange ball of fire as it set over the horizon. Beneath the ridge, water rushed packs of rocks and ice along a river. After three hours in the van’s cloying heat, the Arctic chill was a welcome relief.

“You okay?” Nadia said.

Adam shivered and nodded.

“You see the trapper’s lodge where we’re supposed to meet this guy? I don’t see any lodge.”

Fyodor pointed at a cluster of pine trees a hundred yards away. “There.”

The corner of a roofline formed by three intersecting logs protruded through the trees.

“Five fifteen,” Adam said. “He’s supposed to be there at five. From five to nine.”

Thanking Fyodor for the ride, they ran to the lodge.

When they got there, a man was waiting. Like the Yakut, the Evenk was of medium height and lean build. His chin and cheekbones, however, were less pronounced, and his nose was sharper. He had a darker complexion, like an Australian aborigine.

The Evenk raised a shotgun and aimed it between them. “Who goes there?” he said in coarse Russian. He was even harder to understand than the Yakut.

Nadia and Adam froze.

“
Umukon
,” Adam said. “
Umukon Khalganchuluk
.”

“Then let’s run from here,” the Evenk said, “because it’s a place where evil spirits live.”

The Evenk laughed heartily and lowered his gun. He bounded forward and hugged them as though they were long-lost friends.

“Sorry late. Stopped by to see friends on way. In, in,” he said. “Leave quick.”

They climbed into a vehicle similar to the white van they had just left.

“Who is
Umukon Khalganchuluk
?” Nadia said.

“I don’t know,” Adam said. “It’s just something my father made me memorize.”

“
Umukon Khalganchuluk
. One-arm, one-leg, one-eye evil spirit,” the Evenk said.

“Why is he evil?” Nadia said.

“Because,” the Evenk said as he turned the van around, “he steal children from their sleep.”

CHAPTER 62

A
SHOTGUN EXPLODED
behind him.

Kirilo ducked. The kid behind the wheel swore. The Volvo screeched and swerved to a halt on the bridge.

Kirilo waited, turned, and looked back through the rear window.

The second taxi, an old Peugeot, wobbled to a halt. The rubber on the front driver’s side wheel lay flat in a pothole. It wasn’t a shotgun. The tire had exploded.

“How far are we from Tommot?” Kirilo said.

“Ten kilometers.”

Kirilo glanced at his watch. It was 11:05 a.m. The train had probably arrived on time five minutes ago.

“You almost made it,” Kirilo said. “Excellent job.”

The kid frowned into the rearview mirror. “But I didn’t make it. I failed.”

Kirilo pushed his door open. Water rushed and chattered below the bridge. Victor opened the other rear door beside him.

“Failure creates opportunity, my friend,” Kirilo said. “You will be paid your bonus in full. Stay in the car and keep the engine running. We will be moving in a few minutes.” Kirilo turned to Pavel and the other bodyguard. “Step outside and keep
our friends company. Especially the American.” He glanced at Victor. “You. Follow me.”

Kirilo put on his fur hat and a pair of finger-hugging Italian driving gloves. He stepped out of the car, leaving his warm cashmere gloves behind.

The other driver opened the trunk and removed the spare tire.

Misha had already gotten out of the other car. He pointed a gun at the driver’s head. Pus oozed from a sore festering on his sunken left cheek. Misha waved the gun as though it were a pointer. “You’ve got thirty seconds to change that tire,” he said. “Thirty seconds. We would have been on time. We were almost there. But no. You had to screw it all up.”

The driver’s hands shook so badly he couldn’t get his fingers under the spare tire to lift it out of storage. Specter and Misha’s other bodyguard helped him.

Kirilo made soothing noises and motioned for Misha to lower his gun. “There, there, my friend,” Kirilo said. “Sometimes bad news brings good news with it. Siberian waters are known for their antioxidants. The Lena River is known for its healing powers. People travel from all over Europe to bathe in it. Come down to the river with me. Fortunately for us, it’s late April, so the river melts during the day before freezing at night. Come splash some water on your face, and you will be instantly rejuvenated.”

Misha appeared baffled. “Where?”

“To the river. Down below,” Kirilo said.

“No,” Misha said. “Where are we?”

Specter started toward him.

Kirilo put his hand out for him to stop. “No, no. We’re fine. He’s just a little feverish from all the travel. You all help the man with the tires.” He turned to Misha. “You are in Russia. Past Tommot on the way to Yakutsk. The formula, my friend, the formula.”

“The formula.” Misha’s eyes lit up. “The formula.”

Specter stepped aside tentatively. He took the jack and lug wrench while Misha’s bodyguard grabbed the spare tire. As they began to work, Specter kept glancing over his shoulder.

Kirilo motioned for Victor to follow. He guided Misha around the bridge to an embankment that fell gently to the river’s edge, out of sight. When he got to the water, Misha placed his gun on a rock and bent over. He reached into the water with both hands.

Kirilo thrust the cattle prod against his neck. Misha convulsed and made gurgling noises. He collapsed into the water. Kirilo put the prod beside the gun. He hoisted Misha out of the river and rolled him on his back. Misha coughed and wheezed.

Kirilo wrapped his hands around his neck and squeezed.

Misha brought his hands around Kirilo’s. They felt weak, weaker than Victor’s had when he’d almost strangled him on his boat. Misha tried to speak. Kirilo eased his grip.

“American citizen,” Misha said.

“That doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

Kirilo resumed squeezing until Misha’s body went limp and his pants moistened. Kirilo relaxed for a minute to catch his breath. After taking Misha’s wallet, passport, and diamond-crusted watch, he pushed the body into the water. The current swept it down the river around patches of ice.

Kirilo walked up to Victor beside the bridge, cattle prod in hand. “You were wrong,” he said, still wheezing.

“About what?” Victor said.

“Ten million divided by two is not much more than ten million divided by three. But this formula…That’s a different matter.”

Kirilo replaced the cattle prod in the lining of his coat and put Misha’s gun in his pocket. When Victor and he climbed to the road, Misha’s bodyguard was changing the tire with his back to him. Pavel and Kirilo’s other bodyguard immediately drew weapons.

The bodyguard turned, dropped the lug wrench, and raised his hands.

“Your boss had an accident,” Kirilo said. “You were local hired help anyways. You want a job?”

“Yes, please,” the bodyguard said.

“Where is Specter?” Kirilo said.

“He went to take a piss,” Pavel said. “That way.” Pavel nodded at the wooded knoll on the near side of the bridge headed back toward Tommot.

Pavel stayed with one of the bodyguards while the other went with Kirilo to find Specter. They searched for five minutes but didn’t find him. When they got back to the car, the tire was changed.

“Nothing?” Pavel said.

“No,” Kirilo said. “He’s gone. He lied in the warehouse when we had the Tesla woman. He told me Isabella was on the phone to get me away until the police came. But Isabella never called.”

“Why would he do that?” Pavel said.

“Because he’s not who he seems to be.”

“Then who is he?”

“Looks like a bitch to me.”

“A government agent? Who infiltrated Misha’s operation? In America?”

Kirilo glanced at Victor.

Victor shrugged. “He was Misha’s man. I didn’t know him until a week ago. I don’t know where he came from.”

“Bitches die,” Kirilo said. “Who cares where they’re from.”

Kirilo turned to the two taxi drivers. “You guys have two choices. You can be paid handsomely for your work and forget that you had two more passengers. Or you and your families can cease to exist. Which will it be?”

Pavel joined Kirilo and Victor in the Volvo. The other two bodyguards remained in the other car. Kirilo told the kid to pass
the other car. The kid gunned the engine, and the Volvo took the lead.

“Slow down, slow down,” Kirilo said. “There’s no need to hurry anymore.”

The kid eased up on the gas. “There isn’t?”

“No,” Kirilo said.

Pavel turned from the front seat and frowned. “Why not?”

“We know where she’s going. We’ve known where she’s been going all along.” Kirilo glanced at Victor. “Haven’t we, cousin?”

Victor didn’t answer him. Instead, he just looked out the window.

“It’s best to dispose of garbage in remote areas where no one will find it,” Kirilo said. “So we chase. But now that we’re rid of the garbage, we can stop chasing. She is going to Yakutsk. What is Yakutsk known for?”

“Diamonds,” Pavel said. “Twenty percent of the world’s diamond production.”

“What else?”

“
Gulag
,” Victor said.

“Yes.
Gulag
. Where did they bury the bodies in the
gulags
?”

“Ah,” Pavel said. “Of course. The Road of Bones.”

Kirilo looked at his hands. He tried to uncurl his fingers and straighten them completely, but he hadn’t been able to do so since wielding a pickax at the
gulag
for eight years straight.

“Yes. The Kolyma Highway. And where does the Kolyma Highway lead?”

“Magadan,” Pavel said. He turned forward, sighed with contentment, and relaxed in his seat. “It leads to Magadan.”

“Exactly,” Kirilo said. “Gateway to the Kolyma Region. Former transit center for prisoners being shipped to the
gulag
. The only major port in the area. Now services the lumber trade. We are five hundred kilometers from the Arctic Circle. The ice is melting. The rivers and lakes are flooding. There is one, and only
one, road in the taiga, which may or may not be passable in late April. It is the Road of Bones.”

“They could fly from Yakutsk,” Victor said.

“No. They are not flying for a reason. It may have something to do with the boy, or it may be to stay off the radar. They will take the Road of Bones from Yakutsk to Magadan. Once in Magadan, they
must
take an airplane or a boat to leave Russia.”

“How will we get from Tommot to Yakutsk?”

Kirilo leaned forward and tapped the kid on the shoulder. “This young man will drive us for ten thousand rubles more. Won’t you, my friend?”

CHAPTER 63

“N
O ONE IN
Russia call Road of Bones. In Russia, Kolyma
Trakt
.” The Evenk peppered his phrases with affirmative grunting noises and Evenki words Nadia didn’t understand.

“Why is that?” Nadia said.

“Many people die in old Russia. Now new Russia. No more Road of Bones. Kolyma
Trakt
now. We take new Kolyma
Trakt
. Old Kolyma
Trakt
no good. Too late.”

“Excuse me? What new Kolyma
Trakt
?”

She glanced at Adam, who was sitting beside her behind the driver. He shrugged.

“Two roads,” the Evenk said. “Old and new. Old, twelve hundred kilometers. New, two thousand kilometers. Too late April for old. River melting, bridges and road risky. We take new road via Ust-Nera.”

Nadia leaned toward Adam. “Did your father say anything about a new road?”

“No,” Adam said. “Road of Bones.”

“New
Trakt
finish 2009,” the Evenk said. “Good, good, all year. My name Sharlam. Sharlam take care of you.”

Sharlam turned right onto a cracked asphalt road.

Nadia bounced lightly on her seat as the van’s suspension squeaked and groaned. Ivory figurines of dancing bears and
children riding wolves were glued to the dashboard. There were two additional rows of seats behind them. A mattress and sleeping bag were rolled out on each of them. Eight spare tires, two windshields, and a cardboard box full of windshield wipers and headlights lay in the back beside a huge toolbox.