Mission Atomic

by Sarwat Chadda

  “Then what you use?”

  “Usually a stern word or disapproving look does the job.”

  Dmitry’s cell phone buzzed, and he left Cara and Ian to inspect the suitcase of guns.

  “If we come face-to-face with Alek, a gun will make no difference,” said Ian.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we will lose, Cara.” Ian put the pistol back and closed the lid. “How much experience do you have shooting people?”

  “None. Thank goodness.”

  Dmitry finished his conversation and joined them. “We must go. My brother has been keeping a watch on Alek. He has left his hotel and taken a car north on the P02 road. We must follow.”

  “The P02?” asked Ian. “Where does it go?”

  “To Pripyat,” said Dmitry, grimly. “The city of ghosts.”

  Dmitry drove. He brought a pistol for himself and a Geiger counter. “Just to be sure,” he said. “With Chernobyl, you can never be too careful.”

  Cara knew Dmitry had every reason to be cautious. She’d read up on the 1986 nuclear disaster on the flight over. Faulty design had led to one of the reactors overheating. Normally, the heat was absorbed by cooling water flowing through the system, but the water had turned to steam and caused a pressure buildup within the reactor. Then, like a balloon, it had exploded, hurling radioactive material into the atmosphere. A few seconds later a second explosion threw more radioactive material out.

  The immediate death toll hadn’t been high. Two people were killed in the initial explosion, then more than thirty rescue workers and other staff died of radiation poisoning over the next few months. There had almost been a much bigger explosion, but three engineers had volunteered to wade into the radioactive cooling water and drain it to prevent another steam explosion when waste began burning through the reactor floor, down into the pools below.

  Cara wondered what they must have felt, knowing they were going to their deaths.

  But the effects of the explosion were still being felt today. Estimates varied, but the radiation had left a trail of cancer around the globe.

  “Pripyat a bad place,” Dmitry said as they joined the P02 north. “City built next to Chernobyl for housing the workers. When reactor explode, entire city becomes contaminated. They evacuate all people. Now no one live there. We go, but can only stay a few hours before risk of contamination, da?”

  Cara knew the story, too, but there was nothing like actually approaching the infamous city. “The radioactive material has a half-life of hundreds of thousands of years. Pripyat will remain empty for another twenty thousand at least before it’s safe to be inhabited again,” she told Ian. “It’s safe-ish for a day, but not much longer.”

  “How far is it?” asked Ian, sitting next to her in the back.

  “Two hours,” said Dmitry.

  “And why does Alek go there?”

  Dmitry shrugged. “Every year he make same trip. There and back in one day. He not stay long.”

  The Trabant fought over the humps and potholes on the road. They stopped for a refill halfway, and for a simple packet of sandwiches.

  “You have money, little prince?” asked Dmitry.

  Ian opened up his wallet and handed over the Ukrainian hryvnia.

  Cara saw the way Dmitry stared at the cash. He was hungry, and those sandwiches weren’t going to fill him up. While Dmitry went off to pay for the gasoline, Cara nudged Ian. “Dmitry’s not doing this for free, you know.”

  “I realize that,” said Ian. “But he knows he’ll be well paid once Nathaniel is defeated and I can access the family funds.”

  “So you’re counting on his goodwill until then?”

  Ian grinned, and that flash of teeth and look in his eyes made Cara … well, feel something about him. “Don’t worry, this is Uncle Dmitry we’re talking about. He’s family!”

  Dmitry waved a paper bag. “Who want pickled cabbage sandwich?”

  Cara smiled and took hers. She watched Ian and Dmitry laugh about past adventures. Maybe Ian was right about Dmitry. But she wasn’t so sure. Maybe he was family, but with Ian, that wasn’t saying much.

  * * *

  The city came into view sooner than Cara would have liked.

  Eerie, that was the word that sprang to Cara’s mind.

  The buildings were all in the ugly Soviet Bloc style: drab, monolithic, identical. They had fallen into disrepair. Windows were opaque with dust. Piles of leaves and trash gathered in the doorways and narrow alleyways. The foliage ran rampant; roots broke up the paving and the roads. Bushes had consumed some of the abandoned cars. Everything was the color of rust. The vehicles, the lampposts, the railings, the gates and bus shelters. The parks were a wilderness now, the grass six feet high and thick with weeds. Ivy wrapped around the climbing frames and the swings. The children’s animal rockers were weathered, the paint patchy, making them look as if they had a skin disease. They passed a square with a once-proud statue of a heroic worker. Now the man’s face was pitted, cracked, and stained. Moss covered his lower body, transforming him into a strange mutant, half man and half vegetation.

  A bus drove by, slowly, filled with tourists taking photos.

  Dmitry parked and dialed his cell. The conversation was quick. He scowled. “Alek has stopped. My brother will not follow any farther.”

  Ian held on to the Geiger counter. “Where is he?”

  “Another kilometer and a half along this road. At the city graveyard.” Dmitry held out his weapon. “Are you sure you don’t want?”

  * * *

  “Not the sort of place I’d take a woman on a date,” said Ian. “A graveyard in an abandoned city.”

  Cara nodded. “At least you know you’ll be alone.”

  Ian paused. “I’m having second thoughts about this. Trailing Alek Spasky through a graveyard just seems … highly ominous?”

  Cara took his hand. “Come on, Ian.”

  They crept along, keeping Alek just in sight. The graveyard was huge and rambling, with bushes and trees. The gravestones were large, the statues old and vine-woven.

  “Where do you think he’s going?” Cara asked.

  “Somewhere isolated, with two freshly dug graves,” said Ian.

  “If he was planning to kill us why does he have flowers?”

  “Russian sense of humor?”

  “Wait. He stopped.” Cara pulled Ian down behind a gravestone.

  Ian peered around the side. “I don’t see anyone else.”

  Where was Natalia? The flowers must be for her, yet there was no one in sight.

  It was hard to imagine a lonelier place. Not even the wind disturbed the somber silence, and if there were any birds, they were minding their own business.

  Ian hated graveyards. Especially ones with KGB assassins in them.

  He must be insane, being this close to Alek Spasky. They should have stayed farther back. Way farther back. Like, back in London.

  Ian had never really taken a good look at Alek. Now he could, and saw a middle-aged man, hair short-cropped with plenty of gray in it. The face was hard, bare of any fat or softness, a classic Russian face made up of high cheekbones and brooding brow. His mouth was wide, but his lips thin. It was tough to imagine a mouth like that smiling, or laughing.

  Alek paused and looked around.

  Ian held his breath, daring not to move. Cara squeezed his hand.

  Alek’s eyes narrowed.

  Ian felt his heart hammering against his ribs. He was sweating—a bead of moisture dribbled down his temple, but he didn’t dare move to brush it away. The slightest action might catch Alek’s attention.

  Alek reached into his coat …

  How far would they get if they ran now?

  Not far enough.

  … and drew out a handkerchief.

  “Phew,” whispered Cara.

  Pollen tickled Ian’s nostrils. It was late spring and everything was blooming. He held his handkerchief to his nose. Oh, no—he really needed to sneeze.…

&n
bsp; Cara pinched his nostrils together. “One sniff out of you and we’ll have Alek skewering us with one of his darts.”

  “Eep” was as much as Ian could manage.

  They watched Alek clear weeds and dead leaves off a grave. He was kneeling and, from here, it looked as if he was talking. Then he brushed his hands and arranged the fresh flowers on top of the grave.

  Who was buried there?

  It couldn’t be his sister; Irina was buried in Moscow.

  Ian frowned. As far as he knew there were no Spasky connections in Ukraine.

  “He’s leaving,” whispered Cara.

  Ian glanced over the stone slab. “And he’s left the flowers.”

  Alek was back on the path. He looked back at the grave once, and briefly. As if saying good-bye. Then he straightened himself and left.

  “Should we follow him?” Cara was already on her feet.

  “No.” Ian peered over to the grave and the flowers. “I want to see who’s buried there.”

  “But we’ll lose Alek.”

  “And somehow I feel his and our paths will cross again, whether we like it or not.” Ian began walking. “We need to check this out, Cara.”

  The roses were deep red and bound with a black ribbon. Green moss clung to the granite gravestone, and it was weathered and patchy with stains.

  Ian froze as he read the name. “Of course.”

  “ ‘Doctor Natalia Ivanova Spasky. Beloved wife.’ ” Cara rubbed the moss off the dates. “ ‘Born 1st July 1961. Died 12th July 1986. Age 25.’ His wife?”

  “Yes, she must be,” said Ian. “She died a few months after the Chernobyl incident. That seems too much of a coincidence. She was very young to have a doctorate. She must have been bright.” He knew plenty of Ekats who were professors in their early and midtwenties, straight As all the way since kindergarten. “I wonder … ”

  “He must have loved her so much.” Cara stared at the grave. “Still giving her flowers, thirty years later.”

  Ian faced the worn gravestone. “We need to find out about Natalia Spasky.”

  Stuttgart, Germany

  “Hi, Stuttgart. Bye, Stuttgart,” said Dan, shifting in his seat, trying to find some position that worked. His backside was numb and his legs were cramping. He bunched up his jacket as a pillow and wedged it under his neck and against the side of the seat.

  And sat, eyes open, sleep a long, long way away.

  Nellie and Sammy snored. Sammy was slumped over the armrest and Nellie was using his shoulder for her pillow. They were even holding hands.

  Dan sighed. He stared out the train window.

  Trees lined the railway, allowing only fleeting glimpses of town or village lights as the train sped by. He’d heard it stop, somewhere, and there’d been voices and movement on the platform as half-awake passengers climbed off.

  By now, the train was partially empty. Sammy snorted and swapped sides. He fell against Dan, forcing him harder against the wall.

  “That’s it.” Dan pushed Sammy off. “I’ve had it.”

  He grabbed Nellie’s map and guidebook. The dining car was open, and lit. He’d pick up a snack and a drink and read in there. With any luck he’d get really tired, then try to put his head down for the few hours remaining before they reached their destination.

  He didn’t bother with his new hiking boots—they chafed and he already had a blister on each heel. The thick socks would work fine as slippers.

  There was something about trains. The pace. Trains didn’t feel like rushing.

  Maybe that’s why Amy sent me on this trip.

  A man edged along the narrow passageway, yawning. He smiled at Dan as he went past. Another insomniac traveler.

  Dan entered the dining car. The clock said 4 A.M., and the counter was closed. He had his choice of a trio of vending machines humming along the wall. Dan chucked in a handful of euros and got himself an orange juice and a doughnut.

  There was just one other guy here. A businessman, deep in a big novel, with a cup of tea steaming on the table next to him. He glanced up as Dan came in, then went back to his book.

  Dan chewed on his doughnut and spread out the map carefully. Nellie would have some choice words if he ended up getting sugar all over it.

  Now, where was the Black Forest? Way down there. He traced the train track down from Stuttgart, checking the names of the towns and other locations. They were just coming up to another crossing over the Rhine River soon; the train track had run alongside it for most of the journey.

  “Wo gehst du hin?”

  Dan looked up and met the gaze of the businessman. He had his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he looked down at Dan’s map.

  “I’m sorry, er, I … ich verstehe Sie nicht?”

  “Ah! You are English?”

  “American.”

  “American! Gut!” He smiled and tucked away his novel. “You go to Stuttgart?”

  Dan shook his head. “We’re just stopping there, then going on.”

  The businessman looked him up and down. “Ah! Backpacking, ja? Many students in Germany. Beautiful country. Many Jugendherbergen in Germany! How you say … young hostels?”

  “Youth hostels?”

  “Ja!” He licked his lips, then tried out the words. “Youth hostels.”

  The guy seemed to want to test out his English, and Dan wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon. He offered him a seat and looked over the map. “We’re going camping here.”

  “Schwarzwald? How you say … Black Forest? Very beautiful!”

  The last thing Dan wanted was to get trapped with a fellow passenger. He smiled and stood. “I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

  The businessman grabbed his wrist. “Please stay, I insist.”

  The German accent was gone. Instead, the guy spoke in clear, cold English.

  The far door opened.

  And Melinda Toth entered.

  Melinda smiled at him. Beside her was a second henchman, the guy Dan had passed in the corridor earlier. He gently closed the door behind him.

  “Your grandfather’s been looking for you, Dan,” said Melinda. “He’s got something rather special planned.”

  That sounded all sorts of bad.

  Dan’s blood chilled. He wrestled with the fear that was building up in his chest, threatening to rob him of his wits, threatening to freeze his mind and body.

  The fake German businessman twisted Dan’s wrists sharply and shoved him to the floor in front of Melinda.

  She glanced over her shoulder to the second man. “Find Dan’s compartment. Make sure the other two are locked in.” She smiled at Dan. “We don’t want any interruptions, do we?”

  Dan’s mind raced. He had two options: fight or flight. He was outnumbered and outgunned. Melinda was bad enough, and her two goons looked like they knew what they were doing. Given Nathaniel’s resources and Melinda’s contacts, he’d guess they were ex-Special Forces, a cut above mere muscle. No way was he going to win a straight fight and no way was he going to talk his way out of it. So that left only one option.

  Surprise.

  He drooped. He sank his head down, let his shoulders fall. He needed them to believe he was beaten; it might make them less wary. It wasn’t much of a chance, but it was all he had. Dan rubbed his wrist. “How did you find me?”

  “You can’t hide from technology, Dan.” Melinda motioned with her finger. “Get up, boy.”

  Dan did. Fast.

  He bowled into her, using her as a mat as he rolled over her and onto his feet. The fake German launched himself at Dan.

  Dan went for the door, then swung it open, hard.

  Straight into the guy’s face.

  Dan hopped over the stunned man and ran.

  She’d sent her other henchman back down the train, so the only way was forward. He needed to find a way to double back and get to Nellie and Sammy, but that meant—

  The lightbulb exploded as a bullet hit it. Glass sprinkled down on Dan as he dove for t
he other door.

  “No!” yelled Melinda. “We need him alive!”

  That’s good to know.

  Dan ran through the next car. He tested the door handles into their compartment, but they were locked. He could beat on them for help, but he knew the type of men Melinda had brought with her. He wasn’t going to risk innocent lives like that. There had to be another way.

  He pushed on into the next car, the luggage part of the train. Twenty or so bikes were neatly slotted into their stands, and there were backpacks labeled and shoved onto shelves.

  Dan pulled an aluminum pump off a bike and wedged it into the door. That will buy me another thirty seconds.

  He tested the side door, but no luck. Locked.

  He had to get back to the others. But there was only one way to do that. He’d have to get back to his car by walking along the roof.

  Of a high-speed train. In the middle of the night.

  Dan grimaced. Why does it always happen to me?

  He braced himself against the rack and slammed his socked feet into the center of the window. The pane reverberated but held.

  Teeth gritted, he repeated it again and again, beating his heels into the glass.

  “Come on … ”

  Over the din of the rattling wheels he heard a noise at the car door.

  A crack blossomed in the glass under his feet. Air hummed through it, sending the curtains flapping wildly.

  The door handle turned and shook as someone outside slammed against it.

  “Don’t make it hard on yourself, Dan!” shouted Melinda. “Open up!”

  Dan looped both hands on the rack and raised his feet. Where was Ham when you needed him? He’d have broken the glass just by staring at it.

  “Open up, Dan!”

  Dan roared as he slammed both feet into the window.

  It exploded and the car instantly filled with screaming air.

  “Don’t be stupid!” Melinda must have guessed what he was planning.

  To get out the only way he could.

  The trees whipped by, long twigs laden with leaves lashed at the train, and the wind’s howl joined the noise of engine and steel wheels to create a deafening roar.

  Yeah, this is stupid to the extreme.