“Could my brother have been on one of the trucks you saw?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” said Tupolev.
“Your neighbor, the one who came to Kiev with you… would he know?”
“I’ll write down his name and the address of his parents.”
Lazlo quickly supplied pen and paper. While Tupolev wrote the information, Lazlo looked at the faces of the others in the apartment. They looked like visitors to a wake who must now face the next of kin. During the conversation, Tamara came to his side and put her arm about him, holding him gently.
Yuri Tupolev’s neighbor said the engineers and technicians at the plant ran from the control room after an initial explosion. He knew nothing more. As for Mihaly, he might have escaped because several cars and trucks were seen speeding from the plant.
After questioning Yuri Tupolev’s neighbor, Lazlo stopped at a phone and tried to call Pripyat. Again, the call could not go through and the operator was unable to give a reason. Lazlo called militia headquarters and spoke to the sergeant on duty. The sergeant knew nothing about an accident at Chernobyl, and neither did anyone else at headquarters. However, Deputy Chief Investigator Lysenko, Chkalov’s right-hand man, was at the city’s boundary on the road leading north and had called for additional uniformed men for some kind of roadblock. Chkalov was not in, and the sergeant could give no further information.
Before driving to the so-called roadblock on the north end of the city, Lazlo dropped Tamara off at her apartment.
“Thank you for being so understanding, Tamara.”
“How could I not be understanding? He’s your brother.”
“I mean about going with me.”
“I only wanted to ride in your speedy Zhiguli and listen to the two-way radio.” Tamara placed her hand on his knee. “Promise me something, Laz. If you decide to drive to Pripyat, take the long way around.”
Tamara put her arm around him, pulled him close, kissed him.
As she walked up the steps to her building, Lazlo paused a moment.
Seeing Tamara walk away after the weekend they had spent together, and speculating about the trouble ahead, made him feel the elusive-ness of life and its pleasures. He put the Zhiguli in gear and sped up the street.
There was no mention of a nuclear incident on the Zhiguli’s radio, not even when he managed to tune to Voice of America. He tried the Radio Free Europe frequency, but there was no morning programming. For a moment he began to wonder if it was all a mistake.
But the roadblock at the outskirts of the city where the extension of Boulevard Shevchenko curved north was no mistake. Two marked militia cars blocked the road, and uniformed officers turned traffic back to Kiev. Amid the officers, dressed in his Sunday suit, was Deputy Chief Investigator Lysenko, who always wore what looked like a Sunday suit, the uniform of one who seeks promotion. Lazlo pulled to the right of the waiting vehicles and walked to where Lysenko stood in the morning sun, staring at the barren road to the north.
Lysenko turned. “Good morning, Detective Horvath. Are you here to help?”
Rather than take time to explain, Lazlo used a direct approach.
“The chief sent me. He said you should fill me in.”
“It’s the nuclear plant at Chernobyl.”
“I’ve already heard rumors,” said Lazlo, wanting to get on with it. “Do you know if anyone was killed or injured?”
“All I was told is no one should try to drive there,” said Lysenko.
“The republic militia has blocked the road farther north. Apparently there’s some radiation, but the chief said civilians are to be told nothing except the road is closed. It’s already caused arguments.
These people with their Sunday plans.”
Lysenko looked up the road. “Something is puzzling about this.
I thought there would be heavy traffic from the north. So far we’ve only had a few cars come through. I’m beginning to wonder if there really was an accident at the plant.”
“Did you question the people coming south?”
“My orders were simply to let no one go north.”
Lysenko’s profile, with his pointy chin and upturned nose, suddenly looked foolish. Lazlo wanted to call him what he looked like, but instead he said, “You didn’t question anyone or take names?”
“No. My orders were simply to let no one go north.”
“If you’re still wondering, my fine deputy chief, why there are so few cars, perhaps a bit of logic is in order.”
Lysenko turned and frowned at Lazlo. “What do you mean?”
“One look at a map would tell you the two largest towns up there, Chernobyl and Pripyat, are very near the nuclear facility bordering this road. If there is radioactivity in the area, citizens might be directed away from this road. If you wish to see accident refugees, I suggest you put men on the road from Korosten!”
Lysenko stared at Lazlo in obvious anger, saying nothing.
After Lazlo sped off, Lysenko turned and trotted to the front of the roadblock.
“What did he want?” asked one of the uniformed men.
“He probably wanted to drive the two hours to the nuclear plant so he could make himself into a hero,” said Lysenko.
“But his brother works there. Didn’t you tell him about all the fire trucks and buses sent from Kiev?”
“Why should I tell him anything?”
The uniformed man shook his head, muttering as he walked to one of the green and white militia Zhigulis.
Tamara was correct when she said ministries were gloomy places.
The contrast between fresh outside air and the smell of floor cleaner and polish was apparent. As Lazlo walked quickly down a long hallway, a washerwoman standing on a ladder cleaning portraits turned to stare at him as if humans mattered less than the portraits of the bastards lining the walls. Bastards like Ryzhkov and Chebrikov and even Gorbachev. All bastards who followed the Party line so workers got lost in the woodwork of buildings like this.
The only person available at the Kiev office of the Ministry of Energy was a deputy minister named Mishin who wore thick glasses and spoke with a northern accent.
“You say everything is fine at the plant?” said Lazlo.
“Yes,” said Mishin. “Everything is under control.”
“If everything is under control, why are you here on Sunday?”
“The minister ordered it.”
“What exactly happened at Chernobyl?”
“I must repeat, everything is under control.”
“What about radiation and injuries?”
“We know of none.”
Lazlo felt like asking Mishin to remove his thick glasses so he could flatten his face.
“Pardon me if I seem outspoken, Comrade Deputy Minister, but I have relatives in the region, and I’m trying to determine if they are safe.”
“I know of no injuries or danger to the population. Because of the possibility of gossip developing, I’ve been ordered to quell false rumors. There was a minor incident at one of the reactors at the Chernobyl facility. Everything is under control, and no one is in danger.”
“Who is your minister?”
“His name is on the plaque at the entrance.”
“When will he be here?”
“Tomorrow morning with the rest of the staff. Perhaps by then there will be more news.”
In the lobby Lazlo took out his notebook and copied down the name of the minister of electric power, Viktor Asimov. At first all Lazlo could think of was his friend Viktor from the army. But then he considered the last name and wondered if the Chernobyl stories he was being told were science fiction. The washerwoman on the ladder turned to watch him leave.
Because he had visited Chief Investigator Chkalov’s house for May Day picnics in the past, Lazlo found it without knowing the address.
Chkalov wore a purple satin robe over dress trousers and invited Lazlo into a book-lined study. Chkalov had the housekeeper bring tea, and they sat across fr
om one another in deep leather chairs.
“I understand your concern for your brother and his family, Detective Horvath. I wish I knew more about the situation up there.”
“I spoke with Deputy Chief Investigator Lysenko at a roadblock to the north. He said your orders were to stop northbound traffic.”
Chkalov stirred his tea with a plump finger. “Deputy Chief Investigator Lysenko phoned and said you were at the roadblock. He said you were upset names had not been taken down.”
“Communication to the area is cut off, and no one seems to know what’s happened. The Ministry of Energy insists everything is fine, but I heard a different story while sitting in a restaurant earlier this morning.”
“One rumor leads to another, Detective Horvath. People become upset, perhaps for no reason.”
“I don’t pretend to know the facts,” said Lazlo. “All I’m asking is that names be taken at the roadblocks.”
Chkalov rose and walked about the room with his tea. “Very well, Detective Horvath. I’ll order names be taken down. In the meantime, I need you at one of the roadblocks. Report immediately to the road from Korosten, and check with me tomorrow for further instructions. If the number of people coming south from the Chernobyl area increases, arrangements have been made at the Selskaya collective farm. Two hundred people can be housed there should the need arise.”
While Lazlo sat in the center of the room with his boss circling him like a fat, purple planet, he wondered what else Chkalov knew but refused to reveal.
“Your prime duty at the roadblock will be to make sure your officers do not add to the spread of rumors. For example, one of the men reports the hydrofoil to Pripyat is not running, yet we have no confirmation of this.”
“I must tell you, Chief Investigator, I’ve been to the Ministry of Energy.”
“And?” said Chkalov with a frown.
“I was told everything is under control.”
“Detective Horvath, the overall responsibility for Chernobyl is with the Ministry of Medium Machine Building. Since their office is in Moscow, perhaps things are being controlled from there. Is your brother a senior engineer?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure he knows enough to take care of himself. For now, we must maintain calm in our city by avoiding rumors. Go to headquarters and gather officers for your roadblock at Korosten. Above all, avoid rumors.”
Lazlo would follow his orders. But Chkalov knew more than he was saying, and had acted the way he’d seen Chkalov act when officers were in trouble. When he stopped at his apartment to pick up his pistol on the way to headquarters, Lazlo found a wineglass from the night before set upright on the table. He was certain the glass had been on its side when he and Tamara had left for breakfast. He remembered Tamara wiping at a droplet of wine from the overturned glass with her finger. Someone had been in the apartment since he and Tamara left this morning. At the roadblock, after picking up his officers, there were other things adding to Lazlo’s concern.
First, the number of cars coming from the Chernobyl area was on the rise, and occupants spoke of radiation and asked about the location of Kiev’s hospitals. Second, a black Volga was parked off to the side near the roadblock, the two occupants obviously KGB.
Normally this would not bother Lazlo, but with his apartment being broken into and with Chkalov saying less than he knew, Lazlo knew the KGB might be there to watch who came from the north to escape the radiation, or they might be there to watch him.
It was after noon on a Sunday, and Kievians out for their drives in the country were angry. While Lazlo watched his men arguing with drivers, he remembered the question he had saved for the wine cellar last summer. The question he had not wanted Nina or the children or the other relatives to hear.
What’s wrong at Chernobyl?
Several buses came through the checkpoint as the afternoon wore on. Rather than being from the towns of Pripyat or Chernobyl, the buses had picked up people in outlying areas south of the plant. Some said they were out for a Sunday walk when the bus came by. Others said they were on their way to spend a Sunday in Kiev anyway and welcomed the free ride.
But on one bus there were people from nearer the plant who knew about the accident. This bus overflowed with speculation.
They said Soviet army troops controlled traffic farther to the north.
A woman doctor on the bus, when asked what might be happening, said, “The children will get iodine prophylaxis, and then everything will be fine as long as the children are protected against any radiation. If there is radiation.”
One man on the bus from nearer the plant said the radiation would go north into the Belarussian Republic because of the southerly winds. Another man claimed parents trying to send children away would eventually besiege the railway stations. This same man insisted he saw a long line of buses heading north before he was picked up. A homeless woman wearing rags became hysterical, saying Gorbachev was a devil with a birthmark. A teenaged boy said he was a Young Pioneer and was certain the Pioneers would become involved in any rescue effort.
Lazlo recalled his last visit to Pripyat, when Mihaly wondered if Cousin Zukor could be a spy. If any one of the rumors he heard in a single hour was true, anything could be true.
The day continued with more cars at the checkpoint, more people wanting to go north, but also other cars. Green and white militia Zhigulis, two men in a black Volga watching, a Chaika with yellow fog lights parked up the hill, and a newer Zil, the kind used by high officials.
Do not spread rumors, Chkalov had said. Do not panic. The one thing he wanted to do was jump in his Zhiguli and drive north.
But he knew, from years of experience in the militia, it was too late.
As rumors spread, so do people. He was certain Mihaly and Nina and the girls were by now away from Pripyat. He only hoped they would be here in Kiev before the day was out.
14
“Everyone is leaving,” said Nikolai.
“Not everyone,” said Pavel. “There are still people on the streets.
What about the crowd at the Catholic church?”
“It closed years ago. They use it only for marriage ceremonies and meetings.”
“So, the people are meeting there trying to get information.”
“Or praying because it is their only escape.”
“Why pray when there are buses lined up to take them away?”
“They’re praying they don’t get a drunken bus driver,” said Nikolai. “But seriously, the best thing to do about radioactivity is to get far away. Exactly what we should be doing.”
Pavel and Nikolai sat in the car assigned them by Captain Putna.
Not a Volga like other KGB agents, but a two-year-old Moskvich with an engine clicking like a windup clock as it sat idling off the road across from Juli Popovics’ apartment.
“How long do we stay here?” asked Nikolai. “We know she’s in there because we saw her at the window. We should simply question her, write up a report, and get the hell out of here.”
Anger showed on Pavel’s face as he rocked the steering wheel back and forth with his finger. “If we write up a report on Juli Popovics, we’ll have no further orders to follow. It would mean reporting back to Captain Putna, who might tell us to start questioning every fuckhead citizen in town! Don’t you remember what he said about Major Komarov?”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” said Nikolai.
“If Juli Popovics leaves the area, which I’m sure she will, we’ll be obliged to follow. To put it more plainly for your pea-sized brain, we’ll be able to get out of here without deserting our post, and we’ll be fulfilling our duty. The investigation of this so-called accident.”
“But what if she doesn’t run away?” asked Nikolai.
“She will. Every few minutes either Juli Popovics or her roommate leans close to the window and looks up the road. Someone is coming to pick them up.”
“Maybe they’re looking at the helicopters.”
> “They’re watching the road,” said Pavel. “It has nothing to do with helicopters.”
Nikolai leaned forward, looked up through the windshield.
“There goes another.”
While Pavel and Nikolai sat at the side of the road across from Juli Popovics’ apartment building, an occasional car or truck sped past, heading west on the road from Chernobyl to Pripyat. The cars and trucks were packed with people and did not slow down.
“We always seem to be cooped up together in cramped quarters,” said Pavel. “I guess it’s best we keep the windows closed.”
“We’d be safer in a Volga,” said Nikolai. “This thing leaks like a sieve. Did you see the last car fly past? Everyone was wearing handkerchiefs over their noses and mouths like bandits.”
“I saw,” said Pavel, looking at his wristwatch.
“Here comes another tanker truck washing down the street,” said Nikolai. “What the hell are they spraying? It doesn’t look like water.”
When the truck came out of a side street and turned the corner away from them, white foam trailed behind. Immediately following the tanker was a dump truck. The dump truck stopped, and a man wearing a face mask and covered from head to toe in a jump-suit got out, carrying a shovel. The man ran to the side of the road, lifted what looked like a black rock with the shovel, heaved the rock into the back of the dump truck, and ran back to the cab. The two trucks continued on their way, away from Nikolai and Pavel, who sat staring ahead.
“What the hell was that?” asked Pavel.
“I think it might have something to do with the shitty smell in the air,” said Nikolai. “I’ve read a little bit about our reactors. They use graphite around the core. The explosion was at night when no one would have seen a piece of graphite flying through the air. This could be worse than we’ve been told.”
“But Captain Putna said…”
“What does Captain Putna know about reactors and radiation?”
Farther up the street, the dump truck stopped again, the man covered from head to toe running as he lobbed another black rock into the back of the truck.
Chernobyl Murders lh-1 Page 15
