Afterward, she pedaled through the darkness toward the bright lights of Reactor 4.
CHAPTER 38
NADIA STRADDLED THE bicycle at the junction to the village center. A sign warned all unauthorized personnel to leave.
A barbed-wire fence surrounded the Chernobyl Power Station. Floodlights burst with light. The sarcophagus and chimneys loomed in the background. A guard smoked beside his booth at the entrance.
Nadia checked her watch: 9:25.
A monument beside the power station displayed six firefighters lugging a hose to put out the reactor fire. They were not wearing respirators or hazard suits. In the monument, a globe was fixed to the side of the reactor smokestack. It looked like a miniature replica of the New York City Unisphere from the World’s Fair.
A door crashed open. Raucous laughter. A hip-hop beat.
Nadia followed the sound. A hundred yards away was a small square building that resembled an emergency military barracks.
The café. Built for workers who still labored in the village and the power plants in the center of the Zone.
She waited until the guard turned to walk back to his booth and pedaled to the side of the café. Leaned her bicycle against the wall, set her cell phone to vibrate, and stepped inside.
She gagged. Cigarette smoke hung in the air as though fire were leaking from beyond its walls. Rap music pounded from small suspended speakers. The beat was American, but the words were Ukrainian. Laughter and conversation spilled from one clique to another and filled the room. She looked around for an older man, but there were a half dozen possible candidates.
Slicing her way into the far corner, she counted thirty to forty people, split evenly between the sexes. Most wore camouflage uniforms or warm-ups. One couple danced dirty in the center of the room, lips and hips mashed together.
Nadia ordered a beer from an agreeable bartender. As she sipped it, a series of men stood up at a long table and raised toasts to a pair of newlyweds. Champagne flowed from multiple bottles.
One of the men saw her and did a double take. Nadia cringed. She looked away and stepped to her left to try to hide behind a burly Cossack downing shots of horilka.
“Hey, you can’t drink alone,” he said, rushing up to her. He had Einstein hair, a spindly body, and a lovable nerd’s face fully equipped with black-rimmed Superman glasses. “Haven’t seen you here before, kotiku.” The literal translation of the popular Ukrainian endearment was “kitty.” “What’s your name? Where are you from? Where have you been all my life?”
Nadia smiled and nodded toward the table. “I think the party’s over there, not here.”
He grinned. “You won’t get rid of me that easy, kotiku. My name is Karel. What is yours?”
“My name is Nadia.”
“Nadia, Panya. My beauty. First time in the Zone?”
“How can you tell?”
He laughed and tapped his nose. “The Zone knows its own. Where are you from? Who are you with?”
Nadia followed the script she’d written with Hayder and Anton. “I’m a newspaper reporter from New York City.” The media had helped the Green Revolution succeed. They would respect and admire an American newspaper reporter.
His eyes lit up even more. “A reporter? From New York City? Your Ukrainian is excellent.” He grabbed Nadia by the crook of her elbow and dragged her to the table.
“Look, everyone,” he said, as though she were a major celebrity, “a friend from New York City.”
The table exploded with cheers. She searched the faces, looking for a welcoming smile on the face of an older man. An amiable fellow raised a toast to America, the bastion of freedom and free enterprise. Someone shoved a glass of champagne into Nadia’s hands. She sipped some, knowing it would be an insult to do otherwise.
Everyone drank to the bottom, set their glasses down, and looked expectantly at her.
Nadia felt herself blush. Glanced at Karel. “Should I raise a toast?” she whispered.
“Better you tell us a joke,” he said loudly, so that everyone could hear.
The table roared with approval. “A joke. A joke. Give us an American joke,” they said.
Nadia scoured her mind for something funny to say. Only one idea came to mind. “How many actors does it take to change a lightbulb?”
She waited a beat.
“Three,” she said. “One to change the bulb, and two to say, ‘That could be me up there.’”
For reasons beyond her comprehension, the translation from English didn’t work. She got a few chuckles, but no guffaws.
“That joke doesn’t work in the Zone,” Karel said with mock seriousness. “Because there is no electricity. So the lightbulb never goes on.”
The table exploded. Karel buckled with laughter.
Nadia waved good luck to the newlyweds as Karel pulled her back to a spot in the corner. He nestled her beer glass back in her hands and ordered a brandy from the bar.
“So what did you learn about the Zone today?” he said.
Nadia considered her answer. “I’m not sure. I saw a lynx in a condemned hotel today. A big, beautiful wild cat. You tell me what that means.”
Karel stuck out his chest. “It’s one of the world’s best-kept secrets. The Zone is the greatest wildlife preserve in Europe, and the second best in the entire former Soviet Union.”
“You’re kidding me. How is that possible?” Nadia said.
“The common theory is that the absence of man has triumphed over the presence of radioactivity. We have formerly extinct species of wild boar and lynx. Wild horses roam the steppe. Storks nest low, unafraid of human predators. Insects, birds, wolves, rodents. We have species we never had before. Like the lynx. We have species the world hasn’t seen for a century.”
“That is amazing,” Nadia said. “Has word gotten out about this? Do you have poachers hunting for these animals?”
Karel’s right eye twitched. “Poachers? Here? No,” he said, swatting the idea away. “Sometimes a drunken idiot may go after a wild boar for sport, but that is all. There is no crime in the Zone.”
His brandy arrived. He knocked back a third right away and ended up pressed against the side of Nadia’s hip. She tried to retreat, but her back was already up against the wall.
“So what do you do, Karel? And who are all these people?”
“I am a zoologist,” he said. He gestured toward the newlyweds with drunken inaccuracy. “The others at our table are botanists and scientists who conduct ecological experiments for the government.” He motioned toward the men and women in camos. “Then there are the scientists who work in the Shelter.”
“The Shelter?”
“The sarcophagus that covers Unit Four. Here, we call it the Shelter.”
“Ah.”
“No one knows what those people really do in the Shelter. All we know about one another is that we are all volunteers. None of us have to be here. But there is no other place that we would rather be.”
Nadia looked around the café. The party was devoid of pretension. People were just plain having fun.
Nadia raised her beer. “To the Zone,” she said, and clinked her glass against Karel’s snifter.
“To the Zone.”
They finished their drinks. Nadia glanced at her watch. It was 10:17. Hayder was due in thirteen minutes.
Karel leaned into her unsteadily, his breath reeking. “I will share a secret with you, if you share one with me.” He pulled back and did a little jig in place with eager anticipation.
Nadia laughed. “Okay.”
He leaned forward. “There may be a little crime in the Zone.” He raised his right hand and left an inch gap between thumb and forefinger. “Just a little,” he whispered.
Nadia laughed again. “If there is more than one human being in a place, there will be crime. Now, let me think. What kind of secret can I tell you?”
Karel raised a drunken finger. “I have a suggestion.” He leaned into her ear one more time. “True or false.
You are not really a reporter, are you?”
“What? Of course I am. Why do you say that?”
His voice shed its alcoholic tinge. “Because your name is Nadia Tesla and you have come to see a man named Damian about the fate of the free world.”
CHAPTER 39
KIRILO MARCHED DOWN the pier at the Yalta Yacht Club flanked by the two bodyguards who had accompanied him on the helicopter from Kyiv. Splashes of moonlight shimmered on the Black Sea.
A pair of identical twins chatted up a trio of girls beside his neighbor’s yacht. They were tall, with golden hair and sparkling smiles, young posers who would benefit from a conversation with his cattle prod, like his scumbag future son-in-law.
He boarded his eighty-two-foot yacht and took a deep breath. “Isabella?” he called.
Pavel appeared on the main deck. “Still no sign of her, Boss.”
“Something’s wrong. Something’s happened to her.”
“How can you be sure, Boss? She might be out with friends or at a movie.”
“We have a pact. She never turns her cell phone off. And if she’s late, she always calls.” He glanced at his diamond-studded watch. “She was supposed to be here at nine o’clock for a late supper. To discuss the meeting with the wedding planner tomorrow. She’s an hour late. Did you call her best friends? Ivanka and Marta?”
Pavel shook his head.
“Why not? Call them. Call them now, dammit.” He started toward his office and stopped. “Anything on the taxi driver?”
“Not yet,” Pavel said. “We’re working on it.”
Kirilo looked out at the water. A green dinghy floated freely ten meters from his yacht.
“Look,” Kirilo said, pointing at the rowboat. “Those idiots at the club let one get away again. It’s going to hit us.” When Pavel didn’t react, he said, “It’s going to hit us, I tell you. Is anyone on this boat awake, or should I just have all of you shot and thrown overboard?”
Pavel and a crewman rushed starboard. Kirilo stomped to his office port side and locked the door behind him. The stereo dispensed a soothing dose of Mozart. The television monitor, linked to his computer, projected a portrait of Isabella at age sixteen. Reluctant eyes and unblemished cheeks, hands demurely folded in her lap.
Pictures lied. Isabella wasn’t all that. Daughters lied. She hated the pearls, thought they were a joke. Mozart lied. Life was no symphony.
Kirilo removed his coat with the cattle prod tucked in its lining and hung it on the rack in the corner. Released the latch to his bathroom.
The stench hit him. It couldn’t be. He sniffed again. Did one of the crewmen have the gall to use his private bathroom? If he found out which one, he’d kill him tonight.
Kirilo opened the door. A withered old man sat fully dressed on the toilet bowl, arms folded across his chest. He looked like a cigarette butt that needed to be stomped out.
Kirilo froze. Victor? Victor Bodnar? On his yacht? In his bathroom?
“Greetings, cousin,” Victor said. “My men have your daughter. Isabella will die if I don’t walk off this boat unharmed within thirty minutes. Do we understand each other?”
Kirilo burst inside and wrapped his hands around Victor’s neck. Lifted him up and off the toilet bowl. Victor’s feet dangled six centimeters in the air. Kirilo squeezed with all his might.
“Your father was a bitch, and so you are you,” Kirilo said through clenched teeth. Victor grabbed Kirilo’s wrists, but it was no match. His cousin had the grip of a daisy. The bitch was as good as dead.
Victor’s cheeks inflated. His face turned purple.
Kirilo eased his grip a bit. Victor gulped air.
“Breathe, bitch. Breathe,” Kirilo said, struggling to catch his own breath. “Don’t die just yet. No, no. I’m going to enjoy this over a span of an hour, or two, or seven. Only then will you die.”
Victor opened his mouth. “Isabella,” he said.
Kirilo’s eyes fell on the television monitor outside the bedroom: Isabella. Victor had her.
Kirilo released his grip.
A knock on the office door.
“Everything okay in there, Boss?”
Kirilo hustled to the door and unlocked it. Pavel stepped inside.
“Help me get this man to the sofa,” Kirilo said.
They rushed to the bathroom, where Victor lay on the tile, panting.
“Who is he, Boss? Where did he come from? How did he get on board?”
Pavel and Kirilo lifted Victor by his shoulders and carried him to the couch.
“He snuck on board when you were or weren’t watching,” Kirilo said. “You wouldn’t have seen him either way. He’s a pickpocket. He’s a thief. He’s the shadow on the street.”
While Victor recovered, Pavel brought them tumblers of single-malt scotch and tall glasses of ice water. He closed the door behind him as Kirilo instructed.
“Here, cousin,” Kirilo said, handing him the water and the scotch. “Drink. Drink.”
Victor drank the water and sipped the scotch. He coughed and repeated. Reclined on the cushions and sighed.
“Where is Isabella?” Kirilo said.
“She is safe,” Victor said.
“Safe? What does that mean, safe? Where are you hiding her? Has someone touched her? Is she hurt? Has anyone looked at her the wrong way?”
“She hasn’t been touched. I’ve been gone a long time, but even an old man has friends in his homeland. The men who are helping me are professional.”
“Why have you done this?”
“Why did you send an assassin to kill me?”
“You know why.”
“Why now? After all these years?”
“Think of it as a gift to myself on my daughter’s wedding. I don’t want you to die a natural death.”
“Well, I do want to die a natural death. That is one of the reasons I’ve taken your daughter.”
“What’s the other reason?”
“You’ve met my business partner, Misha Markov. He intends to cut me out of this money we’re chasing. I want us to put our animosities aside—for now. I want you to keep me involved in this Tesla thing.”
“That’s all?”
Victor sipped his scotch and then cracked a smile. “Almost. I want you to also consider a simple mathematical fact.”
“What?”
“Ten million divided by two is greater than ten million divided by three.”
“You want me to kill your business partner?” Kirilo knocked back some scotch, put his tumbler down, and scratched his chin. “No, that I cannot do. I have no love for him. After all, he’s a moscal. But it would not be good for business. He’s an important man with important contacts. Someone could be out revenue because of his death, and I don’t need the aggravation. No, there has to be a good reason to kill him, and there isn’t one. And besides, I’m not a barbarian.”
“Of course not,” Victor said dryly. “When you die, they’re going to bury you with the saints in the Caves Monastery.”
A spasm ripped through Kirilo’s back. “Don’t even mention that place to me. Back to my daughter.”
“Isabella will be returned to you unharmed.”
“How do I know you won’t kill her after you get your money?”
“You have my word. A thief doesn’t lie to another thief.”
“I need proof that she is well.”
“You have my word.”
“I need proof.”
“My word is good. You know that.”
Kirilo grunted. It was true. Victor was a thief. Under the certain circumstances, he could become a killer. But he would never lie to another vor.
“Where is the Tesla woman?” Victor said. “Where do we stand?”
The impulse to strangle the bitch seized Kirilo again. He took a deep breath to calm himself before briefing Victor. He had no choice. Isabella’s rant about her mother’s pearls faded to a distant memory. He longed only to hold her in his arms again.
CHAPTER 40
Back against the wall, Nadia smiled. She wrapped her arms around Karel’s waist and moved in for a kiss. His eyes widened with shock and confusion. When her lips came within an inch of his, she swung him around.
Nadia spun out of the corner. Karel fell into it. His back pressed against the wall. Hers pointed toward the exit. The dominant American woman was asserting herself in barroom foreplay. Nothing unusual. Wasn’t the American woman always on top?
“Who are you?” Nadia said, hands around his neck.
“What?” Karel glanced around furtively to make sure no one was listening. He whispered. “I told you. I am Karel. I’m just a zoologist—”
Nadia gripped his Adam’s apple with the first three fingers of her right hand, her body obscuring the act from everyone’s view.
Karel tensed.
“I’m not asking you who you are,” Nadia said. “I’m asking you, who are you? Who sent you? How do you know me?”
“Your uncle sent me. Damian sent me.”
Nadia squeezed. “Why?”
Karel rose to his tiptoes. “Because he’s ill. He couldn’t come to the meet himself.”
“What meet? The meet here, at the bar?”
“No. The meet in Pripyat. At the Hotel Polissya. I got there early and saw the poacher. I knew the meeting was a bust. So I came here. For the party. I was planning to tell Damian later, and he would set up another meeting through the woman.”
“Woman? What woman?”
“The boy’s aunt. She speaks English. Seelick. Clementine Seelick.”
Nadia released her grip. Karel swallowed and massaged his throat. Nadia checked her watch. It was 10:33. She was three minutes late for her rendezvous with Hayder.
She studied Karel. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“What is your relationship with my uncle?” she said.
He looked her in the eye and spat the words out with conviction. “He’s my friend.”
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