City of Exiles (9781101607596)

by Nevala-lee, Alec

  She stopped, afraid of overwhelming him with information, but his next question implied that he knew as much about the incident as she did. “How do you explain the radiation?”

  “It might mean nothing.” Wolfe cast her mind back to something that Lewis had told her the day before. “Radiation was found on only one woman’s coat, and it looks like radioactive potassium, which was often used in classroom demonstrations. All the hikers were students or graduates of Ural Polytechnic, so it’s possible that they were just exposed to it in the lab. The one thing I can’t explain is the lights that were seen in the sky that night—”

  “That troubled me as well, when I first read of it,” Ilya said. “But you’re overlooking the simplest explanation. All the accounts agree that the snow that night was heavy. In a snowstorm, it would have been impossible to see anything near the pass. Which implies that the reports of lights—”

  “—were fabrications or mistakes.” Wolfe saw his point. “So they were just another story. Something added to the accounts of the incident long after it actually happened. A rumor. Or a misunderstanding.”

  “And it does nothing but distract you from the fundamental question. Which is—”

  “—why nine experienced hikers just abandoned their tent,” Wolfe said, finally seeing the full picture. “And why they couldn’t return to it.”

  “Exactly.” He paused again. “You mentioned that the victims were all associated with Ural Polytechnic Institute. That’s in Yekaterinburg. Formerly known as Sverdlovsk. What do you know about that city?”

  “Not a lot,” Wolfe said, trying to remember what little she had read. “It was a closed city, with ties to military industry and engineering.”

  “Yes. They produced tanks, armaments, nuclear rockets. There was also a biological weapons facility. It was built after the war, using information from the Japanese germ warfare program. I once went there myself. Many years ago. On an errand in another lifetime—”

  Before he could finish, Wolfe rose from her chair, which rolled backward and struck the wall behind her. At the end of the corridor, the guard glanced up, but she ignored him. “You’re talking about Kamera.”

  She took a step toward the cell, then another, until she was only a few inches from the Judas hole. Through the opening, she smelled the stink of old waste and sweat, and knew that it had to be much worse on the inside. “The poison laboratory of the secret services. They made the poison you used when—”

  Wolfe stopped. A memory appeared in her mind, with terrible clarity, of a man in a hospital room, skin peeling away, eyes glassy with dementia. What had happened to Anzor Archvadze had been bad, one of the worst things she had ever seen, but somehow, she sensed, this was worse.

  Looking into the cell, she thought of the nine hikers who had perished in the snow, and what they might have seen before they died. A waking nightmare, something terrible enough for them to tear open their tent and rush into the cold and darkness. Then, with a chill, she thought of Morley’s last words, and the possibility that the recent murders had been carried out to assemble a device. She bent closer to the hole. “Is this what Karvonen is building?”

  With startling suddenness, Ilya’s face appeared in the opening, just a few inches from her own. She stared. He had been badly beaten. There were streaks of dried blood on his face, and one of his eyes had swollen shut, but the eye that remained open was fixed on hers.

  “Remember the lesson of the calf,” Ilya said. “The truth isn’t always what your eyes are telling you. It isn’t always in words. You’ll be tempted to take it by force. But sometimes you need to surrender. Isaac, they say, saw the chariot when he was bound to the altar, ready to be sacrificed. Which means—”

  Wolfe saw him fall silent, and feared that he would only turn away again. “Yes?”

  “That anyone who loves God truly cannot ask for his love in return.” With that, Ilya withdrew into the darkness, and no matter how much she called, he would not say another word.

  40

  When Powell returned to the jet’s main cabin, his mind was already made up. He was flying across the continent in a corporate jet that had been placed at Chigorin’s disposal by one of his wealthy supporters. The Bombardier aircraft was divided by a bulkhead into two sections, one with regular seats for press and staff, the other with a fully equipped conference space. For obvious reasons of convenience and safety, the grandmaster disliked flying on Aeroflot.

  In the conference area, Chigorin and Stavisky were seated close together, speaking quietly, with the grandmaster’s assistant and security chief stationed nearby. As Powell entered, Chigorin glanced up from his computer, seeming to notice the urgency in his face. “What is it?”

  “I was hoping that we could speak privately,” Powell said. “It’s a matter that concerns you directly.”

  After a pause, Chigorin told his staff members to leave, although Stavisky remained where he was. As the others filed past, Powell caught a suspicious glance from the security chief. He knew that he was not entirely welcome here. They had allowed him to join the entourage on the condition that his presence remain a secret. Otherwise, they feared, it would play badly in the state media, which was always eager to portray Chigorin as a tool of foreign interests.

  Once they were alone, Powell related what Wolfe had told him over the phone, which was that she suspected Karvonen of preparing to deploy a psychotropic weapon. Chigorin and Stavisky listened to his account patiently, breaking in with the occasional question. When he mentioned the possible involvement of the Soviet poison program, he saw them exchange glances.

  “I know it seems hard to credit,” Powell concluded. “But it’s the only hypothesis that fits the information we have. And we have reason to suspect that a similar weapon is being readied against you now.”

  As he spoke, he felt his voice catch slightly. The discovery of the grandmaster’s itinerary on Garber’s computer had only confirmed what everyone already feared. He had been passing information to the intelligence services, and now he had vanished, perhaps because he sensed the agency closing in. It was even possible, Powell thought grimly, that he intended to join Karvonen himself.

  Chigorin was looking out the window, which displayed a view of tufted clouds. “So what do you recommend?”

  “I’d strongly advise you to rethink your plans,” Powell said. “If I were Karvonen, the conference in Helsinki would be the perfect place to make my move. It’s inconvenient, I know, but you should consider canceling your public appearances, at least until we know more about his intentions.”

  Turning away from the view, Chigorin looked at Stavisky. For the second time, Powell saw an unspoken message pass between the two men. At last, Chigorin gave the other man a nod. “Tell him.”

  Powell glanced over at Stavisky, who had been listening in silence. “Tell me what?”

  Stavisky leaned forward in his chair. “We received another batch of materials from our source last night. At the moment, we’re still examining the documents. But there are certain similarities to what you’ve said.”

  “In particular, a few of the files talk about a poison program,” Chigorin said, reaching for his tablet computer. “It’s common knowledge, of course, that such programs existed, designed to develop toxins for biological warfare and assassination. But the documents we have just received, if genuine, imply that such research was far more extensive than was previously known. And they directly implicate Yuri Litvinov, the current head of the FSB.”

  Chigorin handed him the tablet. Looking at the screen, Powell saw that it contained a list of documents in Russian, twelve in all. “And this has something to do with Operation Pepel?”

  “Apparently it was their first great success,” Stavisky said. “Although we still don’t know what it was.”

  Choosing a document at random, Powell opened the file, which turned out to be ano
ther photocopy, a security seal stamped on its first page. “What kind of poison program are we talking about?”

  “Based on the files we’ve seen, it was hugely ambitious,” Stavisky said. “It was the predecessor to a research program called Project Bonfire—”

  “I’ve heard of it,” Powell said, studying the file. “An effort to create a toxin weapon.”

  “Yes. It has been widely discussed in histories of the poison program, but we never knew much about earlier projects, until now.” Stavisky gestured toward the tablet. “What we have here is the first conclusive evidence that these programs go back at least to the period after the war. And Litvinov and other members of state security were directly involved.”

  “As I said, we’re still trying to verify the files,” Chigorin said. “But what they reveal is consistent with what you’ve just told us. There was a neurological weapons program at Yekaterinburg, based on Japanese germ warfare materials captured in Manchuria. And it appears that the researchers there, including Litvinov, engaged in extensive testing on human subjects.”

  Powell felt the pieces come together. “So the Dyatlov Pass could have been a test.”

  “It isn’t mentioned in the files,” Stavisky said. “But, yes, it’s possible. According to the documents, human tests were authorized by Litvinov himself. And he wasn’t the only one. There are dozens of names, many of them ranking members of the security services. So you can see why our contact was so anxious to put the information into our hands. The question now is what to do next.”

  Looking between the two men, Powell understood the excitement in their eyes. The documents that they had received, if authentic, could be a weapon of tremendous political significance. “What do you intend to do?”

  “I say we post them online,” Stavisky said flatly. “If the security services are trying to put a similar operation into effect, the smartest thing would be to make these documents public at once.”

  Chigorin shook his head. “We need to be careful. Once we’ve finished confirming the files, we can proceed. Although—”

  As the grandmaster broke off, Powell sensed that he was torn between the obvious opportunity and his natural caution. The poison program was an issue of great emotional power, and the revelations would be enough to shake the security service to its foundations. All the same, going public with a false story would be equally damaging. Chigorin finally turned to Powell. “What’s your opinion?”

  Powell, who had not expected to be consulted, considered his response carefully. “I can’t recommend anything without more information. I need to see the files first. If you agree to release the documents to my agency in advance of their publication, I can take a closer look.”

  Stavisky was visibly displeased by this, but Chigorin nodded. “Done. What else?”

  “I still believe that it’s dangerous for you to attend the conference in Helsinki,” Powell said. “The machinery for an operation is locking into place. Our best guess is that it involves you. But the choice is yours.”

  Chigorin was silent for a moment. Finally, he stirred and said, “No, the choice is not mine. At least not mine alone.” Turning to the door of the conference area, he raised his voice. “Felix, come in here, please.”

  A moment later, the security chief appeared at the door of the bulkhead. “Yes?”

  “There’s been a slight change,” Chigorin said. “We will land in Helsinki, then file a revised flight plan for departure tomorrow. I won’t be attending the conference, although Stavisky can remain behind if he chooses. I don’t want any formal announcements. As far as the world knows, I’m still on schedule. But I’ll be flying to Moscow in the morning.”

  The security chief frowned at this. “Can I ask why we’re making the change?”

  Chigorin glanced at Stavisky. “I need to speak with the leaders of the coalition. We’ll schedule a meeting at my apartment in Arbat. But we can discuss this later. In the meantime, please tell the captain.”

  The security chief nodded, then headed for the cockpit. Once he was gone, Chigorin turned to Powell. “This is your decision, of course, but I would like you to come with us. If you prefer, you can fly home from Helsinki. But your presence would be welcomed in Moscow.”

  Powell was surprised by the request. As he considered it, he was aware of Stavisky’s eyes on his face, watching him suspiciously. He was about to decline the offer, knowing that he would be needed at home, but then saw that he really had no choice. If Wolfe could get so close to Ilya, he thought, then perhaps it was time for him to make some new friends as well. “I’ll come.”

  “Good,” Chigorin said. “I’ll arrange for the documents to be sent to your agency.”

  “I’ll let them know, then.” Powell rose and headed for the front of the plane, taking out his phone to call Wolfe. It would be good for her, he thought, to work on something tangible for a change. When he read her reports, it struck him that the creatures of Ezekiel’s vision, with their four monstrous faces, were far less terrible than what men could do to themselves.

  Dialing her number, he brought the phone to his ear. As he did, he felt the plane shift, and his eye was caught by the view from the window. The clouds had parted, and in the distance, as perfect as a child’s scale model, he saw the city below. They were descending to Helsinki.

  41

  That night, Karvonen began to make his final preparations. Word of the change in plans had reached him that afternoon. Now that the timeline had been moved up, it was tempting to hurry, but instead, he forced himself to slow down, focusing entirely on the task at hand.

  Seating himself at the bench in Laila’s basement, he laid the components across the table, under the magnifying lamp. He would be working from memory, since the original plans had long since been destroyed. Before consigning the film and prints to the fire, however, he had studied them closely, to the point where he could almost perform the necessary steps in his sleep.

  In any case, this part of the process was not difficult. He took the cell phone that Laila had provided, slid off the battery door, and removed the internal battery and card. Using a small screwdriver, he unfastened the screws holding the body together and pried apart the plastic case, exposing the phone’s inner workings. Inside, nestled in a protective metal brick, was the speaker, no larger than a hearing aid. He pried this out as well, revealing a pair of leads.

  Using the soldering kit that he had purchased two days before, he connected the leads to a pair of wires, marking them carefully. He snapped the case back on, threading the wires out through an opening in the center. Then he put the phone back together, allowing the wires to hang freely.

  Among the electronic parts that he had bought upon his arrival was a small thyristor, a component that would continue to conduct current until its power source was shut off. He soldered one of its pins to a battery pack, which had a switch that could be slid off or on, then attached the wires from the phone. A second set of wires went to a pair of alligator clips.

  Karvonen studied the result. What he had put together was a very simple detonator. When the phone rang, a pulse was sent through the leads to the wires. Current would pass from there to the thyristor, creating a latching circuit. The current thus generated could be used to activate any number of things, including the device that he had assembled, which he now brought out from under the bench.

  Most of the assembly was already done. The night before, he had locked the two canisters into place inside the gray plastic sphere, the top hemisphere of which was threaded so that it could be unscrewed and removed. Then he had mounted the sphere to the plastic case that contained the remaining components, as well as the magnets that would later be used to secure the device.

  As he prepared to wire everything together, he heard three knocks on the door at the top of the stairs, then the sound of a key in the lock. He glanced up as Laila’s slender legs
came into view, followed shortly by the rest of her. She approached the workbench, then halted. “Is it done?”

  “Not quite,” Karvonen said. “Sit down. There are a few things I need to show you.”

  Laila pulled up a stool, watching as he made the final adjustments. A pair of labeled wires already protruded from the base of the device. He attached these wires to the clips from the detonator, then used electrical tape to bind the whole thing together, including the phone.

  Karvonen took a moment to regard the result. It was, in fact, not exactly a thing of beauty, its three separate pieces cobbled together with layers of tape. From an aesthetic point of view, it offended his Finnish eye for elegance in design. It was typical, he thought, of the vulgarity of the Russian mind, like the bomb that had been thrown at Tsar Alexander.

  All the same, he knew that there were sound reasons for using this particular method. And the device’s beauty was somehow increased by the fact that so many men, and one woman, had died for its sake.

  Laila, as if sensing the importance of the moment, spoke softly. “Can I hold it?”

  “Of course,” Karvonen said. He handed it to her gently, watching as she enfolded it in her hands. “Is everything ready?”

  Laila answered without taking her eyes from the device. “The weather report calls for snow. I was afraid it would delay the operation, but it looks like everything will be on schedule.”

  “I’ll show you what to do, then.” Taking back the device, he indicated the switch on the battery pack. “You need to slide this to the on position before placing it. Otherwise it won’t work. The magnets at the bottom will lock it inside the mix manifold. I’ll make the call when the time is right.”

  From the floor beside the workbench, he took a padded nylon case. He slid the assembled device inside, closed the case, and handed it to Laila. Then he cleared the bench of materials and followed her upstairs.