“No, not SVR. I wouldn’t give to Russians. It was for the SBU,” Alyona said, looking up.
“They false-flagged her,” Scorpion said. “She thought she was spying for the SBU, but it was Gabrilov, the SVR.”
“Why?” Iryna said to her. “Didn’t we treat you like one of our own?”
“I loved you,” Alyona said, grabbing Iryna’s hand. “You are the hope of our country, especially for women. I didn’t want to do it. Please believe me.” She kissed Iryna’s hand.
“Why did you do it?” Scorpion asked. He had spotted a militsiyu van behind him in the rearview mirror. He drove carefully, keeping them in sight. They couldn’t afford to be stopped. Not now! He breathed a sigh of relief when the van turned off toward the university.
“My brother, Stepan,” Alyona said, looking down.
“The one in Pavlovka, the mental hospital?” Iryna said.
“You know?!” Alyona said, her eyes wide.
Iryna nodded. “You were afraid?”
“They said they would release him. My maty cannot take care of him. He is very bad. I was afraid . . . And now there is no Dimitri! He is gone.” She looked at them, her eyes wet.
“So we had two assassins: Pyatov and Shelayev,” Scorpion said. “Who was Pyatov supposed to kill?”
“It was a secret,” Alyona said. “Pyatov would kill Davydenko, and Cherkesov would blame it on the Kozhanovskiy campaign.”
“Sure,” Scorpion said. “Cherkesov puts it out that he was the target. He gets a sympathy vote boost, destroys Kozhanovskiy, and he gets rid of a rival, all at the same time. Meanwhile Gorobets schemes to get rid of Cherkesov first. Quite a nest of vipers, Svoboda.”
“Sirhiy was a fool. I tried to tell him. He wouldn’t listen.”
“The blood in your apartment. Where did it come from?” Scorpion asked.
“It was Dimitri’s idea. I used my own blood. It was my time of the month. It had my DNA. Dimitri said if people thought I was dead it would protect me.”
She was breathing heavily, speaking in spurts. Scorpion knew she could go into shock any second. He had to get her medical help soon. He sped up, despite the chance it might attract the politsiy.
“Did Shelayev put the bomb in Cherkesov’s car?” he asked. “It would have been easier for him than anyone. He was Gorobets’s security man.”
“I didn’t know. He told me Cherkesov had to be stopped. He had learned something.”
“What was it?”
“He didn’t tell,” Alyona cried, burying her face on Iryna’s shoulder.
“Where’s Dimitri now?” Scorpion asked. Shelayev had the answer to the riddle. He was also the only evidence, Scorpion thought that would prove that he and Iryna had nothing to do with Cherkesov’s assassination and maybe stop the war. Producing him alive was the only chance they had.
“I don’t know,” Alyona said. “He wouldn’t say. Only that when it was safe, if he was still alive, he would come for me.” She grabbed Iryna’s hands. “If he did this, he had a reason.”
“We need to talk to him,” Iryna said. “Everyone thinks we killed Cherkesov,” indicating herself and Scorpion.
“I don’t know where he is. He was protecting me,” Alyona said. She took out a cigarette, but her hands were shaking so much that once again Iryna had to light and hold it for her. Alyona inhaled and spoke with a shaky voice. She was breathing heavily, almost panting. Scorpion thought she might pass out any minute. “He said . . . he going . . . where no one . . . find him. I wanted . . . go . . . but my maty . . .”
“Your maty,” Iryna said. “She’s gone. I’m sorry.”
Alyona whimpered. Her eyes were shiny, but she didn’t cry. Scorpion guessed she had been through so much she was numb. Iryna gave him directions.
They went across a bridge over a frozen inlet of the Dnieper. The clinic was on the northern outskirts of the city; fields of snow stretched into the distance. To the right, he saw the clinic standing by itself, a yellow ambulance parked by the entrance. He drove into the parking lot and parked at the back of the building.
They helped Alyona out of the car. She couldn’t walk. Scorpion picked her up and carried her. They knocked at the back door until a nurse let them in. Iryna spoke to her, gave her money, and the nurse led them to a private examining room. Scorpion laid Alyona down on the examining table.
A minute later the nurse came back with a doctor, a middle-aged man with a jowly neck. His badge read: DR. YAKOVENKO. He took one look at Alyona, then at Iryna and Scorpion.
“Ya znayu, chto vy,” he said to Iryna in Russian. I know you. “You’re wanted by the militsiyu.” He started toward the door. Scorpion stood in his way, showed him the Glock.
“You’re a doctor. She needs help. I’ll give you five hundred if you keep quiet about this,” he said in Russian.
“Otvali,” Dr. Yakovenko muttered. Go to hell. But he went over to examine Alyona. His expression changed when he saw the cuts and bruises. He turned on Scorpion.
“Did you do this?”
Scorpion shook his head no.
Iryna touched the doctor’s arm. “Someone else. He saved her,” she said, indicating Scorpion.
Frowning, Dr. Yakovenko went back to examining Alyona. He pressed her abdomen and she cried out in pain. He shook his head and after a moment sent the nurse out, telling her to get the operating room ready and start an antibiotic drip.
“We have to operate,” he told them. “She’s bleeding internally. If we don’t act immediately, she’ll go into shock. Who did this to her?” he snapped.
“Black Armbands,” Iryna said. “An aide to Oleksandr Gorobets.”
“I don’t believe you.” He looked at Iryna and Scorpion. “By law, I should notify the politsiy.”
“If you do, they’ll kill her,” Scorpion said. “Probably you too. They don’t want witnesses.”
“So you say,” the doctor replied, examining Alyona’s external wounds. “These are less serious. If you didn’t do anything, why are the politsiy after you?”
“If you know who I am,” Iryna said, “you know there are people who would do anything to stop me. Anything. Ask her. She knows it wasn’t us who killed Cherkesov.”
“Is this true?” he asked Alyona.
She looked at him as if from a far distance, but finally nodded.
“Here’s a thousand,” Scorpion said, handing him money. “Be a doctor. We’ll keep you and your staff out of this. If we’re in danger, so are you.”
“You really think—” Dr. Yakovenko started. “Hivno, shit,” he said, rushing to Alyona, whose eyes were turning up. “Medsestra!” he shouted. Nurse! “She’s going into shock.”
The first nurse rushed into the room, followed by two more nurses with a gurney. In seconds they had moved Alyona onto the gurney and were rushing her to the operating room.
Scorpion and Iryna settled down to wait in a small waiting room by the nurses’ station. The TV was on. It showed movements of soldiers and tanks, then cut to a conference room and a reporter outside a government building. The reporter was talking rapidly and there was a news crawl at the bottom.
“What’s it say?” Scorpion asked.
“ ‘NATO warns Russia not to violate Ukrainian sovereignty. Ukraine mobilizes for war. American forces in Europe are on full alert,’ ” she read. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re at a dead end,” Scorpion said. “She says she doesn’t know where Shelayev is. If he didn’t tell her, he didn’t tell anyone. Without him, we have nothing.”
“Actually, she did tell us,” Iryna said, lighting a cigarette. “I think I know where Shelayev is.”
Chapter Thirty
Chernobyl
Chernobylska Exclusion Zone
“Damy i gospoda takzhe, ladies and also dear gentlemen, on night of twenty-six April of 1986, at one hour and twenty-three in morning,” the InterInform guide, a bulky man with a reddish-brown goatee, Denys—Call me Dennis—said, “under supervise of Alexandr Akimov
, chief engineer night shift, is starting safety test of shutting down of reactor chetyre number four.”
Scorpion was sitting in a classroomlike conference room in the Tourist Office in Chernobyl, a village at the second or inner checkpoint, some ten kilometers out from the nuclear reactor site. With him were three couples—a pair of male backpackers from Munich; two British women, Sarah and Millicent from East Putney; and an American couple, the Dowds, retirees from Maryland—who were set to take the tour.
In the early hours of the morning, while it was still dark, he had left the clinic. Dr. Yakovenko had managed to stop Alyona’s abdominal bleeding. Iryna stayed with her, registering Alyona under a false name. As soon as she knew Alyona was stable, Iryna would be meeting with Viktor Kozhanovskiy. They would try to buy some time for Scorpion to find Shelayev. No more than forty-eight hours, Iryna had insisted. Even trying to negotiate that much time with Gorobets and the Russians was going to be nearly impossible.
Overnight, Russia’s president, Evgeni Brabov, had reacted to what he called the “NATO ultimatum and Ukrainian provocations,” by declaring Russia would protect Russian “nationals” and Russian borders, even if it meant war. “Russia is not intimidated and will not be intimidated. Russia will defend her people,” he had declared in a televised speech to the Duma in a rare night session, a clip of which was being replayed around the world.
The UN Security Council was meeting in emergency session, where Russia had threatened to veto any action that did not support the legitimate right of Russia to defend itself and her people, including ethnic Russians in the former Soviet Union. In reaction to what was happening in Europe, China had raised the readiness level of the People’s Army. Other nations were beginning to react as well. Iran sent warships into the Persian Gulf.
Before he left Kyiv, Scorpion decided to try the dead drop in Pechersk Landscape Park one last time. The Company had written him off, but all hell was breaking loose and there was a chance they were trying to reach him.
The park was deserted in the icy darkness. When he got to the top of the steps down to the amphitheatre, he saw it: a ribbon tied on the lamppost. He released the ribbon, tossed it away, and dug through the frozen earth under the bench to retrieve a cell phone left in the spike.
Sheltering in the trees from the bone-chilling wind, he called the cell phone’s only preset number. Someone picked up on the second ring.
“Are you still GTG?” someone said, meaning good to go, operational. It was Shaefer, and despite the early hour, he didn’t sound sleepy. Something was up. The CIA needed him again.
“Didn’t know you still cared,” Scorpion said, pulling his collar closer around him against the wind. The Company had cut him loose, and he wasn’t about to let them forget it.
“Who says I care?” Shaefer said. Then with a different tone: “Mucho has changed, bro. You still dealing with our Asian amigos?”
Akhnetzov must’ve forwarded his earlier suspicions about Li Qiang and the Guoanbu to Rabinowich, Scorpion realized. The CIA was a couple of critical steps behind.
“It was a surkh fish. You five by five?” he said, using the Urdu word for red that he knew Shaefer would know from their time in Pakistan, meaning the Chinese were a false trail, a “red herring,” and asking if Shaefer copied.
“Romeo that,” Shaefer said, meaning he got it. “So who killed JR? Do you know?” asking who was really behind the assassination of Cherkesov.
“Yes.”
“I’m all ears,” Shaefer said. Scorpion pictured him sitting up ramrod straight in bed, fingers hitting his keyboard to connect to Langley.
“It was an inside job.”
“Inside as in inside Freedom?” The name in English of the Svoboda party.
“You’re getting warmer.”
“Can you prove it? Maybe get us off the hook?” Shaefer asked, and Scorpion could hear the tension in his voice. Washington must be going ballistic over the crisis.
“I need forty-eight hours.”
“Man, don’t you watch TV? We don’t have forty-eight hours,” Shaefer said.
“Find it,” Scorpion said, and hung up. They’d hung him out to dry, and now he was telling them he knew who the real assassin was and there was a chance he could stop the war if they could delay forty-eight hours. They could try, he thought grimly. If there was one thing Washington knew how to do, it was delay.
Leaving the park, he drove north on the P2 highway from Kyiv. Along the way, he got rid of the cell phone and SIM he had used to call Shaefer, tossing them separately in empty fields miles apart. Shaefer had sounded desperate. That could mean only one thing. Washington had decided to call Russia’s bluff.
The day broke cold and gray. By the time he reached the small town of Sukachi, some eighty kilometers north of Kyiv, the road was a beat-up two-lane and traffic had disappeared. The landscape was like the Arctic, an endless expanse of white, the road bordered by rusty fences and dead grasses sticking out of the snow.
He stopped for breakfast at a roadside trailer that doubled as the town’s only restaurant. Breakfast was hrechany, a chicken soup thick with buckwheat, plus tea and black bread. The woman behind the counter told him she had been born in Pripyat, but her family had moved down to Sukachi when she was a teenager because of the radiation. On an impulse, Scorpion bought a bottle of Nemiroff horilka to take with him.
He reached the Exclusion Zone border at Dytyatky. Ukrainian militsiyu soldiers manned a checkpoint that stretched across the main street of the town. He stepped inside the checkpoint building and showed them his passport and InterInform Chernobyl tour receipt and brochure. They had him sign a release in Ukrainian and English stating that he knew that by entering the Chernobylska Exclusion Zone he might be endangering his health. The soldier behind the counter told him it was another thirty kilometers from Dytyatky to the nuclear power plant. There would be a second checkpoint at the town of Chernobyl, ten kilometers out from the reactor. He would have to leave his vehicle there and join the tour. When he returned to Dytyatky, he would be tested for radiation.
Scorpion drove beyond Dytyatky toward Chernobyl. The landscape was empty; only an occasional abandoned farmhouse and snow. He wondered if the snow was radioactive and decided it was. He had the car radio tuned to news in Russian but could only understand a fraction of what he heard.
He was supposed to get a dosimeter to wear when he got to Chernobyl and wished he had it now. A leaflet from InterInform had stated that normal background radiation around the world averaged twelve to fourteen microroentgens. Inside the Exclusion Zone around Chernobyl, the background radiation had decayed over the years to an average of twenty, exposure equivalent to a transatlantic flight. But this was only an average; actual radiation varied greatly from one place to another. The real danger was in hot spots in various locations.
He turned on his cell phone’s iPlayer app to get the news from the BBC. The tinny voice of a British announcer came on.
“The crisis in the Ukraine has grown more serious following Russia’s veto in the Security Council of a U.S.-led resolution for a withdrawal of all military units to a distance of twenty kilometers from both sides of the Russian-Ukraine frontier. The Pentagon announced today that the American military has been ordered to a DEFCON-1 level, the highest level indicating war is imminent.
“In London, the prime minister told Parliament that Britain stands with the United States and NATO in this dangerous hour. Within the NATO alliance, member nations are still debating their response. Both France and Germany continue to express reservations about a military response to Russia’s actions, citing their concern that Ukraine is not an official member of NATO, but only a participant in the NATO Membership Action Plan, and that since the breakup of the Soviet Union, the status of ethnic Russians and the Russian-speaking minorities in former satellite nations such as Ukraine have been issues of contention. The Italian representative, Mr. Vincenzo Cassiani, told the BBC that we may be seeing the end of the NATO alliance.
> “In the meantime in the Ukraine, it has been reported that one of the leading candidates for president in the election that sparked the crisis, Mr. Viktor Kozhanovskiy, has approached his opponent, Mr. Lavro Davydenko, with a suggestion that they meet to try to hammer out a joint statement regarding the steps Ukraine is prepared to take to deal with the crisis. Mr. Davydenko was selected as a replacement candidate by the Svoboda party leadership following the assassination of that party’s candidate, Yuriy Cherkesov. So far, there has been no response from Mr. Davydenko’s representatives.”
Iryna, Scorpion thought, unable to keep an image of her naked in bed, her breast barely touching his arm, out of his mind. She was trying to buy him time.
A shape darted in front of the Volkswagen and he slammed on his brakes, just missing it. The car fishtailed and swerved, coming to a stop in a snow pile on the side of the road. He saw a wild boar crash into the underbrush. The boar disappeared in the woods. Radioactive boars, he thought. What’s next?
The four-wheel drive got him out of the snow and moving again to the second military checkpoint at the town of Chernobyl. Many of the streets were overgrown with trees and foliage. It was a small town, easy to find your way around. The Tourist Office was a two-story building just beyond a strange-looking steel monument.
“The test begin normal,” Denys—Call me Dennis—said, sitting on a table next to a slide projector showing images from the 1986 disaster. “Steam to turbines is shut down and turbines is begin to slow down. At 1:23:40 Operations Engineer Leonid Toptunov is starting ‘SCRAM’; test emergency shutdown of reactor number 4. Power level is stable at two hundred megawatts. Too low. Also, main computer, SKALA, is shut off. Why they go forward with low power and no computer is not clear. What happens now is big controversy, big mystery. We cannot ask either Akimov or Toptunov, because soon both men and everyone in room is being dead from radiation. Toptunov push EPS-5 button; cause insertion of all control rods into core, even manual control rods. Why he do this? Is only for ultimate emergency. We will never know for sure.
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