Brovko touched Nikolai’s arm. “Thank you for speaking freely with me. I will return the favor. Komarov left a trail of death in Kiev, and now we are here with his body…”
Brovko let go of Nikolai’s arm and looked straight ahead again, his profile more exposed because of the brightening light from the entrance as the morning sun rose higher.
“What will you do now, Captain?”
“I’m only certain of one thing at this moment, Nikolai.”
“What’s that?”
“Major Komarov died in an accident in which he stumbled in a dark wine cellar and fell onto his own knife. Do you agree?”
“I agree, Captain. Are fingerprints on the knife?”
“No fingerprints.”
Brovko stood, went to the ladder, and climbed to daylight.
Nikolai hurried after him, glad to be away from the smell of wine defiled by the odor of death.
For the remainder of the morning and well into the afternoon, Captain Brovko spoke to each of the men individually. The two men sent after the car returned, saying they found the black Skoda in the village and searched it but found nothing. Late in the afternoon, Brovko sent all but Nikolai and four other men back to Kiev.
The men returning to Kiev were new to the KGB, a few on their first assignment. They loaded Komarov’s body into the van and took it with them. Nikolai stood at the front of the house with Brovko and watched as the men drove off and disappeared down the hill.
“I told the men to pick up the Skoda on their way back through the village,” said Brovko.
“I hope it starts,” said Nikolai.
“It will,” said Brovko. Then, turning to the house. “Everyone agrees. Major Komarov had gone mad.”
The afternoon was quiet, and everyone was tired. Lazlo, Bela, Mariska, and the children slept while Juli and Nina kept watch.
They sat in chairs to the side of the daybed. On the other side of the room, the three guards alternated throughout the afternoon. With Komarov gone, the guards seemed at ease and less threatening.
Juli sat facing the guards at the kitchen table. As the afternoon wore on, she relived the scene in the wine cellar again and again.
Even though she knew she had killed Komarov in self-defense, she kept trying to imagine a different outcome. If she had not killed Komarov, he would have killed her, and he might have killed Lazlo and the others. If she had not come to the farmhouse, Lazlo might be dead instead of Komarov. She would have been in Czechoslovakia, and Lazlo would have been at Komarov’s mercy. Now it was different. Now they were both here at the mercy of Captain Brovko, whose plans were unknown.
“When is your baby due?” asked Nina suddenly from behind.
The question shocked Juli, made tears come to her eyes as she turned. “The doctor said near the first of the year.”
“Ilonka was born the same time of year, four years ago last January. Mihaly wanted a boy, but he was very happy when he saw Ilonka. I hope your child is not affected by the radiation.”
Despite her efforts not to weep, tears flowed down Juli’s cheeks.
At dusk Captain Brovko entered the house and said it was time to go. When Lazlo asked who was going, Brovko explained that everyone would finally be left in peace, but Juli and Lazlo had to go with him.
During the tearful good-byes, Juli knew there had been no way out of the dilemma from the beginning. Whatever happened to Lazlo and her now was already written down somewhere, perhaps in their own blood. Juli was surprised when Nina hugged her and whispered in her ear.
“Care for yourself and your baby. I have a feeling everything will be all right.”
Before going outside, Captain Brovko had Juli handcuffed to one of his men and handcuffed himself to Lazlo. The man handcuffed to Juli led her to the second of two remaining cars and got in the back seat with her while two men got in the front seat. The others, including Lazlo and Brovko, walked to the first car. Nikolskaia and another man got in the front seat of the car, but Brovko held Lazlo back. He led Lazlo to a spot between the cars and spoke with him quietly for several minutes. Although the sun had set and it was getting darker, there was still enough light for Juli to see Lazlo wiping at tears in his eyes.
When Brovko finished speaking with Lazlo, he led him to the lead car, and the two cars drove rapidly away from the house, down the hill, and through the village. Juli watched the car ahead in which Lazlo rode. She hoped she and Lazlo would see each other again before they were sent to prison.
But then something strange happened. Instead of staying on the paved road after going through Kisbor, the lead car turned south onto the same dirt road Juli had taken early in the morning when she drove the Skoda into Kisbor. Only the taillights of the lead car were visible in the dust being raised from the road.
After a short distance, the cars pulled to the side of the narrow road and stopped. First the lead car shut off its lights, then the car she was in shut off its lights. They were in the middle of farm fields with no houses or buildings in sight. In the gathering darkness she saw Lazlo and Brovko get out of the other car. Brovko removed the handcuffs, and she saw Lazlo outlined against the purple evening sky. She imagined Lazlo being shot and left there, or his body taken back, Brovko saying he had tried to escape.
Juli pulled at the handcuffs, tried to open her door, screamed Lazlo’s name.
But in a few seconds the terror was over. Her handcuffs were removed, and she was in Lazlo’s arms. Then Lazlo took her hand and led her to the front of the cars. The black Skoda was there, ahead of the lead car where she had been unable to see it, the black Skoda looking like a child’s toy compared to the Volgas. She got inside the Skoda with Lazlo, and they drove away. When she looked back, she saw the two Volgas turn around on the dirt road and head north, their taillights becoming dimmer and dimmer in the distance.
“Laz, am I dreaming?”
“No. But we’ve still got to get into Czechoslovakia. We’ve got to do it soon because Brovko said the militia will be looking for us.”
“Why did he let us go?”
“He said he has training in nuclear engineering, and he, as well as others, had doubts about Komarov’s claims of sabotage at Chernobyl. He said it would be best for everyone involved if we were not taken back to Kiev. He also told me something else.”
“What?”
“Komarov murdered Tamara.”
Juli reached out and held Lazlo’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Laz.”
“Komarov killed his informant first, a poet from Tamara’s club.
Brovko said he doesn’t know why Komarov killed Tamara.” Lazlo paused. “Tamara would have wanted us to escape.”
Lazlo drove fast along the deserted farm road. When he reached a paved road, he turned north, and Juli saw a sign saying Uzhgorod was ten kilometers away. She remembered the instructions from the woman in Yasinya. First guardhouse to the north.
Ask for directions to Uzhgorod, then directions to Laborets Castle.
If the guard lectures about Prince Laborets’ murder in 903 AD, he is the correct guard.
Soon Juli could see it, a lighted guardhouse well off the road to the left. On the other side of the guardhouse, where the last light from the sun had disappeared, was Czechoslovakia.
Once they were on the main road to Lvov, the second Volga dropped back about fifty meters, and the headlights were not quite so bright.
Before leaving the spot where they left Detective Horvath and Juli Popovics, Captain Brovko announced they would spend the night in Lvov and drive to Kiev in the morning. Nikolai drove the lead Volga, with Brovko in the passenger seat. The four other men were in the second Volga.
Brovko turned on an interior light and consulted the map.
“About a hundred kilometers more. We’ll get there before the restaurants close. None of us has had a hot meal or a night of sleep in two days.”
“I’m looking forward to it, Captain. There are supposed to be some fine Polish restaurants in Lvov.” Nikolai glanced in the m
irror at the following headlights. “I’ll bet the others are discussing our dinner in detail, right down to the size and texture of the dumplings.”
“They are good men,” said Brovko, turning out the light.
Except for an occasional oncoming car causing Nikolai to dim the headlights, the road was dark. It was still farm country, not as flat as the plateau they had come from, but with rolling hills, one after another like the hill on which the farmhouse was perched like a medieval castle.
“One would not have expected such a deep wine cellar,” said Nikolai. “Usually they are built into the side of a hill or a mound.”
“And surprisingly dry,” said Brovko. “It probably never floods because the water table is far below the hill.”
“None of the other men noticed the tin plates on the ground?”
“They noticed.”
“They did?”
“Yes,” said Brovko. “It’s one of many things I learned while speaking with them.”
“They knew the women and children were down there, yet they didn’t tell Komarov?”
“Correct. And they might not have told me if I’d asked them as a group. It’s always an advantage to compare individual observa-tions of a situation.”
“What about Detective Horvath and Juli Popovics?” asked Nikolai. “Wouldn’t it have been better to return them to Kiev?”
“There are overriding factors. I phoned Deputy Chairman Dumenko last night. I was assigned from the beginning to observe the situation and report back. There is concern in Moscow about what Komarov has tried to do and what he has done in the past.
Taking Detective Horvath and Juli Popovics to Kiev would have put the KGB in a bad light in Kiev and in Moscow. Dumenko thinks Gorbachev has enough trouble right now.”
“So Komarov did plan Pavel’s death?”
“Yes. But now, Nikolai, I must give you the order I gave the rest of the men. The order comes directly from Deputy Chairman Dumenko.
You are to discuss this incident with no one. When we return to Kiev, all of you, including myself, will be given a final briefing.”
“Is this how the KGB eliminates its rotten apples, Captain?”
“Things are changing in the Soviet Union, Nikolai. The KGB must change with them. Even the Chernobyl disaster will change us. Gorbachev realizes this, and so do others on the politburo. For now we should salute the heroes created by the Chernobyl disaster.
Men like Colonel Zamyatin, whom I met on my way from Moscow to Kiev. He is in charge of army refugee and cleanup operations.
Many have volunteered to help. They are calling themselves liquidators. Perhaps the Chernobyl accident will usher in the new era of openness Gorbachev has spoken of. Everything changes, Nikolai.
Everything.”
As they drove, the number of houses increased, and soon they could see a town in the distance. The lights from the town spread before them, taking away the blackness of night for a few minutes.
Then they were in the dark again.
“What was the name of the town?” asked Nikolai. “I didn’t notice the sign.”
“Sambor,” said Captain Brovko. “Fifty more kilometers, and we’ll be in Lvov, where our dinner and our beds await us.”
Back in Sambor, the windows of the houses flickered as residents watched the latest report about Chernobyl. No one had noticed the two Volgas speeding through town on their way to Lvov.
36
August 1986
It was Sunday. The bells of Vienna’s churches had tolled the noon hour. The view from the seventh-floor window of the Vienna Intercontinental Hotel was facing northeast across the city park, where people in colorful summer clothing walked along tree-lined paths.
Juli stood looking out the window, holding her abdomen. Although her baby was not moving now, she had felt it earlier. The baby moved most in the morning, waking her. But now, as she looked out the window, the baby was asleep in its small world. The only feeling Juli had now was the tingling of her newly stretched skin.
According to tests several days earlier in Budapest at the Institute for Radiobiology, everything was normal. The doctors said the baby’s growth did not seem affected by radiation. But there were no guarantees. There were never guarantees. The technician asked if she wanted to know the sex of the baby, but she declined. She already had possible names picked out, but she did not want to tell Lazlo, at least not until the baby was closer to being born. If it was a boy, she wanted to name him Mihaly. If it was a girl, she wanted the name Tamara.
After they crossed into Czechoslovakia, several days passed before they could cross farther into Hungary, north of Budapest. Farmers in Czechoslovakia hid them and the Skoda until searches decreased. In Hungary, they abandoned the Skoda, and more farmers transported them south to Miskolc and got them on a train to Budapest.
After the tests at the Institute for Radiobiology, they thought they would have trouble crossing the Hungarian-Austrian border.
Instead, a doctor at the institute referred them to Dr. Istvan Szabo at the Hungarian National Atomic Energy Commission. When they told what they knew about the Chernobyl accident, Dr. Szabo began work on temporary visas. During the wait for visas, Juli and Lazlo stayed in a small apartment in Budapest.
It was a strange interlude in Budapest. While she was happy to be with Lazlo, there was always the chance someone processing their visas would recognize them as the man and woman on the run from the Ukrainian militia. She and Lazlo agreed they should make the best of what could be a temporary freedom if Hungarian authorities discovered their identities. While in Budapest, she and Lazlo fell more deeply in love and, with the baby between them as they made love, became a family.
Their assumed name in Budapest was Petavari, Andras and Margit Petavari. The only time they left the apartment was when Dr. Szabo’s assistant picked them up to go to the Institute for Radiobiology or to Dr. Szabo’s office. If anyone approached and asked questions, they were to say they were brought from an area in Eastern Hungary for tests relating to the Chernobyl accident.
Everything was arranged by Dr. Szabo. They would accompany the doctor to the August meeting of the International Atomic Energy Agency in Vienna and repeat to delegates from the member nations what they knew about Chernobyl. The meeting was to begin tomorrow. Yesterday, at the Parliament Building, she and Lazlo were offered political asylum by the Austrian minister of foreign affairs.
Juli turned from the window, walked across the room, and sat on the ornate sofa. The dress she wore, purchased in Budapest, was already too tight when she sat down. Tomorrow, after a morning session at the Atomic Energy Agency, Dr. Szabo had promised his assistant would accompany Juli to a local maternity shop.
Shopping for clothes! A suite at the Vienna Intercontinental!
And all of this after days and nights on the run during which a mil-dewed tent or a straw-filled barn had seemed precious shelters.
Lazlo was in the bedroom on the telephone. Because there was no telephone at the farmhouse, Lazlo had left a message at the office of the Ulyanov collective’s chairman. A few minutes ago, the operator rang with a call from Kisbor. Although she could not hear what he said, Juli heard Lazlo’s voice coming from the bedroom, calm and controlled. Lazlo had not asked her to leave the bedroom during the call, but she wanted Lazlo to be able to speak with Nina in private. It was hard enough to talk knowing the PK might be listening.
This morning, when Juli had called Aunt Magda, she had been careful not to mention anything about how she and Lazlo escaped.
Aunt Magda assured her everything was fine in Visenka and also gave Juli a message from Marina and Vasily. They planned to marry soon and had moved to a resettlement apartment near Kiev. The news was not all good, however. Vasily’s mother and sister were sick from the high radiation they received, and both were being treated at a Kiev hospital.
When Lazlo’s voice stopped, Juli closed her eyes. She heard the door open, and Lazlo sat beside her, putting his arm around her.
But soon, according to the doctor in Budapest, his smile would be straight again.
“Everything is fine at the farm,” said Lazlo. “The KGB never returned after they took us away. Nina and the girls are being checked periodically at a hospital in Uzhgorod. No organ damage, but the girls especially will have to be watched. Nina’s decided to stay in Kisbor. Bela wants to help her build a house next to his.”
Juli reached out and touched Lazlo’s chin with her finger. “Your smile is gone.”
“Did I have one?”
“When you first sat down.”
“I wish there was something I could do for Nina.”
“You did, Laz. You went to your family when they needed you.”
“And you came when I needed you.”
Lazlo stood and went to the window. He looked east, his profile so sad when he wasn’t smiling. “Earlier you mentioned your friend Aleksandra Yasinsky, who was taken away when she spoke openly about radiation dangers. It made me think again about the man named Pavel, and also about the Gypsy on the Romanian border. We’ve left so many people back there, Juli. I hope leaving is the right thing to do.”
Juli went to join Lazlo at the window and held him close. “You said it yourself, Laz. We can help more people from here.”
“I know. I simply need to consider these things occasionally.
It’s part of my melancholy. By the way, before Nina called, I spoke with Dr. Szabo.”
“What did he say?”
“He’ll pick us up in the morning for the meeting. He said we should consider relocating, perhaps to the United States. He’s arranged for visas and contacted a medical facility in New York.”
Juli and Lazlo stood together looking east, Lazlo’s arm around her, his hand resting on her abdomen.
In the distance, beyond the green of the park and the blue of the Danube, the horizon was a thin line of colorless land and sky. It was like any horizon, a magnet to any Gypsy, a reason to keep moving.
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