Lena laughed, changed the subject, and began talking about her friends at school. No one complained about Lena’s talking. There was nothing but somber music on the radio, and the talk of a teenaged girl made the darkness outside less frightening.
“Look,” said Lena. “There’s a bus parked at the side of the road.”
Someone waved a flashlight around as two women squatted behind sparse bushes.
“The men are farther ahead at another bush,” said Vasily. “See them standing in the dark? The bus driver picked this place for a toilet break because only plowed fields are ahead.”
“It’s depressing,” said Marina.
“People going to the toilet depresses you?” said Vasily.
“The entire situation,” said Marina. “All these people, their lives changed forever.” Marina spoke more quietly. “Especially the children. They’ll be frightened of rain and snow.”
“What will be left for us?” asked Lena.
Although Juli, too, felt discouraged, she tried to be positive.
“Nothing is irreversible. What mankind has done can be undone. I think of the radiation as simply another form of pollution. Science will provide answers … it must provide answers.”
Vasily braked hard as the cars ahead came to a stop. An army truck blocked the lane heading south, with soldiers outside waving the cars around it. Each car was stopped, a soldier leaning into the driver’s window.
“What is it?” asked Vasily, when his turn came.
“How many in the car, and where are you from?” demanded the soldier.
“There are five of us,” said Vasily. “We came from Pripyat.”
The soldier counted out slips of paper from a stack in his hand.
“Here are five temporary travel passes. Keep them with you at all times.”
“Do you have any information?” asked Vasily.
“Nothing. Drive to Kiev. You’ll be told where to go from there.”
The soldier waved for them to go and stepped back to the next car in line.
Vasily closed his window and drove on.
“Maybe it’s a good sign he didn’t have his mouth covered,” said Juli.
“We’ll probably be able to enjoy the May Day parade in Kiev,”
said Marina.
“Enjoying the parade will be impossible,” said Lena. “How can all these people even fit into Kiev? What about the people already there? Look at the cars coming from the side road. Even more people. How will anyone be able to tell all of us where to go and what to do?”
No one in the car answered Lena’s questions. But everyone, even Vasily’s mother, who was now awake, stared across farm fields at a line of cars and buses from the northeast waiting to get on the main road south. Ahead, at the crossroads, flares were lit, and soldiers directed traffic.
When the line of traffic passed through the town of Korosten, soldiers on both sides with flashlights waved everyone through, making them turn southeast. Near midnight, at a sign saying Kiev was ten kilometers away, traffic slowed to a crawl.
“I told you,” said Vasily’s mother. “We should have gone to my older brother’s farm.”
“We’ve already discussed it!” shouted Vasily. “His farm is too close to Chernobyl. Juli needs to get to her aunt’s house in Visenka, the most direct way there is through Kiev, and we’ll all be better off in Kiev.”
“All right, Vasily. I put my trust in you, and in God. My younger brother is on a collective south of Kiev. If they have room, maybe we’ll end up there.”
After Korosten, the road widened. Very little traffic headed northwest, mostly army vehicles and empty buses. They were in the lane nearest the side of the road. Occasionally, when a car or bus with open windows came alongside, Vasily lowered his window to see if he could get some news. Others were also trying to get news, and it seemed no one knew much. The Chernobyl plant had exploded, radiation had been released, and the area was being evacuated. But no one knew when they would be allowed to go back to their homes.
Eventually traffic stopped completely, and Vasily turned off the engine to conserve gas. With engines off, they could hear conversation in the bus next to them. The bus windows were open, people inside saying it was hot with so many people onboard. A few men on the bus smoked cigarettes, blowing smoke out the windows. Others stepped outside to smoke, and also to share a swig from a bottle hidden beneath a coat. The talk among women concerned the children. Several mentioned the iodine pills handed out at school the day before, and Juli wondered if they had some on the bus, a spare pill or two for her baby. Two men came to the window and told Vasily the outskirts of the city and the checkpoint were only a few kilometers away. The men said they were going to walk ahead to see what they could find out.
Juli was going to the town of Visenka, beyond Kiev. Vasily’s mother had relatives on farms around Kiev. It would be a waste of time for them to drive all the way to Visenka simply to drop her off at her aunt’s.
“Marina, I’ve made up my mind.”
“About what?” asked Marina.
“I’m going to walk,” said Juli, pulling her small bag from the floor.
“You can’t walk.”
“Why not? I’ll stay over at a hotel and tomorrow take a taxi or the metro to Aunt Magda’s. This way you can decide on your destination without worrying about me. I’ve got a place to stay. I can take care of myself. You need to take care of yourselves. Don’t argue with me, Marina. Lots of people are walking.”
“But, Juli.”
“She’s right,” said Vasily. “If we go through Kiev and try to get back in from the other side, we might get stuck.”
Juli opened her door and got out. “At the checkpoint my having a different destination would only complicate things.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” asked Marina.
“My aunt’s expecting me,” said Juli. “I’ve been watching the dosimeter, and it’s fine now. It’s time to go.”
Marina got out of the car, ran around to the other side, and hugged Juli.
“You’re like a sister to me,” said Juli.
“You are my sister,” said Marina.
After Marina got back in the car, Juli began walking, and soon others came from cars and buses to join her, heading for the flashing lights of militia vehicles in the distance. The sounds of engines and voices and shuffling feet, along with the smell of dust in the night air, reminded her of a night long ago in Moscow when her father took her to the circus. Back then, people lined up to get in to see performers and animals. Here, people were the animals as they bumped against one another like livestock.
“Now what?” said Nikolai.
Pavel shut off the engine. “I’ll go on foot. I’m tired of driving anyhow. We have to follow through on this, or we’ll have no reason for having left Pripyat without orders. Stay in line. You’ll get through eventually. I’ll meet you at the KGB branch office tomorrow. If I can’t get away, I’ll call and leave a message for you at Major Komarov’s office so you can pick me up.”
Pavel got out of the car, and Nikolai slid behind the wheel.
“You want me to go to Komarov’s office?” asked Nikolai.
“Of course. Without Captain Putna around, we’ll need further direction. Komarov’s orders put Juli Popovics under observation.
Think big, Nikolai. This could be our opportunity for promotion.
Perhaps the Gypsy Moth information for Major Komarov will bear fruit.”
“What information? All we have from Captain Putna is a hint about someone called Gypsy Moth trying to destabilize the country.”
“Komarov is pushing for information. We’re his contacts directly from the Chernobyl area. If we don’t find anything by following Juli Popovics, we’ll think of something.”
It was a kaleidoscope of conversation as Juli walked between cars and buses.
Some pondered apocalypse—the Soviet Union was falling apart.
Environmental advocates had been right all alo
ng. It was the end of the world. Christ would come down the following Easter Sunday and take the faithful with him. Because birds fly to heaven in winter, and few had been seen in the area, the birds knew not to return.
Others pondered rumor and myth—alcohol flushed radiation out of one’s system. Operators at the plant smoked hashish. The iodine at most pharmacies was gone. Some evacuees were seen burying their valuables because looters were already waiting in the woods like wolves. Party bosses knew about the accident before it happened. How else would they have been prepared to speed out of town in their Volgas?
Because most cars and buses had turned off their engines and lights, the walk between the two lines of traffic was dark. The only light came from flashlights or lanterns aboard buses, the glow of cigarettes, and the bright lights of the checkpoint shining through the dust and haze in the distance. As Juli neared the checkpoint, more and more people joined her, sometimes bumping into her or stepping on her heels. Beyond the lights of the checkpoint, she saw the change in landscape, the downslope of the river valley, and finally, the lights of Kiev.
There was chaos at the roadblock. The few people who wanted to leave Kiev were turned back by Lazlo’s men, and the hundreds arriving from the north were being allowed into the city only if they had a specific destination. Those without a destination were directed to the Selskaya collective farm thirty kilometers west of the city.
Lazlo’s men had already sent several hundred to the Selskaya farm, and now he awaited further orders.
Some local Kievians trying to exit the city to outlying areas complained the so-called accident at Chernobyl was nothing but an excuse for evacuees to head south for holiday. Others claimed officials in Kiev must have known about the accident earlier than everyone else because they kept their children out of school Saturday and started their weekend early, going to their dachas. One man said he’d seen scores of fire trucks head north Saturday. When Lazlo heard this, he recalled his meeting with Lysenko earlier in the day and wondered if there was a reason Lysenko had not given him more details of the enormity of the accident.
Lazlo showed photographs of Mihaly, Nina, and the girls to his men, but no one had seen them. But with the chaos, anyone could slip through unnoticed. When a group of Young Pioneers arrived to help, Lazlo showed them the photographs while instructing them to direct traffic and make sure no one got out of line and blocked the lanes out of the city. Whereas few vehicles were allowed out of the city earlier in the evening, now trucks and emergency vehicles whose drivers had been given passes headed north.
The crowd of people who had left cars and buses grew to an alarming size. Eventually, because there were no fences or other boundaries on the sides of the road, the crowds from both sides merged, making it impossible for the militia to stop those on foot from crossing in either direction. Lazlo tried in vain to help his men maintain order. During this confusion, he was unaware of his brother’s lover crossing into Kiev followed by a KGB agent a few meters behind her beyond the lights of the roadblock.
Other KGB agents at the scene were also unaware of the crossing.
Two of them, recruited to Kiev from their Romanian border-guard posts, sat in the dark in a black Chaika with yellow fog lights a half kilometer from the roadblock watching Chernobyl refugees pass by on their way into Kiev. Both agents wore their green border-guard uniforms.
One of the agents lit a cigarette. “I don’t understand about Komarov.”
“What about him?” asked the other.
“There’s an accident at Chernobyl, and instead of going to the scene, he stays in Kiev and searches for suspects.”
“Bigger fish have already volunteered for the medals they’ll get at Chernobyl. Komarov is from the old KGB. He’s already got interrogators working on the poor souls they flew to Moscow, and he’s got us watching his suspects here.”
“So you think Detective Horvath is a suspect?”
“He must be. Otherwise why would we be assigned to watch him?”
Pavel followed Juli Popovics through the mass of angry people.
Voices were raised in protest and dismay at what had happened at Chernobyl. As in any crowd where one achieves momentary anonymity, many spoke out against the authorities and against their insistence the population be left in the dark. At one point, a shoving match broke out, and Pavel was actually pushed into Juli Popovics, knocking her down. He helped her up, excused himself, dropped back into the crowd, and continued following her.
Farther away from the roadblock, Pavel kept his distance. Because she was carrying an overnight bag, it was easy to follow her.
The only time he had difficulty was when she descended the stairs to the Kiev metro. He had to run in order to catch the train.
She exited the metro in central Kiev at Khreshchatik Station.
From there he followed her to the Hotel Dnieper. It was one in the morning. Pavel watched from a corner in the lobby. Juli Popovics apparently tried to register for a room, but was refused. The lobby was crowded with people unable to get a room. So, along with dozens of others, Juli Popovics and Pavel of the PK waited for someone to vacate a comfortable chair or sofa so they could settle in for the night.
Juli Popovics was first to find a chair. Pavel lingered near an open stairway to the second floor. He went halfway up to the landing and sat on a stair at a spot where he could keep an eye on Juli Popovics through an opening in the ornate railing. Glancing behind him, he saw a statue of Vladimir Ilich Lenin in the corner of the landing. Lenin held his hand up as if pointing the way up the next flight of stairs. Pavel wondered if following Juli Popovics here had been the right thing to do. Was there any chance he and Nikolai would even meet Major Komarov? Pavel whispered to himself,
“What now, Uncle? Climb the stairs to promotion?” Pavel chuckled, then turned back to watch Juli Popovics, who had closed her eyes.
From conversations overheard during the night, it was obvious even here, in Kiev, with all its newspapers and radio and television stations, no one knew exactly what had happened at Chernobyl.
With a news blackout of such magnitude, it was not difficult to sur-mise a disaster had occurred. For, as any Soviet citizen knows, the less the news, the greater the story.
15
On Monday, April 28, over forty-eight hours after the explosion of Chernobyl’s unit four, news of the disaster finally made it to the outside world. Workers at a Swedish nuclear plant began setting off radiation alarms as they entered the facility. This resulted in quan-titative measurements of the atmosphere. Radiation levels fifteen times the normal level were present in the air being blown from the Soviet Union.
Lacking seismic data to indicate a nuclear test, Western scientists concluded an accidental release of radiation, perhaps from a nuclear reactor, had occurred somewhere in the western Soviet Union. When news services got hold of the radioactive-cloud story, ripples of news flowed back across the frontier by way of Radio Free Europe and Voice of America.
After obtaining the Zhiguli as his personal militia vehicle three years earlier, Lazlo installed inside the glove box a used Blaupunkt radio, which received shortwave frequencies along with local frequencies.
The radio provided welcome distraction during many nights on stakeout. Without his secret radio, he would have been forced to listen only to militia two-way broadcasts instead of the strings of Lakatos and other Hungarian Gypsy music broadcast each evening from Radio Budapest.
On his way to the Ministry of Energy Monday morning, Lazlo heard about the radiation cloud over Sweden on Radio Free Europe.
The station was easy enough to find, but it was difficult to offset the frequency enough to eliminate the whirring buzz saw of the Soviet jammer. After hearing the report of radioactivity originating in the western Soviet Union, Lazlo switched to Radio Moscow’s local frequency. No mention of the radioactive cloud or of the disaster at the Chernobyl plant, no mention of the hordes of people who had come from the north throughout the night.
While th
e man and woman commentators on Radio Moscow droned on about the agricultural and economic outlook, Lazlo wondered if he’d been assigned overnight at the roadblock to keep him out of the way. Hundreds had entered Kiev, giving names of relatives who would be expecting them. Thousands had been sent to the Selskaya collective farm, which was equipped to handle two hundred.
Lazlo arrived at the Ministry of Energy at seven thirty. He’d spent most of Sunday afternoon and the entire night at the roadblock. He was hoarse from shouting at his men and at Chernobyl refugees. A cleaning woman in the building lobby waited until Lazlo cleared his throat before telling him no one arrived until nine.
Lazlo drove to his apartment. He tried calling Pripyat again without luck. He washed his face, changed clothes, and made himself two boiled eggs and coffee. Tamara’s black nightgown still lay across his bed from the night before. He sat on the edge of the bed and lifted the gown. The gown retained Tamara’s fragrance, and Lazlo closed his eyes, caressing the gown to his face as if it were the silk edge of a child’s blanket.
Twenty-four hours earlier he had been in bed with Tamara, but now their night together and breakfast at the bakery seemed weeks ago. As he sat on the bed fondling Tamara’s nightgown, thoughts of Tamara were swept aside by intervening events: the interviews with two Chernobyl workers unable to give specifics about Mihaly, the inept deputy minister at the Ministry of Energy who said everything was under control, and, finally, the long night trying to communicate with terrified refugees. Twenty-four hours since he learned an accident had occurred at Chernobyl and still he knew nothing of Mihaly and Nina and the girls. Was it planned? Chkalov and Lysenko teaming up to keep him in the dark? Sending him to one particular roadblock so he would be unaware of the numerous firemen and militia sent north? Perhaps they’d been worried the Gypsy might have pulled out his old Makarov 9mm and …
Suddenly something tore at his face. He opened his eyes with a start, realizing he had begun to doze off. His bristly beard was snagged in Tamara’s gown. He placed the gown gently on the bed, got a cup of strong coffee from the stove, and went into the bathroom to shave.
Lazlo Horvath Thriller - 01 - Chernobyl Murders Page 17