The Boy from Reactor 4

by Orest Stelmach

“Yes. It exists. My son will book a reservation for you in their system as well.”

  When she was done with the application, the forger made a copy on the printer and took it to the adjacent room to her son. She returned and began typing as quickly as her fingers allowed.

  “What is your connection to my uncle?”

  She looked up. “Your uncle?”

  “Damian. The young man’s father.”

  “My brother spent six years with him at the gulag in Sevvostlag. When he got so weak he couldn’t produce his daily quota in the gold mine, your uncle got him an easy job picking needles off dwarf cedar trees. They used to grind them into soup as a cure for scurvy. That saved his life.”

  “That was decent of him.”

  “Decent had nothing to do with it. It was about money. He knew I sent my brother sweaters, cigarettes, and food every three months. That all went to your uncle, or whatever the guards didn’t take.”

  Nadia glanced at Adam, who was on his second hunk of poppy seed roll. “How did you learn this trade?”

  “I worked in the Ministry. Department of Tourism. First in Moscow, then Kyiv. When independence came, capitalism came with it. I lost my job and had to find another one.”

  The forger printed a single sheet of paper, moved to a side table, and inserted it into a paper cutter. As she lined it up, Nadia walked over to the doorway where the forger’s son had disappeared. He sat in a small room, surrounded by six computer screens. The passport photo of a pale woman with a prematurely aging face and a forced smile appeared on one of the monitors. Nadia gasped. The son turned to see who’d made the noise, then returned to work.

  Nadia paced the main room for five more minutes while the forger worked. Adam burped and leaned against a wall.

  “Come look at your visa,” the forger said.

  A yellow, intricately manufactured discoloration marred its complexion. The faint stencil of a blue coat of arms decorated the center. Russian words and numbers ran along the top in distinct shades of red. A multicolored stamp featuring churches, a ship, and a coat of arms was pressed on the left. Nadia’s name and date of birth appeared in dull blue toward the middle.

  The forger took the visa and placed it in an envelope. “This is good for ten days, and ten days only. They are very strict about this. You must be out of Russia within ten days from today.”

  “That will not be a problem,” Nadia said.

  The forger held the envelope by her side. “Payment, please.”

  “Excuse me?” Nadia said.

  “Your uncle didn’t tell you?”

  Shuffling noises behind them. Nadia turned. The son stood behind them with a rifle in his hand.

  “No,” Nadia said. She glanced at Adam. He wiped crumbs off his lips, oblivious to the conversation. “My uncle didn’t tell me.”

  “The bargain he struck with me was that I would give you a visa and you would give me all the jewelry on either one of your hands.”

  “I never heard anything like that.”

  The forger shrugged. “Surprise.”

  Nadia looked down. Her stainless steel Bedat watch was wrapped around her left wrist. She’d paid $4,000 for it back when she’d had a job, earned a bonus, and could afford it. Her favorite ruby ring shimmered on her right hand. It was probably worth a fraction of the watch, but it had sentimental value. Her mother had given it to her when she graduated college.

  Nadia glanced at Adam. His eyes were glued to the gun in the son’s hand. She turned back to the forger.

  “Well,” Nadia said, “which hand is it going to be?”

  “Let me see the ring.”

  Nadia raised her right hand. The forger removed a loupe from her desk drawer and studied it.

  “I’ll take your left hand,” the forger said. Sirens sounded in the distance. “Quickly.”

  Nadia took the watch off and exchanged it for the visa. Nadia and Adam flew up the exterior stairs to street level and took off for the subway.

  The sirens grew louder as they speed-walked out of sight.

  CHAPTER 52

  THE ZOOLOGIST RAISED his hand from his plush velvet seat. It trembled from residual electrical current.

  “No more,” he said.

  Kirilo sighed and replaced the cattle prod in his coat’s lining. After bringing Karel a glass of water, he sat down on the sofa directly across from him, beside Victor. The River Casino’s gaming floor bustled with activity beyond the soundproof glass wall.

  Misha returned from the restroom. Sweat dotted his forehead even though it was cool in the room.

  “Diarrhea,” he said as he sat down on the couch.

  Kirilo slid a few centimeters farther away from him. “You’re from America. Some of our fine water probably got into your system. Happens to tourists all the time. Victor didn’t really poison you, did you, Victor?”

  Victor didn’t react; instead, he kept his head tilted at an angle at Misha.

  “You old prick,” Misha said, wiping his brow. “If this is a joke, I’m going to more than even the score back in New York.”

  This time, Victor grinned. “And if it’s not?”

  Kirilo had gotten the zoologist’s name and address in Kyiv from the deputy minister of the interior. Pavel’s men had identified themselves as militsiya and dragged Karel out of his apartment. By 8:00, he was in his current seat. Twenty minutes later, after substantial prodding, he motioned for Kirilo to stop.

  “I didn’t think a zoologist could be so tough,” Kirilo said.

  “He watches animals all day,” Victor said. “He should have learned something by now.”

  “Good point,” Kirilo said.

  Karel tipped the glass to his lips. Water trickled around his lips, down his chin, and onto the velvet around him.

  Kirilo winced. “The furniture, dammit. Watch the furniture.”

  Karel drank some more. Kirilo took the glass away from him, put it on a coaster where he couldn’t knock it over, and sat back down.

  “Why did the Tesla woman go to the Zone?” Kirilo said.

  “To see her uncle.”

  “What uncle?”

  “Damian. Damian Tesla.”

  “He’s alive?”

  “As far as I know. I haven’t seen him since he asked me to do a favor.”

  “What favor?”

  “To go to Korosten and bring his son to Kyiv.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the Tesla woman?”

  “Yes. He’s meeting her tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “They will travel together.”

  “Where are they going?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Kirilo squinted.

  Karel sighed. “Honestly. I don’t know. My instructions were to leave him at Babi Yar.”

  “Babi Yar?” Misha said. “What’s at Babi Yar?”

  “Nothing,” Kirilo said. “Monuments and a park. Nothing that would give their ultimate destination away. That’s why he picked Babi Yar. What do they have in their possession? Why did the Tesla woman come here?”

  Karel shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Kirilo chuckled. “What’s that, you say? You haven’t really had enough? You want some more?”

  Karel raised his hand in self-defense. “No. Honestly. I don’t know. There was a formula. The scientist died. I thought the formula died with him. But maybe that’s just what I was led to believe. Maybe the truth is that Damian and the scientist didn’t trust me.”

  Kirilo moved to the edge of his seat. “And you suffer for them? For these so-called friends? You owe them nothing. Nothing, I say to you. You are a prospective Chernobyl invalid?”

  Karel nodded.

  “Then you have suffered enough. My sources tell me you have published books of great importance regarding animal behavior in a nuclear environment.”

  Karel lowered his head.

  “No. Now is not the time to be humble. This country owes you a great debt. A great debt that is long overdue. I ca
n guarantee you invalid status by the end of the month. The deputy minister of health is a close friend of mine. We’ve hunted caribou together on the Taimyr Peninsula. Your full pension will begin the first of June, and you will be free to continue with your important research.”

  “Full pension?”

  “Full pension.” Kirilo leaned over and tapped Karel on the thigh. “Now, my good friend, tell us, what formula?”

  CHAPTER 53

  A THREE-TIERED GOLDEN chandelier hung from the soaring ceiling above the steps to the concourse at the Central Railway Station. Ornate murals of baroque castles with vivid blue stained-glass windows and churches with gleaming golden domes decorated the walls. The brass hands of a giant clock suspended above an electronic message board announced the time: 7:23.

  As Nadia and Adam cut across the tiled floor toward a ticket booth, Nadia scanned the concourse for familiar faces. Tourists in khakis and jeans mixed with businesspeople in suits, sports jackets, and light coats. She didn’t recognize any of them. Still, Kirilo’s men could be watching her at this very moment, and Victor and Misha could be waiting for her around the corner. Anton’s words echoed in her ears: in Ukraine, the criminals and the government were one and the same. If she stayed in this country, it was just a matter of time until they caught up with her.

  With Kirilo’s local influence, their first step would be to seal all borders. Nadia figured she had two tactical advantages. First, they didn’t know she was traveling with a boy. Border guards would be looking for a woman traveling alone. Second, and more important, she had a head start. If the police delayed her pursuers long enough, she and Adam might be able to sneak through Passport Control before Kirilo notified anyone. If not, they were at risk of being arrested imminently.

  “Are you buying a ticket, too?” Nadia said.

  “No,” Adam said. “I have mine. You want the eight-oh-nine express to Moscow. Coupe.”

  “Coupe?”

  “Second-class cabin.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Four people per cabin.”

  “We’re going to have strangers in our cabin?”

  “No. No one else is going to stay in our cabin.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Trust me.” He looked down at the floor, face flushed. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  The ticket agent asked Nadia for her destination, time of departure, and passport. Nadia paid the equivalent of $170 in hryvnia, waited an interminable few minutes, and received her ticket.

  Passport Control was the same disorganized madhouse as when she had arrived at the airport.

  Nadia jostled her way forward, glancing back every thirty seconds to make sure Adam was following. He kept his knit hat pulled low over his ears. Knapsack and duffel bag in each hand, he shuffled forward with his eyes planted firmly at his feet. Removed from the countryside, he seemed out of his element.

  When the mass of bodies finally converged into a line, Nadia counted twenty-one people ahead of them. She tried to prepare herself to look nonchalant, which inevitably had the opposite effect. She focused on the formula and wondered how much a radiation countermeasure was worth on the open market. The thought of riches beyond her dreams was a pleasant way to calm her nerves.

  The agent returned the passports to a family in front, and they moved along. After glancing at his computer, the agent scanned the line awaiting him. Nadia dropped her gaze to the floor so that their eyes didn’t meet, lest she appear anxious.

  When she looked up again, she saw, to her alarm, a supervisor had joined the agent at his booth. Both of them peered in Nadia’s direction. Nadia swiveled her head, glanced over her shoulder, and realized they were staring at Adam.

  “You!” the agent said. He pointed an index finger at the boy and then directed it toward Nadia. He must have seen her tense when he shouted at Adam. “Are you together? Is that your boy?”

  Nadia’s gut instinct was to protect him, rude and insolent though he was. “Yes,” she said. “We’re together.”

  “Step forward, please,” the agent said.

  As Nadia and Adam cut to the front of the line, two beefy policemen with bulging sidearms joined the supervisor and the agent at his booth. Their expressions conveyed suspicion and fear.

  The couple in front moved aside, pushing the line back to leave as much space between them and Nadia and Adam as possible, as though they knew she was about to be arrested for some sort of crime against the State.

  At least she was an American citizen, Nadia thought. Whatever else happened, that still had to count for something.

  Didn’t it?

  The Passport Control agent opened Adam’s passport and studied his picture. The supervisor peered over his shoulder as the two cops stood by with their hands on their weapons.

  “Take your hat off,” the agent said.

  Blushing deeply, Adam grasped the edges of his knit hat with both hands. As he slowly peeled it off his head, his ears popped out. They rose from the side of his head and stopped halfway, just above the canal. They looked as though they’d been sawed in half with a hacksaw. Jagged grooves ran along the square tops like the edge of an unfinished cardboard puzzle. Nadia recalled a picture of similar ears on a child at the Chernobyl museum. She absorbed the visual shock without flinching, realized she was staring, and tore her eyes away.

  People in line gasped. The agent, the supervisor, and the cops averted their eyes. Their collective gaze was one of acute discomfort. The cops folded their arms across their chests in a defensive posture. The supervisor nodded at the agent as though he’d known all along what was hidden beneath Adam’s hat. The agent himself pursed his lips in deep disapproval.

  Nadia held her breath when he turned to her visa, but he didn’t bother checking it. He stamped their passports quickly and firmly. The cops pointed in the direction of their track as though they wanted to make sure Nadia and Adam got out of the country as quickly as possible.

  The entire process had taken sixty seconds.

  As they marched toward the train, Nadia’s initial feelings of horror swiftly transmuted to compassion. She had seen that stricken look on Adam’s face. He must be embarrassed by his ears every day of his life, and he was not to blame. Not at all. He was a teenager, at the point in his life when looks were so important. Now she understood why he distrusted people so much.

  When they boarded the train, static cracked through the speakers.

  “This is the eight-oh-nine Stolichny Express to Moscow. Train number one. Eight-oh-nine Stolichny Express to Moscow. Welcome aboard.”

  They found an empty cabin. Nadia sat opposite Adam. Fresh white linen and burgundy blankets covered their beds. Above them, another pair of bunks remained folded against the wall.

  Light poured in from the platform through the window. Outside, passengers rushed on board.

  “Kyivans,” Adam said as he took off his hat again and sighed. “They know when someone is from the Zone. They can smell it off you. You see? Even before I took my hat off, they knew. The supervisor knew. Some of the people in line, they knew, too.”

  Nadia was outraged for him. “And? So what? Why do they care?”

  “No one wants to be near anyone who is from the Zone. Years ago, no one wanted to be near anyone who might be radioactive. Even though twenty-four years have passed, nothing’s changed. They couldn’t wait to get me out of the country.”

  “Well, that’s just wrong.”

  He scowled at her. “Would you be here if I didn’t have the locket?”

  Nadia’s gaze fell to the gold shimmering around his neck. She looked up at his face. “That’s different. I wouldn’t even be in Kyiv if your father hadn’t written.”

  “Good, at least you admit it. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the locket. Just so we both know where we stand.” Adam turned, fluffed up his pillows, and kicked his legs up onto the bed, filthy shoes and all.

  Nadia had to hold in a burst of temper. “You told
me you’d tell me why we’re going to Moscow when we got on the train,” she said. “We’re on the train.”

  He folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

  “Are you a man of your word?” she said.

  He bolted upright. Tossed his legs back over the side and faced Nadia.

  “We are going by train because they expect you to go by plane. We are going to Moscow because they do not expect you to go there. But mostly, we are going to Moscow because that is the route that was arranged for me by my father and his friends when they thought I would be alone. It is the route where there are people my father knows. Where there are people who will help me.”

  “What route, Adam?”

  He told her. There were five waypoints. Five people would meet them along the way and guide them forward. Once they got to the last waypoint, they were on their own.

  She bought chips, candy bars, and bottled water in the restaurant car and consumed them in the cabin. She tried to share them, but Adam wouldn’t accept anything from her. He drank the hot tea provided by the carriage attendant and ate nothing. Nadia slept fitfully during the last four hours of the nine-hour trip, falling into a deep slumber just as the conductor announced their arrival at 6:39 a.m.

  Language was not a concern. Nadia had studied Russian from seventh grade through college. Her mother had tried to dissuade her, for fear it would pollute her Ukrainian, but Nadia thought it might help her business career someday. It never did. But now it just might help keep her alive, she thought.

  After a three-hour wait to clear customs, they emerged at Kievskaia Station in Moscow at 11:00. Exchanged her remaining hryvnia and dollars for rubles. Adam set his watch forward one hour. Nadia made a beeline for a McDonald’s and ate two hamburgers, a large fries, and a chocolate milkshake. She offered to buy Adam lunch, but he refused, eating a grotesque piece of sausage wrapped in onionskin paper and buying his own bottled water instead.

  After lunch, they went shopping. Nadia had never had the opportunity to return to her hotel room. All her luggage was still in Kyiv. She bought a cell phone charger, blue jeans, a denim shirt, a fleece pullover, a ski jacket, ski gloves, and hat, hiking socks and boots, a compass, toiletries, and a roll of toilet paper. She changed into the shirt, jeans, socks, and boots, and stored everything else in the knapsack she’d also bought.