“And that’s it?” Nadia said. “There’s nothing else. No other reason why you think . . .” She eyed his duffel bag. “We’re going to have to run.”
Bobby shook his head. “That’s it. Someone knows about the formula. There’s going to be competition for the formula. We’re going to have to run.”
Nadia smiled. “Japan is one of the safest countries in the world. Tokyo is one of the most crowded cities in the world. We’ll be okay. But you can take your duffel bag if it makes you most comfortable.”
Bobby nodded at her suitcase. “You should switch to a bag like mine. There’s still time.”
Nadia laughed. “Thanks but I’ll be okay.”
Her cell phone rang. She answered it, thanked the person on the other end, and hung up.
“Our car’s here,” she said. She turned and grabbed her suitcase. “Let’s go to Tokyo.”
They took the elevator to the ground floor. The doors opened. Two men stood in front of the front desk speaking to the doorman. One was lean with gray hair. He wore an expensive blue suit and tie. The other was bald with cinderblock shoulders. He also wore a fancy suit. It was black with narrow white stripes, and stretched taut against the giant’s frame, looked like designer prison wear.
Bobby studied the older man. Sunken cheeks and square jaw. Distinctly Slavic features. They were Russian or Ukrainian mobsters. Bobby had seen enough of them during his childhood in Ukraine to know the look.
“Chorty,” Bobby said.
Nadia frowned. “What?”
Chorty was the Ukrainian word for devils. The front desk was twenty feet away and the men were standing sideways. They were in the middle of an animated conversation with the doorman and weren’t paying attention to the elevator. Bobby grabbed Nadia by the lapel of her coat.
“They’re here for us,” Bobby said.
“Who’s here for us?” Nadia’s voice trailed off as her eyes went to the men. Bobby could see the recognition in her eyes. Two Slavic-looking mafia types at her apartment building. It was too much of a coincidence.
“Freight elevator,” Bobby said.
They slipped out of the elevator and hurried down the corridor to the side entrance. Nadia said hello to the doorman who accepted deliveries and stormed past him out the side door. Bobby followed. She took a hard right onto the sidewalk on Eighty-First Street. They hurried to the end of the block. Took a left turn onto First Avenue and hustled forward another half block. Ducked into an alcove in front of a giant day care center for dogs.
Nadia pulled out her cell phone and called the car service. “I had to drop my dog off at the day care center,” she said to the operator. “Would you please tell the driver I’m sorry for the inconvenience and ask him to pick me up a couple of blocks away?” She proceeded to give directions to their current location.
Bobby peered around a wall at the sidewalk behind them to see if anyone had been following them. He didn’t see anyone suspicious.
“There may be more men,” Bobby said. “In a car. Watching our car.”
“That would not be a good thing. Even worse would be if they figure out we’re going to Tokyo.”
“Don’t worry,” Bobby said. “I packed for misdirection.”
Nadia frowned.
A black Lincoln Town Car pulled up. The name Tesla was handwritten on a sign in the front windshield.
“That’s a slight giveaway,” Bobby said.
Nadia swore under her breath. “You think?”
The driver stored their luggage in the trunk. He took the sign down from the windshield and tossed it in the passenger seat beside him.
“What terminal at JFK?” he said.
“Terminal one,” Nadia said. “Did the doorman from my building come out to see who you were picking up?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he ask what terminal?”
“No. One of the other guys did.”
“What other guys?”
“There were two guys in suits with him. They looked like security. The way they asked, I thought they were coming with us in a backup car. For a minute there, I thought you were a congressman or something.”
“Why, do I look untrustworthy?” Nadia said.
She glanced at Bobby and nodded. Now she believed him, Bobby thought.
The driver pulled up to a red light. “You seem a little out of breath. You guys okay?”
“Yeah,” Bobby said. “We’re okay.”
“Yeah,” Nadia said. She glanced at Bobby again. “We had to run.”
CHAPTER 8
LUO DROVE TO a health clinic thirty miles north of Kyiv on Monday morning. The Division of Nervous Pathologies was located on a campus consisting of four multistoried buildings that resembled concrete slabs. It was an abomination only man could have conjured, and a Soviet man at that. The campus was surrounded by a gorgeous forest, a pleasant contrast that reminded Luo of home.
Luo met with an administrator in a stark office with metal furniture.
“There were four medical classifications for Chornobyl victims,” the administrator said. “Sufferers, evacuees, cleanup workers, and nuclear plant workers. Our job was to formulate diagnostics, create medical classifications, and prescribe treatments.”
“Did you find any records for a boy named Tesla?”
The administrator reached for a manila folder. “I did. There were twenty-eight people named Tesla. Fifteen of them males.”
“How many would be in their late teens today? Between sixteen and eighteen.”
“Three. Two were from Kyiv. One was from Korosten. I remember the one from Korosten. His name was Adam. Incredible case.”
“Why incredible?”
“He was a stage II sufferer. Physical deformity at the ears. Thyroid problem. Not as bad as the girl.”
“Girl? What girl?”
“Adam came for dosimeter updates and treatments with a girl. They lived with the girl’s uncle. What was her name? It began with a vowel. Anna. No. Irina. No. Eva. Yes. That’s it. Eva.”
“Tell me about them.”
“They both had the benefit of being serednjaky.”
Luo frowned.
“Serednjak is the Ukrainian word for middle-of-the-road, as in a wheat field. They say it’s best not to be the tallest or the shortest blade of wheat but somewhere in the middle. That way when the combine passes over you, you’re sure to be cut. The blade may mangle the tall wheat and miss the short one, but it’s sure to cut the one of average height. And so it was here, at the Division of Nervous Pathologies.”
“How so?”
“The short wheat—those who were not sick enough—might not have gotten any treatment. The tall wheat—those who were very sick—might have been too fragile to survive the treatment. The serednjak had the best chance for survival.”
“And to your knowledge they survived?”
“Both of them were stage II sufferers since birth. Their mothers lived in Pripyat in 1986 when the disasters occurred. And they were born in the area. Their symptoms worsened as they aged, which is typical. When the prognosis for Eva’s thyroid condition became grim, she had the requisite surgery. She was fifteen or so at the time. Which would have made Adam fourteen.” The administrator stared into space as though recalling an extraordinary event. “And then it started happening.”
“What started happening?”
“The radiation in their bodies began to gradually recede.”
“What? It went away?”
“Yes. We asked questions but found nothing in their diets or lifestyles that could explain their steady improvement.” The administrator checked his manila folder. “The last record I have of the boy visiting is approximately two years ago. Nothing since.”
“Do you have an address? A next of kin?”
The administrator gave Luo their home address i
n Korosten. “Eva passed away two years ago. Had an accident that required hospitalization. Died from an infection. Girl overcomes one illness only to succumb to another. What a tragedy.”
“She’s happier in the spirit world, I am sure,” Luo said.
The administrator frowned. “What spirit world?”
“The one beneath the earth.”
The administrator looked like he’d swallowed something bitter. “Where did you say you were from?”
“North of Moscow. Anyone else mentioned in the file?”
“An emergency contact by the name of K. Melnik. There’s an address in Kyiv. Might be a physician. Or a family friend. I don’t know. I never interacted with this person, and there is no record of him in my notes.”
Luo thanked the administrator and went back to his car. He placed a series of calls to Korosten and learned that Eva’s uncle had been a Soviet hockey player before being convicted of manslaughter. He drank and gambled his pension away. He also died seven months ago.
That left one lead, the mysterious K. Melnik noted as an emergency contact for Adam. Luo drove to Kyiv. K. Melnik lived in an elegant old four-story apartment building overlooking the River Dnipro.
A police car was parked at the curb in front of the building. The front door was open, and two uniformed policemen stood chatting near the stairs.
Luo walked by the policemen into the foyer and studied the names by the buzzers and apartment numbers. A person named Ksenia Melnik lived in apartment 4B. Luo wasn’t surprised the contact was a woman. Unlike the administrator, he’d made no assumptions about the person or her relationship to the boy. He’d learned during his tours in Chechnya not to make assumptions about any civilian.
He pressed the buzzer to Ksenia Melnik’s apartment. No one answered.
One of the cops appeared beside him. “You know this person?” He looked suspicious and angry, like most Ukrainian cops.
“I’m a friend of a friend. He asked me to stop by and say hello to her.”
“Tell your friend that won’t be possible.”
“Why not?”
“Because Ksenia Melnik is dead. Robbery—homicide. Last night.”
“How did she die?”
“A bullet to the head.”
Just like the squatters in Chornobyl. “Anyone in the neighborhood see anything?”
“No, but her son was hiding in the closet the whole time. He says he didn’t see their faces. Said he hid in the closet like a coward and let them kill his mother.”
“Is he home right now?” Luo said.
“Yeah. The detectives are with him upstairs right now.”
“I’d like to extend my condolences when they’re done.”
The cop frowned. “I thought you didn’t know her.”
“I didn’t. But my friend does. And he’ll never forgive me if I don’t pay my respects on his behalf.”
CHAPTER 9
NADIA WONDERED IF someone was waiting for them at the airport. The trip to JFK took a little over an hour. The driver dropped them off at the departure area for terminal one. The curbside was jammed with vehicles. Shuttle buses, limos, and cars pulled up and then moved on. “Do you see our friends anywhere?” Nadia said.
“No,” Bobby said. “But they know we’re here. If there’s just two of them, they’re behind us. But if there’s another team, they’re already here. Waiting for us. The good news is they don’t know where we’re going yet. Because if they knew, they wouldn’t have asked the driver what airport and what terminal.”
“You are my nephew, aren’t you?”
“Actually, I’m your cousin.”
Bobby was right, but Nadia loved to tease him otherwise. “So disrespectful. Haven’t you been through this with your aunt before?”
They checked in, proceeded through security and passport control, and emerged at the corridor leading to the gates.
“There they are,” Bobby said. “Up ahead. On the left. Near the golf store. In suits. Sipping coffee, pretending they’re having a conversation.”
Nadia glanced their way. Two more rugged-looking Slavs seeming just a little out of place. They glanced at Nadia.
“They saw me looking at them,” Nadia said.
“That’s okay,” Bobby said. “They know who we are. We know who they are. Now they know we know who they are. What do they say in America?” He switched to English. “Level playing field.”
“Our gate is up ahead.” Nadia checked her watch. “The flight leaves in fifty minutes. We have time until the final boarding call. Keep walking past the gate. Pretend we’re taking a different flight.”
They walked by the Slavs and continued past gate five. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see the destination posted on the board.
Tokyo.
Bobby followed her past their gate. The corridor ended a hundred yards ahead. Nadia saw the sign for gates nine, ten, and eleven at the far wall.
“We have to pick one of these gates,” Nadia said. “We’ll sit down and pretend it’s our flight. They’ll come over to take a look. Their goal will be to see where we’re flying so they can communicate that to their boss. The question is how can we make them believe we’re actually boarding a different flight so they don’t know we’re going to Tokyo.”
Bobby considered the question for a few seconds. “I can do that.”
“What? How?”
“Yeah,” Bobby said, staring into space. “I can definitely get rid of them.” He turned to Nadia. “You’re always telling me I have to trust you. The question now is, do you trust me?”
“It’s not a matter of trust. It’s a matter of concern. What do you have in mind?”
“We need to find another flight. The one we want them to think we’re taking.”
They ambled past gates seven and eight. Nadia checked the gate on the left.
“Seoul,” she said.
“Beijing on the other side,” Bobby said.
They passed restrooms and a coffee shop and arrived at the final trio of gates.
“Grand Cayman Islands,” Nadia said.
“Cool,” Bobby said. “They’ll assume we’re going on vacation. That might make sense.”
More logical than Seoul or Beijing, Nadia thought. Then she saw the destination at gate ten. “Forget the Caymans. Look.”
Bobby glanced at the departure board. Lufthansa Airlines flight 8840 to Frankfurt.
“Frankfurt to Kyiv is a common route,” Nadia said.
“They’ll assume we’re headed to Ukraine.”
“It would be the logical deduction.”
“Nice.”
Bobby led the way to an empty cluster of chairs at gate ten. Nadia checked her surroundings. A family of five with two screaming children, a middle-aged couple with bronzed skin, a pair of honeymooners with their eyes on each other.
The same two Slavs were seated at gate nine behind them. One was reading a paper, the other tapping his mobile phone.
“They’re behind us,” Nadia said.
“I’m sure they are,” Bobby said.
She checked the departure board. “The Lufthansa flight boards in less than fifteen minutes.”
Bobby took a deep breath. “That should be enough time.” He slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Wait.” Nadia wanted to throttle him. She reminded herself to keep her voice down. “You want to share your plan with your aunt?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You might try to stop me, and we don’t have any other options.” He smiled sweetly. “Don’t be scared, Auntie. I prepared for this scenario.”
“How?”
“I told you. I packed for misdirection.”
CHAPTER 10
BOBBY REHEARSED HIS plan as he approached the restroom entrance.
“Hey.�
�� A young man in a New York Rangers hockey jersey stepped forward. “You’re that hockey player from Fordham. The one that beat Gaborik in that race in Harlem. Your name is Bobby . . .” His voice trailed off as he tried to remember Bobby’s last name.
“Sorry, man. You must have me confused with someone else.”
The man’s jaw dropped. He looked as though he wanted to say something else but wasn’t prepared for Bobby’s answer.
Bobby bolted into the restroom, found an empty stall, and locked himself inside. He tried not to slip on the floor, which was wet and disgusting. The hook on the back of the stall door had been ripped off. Just like Ukraine. He wiped the toilet seat with a handkerchief and rested his bag on top of it. He was wearing jeans, a button-down shirt, the navy sports jacket Nadia had bought him in Alaska, and black loafers. He hated those clothes. Nadia said they made him look respectable but they felt stiff and wrong on him. They made him look like someone he wasn’t, an entitled prep school kid with rich parents. That made them perfect for misdirection.
He swapped the sports jacket for a forest-green fleece with a high collar and exchanged the loafers for his hiking boots. He put on a black cap with flaps that covered his ears. Ran his hand along the back and stuffed his long black hair under the cap. Lifted the collar to cover his neck. Donned a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses. Zipped his bag shut and left it on the toilet seat.
Then he jumped up, grasped the top of the door with both hands, and vaulted into the air. He lifted one leg over the door to straddle it, swung the other one over, and jumped down to the ground.
Most of the other men stood at urinals with their backs to Bobby. One man was washing his hands at a sink. He stared at Bobby’s reflection in the mirror. Another traveler stopped in his tracks. Bobby sauntered past them toward the exit. The man at the sink turned his attention to his hands. The one who’d just walked in headed for an empty urinal.
The Boy Who Glowed in the Dark (The Nadia Tesla Series Book 3) Page 5