The Boy Who Glowed in the Dark (The Nadia Tesla Series Book 3)

by Orest Stelmach

  “I recognized the name as soon as he called and asked me about her,” the cemetery man said. “Eva Vovk. Name like that. Who could forget? Lot four. Plot two hundred forty-six. I know all the names. One thousand two hundred forty of them. These people are my friends. The gravestones talk to me. They talk to me, you know?”

  Nadia traded glances with Simmy.

  The cemetery man grinned. “You don’t believe me, do you? Probably think there’s something a little wrong with me.”

  “No,” Nadia said. “We all have at least one special skill.”

  “That’s right, that’s right,” the cemetery man said. He scrunched his eyes together. “What’s your special talent, honey?”

  “A lady never tells. Who delivered the body to you? Was there a funeral home involved?”

  The cemetery man cracked the notebook open to an earmarked page. “No funeral home. I can’t remember how the body got here. It just showed up.”

  “Was the body in a casket?” Nadia said.

  The cemetery man shrugged. “Where else would it have been?”

  “But if there was no funeral home involved, where did the casket come from?”

  “How would I know? The recently departed arrived in a casket. They all do. It’s none of my concern where the casket came from.”

  “But it didn’t come from a funeral home,” Simmy said.

  “Is there an echo in here?”

  Simmy glared at him.

  “No. It didn’t come from a funeral home,” the cemetery man said. “I have it written right here. Received directly from hospital.”

  “Hospital?” Nadia said. “What hospital?”

  “I don’t know what hospital.”

  “Are you sure it was a hospital?” Simmy said.

  The cemetery man considered the question. “I guess not. Maybe I just assumed she came from the hospital, given there was no funeral home involved.”

  “Was there a burial ceremony?” Nadia said.

  “There was a small gathering. I wouldn’t call it a ceremony.”

  Nadia said, “How many people?”

  “Three.”

  “For a man who doesn’t remember everything, you seem pretty sure of that.”

  “That’s because of her uncle. The departed’s uncle. I knew who he was as soon as I saw him. Staroslav Vovk. Defenseman on the Soviet National hockey team during the seventies. Became an assistant coach later on. I used to watch all the games. He did not age well. Happened to a lot of Soviet athletes once they faded from the headlines. Most people wouldn’t have recognized him, but I was a real fan. I used to watch all the games, you know.”

  “Who else was there?” Nadia said.

  “Some city type,” the cemetery man said. “Tall, crazy hair going in every direction, spoke real intelligent. Definitely an educated man.”

  Karel, Nadia thought. The botanist she’d met in the Zone a year ago. He’d been friends with Bobby’s father, Damian, and Dr. Arkady. He’d helped Nadia and Bobby escape Ukraine, then died a year later. He’d been a friend of Bobby’s, which meant he’d also known Eva. His attendance was to be expected.

  “And?” Simmy said.

  “A short old man with a cane. Didn’t say much. He paid the bill.”

  “If he paid the bill, you must have his signature somewhere,” Nadia said.

  “I have better than that,” the cemetery man said. “I have his name right here as the contact for the burial.”

  He showed Nadia the ledger. The contact’s name was Dr. Arkady Shatan. Nadia tilted the ledger so that Simmy could see it. He read the ledger but showed no emotion.

  “No priest?” Nadia said.

  “No. There was no religious ceremony.”

  That didn’t necessarily mean anything, Nadia thought, but it was unusual. Most Ukrainians were Orthodox Christians, and there was a strong contingency of Catholics in Western Ukraine.

  “The doctor said a few words,” the cemetery man said. “A few raindrops fell—I remember because no one was shedding any tears so the heavens opened up to show some sympathy for the recently departed—and that was that. They left.”

  “Any visitors since then?” Simmy said.

  “None. Not a single person.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Nadia said.

  The cemetery man glared at her as though he were offended. “Because she would have told me.”

  “Excuse me?” Simmy said.

  “The spirit of the departed. Eva Vovk. She would have told me. The dead, you see, they speak to me.”

  “They speak to you,” Simmy said.

  “Who else do they have to talk to?”

  “I see your point,” Simmy said. He pretended to scratch his forehead, shielded his face, and rolled his eyes at Nadia.

  The cemetery man replaced his ledger on the shelf.

  Nadia and Simmy went outside.

  “I find it hard to trust a man who believes he speaks with the dead,” Simmy said.

  “As opposed to the corporate men you deal with every day?” Nadia said. “In Russia, England, and America? The ones who run our corporations, with such sterling ethics?”

  “I trust them even less.”

  “He was lucid, he remembered details about the burial, and he didn’t hesitate when he answered questions. He sounded reliable to me, up until the bit about talking with the dead. Eva died of an infection. Why no funeral home? Why no visitation hours? She had to know other people. Teachers, people who took care of her growing up. People who would have wanted to pay their final respects.”

  “Don’t be so sure. She was a child of Chornobyl. You yourself said they were social outcasts. And maybe the uncle couldn’t afford the funeral home.”

  “You may be right about that. Still, no priest strikes me as suspicious, too.”

  “Not me. She was an orphan. She was buried by two scientists and a former hockey player and coach. If the latter three weren’t religious, why would they want a priest? Why would they pay for a priest?”

  “Always the financial angle,” Nadia said.

  “Financial challenges are the reality here. That makes it one of the most important angles. My men arranged for him to raise the casket as soon as he arrived this morning. A quick ride and all will be illuminated.”

  They drove deeper into the cemetery. Mounds of dirt surrounded a plot. A closed casket rested beside it. The cemetery man arrived in a dilapidated truck with cracked sea-foam paint and blotches of rust. A young protégé with an obvious affinity for beer climbed out of the truck with him. They worked the latches on the casket.

  Simmy took an audible breath beside Nadia. “No offense intended, Nadia. I understand your sense of urgency and the danger of Bobby’s current situation. But I must be honest.”

  Nadia raised her eyebrows, unsure of what he intended to say.

  “This is more exciting than buying low and selling high.”

  Nadia breathed a sigh of relief. She feared he was going to confess the entire business was a giant nuisance. “I suspect that depends on just how low you bought and high you’re selling.”

  Simmy cocked his head to the side and nodded. “Yes. I guess you’re right.”

  The cemetery man and his protégé opened the casket. Nadia took a breath and stepped forward.

  A human skeleton rested inside.

  “Broad pelvis, narrow collarbone, small frontal and temporal bones,” Simmy said. “Looks like a woman to me. And there’s evidence of a break in the left fibula.”

  Nadia saw the broken bone below the knee. It brought back memories. She’d stabilized a broken tibia for a distressed hiker on the Appalachian Trail during a three-day Ukrainian Girl Scout survival test. Both bones belonged to strangers she’d never met. The difference was this one would never heal.

  She appraised Simmy
with a fresh perspective. “Did you work in a morgue?”

  “No. My platoon stumbled on a mass grave in Siberia when I was in the Army. I watched and listened when the forensic technicians came. So much for your theory. There lies a woman. There lies Eva Vovk.”

  Nadia stared at the skeleton. How could she be sure it belonged to Eva? Nadia wished she had more time to investigate further.

  A voice startled her from behind.

  “You’re right on the first count,” the cemetery man said, “but wrong on the second.”

  Simmy regarded him with curiosity. “How so?”

  “A girl definitely lies there, but she is not Eva Vovk.”

  “Why do you say that?” Nadia said.

  “Because this girl speaks to me. I told you. When I tend to her lot.”

  Simmy gave Nadia another skeptical glance.

  Nadia said, “And what does she say?”

  “That she has finally found peace now that she is alone.”

  Nadia waited for him to follow up, but he didn’t add anything. “And?” she said.

  The cemetery man shrugged. “And nothing. That’s all the proof you need the girl is not Eva Vovk.”

  Simmy looked amused and confused. “How is that?”

  “Eva Vovk. Her last name means wolf. Wolves travel in packs. No wolf would ever say she was at peace now that she was alone. A wolf would only find peace with others like her. I’m not educated like you two and I may just move dirt for a living, but this I guarantee you. That is not the body of Eva Vovk.”

  CHAPTER 35

  NADIA AND SIMMY completed their business at the cemetery in twenty minutes. They were back on the road to Kyiv by 1:55 p.m. That left them two hours until Nadia’ self-imposed deadline for her plane to depart for Vladivostok.

  “Not only will my driver make up time on the ground,” Simmy said, “my pilot will make up time in the air.”

  He excused himself while he called his assistant to get briefed on what had transpired since he’d last talked to her half an hour ago. Such was the life of an oligarch. He ran a multi-billion-dollar empire. He demanded performance and held his employees accountable. He didn’t micromanage them but he stayed informed so that he understood the business. Charities, pension funds, other businesses depended on him. Nadia had worked for such men in New York City. They were consumed with their work. In Nadia’s experience, such men had to maintain an exhilarating pace for fear of coming to rest and realizing the magnitude of their unhappiness in their lives.

  Simmy finished his call and hung up.

  “I’m not convinced it’s Eva’s body in the casket,” Nadia said.

  Simmy appeared distracted. “Pardon? Oh. Yes. I see. Would you like to spend the night so you can talk to the recently departed and ask her yourself?”

  “Very funny. Dr. Arkady and Eva’s uncle were relevant in the Soviet era. A scientist and a hockey star. If they weren’t powerful, they were at least well-connected. Maybe they maintained their connections. Maybe one of them knew someone that could have provided him with a similar-looking corpse. Or sold him one. Maybe they were able to stage a burial with an actual body, someone who died of an accident or natural causes, perhaps another orphan or a homeless girl. It wouldn’t be too hard to break a fibula, either, to make the illusion even more convincing.”

  “You’ve been watching too much American television.”

  “I barely watch any television. But I’ll admit that the bit about the wolf not wanting to rest alone did resonate with me.”

  “Oh that’s much more comforting.” Simmy sighed. “Are you pleased with what you were able to discover under such difficult time constraints?”

  “Yes. Denys Melnik was hugely helpful. We know it’s the Zaroff Seven who’ve been one step ahead of us. They think there’s a formula, and they’ll kill to get it. They killed his mother and she was the last person alive with knowledge of whether Dr. Arkady completed the formula. You’d have to believe the answer is yes. She sent them to Japan for a reason. We also know he made the locket Bobby wears around his neck. Denys Melnik had a copy, and so does Genesis II. The question is, if it is Eva’s remains in the casket, who is Bobby following? And who is Genesis II?”

  “The answers may be in Siberia, and the road through Siberia will begin in Vladivostok.”

  Nadia checked her watch out of sheer instinct. Simmy laughed and shook his head, as though she were a cynical being who simply refused to believe one of life’s simplest truths, that the oligarch always got what he wanted, that nothing could interfere with this agenda.

  Except for the government that ran the country where his plane happened to be waiting for him.

  When they arrived at Boryspil Airport, they sailed through a special immigration line for VIPs and boarded Simmy’s plane at 4:07. Only seven minutes past her deadline. Nadia was beyond impressed. Her thoughts turned to Bobby as she prepared for the plane to taxi down the runway for takeoff.

  But it never left its gate. Fifteen minutes later Simmy asked the pilot for a reason behind the delay. The pilot said it had to be routine. Nadia remained calm despite the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. With each passing minute, the odds of meeting Bobby’s ferry at the dock diminished. Still, she clung to hope. Pessimism never won the debate, the horse race, or the war.

  When the pilot killed the engine, she knew her hope was misplaced.

  The pilot joined them in the cabin, a grim expression on his face. “This runway is closed for an hour.”

  “Then move us to another runway,” Simmy said. “What’s the problem?”

  “No planes are allowed to move.”

  Simmy hadn’t bothered to secure his seat belt. He snapped to his feet. “Said who?”

  “Air traffic control, obviously. VIP government departure. Probably the prime minister. Or the president. The VIP runway goes on lockdown. Standard procedure. They don’t give advance warning for security reasons.”

  A few choice words of profanity escaped Simmy’s lips. He wheeled to the back of the plane where four of his men were playing cards. He eyed the one who’d made the arrangements with the cemetery man.

  “Get me the MVS,” Simmy said.

  “Is it wise to ask the Minister of Internal Affairs for a favor when you know he’s not going to be able to grant it?” the man said. “Given one of his superiors is on his way to the airport to catch a plane right now?”

  Simmy’s voice rose a few decibels for the first time. “Do I pay you to ask me questions?”

  “Yes, boss. You do.”

  “I do, don’t I?” Simmy said. “I also pay you to think. There’s got to be something we can do.”

  Watching Simmy become animated for the first time ever had the opposite effect on Nadia. If he was upset, there was no need for her to stress. In fact, her optimal course of action was to help keep Simmy calm to ensure his fury didn’t cause him to enrage some airport official and result in an even longer delay.

  Nadia patted his seat cushion with her palm. “Come sit with me and tell me tales of Siberia. A wise man once taught me patience is like virtue. You need it when you want it the least.”

  Simmy looked prepared to shed his dress shirt, don his cape, and fly to Vladivostok after dropping a bomb on the traffic control tower first. He thought for a moment. By the time he sat down beside Nadia, he’d returned to his stoic self.

  “Who was the wise man who taught you this?” Simmy said.

  Nadia remembered the first time she saw Victor Bodnar in his apartment, looking like an old cigar that could never be extinguished. “No one important,” she said. “Just an old thief.”

  Simmy took Nadia’s hand and squeezed it. Lines sprang to his face as he looked her in the eyes.

  “My pilot will try to make up the time, but if we’re late I will make this up to you. I have friends in Siberia. It is a vast place
but a boy from America cannot go unnoticed. He cannot survive without the help of others.”

  He’s not a boy from America, Nadia thought, and he knows people in the region. People who might help him.

  Nadia squeezed Simmy’s hand back. “There’s nothing for you to make up. Bobby is resilient, and he’ll call me on my cell phone as soon as he gets the chance. Besides, worst case, how late can we possibly be? It’s not like he’ll have a day’s head start. More like an hour or two, at most, right?”

  Simmy nodded, but it seemed more an obligatory gesture than sincere agreement. He released Nadia’s hand.

  Nadia smiled, but deep down she didn’t believe a word she’d just said. Vladivostok was in Siberia, and Siberia was the home of gulags where many of her Ukrainian ancestors had perished for anti-Soviet behavior such as speaking Ukrainian or writing poetry.

  It always was and would be a place where people disappeared forever.

  CHAPTER 36

  THE FERRY ARRIVED in Vladivostok on Sunday morning. The car dealer stood beside Bobby at the front of the line to disembark.

  “I know you have to take care of your car inventory,” Bobby said. “Here’s what we should do. I’ll give you my address, and I’ll go on ahead and prepare your money. Then when you’re done . . .”

  The car dealer looked incredulous.

  “No, no,” Bobby said. “That’s ridiculous, right?”

  The car dealer laughed. It was the scratchy growl of a lifetime smoker.

  “It makes it sound like I’m trying to ditch you,” Bobby said. “And I’m not.” Bobby stood quiet for a moment, and then became mildly animated as though a great idea had occurred to him. “You know what’s better? I’ll stay with you. How about that? You have to process your car inventory, right? Get your documents straightened out with the authorities. I’ll stay with you until you’re finished, and then we’ll go to my place together.” Bobby pretended to be enthusiastic by sealing his suggestion with a nod and a smile.

  “Sure,” the car dealer said. “That’s a great plan. It gives you the opportunity to make your escape during all the chaos. Nice try, boy.” He slapped Bobby on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about my cars. My colleagues will take care of my cars. You and I are going to do what best friends do. They stick together and enjoy a cold beverage after an exhausting trip. We’re going to pass through immigration. I will go first. You will be behind me. Soon as you give me my money, I’m going to buy you that beer.”