Checkmate

33

Shortly after nightfall, with his belly full of borshch so good he felt cheated for having lived so long without it, Fisher and Elena left her bungalow.

Throughout the afternoon, a low-pressure front had moved in, bringing with it dark clouds and icy drizzle. The Kadett’s headlights cut twin swaths through the dark, illuminating ruts and potholes rimmed with ice. The heater, which worked only on the highest setting, made a sound that Elena described as a “carrot being shoved into a fan blade.”

The change in weather was a mixed blessing for Fisher. The clouds and lack of starlight would provide better cover, but the sleet and dropping temperatures would leave the fields and marshes coated in ice, which would crackle with every footfall.

He wasn’t sure what to make of the story of the missing soldiers. Desertion was common in the Ukrainian Army — especially, he imagined, among troops pulling Chernobyl duty. Many of the conscripts were young and poorly educated, and all they knew about Chernobyl was that it had happened long before their births or when they were too young to remember, and that it was a place of ghosts and poison and sickness. Still, the rumor was also a place to start.

They drove for twenty minutes, following the road south along the Pripyat River. Three miles from the power plant, she turned off the main road and crossed a rickety bridge to the east side of the river. Set back in a stand of birch trees was a cabin. In the headlights Fisher could see the structure’s walls were made of rough birch planks sealed with what looked like a mixture of mud and straw. The roof was piled high with sod.

The Kadett coasted to a stop and Elena doused the headlights.

“He lives here year-round?” Fisher asked.

She nodded. “For the last eighteen years. It’s actually very warm in the winter; warmer than my place, even. I visit him once a week, bring him some borshch.”

“Lucky man.”

“What, you thought you were the only man I made borshch for? Men.”

Fisher started to open the door, but Elena stopped him. “Let Alexi come out and see that it’s me first. He’s ornery with strangers and handy with a shotgun.”

“And a tank,” Fisher said.

“And that.”

The cabin’s door opened and a lantern appeared on the porch. In its glow Fisher could see a gaunt face and bushy salt-and-pepper beard. Elena rolled down her window and called something in Ukrainian. Alexi grumbled something back and waved for them to come in.

“He promised not to shoot you,” Elena said. “I told him you brought borshch.”

Fisher hadn’t brought borsch, but Elena had, and they sat in silence while Alexi ate all of it, then licked the bowl clean. The interior of the cabin wasn’t what Fisher expected. Except for the mud-filled gaps between the planks, the walls were painted a butter yellow. Off the kitchen there were two bedrooms and a living room with a large open-hearth fireplace.

As were most WWII Soviet tankers, Alexi was short and sinewy — the kind of muscle that comes from hard labor. His hands were so calloused they looked like leather.

Alexi set the bowl aside and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the shelf and poured three shots. They all drank. Alexi and Elena talked for a few minutes before she turned to Fisher.

“He’ll talk to you. I told him you weren’t with the government — he doesn’t like the government — and that you’re writing a book about Chernobyl since the accident.”

“Have him tell us the story of that night — the night the soldiers disappeared.”

Elena translated Fisher’s words, then listened as Alexi began talking. She translated.

“He says it was past midnight and he was fishing in the cooling pond beside the plant. He saw an Army truck appear on the road on the other side of the pond and then circle around to the ‘mounds’—the bunker area — but before it got there, the headlights went out and the engine went quiet. A few minutes later another truck appeared, this one from the opposite direction, and parked facing the Army truck.

“The men who got out of the second truck weren’t in uniform, so he got curious. He snuck through the reeds until he could see better. There were the two soldiers from the Army truck and four civilian men from the second truck. They talked for a few minutes; then the four civilians disappeared behind the truck and then reappeared wearing ‘cosmonaut gear.’”

“A biohazard suit,” Fisher said.

“Yes, I think so.”

Alexi kept talking.

“Two of the men were each carrying a big shiny footlocker. They all walked behind one of the mounds. The soldiers stayed behind, leaning against their truck, smoking.

“About twenty minutes passed, and then the four men reappeared from behind the mound carrying the boxes, two of them to each box. They loaded the boxes into the back of the second truck, then stripped off their suits and joined the soldiers at their truck.

“They talked for a few minutes, and then one of the civilians opened the door to the truck, took out a suitcase, and walked back. He handed the briefcase to one of the soldiers. And that’s when… That’s when it happened.”

“What?” Fisher asked.

She held up her hand to silence him, then leaned closer to Alexi and put her hand on his forearm. They spoke for a while, then she leaned back and frowned. She turned to Fisher.

“He says after the civilian handed over the briefcase, his three partners drew pistols and started shooting. The first soldier went down, but the second was faster. As he fell, he got off two rounds from his rifle, killing one of the civilians. Then the leader — the one with the briefcase — walked over and shot each soldier a final time time in the head, then reloaded and emptied his pistol into the dead civilian’s face. The three of them dragged the bodies behind the mounds, then climbed into the truck and drove away.

“He says he buried the two soldiers and the civilian in the woods beyond the bunkers.”

“Did you know about this?” Fisher asked.

“All I knew was the rumor: that Alexi had seen the men the night they disappeared.”

“Did he tell anyone about this?”

Elena asked him, then said, “He thinks he did, but he’s not sure. He may be confused.”

“Tell me.”

“He says he told the area commander.”