Chernobyl Murders

14

“Everyone is leaving,” said Nikolai.

“Not everyone,” said Pavel. “There are still people on the streets.

What about the crowd at the Catholic church?”

“It closed years ago. They use it only for marriage ceremonies and meetings.”

“So, the people are meeting there trying to get information.”

“Or praying because it is their only escape.”

“Why pray when there are buses lined up to take them away?”

“They’re praying they don’t get a drunken bus driver,” said Nikolai. “But seriously, the best thing to do about radioactivity is to get far away. Exactly what we should be doing.”

Pavel and Nikolai sat in the car assigned them by Captain Putna.

Not a Volga like other KGB agents, but a two-year-old Moskvich with an engine clicking like a windup clock as it sat idling off the road across from Juli Popovics’ apartment.

“How long do we stay here?” asked Nikolai. “We know she’s in there because we saw her at the window. We should simply question her, write up a report, and get the hell out of here.”

Anger showed on Pavel’s face as he rocked the steering wheel back and forth with his finger. “If we write up a report on Juli Popovics, we’ll have no further orders to follow. It would mean reporting back to Captain Putna, who might tell us to start questioning every fuckhead citizen in town! Don’t you remember what he said about Major Komarov?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” said Nikolai.

“If Juli Popovics leaves the area, which I’m sure she will, we’ll be obliged to follow. To put it more plainly for your pea-sized brain, we’ll be able to get out of here without deserting our post, and we’ll be fulfilling our duty. The investigation of this so-called accident.”

“But what if she doesn’t run away?” asked Nikolai.

“She will. Every few minutes either Juli Popovics or her roommate leans close to the window and looks up the road. Someone is coming to pick them up.”

“Maybe they’re looking at the helicopters.”

“They’re watching the road,” said Pavel. “It has nothing to do with helicopters.”

Nikolai leaned forward, looked up through the windshield.

“There goes another.”

While Pavel and Nikolai sat at the side of the road across from Juli Popovics’ apartment building, an occasional car or truck sped past, heading west on the road from Chernobyl to Pripyat. The cars and trucks were packed with people and did not slow down.

“We always seem to be cooped up together in cramped quarters,” said Pavel. “I guess it’s best we keep the windows closed.”

“We’d be safer in a Volga,” said Nikolai. “This thing leaks like a sieve. Did you see the last car fly past? Everyone was wearing handkerchiefs over their noses and mouths like bandits.”

“I saw,” said Pavel, looking at his wristwatch.

“Here comes another tanker truck washing down the street,” said Nikolai. “What the hell are they spraying? It doesn’t look like water.”

When the truck came out of a side street and turned the corner away from them, white foam trailed behind. Immediately following the tanker was a dump truck. The dump truck stopped, and a man wearing a face mask and covered from head to toe in a jump-suit got out, carrying a shovel. The man ran to the side of the road, lifted what looked like a black rock with the shovel, heaved the rock into the back of the dump truck, and ran back to the cab. The two trucks continued on their way, away from Nikolai and Pavel, who sat staring ahead.

“What the hell was that?” asked Pavel.

“I think it might have something to do with the shitty smell in the air,” said Nikolai. “I’ve read a little bit about our reactors. They use graphite around the core. The explosion was at night when no one would have seen a piece of graphite flying through the air. This could be worse than we’ve been told.”

“But Captain Putna said…”

“What does Captain Putna know about reactors and radiation?”

Farther up the street, the dump truck stopped again, the man covered from head to toe running as he lobbed another black rock into the back of the truck.

“It’s Vasily!” screamed Marina from the window.

Everything happened quickly. Marina shouting orders, Vasily and his mother and sister undressing and bathing, Juli putting out fresh clothing.

“We wore scarves over our mouths!” shouted Vasily. “You should have seen the crowd at hospital! The airport road was blocked, nobody allowed in except ambulances and buses driven by militiamen.”

“Why didn’t you come back yesterday?” asked Marina.

“No gas,” said Vasily. “But we have a full tank now. I drained it from a truck. Buses are lined up on Lenin Street, but we shouldn’t wait. Army troops on the main road carrying Kalashnikovs are stopping people and delaying the buses. The main roads are clogged with convoys of army trucks, and I saw a bus near the power plant in a ditch. I took a shortcut here, and no one is being stopped on back roads to the west.”

Vasily continued while Marina had him strip and wiped him down with a wet towel. “Yesterday, before I got gas, a man said soldiers went floor to floor in apartment buildings on the other side of the bridge. They told people to leave but didn’t say where to go. Today I saw a farmer herding livestock down the road. Everywhere people are looking out their windows, waiting to be told what to do.”

“We can’t wait,” said Juli.

Vasily, stuffed into a pair of Marina’s stretch slacks and a baggy sweatshirt, was first out the door. He carried a box of canned goods Juli packed as a precaution. He wore one of Marina’s colorful print scarves over his nose and mouth, and over his head and shoulders were sheets and blankets from the bed to cover the car seats.

Vasily’s mother and sister, both shivering from the cold bath, carried extra clothing from the closet in case their clothes became contaminated. Juli and Marina moistened the last of the towels to use for sealing the vents of the car.

Juli wrote a note saying they were leaving, heading southwest and eventually to Kiev. Although the note was not addressed to him, she prayed Mihaly would, on his way out of Pripyat, come to the apartment and read it. Even better, she prayed he and Nina and his little girls had already escaped. She left the note on the floor inside the door and once again looked through the lens of the dosimeter. Eighty millirems. Although there was no exact cutoff, she knew they would soon surpass a year’s worth of normal exposure if they did not get out of Pripyat. When they ran to the car, another helicopter passed overhead, chopping the air into miniature explosions.

Not far from the building, four men wearing winter coats and ski masks blocked the road, wanting Vasily to stop. Vasily revved the engine, threatening to run them down. Marina screamed when one man was nicked by the car and thrown into a ditch. But the man was soon up shaking his fist with the others.

Vasily drove very fast away from Pripyat. The road west was bumpy and they all hung on. With the windows closed, it was hot in the car. Juli glanced out the rear window and saw several other cars heading west. Beyond the cars she saw the tops of apartment buildings-hers, Mihaly’s, and everyone else’s-disappearing behind them. South of the buildings, smoke from Chernobyl’s unit four rose into the bright spring sky. When the road dove into a wooded area, Pripyat disappeared. In the front seat, Marina held onto Vasily’s arm. In the back seat, Juli and Vasily’s mother and sister looked to one another with tears in their eyes. The road became narrower, the woods closed in, and the spring day grew dark.

Although he stayed back from the car carrying Juli Popovics, Pavel sped up when he saw the men standing in the road. The men parted as they passed, but one managed to smash a rear side window with a brick.

“Everyone’s gone crazy!” shouted Nikolai.

“They’d better keep their shitbox going,” said Pavel. “Look at the smoky exhaust.”

“What kind of car is it?”

“An old Zaporozhets painted about fifty times. But they didn’t get a window smashed.”

“I wish we had guns,” said Nikolai.

“We’re lucky Captain Putna assigned us a car.”

“You and I recruited to follow Juli Popovics makes me think,” said Nikolai. “What if there is something to the Gypsy Moth connection and the Horvath brothers?”

“Conspiracy and sabotage,” said Pavel. “You’re beginning to think like Major Komarov.”

“I’m not kidding,” said Nikolai. “I wonder how things are at the post office.”

“Do you wish you were back there?” asked Pavel.

Nikolai tied his handkerchief over his mouth and nose. “The PK wasn’t such a bad life.”

As Pavel drove, Nikolai helped out by tying Pavel’s handkerchief. Then the two PK agents raised their coat collars against the wind from the broken back window and followed the Zaporozhets into the countryside.

Late Sunday afternoon, two convoys of army trucks and buses converged on the area around the Chernobyl plant. One convoy concentrated on villages and the town of Chernobyl south of the plant.

The second convoy led a group of buses to reinforce those already sent to Pripyat, the population center nearest the plant. On the way to Pripyat, several buses detoured to Kopachi, the closest village to the plant. The people of Kopachi were in a state of panic, and when the buses left, each with an armed soldier onboard, dogs belonging to people from the village chased the buses speeding away.

After pausing at Kopachi, the rest of the convoy headed to Pripyat on back roads in order to avoid driving too close to the plant.

The Sunday evening sun was low in the sky. It would be the second sunset since the Chernobyl Power Station explosion.

Several kilometers from the entrance to the plant, lights powered by a generator illuminated tents being set up in a ditch along the back road by soldiers assigned to assist firefighters and rescue personnel. When the convoy passed the makeshift emergency headquarters, wind from the vehicles shook the tents, almost knocking them down as they were being set up.

Colonel Gennady Zamyatin of the army’s Ukrainian border force was a veteran of the Great Patriotic War long past traditional retirement. He held on to the center post of the headquarters tent as the convoy roared past. Radio equipment had already been brought into the tent. The radio dials were lit up, and a member of the technical unit was wiring the equipment to a makeshift antenna on the raised bank alongside the ditch. Colonel Zamyatin smiled as the convoy passed. The sound reminded him of the Great War, and despite what he knew about the tragedy at the Chernobyl plant, he felt happy for the first time in years.

A truck from the rear of the convoy veered off the roadway and came to a skidding stop at the side of the road near Colonel Zamyatin’s tent. Soviet Army Captain Ivan Pisarenko jumped from the truck and ran down the embankment to the headquarters tent. Inside the tent Colonel Zamyatin and Captain Pisarenko quickly introduced themselves, grasping hands and staring into one another’s eyes. Both knew the seriousness of the Chernobyl explosion. Both had been briefed by superiors who counted on them to take charge.

Although Zamyatin showed his age, he was a sturdy, red-cheeked man with bright eyes and an upturned nose. Captain Pisarenko was taller, more muscular, and much younger.

“My convoy will be in Pripyat tonight,” said Pisarenko. “I’ve got ten trucks, fifty men, and seventy-three buses from Kiev. Do you have any news?”

“Pripyat is close to the plant, and radiation is bad there,” said Zamyatin. “They’ve been rinsing streets and even some of the buildings because of radioactive dust from the explosion. I’ve been told they had to chase people away who walked to the plant. The first buses took many away along with injured firefighters. Have your men cover their faces as much as possible. Try not to breathe in smoke from the fire or dust in the air.”

“What’s happening at the power plant?”

“The core exploded, setting the graphite on fire, so it’s best to avoid the area as much as possible. That’s why we’re setting up here.

Water on the fire is ineffective. Many of the early firefighters and workers from the plant were exposed to extreme radiation. I saw men vomiting blood. The serious cases were flown out, headed to the radiation hospital in Moscow. Yesterday helicopters dropped tons of sand on the core. Although somewhat diminished, the fire continues. Today they dropped boric acid and lead along with sand on it. With people living so close to the plant, it’s a terrible situation.

It reminds me of the Great War when the Nazis rounded up Jews and Gypsies. I don’t know what’s going to happen to all these people.”

“Moscow is ordering collectives to make room,” said Captain Pisarenko. “They’re also recruiting the komsomols to help. For now, the health ministry gave me boxes of iodine pills to be handed out as people board the buses. We’ll tell residents they’ll be gone a few days at most. One of my men suggested we have parents tell their children they are going on holiday, or to the circus. Anything to move them along. And only one suitcase per person.”

Colonel Zamyatin shook his head sadly. “I was preparing for my retirement on a farm near here when they called me. I sent my wife to Kiev as soon as I heard what had happened. Nothing of this scale lasts only a few days.”

“I agree,” said Pisarenko. “The people of the village of Kopachi know how serious this is. We got them out of their houses at gunpoint.

Some of them were puking as they boarded the buses.” Pisarenko paused, wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “When the buses turned around to head south, neighborhood dogs chased them.”

Both were silent a moment.

Captain Pisarenko shook Colonel Zamyatin’s hand. “I hope we meet again.”

One of the radios on a table squealed to life as the technician adjusted the knobs. A loud voice boomed out question after question.

“Who the hell is that?” asked Pisarenko.

“Who else?” said Zamyatin. “The KGB. It’s their office in Kiev interfering with the emergency frequencies, wanting to know every fucking detail while they sit on their asses!”

“I’ll go now, Colonel.”

“Good luck, Captain.”

Captain Pisarenko ran up the embankment to his truck, ordering the driver to go before he landed in the seat. The truck sped off after the rest of the convoy and caught up as the line of trucks and buses drove past signs welcoming visitors to Pripyat. Although the sun had set and it was rapidly growing dark, the messages could still be seen. Among the messages were, “The Ideas of Lenin Are Im-mortal” and “The Proletariat Will Triumph.”

Back at the roadside emergency headquarters, another convoy of trucks and buses roared past, heading north, their headlights flashing on the sides of the tents.

The traffic heading southwest increased. To stay on the main route, Vasily simply followed the lights of the car ahead. Likewise, the car behind stayed close, and Juli used this light to look into her dosimeter.

Vasily’s fifteen-year-old sister was named Lena. While Vasily’s mother slept at the other end of the back seat, Lena, who sat between her mother and Juli, asked questions as they drove through the night.

“What does it say now?” asked Lena.

“About a hundred,” said Juli.

“I learned in school radiation is more dangerous for younger people.”

“Don’t worry, Lena. They’ll have doctors in Kiev to check everyone. People get a hundred millirems in a year from natural radiation. My dosimeter goes all the way up to three hundred, and we turn it in every day.”

“Aren’t you worried for your baby? A baby shouldn’t get any.”

“Juli’s been taking precautions,” said Marina from the front seat.

“Like what?” asked Lena.

“Quit being so depressing,” said Vasily. “We’re out of there, and we can do nothing about what’s already happened.”

“I was simply asking, Vas. Anyway, you pay attention to driving.”

“I will,” said Vasily. “But when we get where we’re going, I might have to pop you.”

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 along. 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.