Chernobyl Murders

19

On May 1, 1986, the cities of Moscow and Kiev both held parades.

While Moscow’s parade was surrounded by Kremlin walls and paved squares wet with rain, spring greenery and lilacs blooming along paths down to the river surrounded Kiev’s parade. The morning was sunny, but by midday the wind changed, and an ominous cloud descended.

Kiev’s parade went along Khreshchatik past the university with its red facade, past the post office, past the Hotel Dnieper, and onto Lenkomsomol Square. Speeches were typically patriotic, with no mention of the Chernobyl incident. The assembled crowd was quiet, so much so, traffic in the underpass below the square could be heard.

The absence of the usual food vendors was obvious. News of roadblocks and technicians with Geiger counters had spread throughout the city. Although in subdued voices, rumors made the rounds.

“Did you hear? Ration coupons may be issued, along with compensation for evacuees.”

“Collectives are full, and they’re sending Chernobylites to vaca-tion on the Black Sea.”

“Whatever you do, don’t eat leafy vegetables or drink milk.”

“Be careful on the phone. If you even mention Chernobyl, the line goes dead.”

“Perhaps we should put our shortwave radios back in the attic for the time being.”

The mood on the square during the speeches was somber. Even the sound of traffic, which could be heard through storm drains in the floor of Lenkomsomol Square, became ominous. Heavy traffic meant many citizens were leaving Kiev and perhaps the danger was greater than anyone imagined. Some in the crowd referred to the radiation as “the silent killer.”

Two days after the parade, Major Grigor Komarov was back in Kiev, standing at his office window smoking a cigarette. He looked down to where he would have seen the parade had he been in Kiev on May Day. From his office, the people would have looked like multicolored beetles, the vehicles like toys, the banners like miniature flags used in cemeteries.

Even though it had drizzled, attending the Moscow parade was a high point in his career. The parade, with thousands of more participants than any Kiev parade, was impressive. And by simply glancing over his left shoulder, he could see Gorbachev and other members of the Presidium. Perhaps some of them, even Gorbachev himself, wondered who stood with Deputy Chairman Dumenko.

Someday soon, they would know.

Were some in Moscow already speaking of Komarov? Had gossip remained behind? During the dinner party at Deputy Chairman Dumenko’s residence, he reassured Mrs. Dumenko and several other guests. He spoke of the orderly movement of evacuees, the generous aid provided, and the cooperation of Kiev’s citizens and surrounding collectives. Later, after most guests were gone, Dumenko took him aside and commended him for his tact.

Because many were leaving Kiev rather than going to Kiev, Komarov had spent the peaceful trip back with an empty seat beside him. He’d thought about puzzles and chess games and how easily even intelligent men could be manipulated. He drew a diagram in his notebook in which Detective Horvath was represented by a circle surrounded by women-Juli Popovics, Nina Horvath, Tamara Petrov-all of them with power over this man, each a string connected to the superstitious puppet. And if Komarov could manipulate the strings…

On the plane, Komarov had imagined himself as clever as Dos-toevski’s Porfiry in Crime and Punishment. Detective Horvath a brooding Raskolnikov. But in this case he would have to be more clever than Porfiry. The potential existed others would step in to take credit or, worse, discover some bit of evidence to set the Gypsy anarchists free. The line between revolutionaries, anarchists, and terrorists was a fine one.

Komarov went to his desk and called Captain Azef. He told Azef to send Captain Brovko, the new man assigned by Moscow, up to his office.

“Deputy Chairman Dumenko and Captain Azef filled me in on the case, Major.”

“So now you are an expert?”

“Definitely not. I wish to gain more knowledge from you.”

Captain Brovko was thirty-five, unmarried, formerly stationed in East Berlin as a counterintelligence interrogator. His training in nuclear engineering was from the army. He was tall and muscular, his hair the color of sand, his eyes blue. He spoke fluent German and, in the GDR, was probably mistaken for the grandson of an SS officer. All of this had been in Brovko’s file, which Komarov studied earlier.

“I understand you have skills as an interviewer,” said Komarov.

“Interrogation was my specialty in KGB training,” said Brovko.

“We are from the same mold, Captain. I also trained as an interrogator. Of course, the mold might have changed somewhat since then.”

Brovko laughed politely.

“As for your nuclear training. Can you tell me exactly what happened at Chernobyl?”

“Not without more facts.”

“Deputy Chairman Dumenko said you would look into the situation. I assumed you had.”

“I’ve looked into a Pandora’s box, Major. Chaos and confusion make it impossible to come to a conclusion at this time.”

“I need your best guess as to what happened, and what will happen. Please be concise.”

Captain Brovko leaned both elbows on Komarov’s desk. “Very well. The Chernobyl RBMK reactors are pressure tube devices with graphite blocks to slow neutrons. Apparently the plan was to test reactor number four at low power during maintenance shutdown.

Normally this would be a routine test, except for two factors. The RBMKs are notoriously unstable at low power, and several safety systems were disabled too early in the test. A power surge could not be handled by control rod insertion, the temperature rose quickly, a steam explosion cracked the concrete shell, steam came in contact with hot graphite, and there was a second explosion exposing the core and igniting the graphite. The first firefighters were fatally exposed to radiation and will die. The fire still burns, and there is talk of tunneling beneath the reactor to keep the molten core away from the water table to avoid another, more serious, explosion. Radioactive dust blown into the air required evacuation of an area of thirty kilometers around the reactor. I spoke with Colonel Zamyatin, who is in charge of the evacuation. He said on May Day, Pripyat was a ghost town in which one could hear only the barking of dogs abandoned by their owners. He ordered his men to shoot dogs and cats because they carry radioactive contamination on their fur. And during my briefing here from Captain Azef, I was told trains have been readied on the chance there is a second explosion and Kiev must be evacuated.”

Komarov lit a cigarette and blew the smoke over Brovko’s head.

“You have done your research, Captain. However, evacuation of Kiev is fantasy. There will be no second explosion. As for the first explosion, correct me if I’m wrong, but unless one were actually there at the time, unless one could reconstruct the reactor as it was before the explosion…”

“Correct,” said Brovko. “Even with a thorough investigation, close approximation is the best we can expect.”

“It’s too bad, with all the facts at hand, we can do nothing to limit idiotic rumors. People claiming milk and vegetables and even Kiev’s water are contaminated. Have you come across rumors during your investigation before coming here, Captain?”

“I heard many from agents and soldiers in the zone. Fish with two heads, alien space vessels, a military plot. One old man on a train heading north claimed the explosion was manufactured in order to move the Ukrainian population to Siberia, where the Stalinist work camps were already rebuilt.”

“Our battle against disinformation has begun,” said Komarov.

“The West will provide more rumors. Imagine our general secretary wanting us to put more trust in the West. Sometimes I think we here in Kiev have become more Soviet than those in Moscow.”

Brovko did not react, but simply stared at Komarov.

“So,” said Komarov, “you were stationed in the GDR. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the Sherbitsky affair. I can’t imagine anyone in East Berlin these days knowing of it.”

“On the contrary, Major. You’re the man who caught Sherbitsky.”

“I didn’t mean to boast, Captain. I simply wondered, since so many years have passed…”

“It’s still spoken of in the region. In fact, the ‘safe’ house is still there. The room where the murders were committed is called the Sherbitsky room.”

“Quite a grisly affair,” said Komarov, putting out his cigarette.

“Walking into the room and seeing the bodies is an image I cannot forget. And when I discovered the knife belonging to a man I admired… Enough, we’re here to do a job.”

“What can I do?” asked Brovko, sitting more erect.

“For almost a year prior to the so-called accident at Chernobyl, our office has had several individuals under operational observation. I assume Deputy Chairman Dumenko briefed you about the Chernobyl employees, the Kiev militia detective, and the Horvaths’

American cousin?”

Brovko took a notepad from his pocket and referred to it. “One Andrew Zukor, who may also be called Gypsy Moth by the CIA.”

“You are aware we have reason to believe Zukor visited the CIA station in Budapest prior to visiting his cousins last summer?”

“I am.” Brovko looked at the ashtray where Komarov’s cigarette still smoldered. “Of course, Deputy Chairman Dumenko reminded me you were his only source for this information.”

Komarov stood and walked to his window, staring up to the sky where thick clouds obscured the sun. “Perhaps you have misunder-stood your assignment, Captain.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Komarov turned to face Brovko and raised his voice. “I am in the midst of a serious investigation, which could very well involve sabotage, Captain! The Gypsy Moth may be a spy simply trying to uncover information about Chernobyl, or he could have been actively recruiting his cousins! In either case, I would very much appreciate your help!”

Captain Brovko stood halfway up, then sat back down. “My role as an interrogator is sometimes spontaneous, Major. I’ll do what I can to carry your investigation to its conclusion.”

Komarov returned his desk. “Thank you, Captain. I’m sorry.

Sometimes one’s involvement in these cases is personal. You say Azef filled you in on Detective Horvath?”

“He did.”

“Then you know about the women in his life. I want you to interrogate one of them. I want you to bring her here Monday and find out what she knows.”

Komarov walked to the window again. He stood with his back to Brovko and lit another cigarette. His decision not to trust Brovko with his inner feelings had been the correct decision. Perhaps there was even a chance Dumenko had assigned Brovko to observe him.

No matter. He would put his plan in motion in spite of what others thought. Part of the plan was being played now as he waited to see how long Brovko waited before asking which woman to pick up Monday, the day after Russian Orthodox Easter, the day of resurrection.

After a quick dinner of borscht and buttered bread, Lazlo drove to militia headquarters before returning for the overnight portion of his fifth sixteen-hour shift. He didn’t bother looking for the KGB tail. They had followed him all week. Monday it was the faded red Zhiguli when he took Juli to Aunt Magda’s. Tuesday through Thursday a different car or sometimes a van would stay far back, and he would have to turn several corners before detecting them.

This morning, Saturday, they had switched to a Chaika.

In his office he called Tamara.

“You haven’t called in days, Laz. I was worried.”

“I’ve been on sixteen-hour shifts. Evacuees are angry, and I can’t blame them. We’ve been told to watch for looters. The people escape, and their belongings follow them to Kiev. We caught one looter on a hay wagon with radios and televisions stuffed into the bales of hay.”

“Did you learn anything more at the Ministry of Energy?”

“Only what I’ve told you. I’m still trying to contact Mihaly’s wife in Moscow. I’ll try again after I hang up. I’ve met a woman who knew Mihaly. Her name is Juli Popovics…”

“I assume from your hesitation, she was involved in some way with Mihaly?”

“Yes. Involved. She spoke with Mihaly the night before it happened. I’m going to talk with her again tomorrow. Her aunt invited me for Easter dinner.”

“Good,” said Tamara after a pause. “You’ll get something nourishing to eat. Perhaps soon things will be back to normal. Perhaps I’ll acquire a taste for chicken paprikas.”

“It will be better next time. The last chicken was too skinny.”

Tamara laughed. “But I didn’t have to hug a skinny chicken in bed.”

He said good-bye to Tamara and asked the operator to put him through to Municipal Hospital Number Six in Moscow.

He was transferred from one operator to another. When he did get through, the operator said she didn’t have a list of arrivals from Chernobyl. But this time the operator mentioned transferring him to someone in temporary housing. Suddenly, before he could think of what to say, a woman came on the line and said she would get Nina Horvath, who was down the hall.

“This is Nina Horvath.” Nina’s voice was soft, like a child anticipating punishment.

“Nina. It’s Lazlo.”

“Lazlo. Laz…” She began crying. A few seconds later she spoke again. “I’m sorry, Laz. I’m so sorry…”

“You don’t have to say anything. There’s nothing we can do now.”

“I… they buried him today. I went to the service.”

“I wish I had been there, Nina.”

“The girls ask for you, Laz. First they ask about Mihaly. But now they know, and they ask for Uncle Laz.”

“Do you want me to come get you? I’ll bring you back here to my apartment…”

“Don’t come to Moscow, Laz. They’re sending us to Kisbor.”

“Kisbor? Why would they send you there?”

“Because our relatives live there. Because we can’t go back to Pripyat.”

“I’m your relative. Why can’t you come here?”

There was static on the line, followed by silence.

“Nina?”

“I’m still here, Laz. I wanted to come to Kiev, but they insisted we can’t because of refugees already there. They said for the children it’s best to go farther away. In Kisbor the girls will be with people they know. Bela and Mariska and their baby…”

Nina sobbed for a moment before continuing. “I’m sorry. I need to tell you something. The KGB questioned me about Mihaly’s work at Chernobyl. They’re trying to implicate Mihaly, and I know they’re wrong. But there’s a woman… a technician named Juli Popovics. Mihaly

… was involved with her.”

“Nina…”

“Don’t talk. I know Mihaly told you about her. I knew months ago. Mihaly promised they would stop seeing one another. I was so angry. I remember thinking at the time I wanted to make them suffer. Mihaly slept on the floor, and I slept in bed, alone with my anger. And now… now I’m simply alone. When I heard about the explosion, when my neighbor said she was driving to the plant, I took the girls, thinking it would help. I thought we could get Mihaly. He’d come out and we’d all go away together, and this other thing, this relationship with Juli Popovics, would be finished. He’d see us there, his family come to get him…”

When Nina finished weeping, Lazlo knew he would have to question her. But what could he say? Speaking of Juli and her pregnancy was out of the question. He also needed to avoid mentioning Cousin Andrew Zukor because of the possibility the phone was bugged.

“Nina, it’s not the right time, I know, but I must ask several questions. I have reason to believe the authorities might try to blame Mihaly for the accident.”

“But…”

“Listen. I’ve talked to the Ministry of Energy and… I’ve talked to Juli Popovics.”

“She’s there?”

“She came to Kiev with thousands of others. I think because of her relationship with Mihaly, they may try to use her in some way. Tell me, if you can remember, what kind of questions the KGB asked you.”

Nina told Lazlo about the interview, how the interrogator asked general questions about their family, about life in Pripyat, and finally said he knew of Mihaly’s affair with Juli Popovics. She told about the blatant suggestion that Mihaly was involved in sabotage.

When Nina gave the name of the KGB officer who interviewed her, Lazlo asked her to repeat it.

“Komarov, first initial G. A major. Do you know him?”

“He’s head of the branch office in Kiev.”

“And now he’s here in Moscow… trying to put blame on Mihaly.”

“We can’t know for certain, Nina. Most important now is you and the girls. Did doctors examine you thoroughly?”

“They say Anna and Ilonka weren’t overexposed. They’ve gotten plenty of iodine. But I’ve talked to others. I know it could affect the girls in the future.”

“What about you?”

“It’s the same for me, but worse for children. Radiation is especially dangerous for growing cells. All I can do is pray. We ask God for help, and he gives us this. We’ll go to Easter mass here tomorrow, they’ll fly us to Lvov, and we’ll go to Kisbor. Come visit us there as soon as you can. And, Laz?”

“Yes.”

“Is Juli Popovics safe? Did she make it to Kiev without getting hurt?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Good. I have to go. Others are waiting to use the phone.”

“Kiss the girls for me, Nina.”

“I will.”

Easter dinner with Juli and Aunt Magda reminded Lazlo of boyhood Easters. Sausage, veal loaf, cheese, bread, and hard-boiled eggs, all prepared on Good Friday, put into the Easter basket, and taken to church to be blessed on Holy Saturday. The smell of the food evoked images from boyhood. His parents healthy and strong, his kid brother, Mihaly, running to keep up as they walked uphill from the village of Kisbor with the blessed food.

The Easter meal is served cold on a large platter. After prayer, a single blessed egg is peeled and divided equally among those present as a reminder of who shared the Easter feast. According to tradition, if you experience misfortune during the coming year, you will remember those with whom you shared the egg, and this will give you strength.

Aunt Magda’s Easter tradition was the same. She said decorated eggs dated back to before Christ. According to legend, as long as someone in the world decorated Easter eggs, the world would continue.

While he ate his portion of the blessed egg, Lazlo wondered if Mihaly had a chance to think of tradition before the reactor exploded.

After the shared egg was eaten, Lazlo uncorked the Hungarian wine he brought. He, Juli, and Aunt Magda gave a toast to safety and peace of mind for all Chernobyl victims and refugees. Aunt Magda said because she had no children, she had celebrated Easter alone since her husband died several years earlier. This year she was grateful to have guests. During their toast, Lazlo noticed that, although she held up her glass, Juli had only a sip of wine.

As they ate, the conversation naturally turned to questions about Chernobyl. Radio Moscow’s latest report was two deaths and a hundred or so injured. Lazlo described the roadblocks, the refugees sent to collective farms. Juli said years of illness and an increased probability of cancer could be expected among refugees and emergency workers.

“We may all die of this someday,” she said, putting down her fork and looking out the window. “Not suddenly, but gradually.

Chernobyl children will be frightened of rain and snow. Even those receiving potassium iodide have no guarantees.”

“No iodine for me,” said Aunt Magda. “I’d rather the children have it. Neighbors have asked about Chernobyl because they know Juli worked there. I don’t know what to say. Yesterday while I weeded the garden, Mariya Grinkevich said men are watching the house.”

Juli nodded and turned to Lazlo. “I’ve seen a car on the road with two men inside.”

“Don’t worry,” said Lazlo. “If you see them, it means they want you to know you’re being watched. It’s simply a warning.”

“Do they watch everyone who worked at Chernobyl?” asked Aunt Magda.

“I’m not sure,” said Lazlo.

“I think they would like to,” said Juli. “Mihaly said the KGB was constantly around, waiting for something to happen so they could cover it up.”

After dinner Aunt Magda stayed in the kitchen while Juli and Lazlo went into the living room. Lazlo sat on the sofa, watching as Juli walked to the front window. Her cotton dress hung loosely about her waist. The sun through the window enveloped her. Although Juli’s child did not show, the loose dress reminded him of Nina several summers earlier, pregnant with Ilonka.

“I can’t see the car now,” said Juli. “You said if I can’t see them I should worry.”

“I saw them on my way here,” said Lazlo. “They’re parked up the street near the corner.”

When Juli left the window and sat beside him on the sofa, Lazlo stared at her profile, wondering why she reminded him of Nina.

True, they both had brown hair, both were slender and about the same height. But Nina’s eyes were brown, whereas Juli’s were greenish-gray. She moved slightly closer and turned to face him. The sun from the window shadowing her face brought forth an image from youth. The visage of a fictitious young woman from boyhood dreams. A young woman not only beautiful, but someone to save from danger. The age-old boyhood fantasy, becoming a hero. However, boyhood was long gone, stolen away by the world of guns and reactors and the KGB.

Juli put her hand on his hand. “I’m sorry, Lazlo. I’ve done nothing but add sadness to your life.” Tears came to her eyes. “Your brother is gone, and I’m…”

“You haven’t created sadness, Juli. It’s always there, a part of life. Please go on. We need to talk about Mihaly.”

Juli took out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “So much of Mihaly is gone. He was always joking. It was part of him. He joked when he didn’t want to talk about something. He joked when I brought up his family. It was because the effect of our relationship on his family overwhelmed him.”

“How would he have reacted to the baby?”

Juli looked down. “I’ve imagined it a thousand different ways, selfish ways with Mihaly deserting me, or blaming me.”

“Do you think he would have blamed you?”

“No. I imagined it because I thought it would be easier to say good-bye. I was going to tell him about the baby Friday on the bus.

But he was worried about the reactor. Instead of telling him, I kept it from him and… we argued. The same argument. One of us saying we must end it. The other softening. Back and forth…”

Juli folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him. “Technology rules our lives. We act like the machines. All this damned logic when nothing is really logical. Bringing children into the world, keeping them healthy, giving them moments of happiness along the way. And after they’ve grown up, happiness disappears.”

When Aunt Magda brought plum brandy, Juli went into the kitchen for water instead. Back on the sofa, when Juli looked at him above her water glass, Lazlo saw the emotions of a woman. He was reminded of Nina sipping wine at dinner last winter in Pripyat. He was reminded of Tamara’s eyes glowing in candlelight at Club Ukrainka. He saw in Juli’s eyes a sadness he had seen in his mother’s eyes when she was alive.

“I wonder,” said Juli, “if the KGB knows what Mihaly told me.”

“You mean the test on the reactor?”

“Yes. What if the chief engineer was knowingly doing something dangerous? Mihaly said the plant might be a guinea pig. The chief engineer wasn’t there. Why wouldn’t he be there when the experiment was his idea?”

Lazlo did not answer. An experiment; Mihaly, the scapegoat.

Would they blame it on error or laziness? Would they accuse Juli of seducing Mihaly, causing emotional upset in his life? And what about Cousin Zukor last summer at the farm? Lazlo mistrusted Zukor and had the feeling his questioning of Mihaly about Chernobyl might turn up again.

Juli’s eyes, reflecting light from the front window, did not blink.

Lazlo wondered if he was performing an experiment. Staring into this woman’s eyes to see how it would affect her, or him. His chest felt suddenly smaller in size, breathless, his thoughts veering away from the logical path of investigation.

Before considering the consequences, Lazlo leaned forward and kissed her. And she kissed him. They did not embrace. They did not close their eyes. When he withdrew, he expected a reaction, a comment. Instead, Juli sipped her water and began speaking again as if nothing had happened.

“When I was a girl, my father took me skating in Gorky Park.

His friends were there, and he’d tell them about my schoolwork. I remember being embarrassed. When I was older, he wanted me to go to medical school. ‘A career based on compassion, perfect for a woman,’ he said. I should have followed his advice. If I’d become a doctor, none of this would have happened. I would have been in Moscow. And at Chernobyl, Mihaly’s boss, compassionate and aware of Mihaly’s family, would not have put him in charge during the experiment.”

When Aunt Magda returned with brandy to refill Lazlo’s glass, he declined because soon he was due back at the roadblock. Juli had turned, her knees pressing against his leg. The house was warm.

The brandy made him even warmer. And now this woman carrying his brother’s child immersed him in womblike warmth. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to hold her. He wanted the rest of the world to go away for at least this brief time before the devil named duty called him back to the cold world.

Although Lazlo reminded her of Mihaly, he was not Mihaly. Lazlo was a man of his own making, sensitive and honorable, but with a mysterious past. A man filled with melancholy. She felt it deep inside when he kissed her. A man so alone, so wanting to encompass her life. How could he do this? How could he fall in love with her now? And why did she want so much to embrace him? Insane! Mihaly dead, and now his brother sits so close, so close.

Juli recalled the photograph she’d seen in Mihaly’s apartment.

Lazlo in the wedding party, smiling with pride. Lazlo looking so much like Mihaly, but also looking like her father. A man brought to her by fate, speaking about a wine cellar on the farm where he and Mihaly grew up.

“We spent a lot of time in the wine cellar last summer. Down there we could go back in time. If we stuck our heads up out of the hole, we’d see our mother in the yard hanging laundry. When the wine began to flow, we confessed our sins. Because we were brothers, because we trusted one another, the confessions were more revealing than those to a priest.”

Lazlo turned to the window, the resemblance of his profile to Mihaly’s profile making her shudder. He turned back to her. “What Mihaly told me in the wine cellar might account for both of us being followed. He said there were serious problems at Chernobyl. He worked in the control room. He was around the reactor all the time.

He saw what went on.”

“So did others,” said Juli. “The so-called ‘disregard for safety’ at the plant generated jokes. It was a way of coping. Officials disciplined anyone who spoke openly. Some were sent away to psychiatric hospitals.”

“Initially Mihaly said he would resign because of the probability of an accident. Later he said he’d mentioned problems at Chernobyl to avoid telling me about you.”

“But he did tell you about me.”

“He told me. I hadn’t even met you and I hated you.”

“Do you hate me now?”

Lazlo put his hand on her knee, leaned close, and whispered,

“How could I?”

The KGB had more aggressive methods than monitoring correspondence and telephone conversations when it came to keeping track of suspected anti-Soviets. Most common was direct observation, noting movements and contacts.

Pavel and Nikolai discussed the ramifications of KGB methods as they sat in a shiny black Volga parked up the street from Aunt Magda’s house.

“So,” said Nikolai, “you’re saying there’s no point placing microphones or even reading the mail because guilty people won’t say anything to begin with?”

“Right,” said Pavel. “Our work in the Pripyat post office was a waste of time.”

“Then there’s no point to any of this.” Nikolai motioned with his hand at the dashboard of the Volga and at his new suit of clothes.

“What we’re doing here is as useless as reading those idiot peasants’ letters.”

“Would you rather be back in the post office?” asked Pavel. “Or worse yet, getting a fatal dose of radiation hunting down idiots stu-pid enough to stay in Pripyat?”

“No,” said Nikolai. “I’m simply bored. And I’m really hungry.

I think the iodine we took increases appetite. Do you smell food?

Someone’s cooking somewhere.”

“My sister-in-law’s probably cooking an elaborate dinner for my wife right now,” said Pavel.

“How far away is your sister-in-law’s place?” asked Nikolai. “If we get a break, we could go for a bite, and you and your wife…”

Pavel waved dismissively. “Not a chance. Anyway, I don’t smell food. All I smell is the newness of the car and perhaps your foul breath.”

“Careful,” said Nikolai. “We carry pistols now. In the post office all we did was throw crumpled letters at one another.”

“I wonder if anyone will ever be allowed back in Pripyat,” said Pavel.

“A tragedy,” said Nikolai. “Banners for May Day prepared, and no one to use them. Maybe the whole thing was a conspiracy planned in Moscow. A big distillery hidden among the reactors at Chernobyl to keep employees happy, and Moscow destroyed it as part of their campaign against alcoholism.”

Pavel shook his head, smiled, and resumed staring at the house.

“I wonder how long we’ll have to sit here. This so-called subversive Juli Popovics hasn’t made a move. You’d think she’d at least give us an opportunity to drive about occasionally.”

“We’d have the opportunity if we were following Detective Horvath. Of course, we wouldn’t be able to use a Volga.” Nikolai looked out the back window. “Where do you think his tail is today?”

“Could be the van down the block,” said Pavel.

“Such strange methods, not identifying the agents assigned to Detective Horvath. What if something happens and we start shooting one another? And Horvath’s a strange one. Did you see the way his mouth moved when he was walking into the house earlier? My mother always said men who talk to themselves have a second soul that refuses to die, like a devil.”

“You should tell Major Komarov you think Detective Horvath is a devil, Nikolai.”

Nikolai shook his head. “He’d put us back in our Moskvich, return our contaminated clothes, and send us to Pripyat. I’m content to stay here. Besides, your wife is nearby.”

“Don’t keep reminding me,” said Pavel.

Nikolai laughed. “At least you have someone. I wonder what became of my date from last weekend in Pripyat. I hope she got out all right. Young and firm, not yet fattened up.”

Pavel frowned at Nikolai, then sneered.

“Sorry, Pavel. By the way, what does your wife think of all this?”

“She thinks something’s wrong. She says it’s strange we should be rewarded for running away from Pripyat. Everyone else working for Komarov knows more than we do. It might be more dangerous than we’ve been led to believe.”

“Look,” said Nikolai. “Detective Horvath is leaving. Too bad Juli Popovics isn’t going with him.”

Detective Horvath drove past them and turned north to the main highway.

“He didn’t even look at us,” said Nikolai.

“He doesn’t have to,” said Pavel. “He knows we’re here. It’s the others he’s watching for.”

While Nikolai and Pavel watched, the van down the street followed Detective Horvath’s Zhiguli at a careful distance. Now they were alone, two PK agents in their shiny Volga, wearing business suits and carrying brand new Makarov 9mm pistols in leather shoulder holsters still aromatic from the tanning mill.