Chernobyl Murders

21

Wednesday, May 7, 1986. While driving the streets of Kiev at seven thirty in the morning, Lazlo noticed a subtle change. Instead of the usual straight-ahead or downtrodden look of pedestrians, he saw sideways glances, a few looking his way, perhaps recognizing an un-marked militia Zhiguli. Ten days had passed since the Chernobyl explosion. By now, shortwave receivers were down from closet shelves and attics, with wire antennas strung across living rooms.

Literally and figuratively, Chernobyl was in the air in Kiev.

A half hour ago, he had been rudely awakened by a call from Deputy Chief Investigator Lysenko and told to meet with Chief Investigator Chkalov promptly at eight for another morning meeting.

He wondered if Major Komarov was back looking for scapegoats.

The usual morning pastry vendors along Khreshchatik were absent, and several people climbing up from the metro wore handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses. It was an insane world.

He had been asleep just over an hour when Lysenko called. He’d been within a familiar nightmare, the Gypsy deserter already shot in the face, yet pleading with him not to shoot. He could collapse any moment, run the Zhiguli into the curb. “Look here!” those on the sidewalk would scream. “It’s the radiation in the air! We’re all going to die!”

Yesterday he had spent several hours in Visenka with Juli. He had been too tired to talk and napped after lunch. In the afternoon, when it was time to go on duty, Juli had awakened him with a kiss.

It had not been a dream. Juli was real. Everything around him was actually happening, despite the sensation of floating he felt as he drove through Kiev.

He stopped at a cafe and gulped two cups of strong tea. Back in the car, he turned several corners and circled back on the van following him. As he passed the van and sped to militia headquarters, he rolled down the window.

“Your foot is still in your mother!” he shouted in Hungarian.

The driver, a round-faced, pudgy young man, simply frowned.

Chkalov was alone in his office and avoided looking directly at him.

He was like one of the pedestrians walking down the sidewalk. Even though Komarov was not here, Lazlo smelled a setup. At the last meeting, Komarov had mentioned his cousin, Andrew Zukor. Even he wondered if Zukor’s visit last summer had been for the purpose of speaking with Mihaly about Chernobyl.

Chkalov finally looked at Lazlo. “Many of us are going without sleep these days. I’ll get to the point, Detective Horvath. It has to do with you deserting your post without notifying the officer in charge.”

“I was in charge.”

“Regulations specify you were supposed to notify the officer in charge here at the office before you left your post. You could have radioed instead of abandoning your men.”

He thought, Should I have wiped their asses, too? But he said, “I left an officer in charge.”

“Detective Horvath. Leaving an officer in charge without notifying the officer in charge at the office is not the way it’s done.”

“So, an officer in charge in the field is not necessarily an officer in charge unless the officer in charge at the office is notified?”

Chkalov scowled. “I find it necessary to suspend you, Detective Horvath.”

“Did Komarov tell you to suspend me?”

Chkalov’s face reddened. “The militia is independent of the KGB!”

“Independent?” shouted Lazlo. “If we’re so independent, then why the hell am I being followed day and night? I’ll tell you why!

Komarov is investigating Juli Popovics and me and my dead brother because he needs scapegoats for Chernobyl blunders!”

Chkalov’s fists clenched on the desk. “Impossible! It was an unfortunate accident!”

Lazlo stood up. “How long will I be suspended?”

Chkalov stood, but because he was shorter, he had to look up to Lazlo. “I don’t know! Check back weekly with Lysenko!” The flesh at Chkalov’s neck shook violently. “Don’t stand there looking at me! Get out! Leave your car at the motor pool!”

In the hallway, Lazlo passed Lysenko standing at his office door.

“Good morning, Detective Horvath.”

Lazlo raised his fist, and Lysenko backed into his office. In Hungarian, Lazlo said, “Your foot is still in your mother.”

“What?” whined Lysenko.

“It means the Gypsy is not pleased.” Lazlo continued down the hallway.

“Detective Horvath, a message…” said Lysenko, calling him back.

“What?”

Lysenko handed him an envelope. “It just came up from the front desk.”

Lazlo took the envelope and continued walking. Detective Horvath, Kiev Militia. The handwriting was unfamiliar. He tore open the envelope and stood in the hallway reading it.

My dear Detective Horvath

The when is now

The who is one plus someone more

The where is east of the river

The what is danger to the one plus someone more Foreshadowing the fate of Vasyl Stus

The why is a flower with deadly pollen

Flattening the grass to wormwood

A friend of a friend of Shevchenko

Who would be a friend of a dead nineteenth-century poet? A poet?

The bearded poet in the Zil who brought the message from Tamara. A friend of a friend could mean the message was from Tamara.

Lazlo read the lines again. East of the river. East of the river in Visenka there was danger for Juli and her baby-the one plus someone more. Tamara said Vasyl Stus was a poet who died in a labor camp. Danger to Juli because of the deadly pollen of Chernobyl, the Chernobyl grass, the wormwood Mihaly had spoken of. He recalled telling Tamara about the biblical Chernobyl star. She would know.

She would refer to the fate of Vasyl Stus.

He ran down the hall to the stairway. He pushed through the front entrance of militia headquarters, almost knocking down a uniformed militiaman coming in. Was the message literal? Was Juli really in danger? If so, how would Tamara know?

The van followed him around the corner. Chkalov had said to return the Zhiguli to the motor pool, so he was simply following orders. He sped into the fenced-in motor-pool yard where marked patrol cars were parked. One of the garage side doors was open, and he skidded inside to a stop amid the shouts of mechanics.

“Imbecile! Who are you trying to kill?”

Too many mechanics around to switch cars. They would question him, demand papers. Although cars were parked in the aisle, he was able to drive through with no more damage than removing a side mirror from another turd-green Zhiguli.

“Madman! Stop!”

The back door of the garage was closed. He jumped out and pushed the door up on its rollers. While running back to the car, a mechanic threatened him with a large wrench. The mechanic dropped the wrench and stepped back when Lazlo drew his pistol. Other mechanics gathered at the back door to watch him drive down the alley.

From the front of the garage, everything would seem ordinary, the KGB men in the van waiting for him to come walking out of the garage. Lazlo drove slowly so he would not attract attention. He turned northwest, went several blocks at traffic speed to make sure the van did not follow. If a car followed, he could not tell because there were too many on the street.

When he turned southeast, back through the heart of the city, he sped up, back to Khreshchatik, past the post office and the cafe, where he had stopped for tea. Khreshchatik would take him to Lenkomsomol Square. He would go through the underpass, branch south onto Kirov Street. If he took the ramp fast enough, he would be able to see if anyone followed, because they would also have to speed through the underpass. If not, they would lose him in the maze of ramps and exits.

Ahead, the gaping mouth of the underpass was busy swallow-ing slower traffic. When he plunged into the underpass, he flashed his headlights at cars ahead, moving them out of the way. He was below Lenkomsomol Square, where he often walked to lunch in hot weather. Would he ever walk here again? Would Kiev, his world, ever be the same again? Would he get out of the underpass without killing himself and perhaps others?

A sputtering Zaporozhets nearly lost control as it fishtailed to avoid being rear-ended. Lazlo had never driven this fast through the underpass. The sunlight coming through drainage grates on Lenkomsomol Square flashed like strobe lights. The Zhiguli’s tires squealed, the echo screaming through the tunnel. When he hit a wet spot in the tunnel, the Zhiguli lunged sideways, tipped up on two wheels, dropped back to the pavement, and slid into the wall. The wall straightened the Zhiguli, clawing away metal on the passenger side as he exploded up onto the Kirov Street ramp to daylight.

There had been many turns in the underpass, and he had been too busy to see if anyone followed. But now, as he shifted the Zhiguli into high gear and sped onto Kirov Street, he saw a gray Moskvich driving like mad behind him.

They were after him and would not let go, two men in a gray Moskvich, one of the cars alternating with the van earlier in the week, probably radioing the van right now. If he was going to lose the Moskvich, he had to hurry.

Right on Karl Liebknecht, left on Revolutsii, right on Mech-nikov. His city. His Kiev, the streets he knew. But the KGB agents also knew the city. They stayed behind him, seemingly anticipating each turn. This was not getting him to Juli, east of the river where there was danger. But if he drove to Visenka with the KGB in tow, and if the danger came from the KGB…

He turned onto Lesya Ukrainka and headed south. The boulevard was wide and straight, and he could maintain his speed by crossing from lane to lane, passing moving cars as if they were parked haphazardly in the street. He would soon cross over Friendship of Peoples Boulevard, the fastest route to the bridge over the Dnieper, the fastest route to Visenka.

He maintained his speed and stayed in the left lane as he approached the overpass. The ramp down to the boulevard was on the far right. He would cross several lanes of traffic and enter the ramp at the last possible second. He only hoped the Moskvich would miss the turn.

An old woman stepped from the island, and he had to brake and swerve to miss her. A marked militia Zhiguli passed in the opposite direction. In his mirror, he saw its roof light come on as it U-turned to join the chase behind the Moskvich.

The ramp coming up. No choice. Horns and tires screaming as he veered right across lanes of traffic and plunged down onto the ramp. A quick glance in the mirror, and the Moskvich was there, sliding sideways before entering the ramp.

He had to get to Juli! He had to get rid of these men now!

He turned the wheel, braked, spun the Zhiguli around, and sped up the ramp directly at the grinning grill of the Moskvich.

“Bastards!” he screamed.

The Moskvich turned abruptly to avoid him, lost control, and smashed into the guardrail. The militia car taking up the chase behind the Moskvich followed the Moskvich like a dog latched onto a rabbit’s tail, the driver thinking this was the only way to avoid the maniac coming up the ramp in the wrong direction. The militia car slammed into the back of the Moskvich, the sound of the impact making Lazlo look back to see if there was an explosion. No explosion. But both cars were disabled.

Lazlo drove north two blocks so that north would be the direction radioed to the KGB and militia headquarters. But once out of sight, he took side streets back to Friendship of Peoples Boulevard and sped onto the bridge across the Dnieper River. As the Zhiguli crested the bridge at high speed, he saw in his rearview mirror, through the haze of the city, flashing lights of multiple militia cars converging at the overpass crossing over Friendship of Peoples Boulevard.

Leaving Kiev, on the east side of the river, traffic became lighter.

During the frantic chase, he had shifted in the seat, his jacket twisting sideways, pressing his Makarov uncomfortably against his breastbone. He adjusted himself in the seat, listening to Kiev militia frequencies on the radio. A broadcast repeated a description of his Zhiguli, but the broadcast focused on Kiev west of the river.

There were thousands of Zhigulis the same turd-green color as his Zhiguli. He would get to Visenka, he was certain of it. But what would he do about the KGB men watching the house?

The message from Tamara by way of the bearded poet told him Juli was in danger. Had the KGB contacted Tamara again? Or did Tamara have underground contacts? And what about Komarov, who flew all the way to Moscow to question Nina, yet did not bother to question Juli? He knew where she was. His men were watching her.

Speeding to Visenka, Lazlo recalled the last time he visited.

There had been a KGB faded red Zhiguli, then a KGB black Volga, first one then the other following him before taking up positions down the street from Aunt Magda’s. Aunt Magda’s street a dead-end.

No way out if they tried to stop him from taking Juli…

The farmer’s field at the end of the street. He’d seen the twin ruts of its trail leading into the field. The sign for Visenka was ahead, so he turned east onto a gravel road peppered with ruts that shook the Zhiguli violently. The steering wheel was transformed into a frenzied serpent trying to escape his grasp. With any luck he would be able to see Aunt Magda’s house, with its spring flowers and its arbor, across the fields.

In spite of the sun shining through colorful curtains, the house was a prison. Like her unborn child, Juli could not escape. This morning she had gone out to look at the flowers. From the front of the house, spying through the arbor, she looked up the street and saw the black car. While she watched, another black car with two men arrived, and the first car drove away.

Aunt Magda was at the stove, putting cut-up vegetables into soup for lunch. Juli wondered if Lazlo would come for lunch again.

Falling in love so soon after Mihaly’s death tormented her. She tried to tell herself it was fear, her need to latch onto someone strong.

Aunt Magda said she was being foolish, that it was natural to desire such a man. Aunt Magda said his knowledge of the baby made their feelings for one another even more powerful.

“These are untainted vegetables,” said Aunt Magda, turning from her soup pot. “I went to the market before the Chernobyl explosion. I have enough for another week, and then I’ll use the canned vegetables I put up last summer.”

Aunt Magda came to the table and sat across from Juli. She put down her paring knife and lowered her head, mimicking Juli.

“Don’t be sad, Juli.”

“There isn’t much to be happy about except being with you.

People forced from their homes, Marina and Vasily and his mother and sister at a collective somewhere, Pripyat probably abandoned forever, all the others who were at the plant. There’s always someone on duty at the building where I worked. I keep wondering what happened to them.”

Aunt Magda frowned. “Pripyat abandoned forever? Is such a thing possible?”

Juli reached out and touched her aunt’s hand. “Knowing what I know about radiation, it’s more than possible. The levels of radiation causing Mihaly and others to receive lethal doses in so short a time, the half-life of plutonium. And now, here sits a sad fool because the brother of her dead lover is not here.”

Aunt Magda grasped both Juli’s hands. “Finding a friend in a troubled world is not foolish. During the war… God forgive me, I said I’d never tell. Your uncle was my cousin. Why do you think we had no children?”

Juli stared into her aunt’s tear-filled eyes. “You didn’t have to tell me.”

Aunt Magda let go of Juli’s hands, took out a handkerchief, and wiped her eyes. “We were cousins, but we loved one another. And with war, love was the only thing left. Instead of wondering about those you cannot help, perhaps you can help Lazlo.”

“You’re right. I should be doing something instead of sitting here waiting for him to visit.” Juli stood. “Mihaly is dead, the Ukraine is coming apart, and I sit here getting fatter every day with his brother’s child!”

“Please don’t shout,” scolded Aunt Magda. “You’re not getting fatter. You’re not even showing. Besides, a baby growing inside is not called fat. It’s a human being!”

Aunt Magda stood and went to the kitchen sink. “It’s your baby.

You’re responsible for it. If a man loves you, responsibility is shared.”

“Is it love, Aunt Magda? We’ve known one another only a few days.”

Aunt Magda looked out the window. “If you keep asking about it over and over, it’s love. It’s love!”

“I hope he’s coming today.”

“He is.”

“What?”

“He’s coming.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s in the backyard.”

Aunt Magda opened the door, and when Lazlo came into the kitchen, Juli could see by the look on his face something was terribly wrong. It was the same look he had before he told her about Mihaly’s death. She ran to Lazlo and hugged him.

“We don’t have much time,” whispered Lazlo in her ear. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”

Juli let go of him, looked past him into the backyard. “Why do I have to leave?”

“I don’t have time to go into details. The KGB and the militia are after me. I was followed, but I lost them. It can’t be long before they decide I’ve come here. The head of the KGB in Kiev has dreamed up a plot involving your connection to Mihaly. We must leave now.”

Aunt Magda ran from the kitchen. “I’ll get a coat and your bag.”

“What about Aunt Magda?” asked Juli. “If they come and I’m not here…”

“I know.”

Aunt Magda came back with the coat and bag. “I already washed the clothes and repacked them. With a car out there night and day, I felt something would happen.”

Lazlo turned to Aunt Magda, held her shoulders. “Listen. This is important. After we leave, I want you to watch the street. If someone comes, I want you to call the local militia immediately and tell them I took Juli away. Tell them you protested but were unable to stop me.”

Aunt Magda took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “No.

You’re trying to protect me. I won’t tell them anything. I’m old. I don’t care what they do to me.”

Juli touched Lazlo’s arm, but Lazlo continued holding Aunt Magda’s shoulders and staring at her.

“It’s not for you,” said Lazlo. “It’s to get them off the trail, a diversion. You must call the local militia. If someone comes, call immediately and say we just left. If no one comes, call the militia exactly one hour after we leave. Do you understand?” Lazlo shook Aunt Magda’s shoulders gently. “Do you?”

“I understand. Call if I see them coming. But if an hour goes by and no one comes, call anyway. But…”

“There’s no time to explain. It’s for Juli’s safety and my safety.

A diversion.” Lazlo hugged Aunt Magda. “You are a good woman.

You remind me of my mother.”

Juli put on her coat, kissed Aunt Magda, and clung to her until Lazlo said they had to go.

The Volga’s powerful engine idled like a predator. Nikolai sat behind the wheel, waiting for Pavel to tell him when it was time to go.

Pavel looked at his watch every few seconds.

“Why are you so nervous?” asked Nikolai.

“Major Komarov makes me nervous,” said Pavel. “He’s in charge of security at Chernobyl, yet he stays in Kiev.”

“He’s smart,” said Nikolai. “Only a fool would go there now.

Maybe he sent the homosexual agents to Chernobyl.”

Pavel turned and stared wide-eyed at Nikolai. “What do you mean by that?”

Nikolai shrugged. “When I met with Komarov, he seemed unusually upset about homosexuality and religion and ethnic groups in general.” Nikolai tapped his forehead. “You know what I mean?”

Pavel nodded. “When I met with him, he mentioned you weren’t married, if you know what I mean…”

Nikolai reached out to Pavel. “Why should I marry when I can hold my partner’s hand?”

Pavel shook Nikolai’s hand away. “This is no time for jokes!”

“Why not? It’s boring as hell sitting here.”

“It won’t be boring for long,” said Pavel. “If the Horvath brothers were involved in a plot with their cousin, and if Juli Popovics is involved…”

Nikolai interrupted. “Maybe the Gypsy Moth cousin will show up before nine o’clock.”

“That’s another thing,” said Pavel. “Komarov implies all kinds of things, as if he is purposely trying to upset us. He says perhaps Detective Horvath is the Gypsy Moth. He says things about plutonium and air samples. Everything is ambiguous except to be precise about our timing.”

“Why all this exactness with the time?” asked Nikolai.

“How the hell do I know? All I know is, Komarov said to pick Juli Popovics up exactly at nine and have her at KGB headquarters exactly at ten.”

“Relax, Pavel. We can do it.”

“It’s easy for you to be relaxed,” said Pavel. “You weren’t personally threatened. My wife, too. All of us back to Pripyat and even up on charges if we don’t do this right.”

“If Detective Horvath is dangerous and if Komarov wanted to guarantee Juli Popovics be brought in without a hitch, why didn’t he simply assign more men?”

“Finally you understand,” said Pavel.

“It’s a game,” said Nikolai. “We’re simply not used to Komarov’s methods.”

Pavel looked at his watch again, touched the bulge of the shiny new Makarov 9mm pistol in its shoulder holster. “All right, enough.

It’s time to go.”

Nikolai touched his own Makarov in its shoulder holster, put the Volga in gear, and drove slowly down the street to the house at the dead-end.

“I hope she doesn’t scream or fight,” said Pavel.

Nikolai laughed nervously. “Be brave. One woman against two men.”

“Don’t forget the old woman.”

When Pavel got out of the car and began walking through the arbor to the front door, he heard Nikolai call to him from the car.

“Pavel, look!”

“What?”

“Out in the field. I think I see Detective Horvath’s car!”

Pavel stepped back to look around the side of the house. “Holy Mother of God! There’s someone inside the car!”

For a second, Pavel acted like a man on a high wire, not knowing which direction to go. Finally he ran to the front of the house, trampling the flowers as he peered into the front window. He saw the old woman staring back at him. She was on the phone.

Nikolai had restarted the Volga’s engine and was gunning it.

“Hurry! She’s in the car with Horvath! I saw her!”

The front door opened as Pavel turned back to the Volga. The old woman shouted to him. “Wait! Stop!”

“What is it?” shouted Pavel.

“I have to tell you something!”

Pavel hesitated.

“Come on!” screamed Nikolai. “They’re driving away!”

Pavel screamed back to the old woman. “What do you want?”

Aunt Magda waved her hand in disgust. “I’m going back inside.

If you want to know what I have to say, I’ll be in here.”

“What if she’s not in the car?” said Pavel. “What if she’s in the house?”

“I saw her,” said Nikolai. “At least I think I did.”

Pavel ran to the house, banged the door open. “Where is Juli Popovics?”

Aunt Magda looked about. “Who?”

Pavel held up a clenched fist. “Your niece! Where is she?”

“I tried to tell you. You don’t have to worry because I’ve already called the militia. He took her away. A man named…”

Pavel ran out the door.

“Wait! Don’t you want to know his name?”

When Nikolai and Pavel drove into the field, a cloud of dust was all they could see. Back at the house, Aunt Magda stood at the front window, her hands folded and her lips moving rapidly as she prayed to herself.

The car bounced violently, and Juli held on tight. She turned in the seat to look out the rear window, but saw only dust churning behind them. When the bouncing lessened, she realized they had left the field and were now on a gravel road.

“I hope Aunt Magda is all right. Was calling the militia really part of your escape plan?”

“No. If she calls the militia, she won’t be in trouble.”

“What’s your plan for us?”

“I don’t have one yet.”

Juli looked out the rear window again and saw the black car pursuing them through the finer dust of the gravel road. “I see them!

What will we do?”

They slid sideways as Lazlo turned onto another gravel road heading west, the morning sun behind them. The sun kept its distance, but the black car was catching up.

“They’ve got a faster car!” shouted Lazlo. “If they stop us, I’ll go on foot across the field. You tell them I kidnapped you.”

“I can’t!”

“You have to, Juli! They’re going to catch us!”

“But you said there was danger!”

“There is! But if we can’t get away…”

“Maybe they’re simply following us.”

“They’re too close! In a moment they’re going to pass! I’ll let them. Stay down. When they get alongside, I’ll try to force them over. The ditch is deep here. If I can hang them up…”

Nikolai gripped the wheel with both hands, his fists pumping, a boxer holding off an opponent. Dust from the Zhiguli seeped into the Volga and danced on the dash. The Volga rocked back and forth, its powerful engine taking them closer and closer to their prey.

“We’re almost up to them!” shouted Nikolai. “Quit looking at your damned watch! The time won’t matter after what’s happened!”

“If we catch them soon, we can still make it back to Kiev on time!” shouted Pavel.

“What should we do with Detective Horvath?”

Pavel took out his pistol. “We’ll take him with us!”

Nikolai glanced at Pavel. “Don’t wave your gun around! I’ll try to run them off the road!”

Chunks of gravel from the Zhiguli banged against the metal and glass of the Volga as Nikolai drove closer.

“Shit!” shouted Nikolai.

“What?”

“We should have radioed in!”

“Look!” shouted Pavel. “You can pass now!”

Nikolai pressed the accelerator to the floor, and the Volga moved alongside the Zhiguli.

“I’ll force them off…”

Pavel raised his pistol and pointed it at the Zhiguli.

“No!” screamed Nikolai. “Wait!”

An explosion of glass slammed Pavel sideways onto Nikolai’s lap. Nikolai braked, and as the Volga skidded to a stop, he looked down at his friend Pavel. Pavel’s eyes were open. Pavel was smiling despite blood gushing from his temple.

When the car stopped, Nikolai let go of the wheel and held Pavel’s head in his arms. The gush of blood wet Nikolai’s trousers.

“Pavel!”

Pavel did not react. After a few moments, the blood stopped gushing, but Pavel still smiled up at his friend.

“Pavel!”

Finally, recognizing the grin of death, Nikolai hugged his friend to his chest and wept.

After firing the shot, Lazlo drove on for a few seconds, but then slammed on the brakes and turned their car around. Juli saw the grief on Lazlo’s face. When they drove up, she saw the driver of the Volga holding the other man.

Lazlo picked up his gun from the seat and opened the door.

“Stay here.”

Juli stayed low, watching as Lazlo approached the Volga carefully, his pistol aimed at the driver. After Lazlo opened the door and stared inside for a few moments, he lowered his pistol and bent over.

Obviously the driver was not a fighter. Lazlo placed his hand on the driver’s shoulder and spoke to him. The driver handed two pistols out of the car butt first, and Lazlo put them into the pockets of his jacket. The driver, visibly upset, got out, and Lazlo helped the driver carry the man who’d been shot to Lazlo’s Zhiguli. The man’s arms swung limply, and there was a lot of blood. When they came closer, Juli saw the tears streaming down the driver’s cheeks.

After Juli got out of the Zhiguli, Lazlo reached inside and yanked the microphone out of the militia two-way radio. He and the driver of the Volga lowered the dead man into the Zhiguli’s passenger seat.

The driver stood to the side and looked at Juli. “He wasn’t meant for this kind of work. I told him not to point the gun. We worked in a post office. We read peoples’ mail and joked all day. We didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

The man took off his shoulder holster and handed it to Lazlo.

Lazlo took the holster and retrieved Juli’s bag from the back seat.

He motioned to the driver with his pistol.

“Get in my car and drive back to Kiev. Don’t stop anywhere.

Don’t go to a phone. Simply drive to Kiev. I’ll be watching, and if you stop anywhere… I don’t want to be forced to come after you.”

The driver shook visibly as he got into Lazlo’s Zhiguli.

After the Zhiguli drove slowly away, Lazlo threw Juli’s bag and the two shoulder holsters into the back seat of the Volga. He found an overcoat on the back seat and spread it over the bloodied front seat. Juli got in next to him.

“Sit close to me,” he said. “There’s no window on your side.”

He turned the Volga around.

“Are you going to follow him?” asked Juli.

“Only until we get to the main highway.”

“Won’t he stop and report us?”

“No. They didn’t even radio in.”

“How do you know?”

“An old Hungarian saying: When a man weeps, he’s telling the truth.”

“Are they really KGB?”

“A branch of it. Did you hear him mention the post office? They were recruited from the PK. This has been planned. They were supposed to panic, kill or be killed.”

“Why?”

Lazlo put his arm around her. “To make us as guilty as Komarov wants us to be.”

When they reached the paved highway, the Zhiguli turned north. Lazlo stopped the Volga and turned on its two-way radio. A female voice directed a numbered car to return to headquarters. No frantic calls to cross the river east of Kiev and go to Visenka.

Juli looked up to Lazlo, his profile so serious and sad. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m thinking.”

The morning sun was high and bright in the sky.