Chernobyl Murders

35

Captain Brovko ordered them to remain in the house. Men were posted at the front and back doors and at all the windows. The three men assigned to stand guard inside the house told Mariska and Nina to care for Lazlo and Bela.

Juli’s wounds consisted of a few bruises and a shallow cut on her abdomen. After she was searched, and Lazlo’s money along with the keys to the Skoda were taken, she went into the bathroom to change out of her blood-soaked blouse and wash Komarov’s blood from her hands and arms. When she came out of the bathroom, both Bela and Lazlo held wet towels to their faces and said they felt much better.

But when Lazlo closed his eyes to rest and she could no longer look into his eyes, the terror in the wine cellar returned. The memory of total darkness, suddenly replaced by Komarov’s eyes, momentarily paralyzed her.

She went to the sink in the kitchenette. She gripped the edge of the sink and took several deep breaths. She had killed Komarov! She had killed Komarov, and she and Lazlo had survived. She turned on the faucet and began moistening another towel for Lazlo.

Outside the window, she could see the open trapdoor to the wine cellar; the open lid of the box resembling a coffin had become a coffin. As she watched, Captain Brovko and the man whose partner had been killed in Visenka climbed down into the wine cellar.

It seemed so long ago, yet only a month had passed since the Chernobyl explosion. Juli knelt beside the daybed, applying the wet towel to Lazlo’s face. Nina handed her a glass of water. When she took it, Nina looked at her for a moment. Then Nina turned away and wiped tears from her eyes with her sleeve.

The little girls, Anna and Ilonka, came from the bedroom and stood with their mother. The older daughter, Anna, asked, “Mommychka, is she going to marry Uncle Lazlo?”

“I don’t know,” said Nina. “Why don’t you ask her?”

Anna came close to Juli, but instead of speaking, she stood silent with her hands behind her and watched as Juli applied the towel to Lazlo’s swollen eyes.

At first, because of the way Captain Brovko went into the wine cellar and hurried out in a frenzy announcing Komarov’s death and ordering men about, Nikolai thought the brutality might continue.

But after Horvath and the others were in the house and men had been posted at every possible exit, Brovko grew calm and asked Nikolai to accompany him into the wine cellar.

Komarov’s body was near the back wall of the cellar. He lay sprawled out on his stomach, his head twisted to one side, eyes open wide and glistening wet in the beam of the flashlight. Brovko aimed the flashlight at Komarov’s eyes for some time. Even in death, the major’s eyes seemed demonic. Because his face was twisted sideways against the dirt floor, Komarov’s mouth was contorted into an insane grin, showing yellow-stained teeth.

Below Komarov’s waist, a pool of blood extended out in all directions, soaking into the dry soil. Komarov’s lower back was arched upward slightly, and when Brovko used his foot to push Komarov over onto his back, Nikolai saw the knife. It was embedded deep in the major’s abdomen above the groin. Only part of the handle showed.

Brovko took out a handkerchief, wrapped it about the knife handle, and pulled. There was a liquid gurgle as the knife came out. The sound, combined with the smell of released bowels and Komarov’s tobacco, nauseated Nikolai. He backed away to the entrance where the air was better. He found a bench tipped on its side, righted it, and sat down.

Brovko stayed at the body, wiping the knife and inspecting it.

Then Brovko placed the knife and handkerchief beside the body and joined Nikolai on the bench. Brovko sat closer to the entrance, and although the flashlight was out, Nikolai could see Brovko’s profile against the light from the entrance.

“A lot of blood,” said Brovko. “The pressure of his weight pushed the knife in past the hilt. It apparently severed a main blood vessel, and he quickly bled to death.”

“It was his own knife,” said Nikolai. “I saw him take it out of his pocket before he came down here. A folding knife.”

“A large one,” said Brovko. “I saw the major with it once before, in Kiev. He threatened an old man playing a violin on Lenkomsomol Square.”

“She must have gotten the knife away from him somehow.”

“Perhaps,” said Brovko. “But it’s also possible that in the midst of the struggle, he simply fell onto it.”

“I suppose it’s possible.”

“She was unarmed,” said Brovko. “All we found on her were car keys and four hundred rubles. She had it in a sock pinned inside her blouse. She said she left the car in the village. I sent two men after it. A black Skoda, which was originally white. I saw the black paint on Horvath’s hands after he was captured.”

Brovko was silent, staring straight ahead, his Germanic profile unmoving. Then he turned. “Tell me something, Nikolai. Do you think Major Komarov noticed the paint on Horvath’s hands?”

“I don’t know.”

“He was with Horvath all night, as you know. One thing puzzling me is that he didn’t send men out looking for the car.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Captain.”

“Listen to me, Nikolai. We both saw what happened up there.

We both witnessed Komarov’s actions, myself more than you. Last night you saw Komarov aim his pistol at me. This morning we all saw him fire an AKM into this cellar when he knew women and children were down here. I’ve taken over command from a crazy man. Immediately after the Chernobyl explosion, he was told there could be another, even worse explosion, yet instead of investigating this possibility, instead of gathering information about the disaster according to the general directive from Moscow, the major pursued his own investigation. He convinced Deputy Chairman Dumenko he had evidence of sabotage. And I must now decide what to do.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to listen to what I have to say. When I’m finished, I want you to tell me what you know. No one can hear us down here.

You are the only other member of the KGB who knows vital details concerning this case.”

“Very well, Captain. I’m listening.”

“Good, Nikolai. There are several factors to consider. The first is the nature of Komarov’s interrogation. He immediately began using what we call the active method of interrogation on Detective Horvath and Bela Sandor. He wanted to know where Juli Popovics was, and he wanted to know where the women and children had gone. During the time I was with him, this was the extent of his questioning. Not once did he ask about Chernobyl. Not once did he ask about technical details of the so-called sabotage. He treated Detective Horvath as if he were extremely dangerous, as if the man would try to kill anyone in his path. I found this to be untrue. Horvath was even careful when sneaking up on our men so as not to seriously injure anyone. Doesn’t this seem odd?”

“Yes,” said Nikolai. “It all seems especially odd to me, because when Pavel and I arrived in Kiev, the major emphasized Detective Horvath’s threat while seemingly forgetting what had happened at Chernobyl. When we went to pick up Juli Popovics, we were told to be careful of Horvath because he was a murderous saboteur. Last night, when he arrived here, Horvath could have killed Komarov.

And I think he might have.”

“Why didn’t he?” asked Brovko.

“Because he would have had to kill others. Last night he could have easily killed me and made it into the house. When he climbed in the window, I could have killed him but did not. Yes, he shot Pavel. But Major Komarov was the real killer. Major Komarov was the one who frightened Pavel into aiming his pistol at Detective Horvath and Juli Popovics. Pavel and I were not trained as you were, Captain. I told Major Komarov this when we arrived in Kiev.

But he insisted we be put on the case. He made it sound as if he were doing us a favor. Pavel’s death was what Major Komarov needed so he could have a more substantial case against Detective Horvath and Juli Popovics.”

Brovko touched Nikolai’s arm. “Thank you for speaking freely with me. I will return the favor. Komarov left a trail of death in Kiev, and now we are here with his body…”

Brovko let go of Nikolai’s arm and looked straight ahead again, his profile more exposed because of the brightening light from the entrance as the morning sun rose higher.

“What will you do now, Captain?”

“I’m only certain of one thing at this moment, Nikolai.”

“What’s that?”

“Major Komarov died in an accident in which he stumbled in a dark wine cellar and fell onto his own knife. Do you agree?”

“I agree, Captain. Are fingerprints on the knife?”

“No fingerprints.”

Brovko stood, went to the ladder, and climbed to daylight.

Nikolai hurried after him, glad to be away from the smell of wine defiled by the odor of death.

For the remainder of the morning and well into the afternoon, Captain Brovko spoke to each of the men individually. The two men sent after the car returned, saying they found the black Skoda in the village and searched it but found nothing. Late in the afternoon, Brovko sent all but Nikolai and four other men back to Kiev.

The men returning to Kiev were new to the KGB, a few on their first assignment. They loaded Komarov’s body into the van and took it with them. Nikolai stood at the front of the house with Brovko and watched as the men drove off and disappeared down the hill.

“I told the men to pick up the Skoda on their way back through the village,” said Brovko.

“I hope it starts,” said Nikolai.

“It will,” said Brovko. Then, turning to the house. “Everyone agrees. Major Komarov had gone mad.”

The afternoon was quiet, and everyone was tired. Lazlo, Bela, Mariska, and the children slept while Juli and Nina kept watch.

They sat in chairs to the side of the daybed. On the other side of the room, the three guards alternated throughout the afternoon. With Komarov gone, the guards seemed at ease and less threatening.

Juli sat facing the guards at the kitchen table. As the afternoon wore on, she relived the scene in the wine cellar again and again.

Even though she knew she had killed Komarov in self-defense, she kept trying to imagine a different outcome. If she had not killed Komarov, he would have killed her, and he might have killed Lazlo and the others. If she had not come to the farmhouse, Lazlo might be dead instead of Komarov. She would have been in Czechoslovakia, and Lazlo would have been at Komarov’s mercy. Now it was different. Now they were both here at the mercy of Captain Brovko, whose plans were unknown.

“When is your baby due?” asked Nina suddenly from behind.

The question shocked Juli, made tears come to her eyes as she turned. “The doctor said near the first of the year.”

“Ilonka was born the same time of year, four years ago last January. Mihaly wanted a boy, but he was very happy when he saw Ilonka. I hope your child is not affected by the radiation.”

Despite her efforts not to weep, tears flowed down Juli’s cheeks.

At dusk Captain Brovko entered the house and said it was time to go. When Lazlo asked who was going, Brovko explained that everyone would finally be left in peace, but Juli and Lazlo had to go with him.

During the tearful good-byes, Juli knew there had been no way out of the dilemma from the beginning. Whatever happened to Lazlo and her now was already written down somewhere, perhaps in their own blood. Juli was surprised when Nina hugged her and whispered in her ear.

“Care for yourself and your baby. I have a feeling everything will be all right.”

Before going outside, Captain Brovko had Juli handcuffed to one of his men and handcuffed himself to Lazlo. The man handcuffed to Juli led her to the second of two remaining cars and got in the back seat with her while two men got in the front seat. The others, including Lazlo and Brovko, walked to the first car. Nikolskaia and another man got in the front seat of the car, but Brovko held Lazlo back. He led Lazlo to a spot between the cars and spoke with him quietly for several minutes. Although the sun had set and it was getting darker, there was still enough light for Juli to see Lazlo wiping at tears in his eyes.

When Brovko finished speaking with Lazlo, he led him to the lead car, and the two cars drove rapidly away from the house, down the hill, and through the village. Juli watched the car ahead in which Lazlo rode. She hoped she and Lazlo would see each other again before they were sent to prison.

But then something strange happened. Instead of staying on the paved road after going through Kisbor, the lead car turned south onto the same dirt road Juli had taken early in the morning when she drove the Skoda into Kisbor. Only the taillights of the lead car were visible in the dust being raised from the road.

After a short distance, the cars pulled to the side of the narrow road and stopped. First the lead car shut off its lights, then the car she was in shut off its lights. They were in the middle of farm fields with no houses or buildings in sight. In the gathering darkness she saw Lazlo and Brovko get out of the other car. Brovko removed the handcuffs, and she saw Lazlo outlined against the purple evening sky. She imagined Lazlo being shot and left there, or his body taken back, Brovko saying he had tried to escape.

Juli pulled at the handcuffs, tried to open her door, screamed Lazlo’s name.

But in a few seconds the terror was over. Her handcuffs were removed, and she was in Lazlo’s arms. Then Lazlo took her hand and led her to the front of the cars. The black Skoda was there, ahead of the lead car where she had been unable to see it, the black Skoda looking like a child’s toy compared to the Volgas. She got inside the Skoda with Lazlo, and they drove away. When she looked back, she saw the two Volgas turn around on the dirt road and head north, their taillights becoming dimmer and dimmer in the distance.

“Laz, am I dreaming?”

“No. But we’ve still got to get into Czechoslovakia. We’ve got to do it soon because Brovko said the militia will be looking for us.”

“Why did he let us go?”

“He said he has training in nuclear engineering, and he, as well as others, had doubts about Komarov’s claims of sabotage at Chernobyl. He said it would be best for everyone involved if we were not taken back to Kiev. He also told me something else.”

“What?”

“Komarov murdered Tamara.”

Juli reached out and held Lazlo’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Laz.”

“Komarov killed his informant first, a poet from Tamara’s club.

Brovko said he doesn’t know why Komarov killed Tamara.” Lazlo paused. “Tamara would have wanted us to escape.”

Lazlo drove fast along the deserted farm road. When he reached a paved road, he turned north, and Juli saw a sign saying Uzhgorod was ten kilometers away. She remembered the instructions from the woman in Yasinya. First guardhouse to the north.

Ask for directions to Uzhgorod, then directions to Laborets Castle.

If the guard lectures about Prince Laborets’ murder in 903 AD, he is the correct guard.

Soon Juli could see it, a lighted guardhouse well off the road to the left. On the other side of the guardhouse, where the last light from the sun had disappeared, was Czechoslovakia.

Once they were on the main road to Lvov, the second Volga dropped back about fifty meters, and the headlights were not quite so bright.

Before leaving the spot where they left Detective Horvath and Juli Popovics, Captain Brovko announced they would spend the night in Lvov and drive to Kiev in the morning. Nikolai drove the lead Volga, with Brovko in the passenger seat. The four other men were in the second Volga.

Brovko turned on an interior light and consulted the map.

“About a hundred kilometers more. We’ll get there before the restaurants close. None of us has had a hot meal or a night of sleep in two days.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Captain. There are supposed to be some fine Polish restaurants in Lvov.” Nikolai glanced in the mirror at the following headlights. “I’ll bet the others are discussing our dinner in detail, right down to the size and texture of the dumplings.”

“They are good men,” said Brovko, turning out the light.

Except for an occasional oncoming car causing Nikolai to dim the headlights, the road was dark. It was still farm country, not as flat as the plateau they had come from, but with rolling hills, one after another like the hill on which the farmhouse was perched like a medieval castle.

“One would not have expected such a deep wine cellar,” said Nikolai. “Usually they are built into the side of a hill or a mound.”

“And surprisingly dry,” said Brovko. “It probably never floods because the water table is far below the hill.”

“None of the other men noticed the tin plates on the ground?”

“They noticed.”

“They did?”

“Yes,” said Brovko. “It’s one of many things I learned while speaking with them.”

“They knew the women and children were down there, yet they didn’t tell Komarov?”

“Correct. And they might not have told me if I’d asked them as a group. It’s always an advantage to compare individual observa-tions of a situation.”

“What about Detective Horvath and Juli Popovics?” asked Nikolai. “Wouldn’t it have been better to return them to Kiev?”

“There are overriding factors. I phoned Deputy Chairman Dumenko last night. I was assigned from the beginning to observe the situation and report back. There is concern in Moscow about what Komarov has tried to do and what he has done in the past.

Taking Detective Horvath and Juli Popovics to Kiev would have put the KGB in a bad light in Kiev and in Moscow. Dumenko thinks Gorbachev has enough trouble right now.”

“So Komarov did plan Pavel’s death?”

“Yes. But now, Nikolai, I must give you the order I gave the rest of the men. The order comes directly from Deputy Chairman Dumenko.

You are to discuss this incident with no one. When we return to Kiev, all of you, including myself, will be given a final briefing.”

“Is this how the KGB eliminates its rotten apples, Captain?”

“Things are changing in the Soviet Union, Nikolai. The KGB must change with them. Even the Chernobyl disaster will change us. Gorbachev realizes this, and so do others on the politburo. For now we should salute the heroes created by the Chernobyl disaster.

Men like Colonel Zamyatin, whom I met on my way from Moscow to Kiev. He is in charge of army refugee and cleanup operations.

Many have volunteered to help. They are calling themselves liquidators. Perhaps the Chernobyl accident will usher in the new era of openness Gorbachev has spoken of. Everything changes, Nikolai.

Everything.”

As they drove, the number of houses increased, and soon they could see a town in the distance. The lights from the town spread before them, taking away the blackness of night for a few minutes.

Then they were in the dark again.

“What was the name of the town?” asked Nikolai. “I didn’t notice the sign.”

“Sambor,” said Captain Brovko. “Fifty more kilometers, and we’ll be in Lvov, where our dinner and our beds await us.”

Back in Sambor, the windows of the houses flickered as residents watched the latest report about Chernobyl. No one had noticed the two Volgas speeding through town on their way to Lvov.