The Boy from Reactor 4

CHAPTER 19

VICTOR SAT AT his usual table, watching exhaust billow from a black SUV through a window beside the entrance to Veselka. Two of Misha’s men sat in the front seats, pounding raspberry blintzes. Inside the restaurant, two other bodyguards sat at the counter across from the dining room, downing pints of pilsner. They blended in with a cross section of New York City: students, artists, lawyers, bureaucrats, and businesspeople.

“Amazov can’t make it,” Misha said, reading from his infuriating little electronic device. “He wants me to fill him in later.”

Misha put the device aside. A sizzling kielbasa appetizer cooled on his plate. He reached for a pickle and studied its texture and color as though judging a contest. He bit off the end and chewed quickly.

“Not bad,” Misha said. “Good garlic. Good crunch. They must have aged it in cold water, not hot. Good spices.”

Victor grimaced. “You eat pickles with kielbasa?”

“I eat pickles with everything, man. Major flavor with zero calories. You can’t beat it with your rhythm stick.”

Victor shook his head and sipped his coffee. They were seated at a table for four in the far corner, Victor with his back against the wall. Misha’s plate smelled of spicy pork and garlic. Victor hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours and still wasn’t hungry.

Misha said, “I have an appointment with the money manager, Steen, in Kyiv tomorrow afternoon. I leave on the seven o’clock tonight.”

A pang struck Victor. “Are you sure it’s wise for you to go? I know the city better. I can go in your place, if you’d like.”

Misha grinned. “So you can accidentally disappear with ten million dollars? A sudden attack of Alzheimer’s? I don’t think so, Old School. If Damian has ten million on account that is due his niece—his rightful heir—I’m going to tell him she’s ready to accept delivery of the money. In no uncertain terms.”

A man entered the restaurant and looked around. He wore his hair pulled back in an elastic band like a schoolgirl but had the build of a man who once really worked for a living. The women in the diner looked up from their soups and salads to check out his black suit, which seemed like something an Italian fashion designer or a mortician would wear.

The man dismissed the hostess with a glance and wound his way through the tables toward them.

“Victor Bodnar? Mikhail Misha Markov?” he said, glancing at each of them.

Misha’s men approached quickly from the counter, hands under their coats.

Victor and Misha remained mute.

“There’s been a change in plan. Nadia won’t be joining you for coffee today. My name is Johnny Tanner. She sent me in her place. May I?” He motioned to the chair beside Misha, unbuttoned his jacket, and sat down without an invitation. “So, what’s good here?”

Misha motioned for his men to return to their beer.

Victor called in Ukrainian for the waitress to come over. He eyed Johnny Tanner’s ponytail uncertainly. Was a man who referred to himself as Johnny trustworthy in any way?

“Coffee?” the waitress said.

“No, thanks. I won’t be here long enough to enjoy it.” Johnny Tanner waited until the waitress couldn’t hear them. “So what have you guys learned about Andrew Steen?”

Victor looked at Misha, who returned his blank stare.

“Do I know you?” Misha said. “Because you’re talking to me like I know you. And I don’t. Just like I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Who are you again?”

“Johnny Tanner. I’m Nadia Tesla’s attorney. And friend. Her very good friend.”

“I know a Nadia Tesla,” Victor said. “The book man, Obon, introduced me to her yesterday. Nice girl. Very intelligent. I like her very much. She was looking for information about her uncle. A man named Damian. You heard of him?”

“Sure,” Johnny Tanner said. “He’s alive.”

Victor didn’t say anything. He couldn’t have if he’d tried. Misha paused to digest what the man said and licked his lips.

“Say again?” Misha said.

“Damian Tesla is alive.”

“Who told you this?” Victor said. “What proof do you have?”

“Nadia made some inquiries. That’s all she knows for now, but she’s working on it.”

“What do you mean, she’s working on it?” Misha said. “Why isn’t she here?”

Misha’s electronic machine sprang to life. It vibrated and danced in place. Victor bit his tongue. Misha picked it up and began to play with it.

“Where is Nadia now?” Victor said.

“On the way to Kyiv,” Johnny Tanner said.

Victor and Misha glanced at each other sharply. Misha resumed reading. The table remained silent for several seconds.

“You looked surprised to hear that, Victor,” Misha said, face down in his device. He turned toward Johnny. “KLM. Flight 8579. Newark to Amsterdam to Kyiv.” Misha glanced back at the screen. “She’s in 14E in the emergency exit aisle. And she’s drinking red wine.” Misha started typing furiously with both hands.

Victor would have tipped his cap at Misha if he were wearing one.

“See, Old School?” Misha said. “The guy with the most money isn’t always the stupidest one at the table.”

Johnny Tanner showed no emotion, no tangible fear that his friend was in deeper trouble than she could have possibly imagined, until his Adam’s apple moved just a bit.

“Kyiv is no place for a woman on her own,” Victor observed.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Johnny Tanner said. “But Nadia is her own woman.”

“You guys got nothing to worry about,” Misha said. “She’s not on her own. She just thinks she is.” He leaned over to Johnny Tanner and lowered his voice. “Tell her I’m disappointed she wasn’t here like she said she would be. And tell her I’m on the seven o’clock from JFK tonight.”

Misha left the diner with his men. Johnny Tanner followed shortly afterward.

Victor’s stomach growled. All of a sudden, he couldn’t remember ever having been so famished. He called the waitress over and ordered a bowl of hunter’s stew and a bottle of Obalon beer.

Misha was on his way to Kyiv. It was the best possible news. Although Tara was safe for the moment, she and her unborn child would always be at risk until Misha was killed.

Victor considered that prospect. Getting away from New York would be good. His old stomping grounds would provide Victor plenty of opportunity to make sure Misha never returned home.