The Boy from Reactor 4

CHAPTER 68

VICTOR WATCHED KIRILO pace around the meeting room in Provideniya’s Militsiya headquarters. It was 6:00 on Sunday morning. Major General Yashko sipped coffee while Deputy Director Krylov was on the phone.

Victor worried about the Timkiv twins and hoped they were moving Isabella every twenty-four hours, as planned. It concerned him that they were incommunicado. In Kyiv, he could sneak away to a pay phone every now and then. Out here, in Siberian hell, there were no pay phones. And he purposely didn’t carry a cell phone, for fear Kirilo would steal it and trace the number he’d dialed. The boys were professional and reliable, but they weren’t planners.

If they could just hang on for another twenty-four hours, Nadia would cross the international date line and the playing field would tilt in his favor. Victor was certain he knew where she was going. Once she was on American soil, Kirilo would be playing on Victor’s turf. The advantage of familiarity would shift in his favor. The probability of victory would shift in his favor as well.

One of Deputy Director Krylov’s lackeys burst inside.

“Border Patrol officers just found a buhanka with crates of vodka and brandy by the pier where the Yupik whalers take off in the morning. The driver said he took a delivery tonight. A woman and a boy got off the helicopter.”

“I’ll call you back, sir,” Krylov said into the phone, and hung up. “What? What’s this?”

“A pair of Chukchis were waiting for them in a buhanka. The driver said one of the Chukchis tried to buy a bottle off him. Said they had a long, cold trip ahead of them.”

“Did he say where to?” Major General Yashko said.

“Uelen.”

“Uelen?” Krylov said. “Why, that’s at the tip. Near Dezhnev.”

Kirilo stood up. “The Bering Strait,” he mumbled.

“Gvozdev Islands,” Major General Yashko said. “Forty kilometers from shore. Big island, Russia. Small island, America. Four kilometers between the two islands. Four kilometers from Russia to America.”

The major general hustled toward Krylov’s desk and reached for the phone. Krylov must have read his mind, because he stood up and made way.

“Have you got anyone on Gvozdev that can help?” Kirilo said. “Or is it all natives?”

Major General Yashko was busy dialing.

“It’s all natives on the American side,” Yashko said. “One hundred sixty-two at last count. And two sentries and a telescope. We shipped our natives to Chukotka in 1948 and razed our island. Now it’s a military base. About twenty square kilometers. Company strength. Helicopters, artillery. It’s under military command.”

Deputy Director Krylov nodded toward the major general.

“Get me the commander at Gvozdev,” the major general said into the phone. “Yes, yes, wake him up. It’s an emergency, dammit. Hurry!”

The major general cupped the phone, sighed, and glanced at Kirilo.

“Not by plane or by ship,” Kirilo said. “On foot. The strait is still frozen. They’re going to walk. They’re going to walk from Russia to America.”

When the major general started barking instructions, Kirilo glanced at Victor and did a double take.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Kirilo said.

“Why should I be?” Victor said. “Damian planned a route where people would help his son. The zoologist told us. Plus, the boy’s mother was from the American tundra. Don’t you get it? The boy’s mother is from Alaska.”