The Boy from Reactor 4

Anton waved his hand. “Please. Make your call. It’s too dangerous to step outside. The temptation for you to smoke pot or buy cocaine will be overwhelming.”

Nadia was busy dialing, so she didn’t realize what he had said until after the phone started ringing. She chuckled belatedly and held her breath.

One ring, two rings, three rings, four. Five rings, six rings—pause. A commercial female voice greeted Nadia in Ukrainian: “The party you have called is unavailable. Please leave a message at the tone.”

Nadia left an urgent message in Ukrainian. Afterward, she called back and left the same information in English.

When she hung up, Anton beamed at her. “Good?” he said.

Nadia shrugged. “I’m not sure. I hope it was her and not someone else’s phone.”

“I was just thinking that if that wasn’t the right phone number, we can go to her apartment and I can talk to that super for you. A local might have more luck, you know?”

“Thanks. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“I think it’s her. Everyone uses cell phones these days. Relax. It’s like I told you. This is Kyiv. Things will get better.”

Nadia smiled and thanked him. She took a bite of her cheesecake. The coffee-flavored mascarpone melted in her mouth. She hadn’t found Clementine yet, but she was closer to the money today than yesterday, and she’d made a friend. She was in a foreign land, but she felt as though she was visiting her second home. There was ample reason to be optimistic.

An engine wailed. Nadia glanced out the window, but the vehicle disappeared before she could see it. The sound was a sobering reminder, however, that a man in a black Porsche was tailing her. His ultimate job was to kill her. Nadia refused to succumb to fear. Emotions could only interfere with her agenda. If she found the treasure, she’d have something they wanted. She’d have resources to find a way home. Still, the echo of those words was a promise that, regardless of what they said in Kyiv, things were going to get worse before they got better.

CHAPTER 25

NADIA SLEPT FITFULLY for seven hours, bolting upright every time she heard a noise in the hallway or next door. Her subconscious feared any one of them might be the phone call she was waiting for. They weren’t. By 11:00 the next morning, she couldn’t sit still anymore. She put on a light coat and hiked down Khreschatyk, Kyiv’s primary north–south boulevard.

During World War II, she remembered from her classes, the Soviet Army had mined Khreschatyk with explosives as it retreated from Kyiv. When the Nazis arrived on September 19, 1941, Red Army commanders detonated the explosives using radio signals from over four hundred kilometers away. More than three hundred buildings were demolished and one thousand troops killed. The Nazis responded by executing twenty thousand Kyivans. It was the first use of long-distance radio signals to trigger explosives in history.

Clouds hung low on a bitter, overcast morning. The air smelled of flowers and gasoline fumes. Bumpy cobblestone promenades for pedestrians and small-vehicle parking flanked cafés, stores, and restaurants. Ornate Stalinist facades adorned an eclectic assortment of government buildings.

Upon entering Independence Square, Nadia paused at a bronze sculpture of the four Slavic tribesmen who founded Kyiv in the fifth century, including the namesake, Kyi.

The phone pulsated in her purse.

Nadia jumped. Looked around to make sure no one else was within earshot. Yanked the phone out of her purse and cleared her throat.

“This is Nadia.”

No one answered.

“Hello?”

“What was the boy wearing in the picture?”

“Excuse me?”

“What was the boy wearing in the picture?”

“Is this Clementine?”

“Answer the question. I’m hanging up—”

“No, wait.” Nadia remembered the photo her mother had shown her. “Skates. The boy was wearing skates.”

“Are you claustrophobic?”

“No. Well… maybe a little—”

“Too bad. One o’clock at the Caves Monastery. Don’t buy a ticket. Tickets are for tourists. Use the lower entry where the locals go.”

“Okay—”

“Meet me at the entrance to the Far Caves. Not the Near Caves. The Far Caves. Look for the green-roofed walkway. Come alone. I see anyone else, I disappear, eh?”

The phone clicked dead.

Clementine sounded American except for the “eh,” which suggested a Canadian influence. Her voice varied in tone and sounded unreliable, as though she were emotionally unstable or an addict suffering from withdrawals.

After Nadia hung up, she looked around Independence Square. Logic dictated that Specter was watching her at this very moment. Perhaps a local was watching her for him. It was 12:05 p.m. She had fifty-five minutes to lose her tail and get to the Caves Monastery on time.

Nadia sat down on a bench beside a lamppost and an elevated grassy promenade in front of the Central Post Office. She removed a pen, notepad, guidebook, and map from her purse. She’d studied the latter two in detail during her flight from New York.