The Boy from Reactor 4

Nadia shook her head. “I lost my tail. On the funicular to Podil. I’m a hundred percent sure of it. How could these men know where I was?”

“What men? Who are these men?”

“Some men I’m in trouble with in America. I busted up an art-theft ring of theirs last year. They think I owe them for that, and that this woman can lead them to money.”

“And can she?”

“No. She can lead us to my uncle. He may have money…or something of value…or not. I don’t know for sure.”

Anton murmured something about Jesus under his breath. “Do these men do any business in Ukraine or Russia or the other former Soviet states?”

“One of them was suspected of selling a Soviet submarine to the Colombians. There was a third man with them in the caves. I assume he’s their local connection. Why?”

“Because that explains why you were and still are being followed.”

Anton gritted his teeth, floored the gas pedal, and exploded into the left lane. He pulled the wheel sharply to the left and hammered the brakes. The car spun 180 degrees and slid into opposing traffic.

Nadia closed her eyes, unable to bear watching what would happen next.

Cars screeched. Horns blared.

The engine wailed again. The car lurched forward.

Nadia opened her eyes. They were going north on Naberezhne now.

Anton pointed at a black sedan stuck behind two cars on the south side. The driver eyeballed the taxi as they sailed by.

“There are more Mercedes in Kyiv than in Stuttgart, but I knew he was following us. I picked him up after you got in the cab.”

Nadia watched the driver get out of the car and take two steps toward them as they drove out of sight. “How the hell—”

“Technology,” Anton said. “GPS. A satellite tracking device. It’s either in your purse or on your clothes.”

A crude laugh escaped Nadia’s lips. “Oh, come on. You can’t be serious. This is the mafia shaking me down for money. Not the government in pursuit of state secrets.”

Anton mumbled under his breath. “So naive…”

“What?”

“Nadia, the mafia in Ukraine is not like the mafia in the United States. In the States, the mafia protects criminals from the government so they can steal. In Ukraine, they’re one and the same thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know who’s the only person a Ukrainian trusts less than a foreigner?” Anton glanced at her. “A fellow Ukrainian. You know which countrymen he trusts the least?”

“The government.”

“Precisely. When Gorbachev was in power in the eighties, the KGB siphoned off six hundred billion dollars into shell accounts—in places as far away as Ireland and Las Vegas—so the party bosses could control Soviet resources no matter what happened with perestroika. By the early nineties, the job got too big for them, so they went in with ex-military, ex-KGB, ex-government officials to help them manage all these businesses. The mafiya as it exists in Russia and Ukraine—the avtoritet—was born. You want a license to import goods into Ukraine? You pay. You want electricity turned on for your barbershop? You pay. Nothing gets done without the mafia, because in Ukraine, the mafia is the government. That gives the men who are following you access to any and all resources.”

“But there’s nothing in my pockets. I’ve been wearing this jacket, these shoes, the entire time. There’s nowhere to hide anything in my leggings. And my purse hasn’t been out of my sight.”

Anton weaved in and out of traffic. “There had to be a moment. Think.”

“I’m trying, dammit,” Nadia said, eyes closed.

Her purse was in the seat back in front of her the entire flight. It never left her eyes during the customs inspection. She carried it to 8 Yaroslaviv Val—

“Oh my God,” Nadia said, ripping it open. “That incident with the drug dealer and the phony cops.” Specter returned her purse to her. It was in his hands. “It was all planned to put something in my purse.”

Anton murmured his agreement.

Nadia removed her passport, wallet, hairbrush—

Her phone rang.

She answered. “This is Nadia.”

“Who are those men?” Clementine Seelick said.

“Why did you send me to the bowels of the Lavra? Why did you pretend there was a Saint Damian?”

“Because you lied. I saw them following you from the top of the Lavra Belltower. I saw them. I saw them. Three guys. Who are they? You were setting me up, weren’t you? You were setting me up.”

“No, I was not. I’m…I’m sorry. I thought I’d lost them.”

“Who are they?”

Nadia exhaled. “They know about Damian. How doesn’t matter. But they think he has something valuable. It’s dangerous for you. You should know that.”

“Oh, shit.” Clementine paused for a beat. Her lungs rasped. “I saw them go in the Far Caves after you. How did you get away from them?”

She wanted to say, “I’ve discovered I’m sneaky like my uncle,” but instead, she said simply, “I’m resilient.”

“Did you lose them?”

Nadia’s eyes fell on a narrow inside pocket she never used. The zipper was open, and there was a slight bulge to it. She slid her fingers inside and removed a rectangular device the size of a domino.