The Boy from Reactor 4

Adam already had his ticket. He said a man who owed his father a debt had sent it to them. Nadia showed the vendor her passport and bought a one-way ticket for the Trans-Siberian Express. The train departed Moscow with Nadia and Adam on board at 9:25 on Saturday, April 24.

It was the No. 2 train, headed from Moscow to Vladivostok, on the Sea of Japan.

CHAPTER 54

AT 11:00 P.M. on Saturday, Kirilo sat in the front seat of a car bumping down a spooky abandoned road in the Zone. The deputy minister had finally secured emergency entrance passes for the Zone of Exclusion after a two-hour delay. Kirilo had to promise the deputy minister more shares in his alternative-energy fund in exchange for the discretion of two superintendents. No doubt the deputy minister was compensating the superintendents somehow. Now that he understood the value of the formula they were chasing, Kirilo considered it a bargain.

Kirilo slept during the drive to Chernobyl until they passed the thirty-kilometer radius to the power plant. The red forest and vehicle graveyards kept him awake and wondering if it really was safe to be in the region, no matter how brief his stay. Chernobyl was not a place people discussed, let alone visited.

Kirilo had gotten good news from Pavel at the River Casino earlier in the evening.

“Nadia Tesla left Ukraine on the night train to Moscow,” he said. “The deputy minister made inquiries for us. She entered Russia at ten fifty a.m.”

“And?” Kirilo said.

“She’s still in Russia,” Pavel said.

Kirilo rubbed his hands together.

Misha said, “Why didn’t anyone tell us earlier she left the country?”

Pavel shrugged. “This is Ukraine, man. That’s how things work.”

Misha turned to Kirilo. “Why didn’t you have her detained?”

“I don’t want to arouse suspicions, end up sharing the bounty from the formula, or worse. If she’d gone to an airport, she would have been detained. There would have been no choice,” he explained. “If she’s on a train, we can catch her. There’s no need to get the government involved.” He looked at Pavel. “Where is she now?”

“Her visa says she’s staying at the Hotel Ekaterina, but that’s a lie. She bought a ticket for the Trans-Sib. She had to show her passport and visa to buy a ticket. They’ve been flagged.”

“The Trans-Sib?”

Pavel nodded. “Nine twenty-five to Vladivostok.”

Kirilo checked his watch. “It’s midnight in Moscow. See if the jet is available. If not, charter another immediately. Three hours to Moscow, plus one to get through Customs and Passport Control. They have a six-and-a-half-hour lead.”

“We won’t get out tonight,” Pavel said.

Kirilo opened his mouth to shout but realized Pavel was right.

“Airport’s closing, pilot’s out on a Saturday night, we have to file flight plans with Moscow. Even if you make phone calls and pull strings, it will take you all night to find people. Get you nowhere.”

“Set it up for the morning, then. As early as you can make it happen. It’s seven days to Vladivostok. Four to Irkutsk if they wanted to throw a curve and go south from there. She’s not going anywhere fast. Check the train schedule. Find the airports along the way. Plot two courses to intercept. Best case and worst case. You never know with Passport Control in Russia.”

“Trans-Sib? Where the hell is she going?” Misha said. “Ferry from Vladivostok to Japan? Plane to Hawaii and on to San Francisco?”

“That sounds like the longest route possible for her to get home,” Pavel said.

“And the last place anyone would look for her, my friend,” Victor added. “The last place anyone would look.”

His bitch cousin was right, Kirilo thought as the car cratered in and out of a pothole. Everybody lurched inside the car. Victor and Karel remained quiet, but Misha groaned.

“I didn’t think it was possible for a head to hurt this much,” he said.

“How do you feel otherwise?” Kirilo said. “The nausea? The diarrhea?”

Misha shrugged. “Dunno. Not that bad, I guess.”

“Good, good,” Kirilo said, hiding his disappointment.

“But then again, I haven’t been eating.”

“You sure you don’t want something? Some pickles, perhaps?”

Misha glared at him.

Kirilo cackled and slapped him again. “Forgive me, my friend. I couldn’t resist.”

At last, the car pulled to a stop outside a farmhouse. “This is it, Boss,” the driver said.

“Okay,” Kirilo told the others, “we go in fast and we go in hard.”

Kirilo burst inside Damian’s house, pushing the babushka aside. A single lantern flickered in the kitchen.

“Where is he?” Kirilo said.

“Who do you think you are?” the babushka said. “This is my home. Get out. Get out now.”

Kirilo raised his hand to strike her. “Don’t make me ask you twice, old woman.”

The babushka didn’t flinch. “The bedroom,” she said.

Kirilo motioned for his driver to go first. Kirilo followed, his bodyguard’s flashlight illuminating the path.

Kirilo marched into Damian’s room, confident he could get the old man to talk. He had a son. That meant he had a weakness Kirilo could exploit, just as Victor had done with him. Kirilo’s driver found a lantern and lit it.