The Boy from Reactor 4

Sam took them into his home, a three-room shack wedged into the bottom of a cliff. He introduced them to his wife and two toddlers. By American standards, it was a small, humble home, but Adam thought it was paradise. He marveled at the quantity of food in the refrigerator and the wide-screen TV.

“Welcome to my home,” Sam said. “I’ll go out and melt some snow for you to drink.”

“You don’t have running water?” Nadia said.

“No. We store water from a spring in a tank for the winter. By March we run out and have to melt snow instead. There’s some water in the basin in the washroom, and the honey bucket is around the corner if you need it.”

“Honey bucket?” Nadia said.

“Only the washateria and the clinic have septic systems. My wife will prepare some food for you. You must be exhausted. After that, you can get some rest.”

“Thank you so much, Sam,” Nadia said. “This is very generous of you. When will we go on to the mainland?”

He frowned. “The mainland? You mean the Lower Forty-Eight?”

Nadia figured out his reference. “No, no. I mean Alaska proper.”

“Oh. Right. Day after tomorrow. On Monday.”

Nadia frowned. “You mean tomorrow. Today is Sunday.”

“No. Today is Saturday. When you crossed the international date line, the clock went back twenty-one hours. It’s one p.m. on Saturday. That’s why they call them ‘Tomorrow’s Island’ and ‘Yesterday’s Island.’”

After Sam left, Adam tugged on Nadia’s sleeve and asked her to translate. Nadia repeated what Sam had said.

“You’re on Yesterday’s Island,” she said. “You get to live the day again. As of today, you get to start over.”

Nadia and Adam had developed blisters around their eyes from the wind on the strait. Adam had also earned some hard black blisters on the soles of his feet because his boots were so worn. Sam’s wife treated them with an antibiotic ointment.

They ate, recuperated, and stayed indoors so as not to attract attention for two days. On Monday, a large helicopter delivered the mail. While his wife feigned illness and distracted the officer of the Border Patrol, Sam escorted Nadia and Adam into the back of the helicopter. The pilot, a longtime friend, took off.

They flew south to the Nome Airport, where they met an old bush pilot with a Cessna. He flew Nadia and Adam back north to Kotzebue, a small town with a population of three thousand. It looked more like an industrial park that had been plunked down on a massive gravel pit at the tip of a peninsula on the edge of the Arctic Circle.

A middle-aged man met them in an old Jeep at the Kotzebue Airport. While the Chukchi and Sam had the same bone structure and skin color as Adam, this man looked like an artist’s impression of the boy himself in thirty years. The one exception was the huge smile on his face that was evident from the moment Nadia and Adam stepped off the plane.

He hugged each of them as though he’d known them since birth.

“Hello, Adam,” he said in English. “My name is Robert. Robert Seelick. I am your mother’s brother. I am your uncle.”

CHAPTER 76

KIRILO CHARTERED A plane in Magadan. Victor flew with him to Anchorage. Kirilo kept a select array of temporary business visas up to date in case he needed to travel on the spur of the moment, including the Category B visa for visits to America. Pavel and three of Kirilo’s bodyguards, who were waiting in Magadan, had similar documentation and joined him. Kirilo had been to New York City and Los Angeles three times each and enjoyed none of the visits. The excess of wealth and power reminded him that he was relatively poor and powerless on a global scale. After each of his visits, he couldn’t wait to get back to Kyiv.

Victor was an American citizen, so they parted ways at US Customs and Border Protection. When Kirilo caught up with Victor at the gate to their connecting flight, Victor handed him a cell phone.

“Where did you get this?” Kirilo said.

Victor nodded at a kiosk for a cell phone vendor. “There’s someone on the other end of the line who wants to talk to you.”

Kirilo pressed the phone to his ear.

“Papa?” It was Isabella’s voice.

“Bella?”

“Papa.” Isabella sounded teary, as though she’d been crying.

“Are you all right?”

She sniffed some tears in. “Yes, I’m okay. Oh, but it’s horrible, Papa. It’s horrible.”

“Are you hurt? Have they touched you in any way?”

“Well, no…”

“Are you getting enough to eat? Are they taking care of you?”

“Well, yes…”

“Good. Listen to me, Bella. Be good. Do whatever they tell you to do, and don’t show them any of your sass. Do you hear me, Isabella?”

She didn’t answer. By the time Kirilo realized the line had gone dead, Victor had already stretched his hand out to retrieve the phone. Kirilo gave it to him.

“You didn’t have a phone before,” Kirilo said. “You were worried I’d take it from you, triangulate the number you called, and find her. But you’re not worried anymore.”

“The boys are expecting me to call every hour on the hour from now on,” Victor said. “And you’re in my country now.”

“Yes, we’re in your country now. So why don’t you just let her go?”