into the army by the Nazis in the last days of the war.” Gage heard regret in Ninchenko’s voice, as if it was a crime he had failed to prevent. “And not all of them survived.” He shook his head. “I hate even to look at it.”
Instead of turning west toward Independence Square and the apartment, the driver continued north, up a long, curving cobblestone street past the National Philharmonic, a yellow brick building looking to Gage more like a place of commerce than culture. They crested the hill and looked down at the blue Dnepr River and the four-story cruise ships moored for the winter at the Podil embankment terminal.
Gage didn’t mind the ride. He needed to think, and preferred to do it outside the confinement of the apartment.
Ninchenko’s driver wound his way up Castle Hill, then pulled into a space near the Orthodox church at the top. The few trees surrounding the small structure were bare and the parking lot was empty.
“Let’s get out here,” Ninchenko said. “I want to show you something.”
Gage followed Ninchenko to a low wall overlooking the city.
“This is where Kiev was founded,” Ninchenko said. “Not by the tribes living in the area, but by Lithuanian invaders. Ukraine, the word, means nothing more than ‘borderland.’ A gap, a void, an emptiness. One that is usually filled by others.”
A sharp gust blew up from the river. Gage turned up his collar and pulled down on his ushanka to cover the tops of his ears. Ninchenko shivered, then did the same.
“You don’t seem to be particularly proud to be Ukrainian,” Gage said.
“Ukraine is the product of hundreds of years of madness. It’s the Blanche DuBois of Europe, relying always on the kindness of strangers. Strangers gave Ukraine its capital, its industry, its culture, its religion. Russian was even the national language until a few years ago. And the world subconsciously recognizes it. Most people in the West think Kiev is part of Russia. They even refer to it as ‘The Ukraine,’ as if it was merely a region and not a nation.”
“I don’t want to offend you,” Gage said, “but there does seem to be a certain hollowness in Ukraine. I feel it every time I come here. Americans expect a certain depth, maybe a certain weightiness, in this part of the world. Cossacks, plagues, famines, suffering. The kinds of things that create great art and literature.”
“All of that only taught narrow-minded self-interest,” Ninchenko said. “That’s why Ukraine will sell arms to anyone. In fact, ethnic cleansing in the Balkans wouldn’t have been quite so effective without the weapons supplied by Ukraine. Too many Ukrainians live like there’s no tomorrow, and they expect that no one else has the right to.”
Ninchenko pointed north. “You know what’s just up that way?” Gage’s gaze followed Ninchenko’s arm toward treed, rolling hills. “Chernobyl. One hundred kilometers. A wind in this direction would’ve brought radiation to Kiev in two hours. You know how long it took the government to warn the people of Kiev about the nuclear accident? Two weeks. And you know what the government sent to the contaminated people in the zone? Red wine and instructions to wash their floors. Five hundred thousand people were evacuated, but not until they were fully bathed in the fallout and condemned to death.”
Ninchenko turned toward Gage. “But we didn’t come here to discuss history and literature and culture.”
Gage smiled. “I think we did.”
Ninchenko shrugged, not at all embarrassed to have been found out. “Apparently I’m not as subtle as I thought.”
“I get your point: Matson needs to be stopped before he turns over the technology.”
“But you came here to do more than that.”
“I think I may be trying to do too many things. Clear my friend. Recover the money. Expose Gravilov. Stop the sale. And snagging Matson would be the linchpin for doing it all.” Gage shook his head slowly. “There isn’t time to do everything.”
“What is there time to do?”
Gage turned toward Ninchenko. He not only wanted to hear Ninchenko’s answer, he wanted to see it-for the city tour could end in the infamous State Security dungeon.
“How much of a risk are you willing to take?” Gage asked.
Ninchenko kept his eyes locked on Gage’s, but pointed once again toward Chernobyl. “My older brother was a police officer. Among the first on the scene of the fire.” His eyes moistened and his voice quivered, but he didn’t look away. “He died within hours.” Ninchenko tilted his head at the church. “We had his memorial here. You know what my mother asked the government representative? She asked him what was the half-life of grief-and he just turned away, pretending he hadn’t heard her.”
A gust of wind rattled the frozen leaves at their feet.
Only then did Ninchenko glance away, back toward the Cabinet of Ministers in the distance. “I despise those people as much as they despise us.” He then folded his arms across his chest. “What do you need?”
“You have a place I can stash Matson?” Ninchenko didn’t flinch at Gage’s words. “We need to grab him, Alla, and whatever he brought with him.”
“And then what?”
“Get them out of Ukraine.”
Ninchenko’s gaze swept north and west. “Poland, Russia. Too hard to cross the borders.”
“We need to get him to a NATO country,” Gage said.
“Romania or Hungary or Slovakia. But those are also difficult borders.”
“What about Istanbul? By boat across the Black Sea from Odessa.”
“I’ll see if Slava is willing to set it up.”
Ninchenko made the call as they drove down the hill.
“He agrees,” Ninchenko said, after he disconnected. “But says that we better snatch them tonight. He just found out that they made plane reservations to Dnepropetrovsk tomorrow morning. Hadeon Alexandervich owns an electronics factory there. Slava thinks that’s where they’re going to test the devices. He wants Matson stopped before that happens.”
“He wants Matson stopped? I thought politics was just a form of business to him.”
“Remember what I said about Ukrainians being the Jews of the Soviet Union? Slava isn’t a figurative Jew, he’s an actual one. Aboveground, he travels on an Israeli passport, and he doesn’t want any more weapons falling into the hands of Israel’s enemies.”
Ninchenko dropped Gage off at the apartment. He packed a few things to take on the boat, then made a cup of tea and imagined Faith lying in bed, on his side, where she always slept when he was away. He called their home number and pictured her reaching over to pick up the handset.
She answered on the first ring. “Graham?”
“How do you always know?”
She laughed. “When you’re in love, the ring sounds different.”
“You okay?”
“Other than worrying about you, I’m fine.”
“No need to worry. I’m almost done, but I’ll be traveling for a few days through an area without cell service.”
“Going where?”
“I better not say.”
He thought for a moment, searching for a way to reduce the uncertainty he knew she felt. “You recall what I had delivered to Jack in the hospital?”
“Let me think…in the hospital…” She laughed again.
He smiled to himself as they both said the word silently to themselves: Turkey.
CHAPTER 66
I think they finally made up,” Gage said to Ninchenko, as Matson and Alla walked arm-in-arm from the entrance of the Lesya Palace Hotel to the waiting Mercedes. “It’s a good thing. I wasn’t looking forward to them squabbling all the way to Istanbul.”
