little girls? I went to the apartment. A neighbor said they’d gone to the plant to see about him.”
“They’ve been taken to Moscow. I don’t know any other details except they are at a hospital there.”
A noisy pair of officers passed, and Juli glanced their way. She continued staring at the doorway as if the news were not true, as if Mihaly would appear there. For some time she sat this way, her youthful profile stained as tears began to flow. Her cheeks were smooth, her nose rounded, her chin jutting ever so slightly. Although he had fought the feeling, she reminded him of Nina.
Lazlo stood, went to her, and put his hand on her shoulder. She looked up, leaned her head, and raised her shoulder, pressing his hand against her cheek, squeezing his hand hard between her cheek and shoulder. Finally, she trembled and wept openly.
“Nikolai Nikolskaia?” shouted Komarov. “Who the hell is that?”
Captain Azef shrugged his shoulders. “He said he spoke with you by phone this morning. He was reluctant to give information to anyone but you. I had to show him my identification before he would reveal he is a PK agent from Pripyat. He said Captain Putna ordered him and his partner to locate Chernobyl workers. They followed a worker to Kiev last night. I would have questioned their motive for following a single worker until he told me the worker they followed is Juli Popovics.”
“Yes,” said Komarov. “I did speak with him this morning.”
“Before we followed Horvath to the cathedral?” said Azef, looking puzzled.
“I had my reasons for not telling you. Where is Nikolskaia’s partner?”
“The other PK agent followed Juli Popovics to militia headquarters where she inquired about Detective Horvath. Shall I bring Nikolskaia in?”
“Yes, Captain. I’ll speak with him alone.”
Azef looked disappointed. “Does this have to do with the Horvath’s American cousin?”
“Send Nikolskaia in on your way out, Captain. I’ve gained his trust, and I’ll fill you in later. Have my secretary bring tea.”
Komarov stood at his window while he waited for Nikolskaia.
He remained at the window as his secretary put the tea tray on his desk. Because his secretary was almost deaf, he did not turn to thank her and knew she did not expect to be thanked. Over the years, the old Slav had become good at coming and going unnoticed.
Even though he could not see it, Komarov stared out his window in the direction of Chernobyl. With Juli Popovics in Kiev contacting Detective Horvath, Mihaly Horvath dead, Azef confused, and Deputy Chairman Dumenko backing him, an impression of conspiracy was created. For Komarov, the more killed and injured, the better. Grigor Komarov, the diligent Soviet citizen who helped the union save face in the wake of nuclear catastrophe.
Nikolai Nikolskaia wore a soiled imitation leather jacket, wrinkled shirt, and no tie. He was a young man with soft features reminding Komarov of his son, Dmitry. Nikolskaia watched warily as Komarov adjusted his uniform lapels and tie after sitting at his desk.
“Please sit down,” said Komarov in a tone he usually reserved for higher officials.
Nikolskaia sat nervously, staring at the tea tray. “Thank you, Major Komarov.”
“I understand you followed Juli Popovics here to Kiev.”
“Captain Putna instructed us to observe her. We felt badly about having to leave the area. We would have liked to stay and help.”
“I’m sure you would have,” said Komarov. “Just as I wish I could be there to help. But critical counterespionage work needs to be done here in Kiev.”
“If there is anything I… we can do, Major…”
“Tell me, Nikolskaia, did it seem to you Juli Popovics was running away from something other than radiation danger?”
“We thought of this… it could be.”
Komarov poured tea for himself and pushed the tray to Nikolskaia. “From the beginning, give me details of your observation.”
After a few sips of tea, Nikolskaia began with letters intercepted at the post office, including those between the Horvath brothers, and from the cousin, Andrew Zukor. Regarding letters from Juli Popovics, Nikolskaia concluded she was pregnant, as indicated in recent correspondence to her aunt. Next he told about their observation of the apartment and the arrival of “others” who drove Juli Popovics and her roommate quickly out of town.
“And then,” said Nikolskaia, “as we waited in line at the roadblock, she left the car and went on foot, passing through the roadblock without being stopped. She took the metro and stayed in the Hotel Dnieper lobby until going to militia headquarters this morning.”
Komarov swiveled his chair, facing away from Nikolskaia. “Perhaps I should provide some background. During the past year, KGB analysts, at my direction, have researched the Horvath family. The cousin, Andrew Zukor, was given the name Gypsy Moth because, as a moth flies to and from a bright light, Zukor has flown in and out of the Ukraine many times. We’ve had men watching him. Although he is a U.S. citizen, he bases his operations in Hungary. We believe he is part of a deep-cover operation collecting technologi-cal intelligence. Therefore, communicating with Mihaly Horvath, a senior reactor control engineer at the Chernobyl Power Station, has been a concern. To put it bluntly, I am now certain CIA operatives, perhaps answering directly to the movie actor President Reagan, have been working to discredit the Soviet nuclear program. And what better way to do this than to cause an accident at the plant?”
Komarov felt pleased with the scenario he had concocted. A CIA operative attempting to influence a Chernobyl engineer should get Nikolskaia’s blood boiling. He swiveled his chair back to Nikolskaia, waited a moment, and when Nikolskaia did not answer, continued. “It’s unfortunate we do not have this Zukor fellow here in our country where the court system could deal with him. With existing evidence, it would be a matter of charges, verdict, and prison term. Swift justice and, if necessary, perhaps some telephone justice for good measure.”
Komarov could see his conversation was having the desired effect. Nikolskaia looked confused and uncomfortable at having been told too much.
“I’m sorry,” continued Komarov. “I assumed you knew in cases of espionage, verdicts are often determined by a Party official’s phone call to a judge.”
Komarov stood and walked to his window. He turned around to face Nikolskaia, knowing he presented a dark figure against the bright western sky, as he continued a speech he felt would put Nikolskaia in the palm of his hand.
“We know Zukor visited the Horvath brothers at their ancestral farm last summer. We know funds were passed to Zukor from CIA operatives. Therefore, it is obvious the Gypsy Moth seeks to destabilize the union just as his namesake destabilized vegetation in his country. Zukor is a Gypsy, like his cousins. Have you noticed Gypsies have olive-colored skin? These races have a tendency to worship false gods, generate extremists, and do their best to disrupt civilized Soviet society. Haven’t we learned our lesson in Afghanistan?
“I’m concerned about our union, Comrade Nikolskaia. At first glance, openness and restructuring seem constructive. But if leaders in their embrace of restructuring fall into a trap, what will they find at the bottom of the pit? Not extremists. They will be at the edge of the pit, looking down. To climb the walls of the pit one must overcome religion, capitalism, homosexuality, and all extremism!”
Nikolskaia sat upright, expanding his chest and staring wide-eyed. Komarov’s rant had taken hold. He returned to his desk and sat down, picked up his teacup, and had a sip. Nikolskaia did the same, but his eyes were wide with anticipation. Komarov allowed a minute to pass, saying nothing before continuing in a calmer voice.
He commended Nikolskaia on his actions before he began preparing Nikolskaia for what would become a more elaborate version of Juli Popovics’ trip to Kiev.
First, because of the speed of the escape, it was obvious Juli Popovics was running from fear of capture. The men who tried to stop the car, Nikolskaia admitted, might have been other agents; indeed, they probably were, since his being a PK agent did not give him familiarity with all KGB operations in Pripyat. Next, instead of merely following others on back roads to avoid the reactor site, the car in which Juli Popovics rode purposely evaded pursuers.
Finally, Komarov got Nikolskaia to agree Juli Popovics surrepti-tiously entered Kiev, leaving the car in which she had escaped Pripyat and going on foot, using methods to avoid authorized KGB observation.
“Juli Popovics knew she was being followed by the KGB,” said Komarov. “She has something to hide and has
