The Dnieper River bridge south of Trukhanov Island was sometimes referred to by citizens of Kiev as a bridge between two worlds.
On one side was Kiev, with its Monument of the Motherland and its hills and trees and architecture from earlier centuries when a structure was more than mere shelter. On the other side of the bridge was Darnitsa, set back beyond the river foliage on flatlands, its rectangular buildings like so many dominoes.
South out of Darnitsa along the eastern shore of the Dnieper, the hills across the river rose steeply. The river was wide, capturing the shadows of the hills. A passenger steamer heading south to the Black Sea added perspective to the picture postcard. As she watched the view out the car window, Juli imagined she was with the father of her future child on a holiday trip to Odessa and there was no such thing as radiation, or even atoms. Everything was solid and stable and would last forever.
“Last summer,” said Lazlo, “at the farm near the Czech frontier, Mihaly told me his concerns about safety at Chernobyl. Later in the year, when I visited Pripyat, he told me about you. I should have followed up about the plant.”
“Mihaly was not the only one worried about safety,” said Juli.
“If you worked at Chernobyl, you got used to constant talk of safety, or lack of safety. The jokes higher officials called gossipmongering caused memos to be sent to supervisors. The chief engineer jokes the plant is nothing more than a steam bath, nothing but hot water.
But death is no joke. No one laughs now. As for Mihaly telling you about me, I have my own feelings.”
“What do you mean?” asked Lazlo.
“Mihaly and I didn’t mean to upset his family life. Our relationship was ending when his wife found out. All three of us were hurt deeply.”
“You think I told Nina about you? Mihaly asked if I did. I was angry with him. I felt I was being blamed for what you and he had done. I understand passion. Nothing is black and white. But to tell Nina, to hurt her…”
“Mihaly said you wouldn’t do it. I didn’t believe him. Now I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I can see you. It’s easy to mistrust someone until you meet him face to face. Mihaly was not like other men, and you are not like other men. Men in power are responsible for accidents like Chernobyl. In their quest for power, they ignore the future and the environment. It is the only thing we have to give our children. And now men… always men… have destroyed what little we have. But you and Mihaly…”
Lazlo looked straight ahead as he drove. His side window was open slightly, causing his hair to blow about. His profile, small chin and sloping forehead, was similar to Mihaly’s. A handsome man, but serious, as the situation deserved. A man determined to set things straight.
“Are you worried about your baby?” asked Lazlo.
“Of course. But I don’t want to think about an abortion. I’ll wait for the blood test results.”
“And if the results are not clear-cut?”
“I don’t know what to do. I was going to give the baby up for adoption. But now… I don’t know.”
The house was on the edge of the town of Visenka at the end of a road, which continued as a rutted trail into farm fields. The house was small, a cottage, and along the foundation in earth kept warm by the house, spring flowers bloomed. A small arbor covered with budding vines arched over the walk. When Lazlo followed Juli through the arbor, an old woman appeared at the door. She was short and plump and wiped her hands on an apron embroidered with flowers. When she opened the door, Lazlo could smell bread baking. The small size of the house, the farm fields in the distance, the appearance of this woman at the door… all of it reminded him of his boyhood in Kisbor. When the old woman hugged Juli and they spoke in Hungarian, the spell was complete.
“Detective Horvath is from Kiev,” said Juli. “He was kind enough to drive me here. This is Aunt Magda, my father’s sister.”
Aunt Magda’s hand was wrinkled and tough, a farm woman.
She looked at him suspiciously. “I’ve never met a Hungarian militiaman. Were you born in Ukraine?”
“Near the Czech border.”
“What do you know about this reactor business? What can I tell my neighbors?”
“I’ll let your niece explain. She knows more than me. I must leave now because I’ve been promised a meeting this afternoon at the Ministry of Energy office in Kiev.”
“Call me,” said Juli. “I hope you find out more about your brother’s family.”
“You have relatives near Chernobyl?” asked Aunt Magda.
“My brother’s wife and little girls. My brother worked at the plant… he was killed.”
“My God,” said Aunt Magda, holding Lazlo’s hand and looking up to him. “I’m very sorry for you. It’s not right these things happen. People killed, and the news says nothing. My God. Killed.”
She squeezed his hand. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” He looked to Juli, who stood behind her aunt, her cheeks wet with tears. “But I’ll let you know about his wife and two little girls.”
“Please do. I’ll pray for your brother and for them. I’ll keep candles burning.”
Juli turned away, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“Please write down your telephone number for Detective Horvath, Aunt Magda.”
When Aunt Magda began searching through a cabinet, Juli stepped close to Lazlo, kissed him quickly on the cheek, and said, “I lived in Moscow when I was a girl. They have the finest hospitals.”
When Lazlo left the house and stepped beneath the arbor, he saw a momentary flash of red up the road. He held several thick vine branches apart with his fingers and saw the car parked on the opposite side of the road about fifty meters away, facing the opposite direction. It was a faded red Zhiguli, partially hidden by an old truck. The left taillight was out, but he knew it had been lit a moment earlier.
Lazlo got into his car, turned around, and drove up the road.
After passing the old truck, he saw two men in the red car. At the main street in Visenka, he turned north and drove slowly. Soon the faded red Zhiguli was on the main street behind him, and stayed with him as he made several turns to the highway. The Zhiguli followed him all the way back to Kiev. He knew it had to be KGB, KGB driving a faded Zhiguli instead of their usual black Volga.
When the KGB followed someone, they did it one of two ways.
The more obvious way was men in dark overcoats driving a black Volga. This method was meant as a warning to the person being followed. The other way was undercover, changing vehicles, using even a cheap red car like so many others on the crowded streets of Kiev. The men in the red Zhiguli followed cautiously, and it was obvious he was not supposed to know.
A light rain began in Kiev, the droplets plummeting down through the upper atmosphere where the wind was changing direction.
17
Monday afternoon, thirty-six hours without sleep, and Lazlo was back at the Ministry of Energy. The news of Mihaly’s death and the hours spent with Juli Popovics seemed transcendental, having happened to another Lazlo Horvath. Had he reached his physical limit, or was something else taking place inside him?
Vatchenko, deputy chairman of the Engineering Council, met Lazlo in a conference room. Minister of Electric Power Asimov left the room after introducing Vatchenko, and Lazlo sat at the conference table, watching Vatchenko draw diagrams of reactor operating principles on a chalkboard. Vatchenko was a thin, intense young man with short, light-colored hair. What had at first glance seemed an overlarge upper lip was actually a mustache of flesh- colored hair.
Although he was dead tired, Lazlo listened intently.
The explosion took place shortly after one in the morning on Saturday, April 26. A steam explosion was first, followed by another explosion caused by hydrogen gas. The second explosion disrupted the reactor core and ignited the graphite. Helicopters dropped sand onto the exposed core, followed by boron and lead. Because of the radiation released, a ring of approximately twenty to thirty kilometers was being evacuated.
Vatchenko sat across from Lazlo at the conference table, glancing back to admire his diagrams on the
