“Major Komarov, what is it you want from me?”
“You must file an official request to the KGB for an investigation of Detective Horvath.”
“On what grounds?”
“Comrade Minister, you and I both listened to Detective Horvath’s attempts to intimidate your engineer. He asked detailed questions, and in my opinion, your engineer told him too much.
We both heard his tirades. He was upset about his brother. But there is something beneath the surface, something I have seen in others who try to hide their true concerns.”
“What if I choose not to file such a report?”
“Because I am here on official business, it is mandatory I fill out a report. In my report I will have to say the minister of electric power was reluctant to document a situation critical to the investigation of circumstances surrounding the incident at Chernobyl.”
Komarov stood, invited Asimov to sit in his own chair behind his own desk. Before he left the office, Komarov gave Asimov the address of Deputy Chairman Dumenko’s Moscow office to which the request for investigation should be sent. He told Asimov to have the request ready by nine the following morning so a KGB courier could pick it up.
When Komarov left the building, he lit a cigarette and walked slowly to the Volga, where Captain Azef waited. He continued smoking the cigarette after entering the car.
“What did I miss?” asked Azef. “Detective Horvath left some time ago. Our men radioed to say he went to his apartment.”
“The energy minister and an engineer fresh out of university with fur on his lip empathize with Detective Horvath and in doing so have forgotten their duties.”
“Where do we go now?” asked Azef.
“To militia headquarters to see our old friend Chkalov.”
“Ah,” said Azef. “The next victim.”
Komarov puffed on his cigarette and glared at Azef, who faced forward and began driving. Azef was wrong. These were not victims.
More like stepping-stones on his journey to his chairmanship. As Azef drove past late-afternoon homebound workers exiting a metro station, Komarov visualized a circus performer walking upon the bobbing heads of the crowd.
Chief Investigator Chkalov was arrogant until Komarov informed him of the death of Detective Horvath’s brother, and of the meeting with his brother’s lover in Kiev.
“On orders from Moscow,” continued Komarov, “the Chernobyl incident will be subject to an in-depth investigation leaving no stone unturned. I’m here to inform you of anti-Soviet statements made by your detective.”
“What anti-Soviet statements?”
“Today at the Ministry of Energy, Detective Horvath made accusations concerning the operation of the Chernobyl plant. He used his authority as a militia detective to gain access to officials. He used a method the Germans refer to as schrecklichkeit. Show your badge and intimidate relentlessly until the victim gives in.”
“Detective Horvath is not that kind of man,” said Chkalov. “It sounds more like something the KGB would do. Or better yet, since you bring up methods used in the last war, the old Cheka!”
Komarov leaned forward, placed one fist gently on the desk. “I should have brought my assistant with me to witness your lack of cooperation, Chief Investigator Chkalov.”
“Who says I’m not cooperating? I simply don’t understand this vendetta you have against Detective Horvath. His brother is dead, yet he continues his duties.”
“He didn’t know about his brother until this morning.”
Chkalov shrugged. “But he went on duty, knowing his brother was in the area of danger.”
“He went on duty at the roadblock so he could watch for his brother. Perhaps he was to meet Juli Popovics and his brother at the roadblock. I must consider the possibility of sabotage at the plant. I must consider the possibility of Mihaly Horvath and Juli Popovics working together and Detective Horvath providing an escape route!”
“Impossible!” shouted Chkalov.
“Nothing is impossible,” said Komarov in a calmer voice.
“There has been a Hungarian connection under KGB observation for some time. A relative of the Horvaths has met with CIA agents in Budapest. The Horvaths and Juli Popovics share Hungarian lineage. Imagine the consequences, Comrade Chief Investigator, if a conspiracy exists and if you, despite your knowledge of the situation, allow Detective Horvath to remain in his position.”
“You want me to suspend him?”
“Not yet. I want you to observe him. He may lead us to others.”
“And if I don’t cooperate?”
“I’ll be forced to report that the Kiev militia refuses to cooperate in a KGB investigation ordered by Deputy Chairman Dumenko in Moscow.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“When the time comes, suspension will put Detective Horvath on notice. He will know the investigation is closing in.”
“And if he’s innocent?” asked Chkalov.
“I doubt it,” said Komarov, standing to leave. “We’ve already had a foreign relative under observation. If Horvath is innocent, the price of a few days’ lost pay is a sacrifice any citizen would gladly bear to wipe the slate clean. Please remember, Chief Investigator, it is most important to my investigation you do not suspend Detective Horvath until it is time.”
Before he turned to leave, Komarov noticed Chkalov’s fists clenched tightly on his desk.
Outside militia headquarters it was dusk, the streets emptied of homebound workers, and a light rain fell. Captain Azef started the Volga as Komarov got in.
“No cigarette?” asked Azef, turning on the windshield wipers.
“I have other things on my mind besides smoking. Drive to the office.”
“Yes,” said Azef. “There are inquiries from Moscow to answer.”
“You will answer them by repeating the situation at Chernobyl is under control and the evacuation is almost complete.”
“Surely we’ll want to provide more information…”
Komarov interrupted. “We must follow through on the Horvath investigation. I want those two PK agents from Pripyat back on duty.”
“What are they going to do?”
“Tomorrow they’ll resume their observation of Juli Popovics.”
“Shouldn’t trained men be used for such an observation?” asked Azef.
“Not necessarily, Captain. A noisy observation serves a purpose. It brings others out of their holes. On the other hand, I want our best men watching Detective Horvath.”
When Captain Azef turned onto Volodimirska Street, Komarov looked back to his left where he could see the lighted cable-car railway climbing the steep dark hill to the northeast. The lights of the ascending and descending funicular cable cars glistened in the droplets of rain on the window like medals pinned to the breast of a uniform. Atop the hill, holding his crucifix, was the statue of Saint Vladimir. The statue was outlined black against the darkening sky, a fearsome outline of someone entirely in control.
Komarov felt the weight of the knife in his coat pocket as he reached for a cigarette. He lit the cigarette and blew the smoke in Azef’s direction, causing him to cough as he drove.
18
Men, women, and children who arrived day and night at the roadblock were like war refugees, wide-eyed as if opening their eyes wider would make room for them in Kiev. Hotels and inns were full. And even though many
