brothers. I have handled matters here in Kiev, having the Transportation Ministry prepare trains in the event of a second explosion, keeping Kiev’s print and broadcast information under control… I have performed as directed, yet Brovko investigates the Horvaths.”
Komarov put out his cigarette and stared at Azef. “After years of working together, you suddenly question my judgment?”
“Not your judgment,” said Azef. “I simply wish to be more involved in the Chernobyl investigation rather than emergency readiness.”
Komarov raised his voice. “Captain Brovko is a nuclear expert assigned by Deputy Chairman Dumenko. Because the Chernobyl matter keeps me occupied, I need you here at headquarters. We have men working in Hungary, researching Horvath’s ties to the West. I’ve heard talk among officials in Moscow looking for ways to feather their nests at the expense of our disaster victims. I need you here at all times to interpret data as it arrives. You are my backup, Captain! Or have you forgotten?”
Azef unfolded his arms. “I’m sorry, Major. Perhaps this was the wrong time to bring it up. With all this new information coming in…”
“What new information?”
“The men following Detective Horvath called in to say they lost him. They said the militia following Horvath also lost him.”
“When did this happen?”
“About an hour ago.”
“An hour ago?” shouted Komarov.
“The men just called in. I reprimanded them for waiting and immediately called militia headquarters to see if I could get further information…”
“And?” shouted Komarov.
“A few minutes ago, two of our men arrived here in Kiev.”
Komarov gripped the edge of his desk and stood. He felt like leaping over the desk and using his knife on Azef. “Captain!” he screamed. “Don’t spoon out the facts! Speak up!”
“The two PK agents assigned to watch Juli Popovics were in Detective Horvath’s car. One of them is dead, and the other said Detective Horvath got away in their car. He was last seen driving the Volga in Visenka. The PK agent still alive is Nikolai Nikolskaia.
He’s being questioned at militia headquarters.”
Komarov lifted his phone and rang his secretary. “Have my car brought around to the front immediately! I’ll drive myself!”
He slammed the phone down and went to the door, leaving Azef sitting at the desk. “Captain! If you ever delay important information again, you won’t have to worry about Brovko or anyone else because you’ll find yourself sitting at a record clerk’s desk in the basement!”
Before speaking with Nikolai Nikolskaia, Komarov visited the basement morgue at militia headquarters. While standing in a brightly-lit viewing room, waiting for them to bring the body, Komarov wondered if the body of the poet was also here. Perhaps a passerby, or a tourist gone to see the Monastery of the Caves, had walked closely to the old Zil and seen the poet in the front seat. The poet with his neck sliced ear to ear as if someone had grabbed him by the beard and tried to tear off his head. The poet eliminated the same way he had eliminated Pudkov so long ago in the “safe” house hallway before going in to see Gretchen. The sound of death remained with him, the knife slicing into flesh and muscle, the victim’s voice interrupted by an involuntary attempt to inhale and, at the same time, withdraw from the blade.
The Berlin morgue where he had viewed Pudkov and Gretchen smelled the same as this place. Perhaps all morgues throughout the world smelled the same. Men and women reduced to flesh and bone, the dead releasing moisture and gases overcoming the post-mortem chemicals.
The former PK agent named Pavel looked the same in death as he did in life. Except now his skin was even lighter than before, making him into an albino. Komarov remembered how Pavel had reminded him of Dmitry, a man, yet in some ways not a man. As he viewed the body, he imagined Dmitry lying on the cart instead of Pavel. His son, Dmitry, sent on a dangerous mission. His son dying honorably instead of killing his father with shame.
After identifying Pavel’s body, Komarov took the stairs up three floors in militia headquarters to where Nikolai Nikolskaia was being held for questioning. While slowly climbing the stairs, Komarov recalled the previous night when the poet arrived unexpectedly at his KGB office. Pavel had been there and seen the poet on his way out.
But now, with both men in the morgue, the possible flaw in his plan was eliminated. Now it was the duty of both the KGB and the militia to find Detective Horvath and Juli Popovics. If they weren’t found immediately, bait was available for the trap-Tamara Petrov, Aunt Magda, and Nina Horvath.
“You didn’t know Pavel,” said Nikolai, wiping at his reddened eyes with his sleeve. “He was a sensitive person.”
“You’ve spoken of his sensitivity several times,” said Komarov.
“Do you blame me for his death because I spoke to him of duty and honor and the importance of the case?”
Nikolai folded his hands on the table and blinked to clear his eyes. “No, Major. I simply meant that Pavel and I weren’t used to dangerous work. Pavel overreacted and aimed his gun before I had a chance to run their car off the road.”
And, thought Komarov, you should have used your gun instead of weeping like an old woman. While Nikolai told his account of what happened, Komarov wondered if all men in the world were being feminized. Under normal circumstances, he would have berated Nikolai. Under normal circumstances, he would have assigned him back to Pripyat and let the radiation fry his skin. But these were not normal circumstances.
“I understand your concern,” said Komarov. “I was unaware training for PK agents was so limited in the area of combat. If I had known, I would not have assigned you. But we’re short on men, and when you followed Juli Popovics here from Pripyat, I felt you wanted a chance to stay on the case. You gave me reason to believe this when we last met.”
“I know,” said Nikolai. “It’s my fault for being enthusiastic about the case. If I had known this would happen to Pavel, I would have told the truth.”
“What is the truth?”
“You had to have been in Pripyat to understand the situation, Major. Staying there would have been suicide. Everyone was leaving. People had masks on their faces. Peace-loving men tried to stop cars with their bodies. The metallic smell in the air was the smell of death!” Tears ran down Nikolai’s cheeks. “We were trained as PK agents. We went to language school, not combat school. If we hadn’t followed Juli Popovics to Kiev, we might have been dead, or in Moscow where they’re taking the injured. I’ll probably get cancer because of this.”
Komarov stood and walked around the table. He placed his hand on Nikolai’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your comrade. I will see to it his widow receives a commendation. But for now, Nikolai Nikolskaia, life must go on. Our duty is to serve the state, to bring conspirators to justice. Detective Horvath is obviously more dangerous than I thought. Besides being involved in sabotage with his brother, he is a murderer who will, if not stopped, murder again.”
Komarov let go of Nikolai’s shoulder and paced about the small room. “I’ll need your help, Nikolai. The tip of the iceberg is melting away, revealing a serious plot launched from the United States. At this point, I can say to you with all seriousness, we are witnessing a critical time for the future of Communism. If I am to apprehend Detective Horvath and his co-conspirator Juli Popovics, I will need your help. Do I have it?”
Nikolai again wiped his eyes with his sleeve before looking up and nodding.
Back in his office at KGB headquarters, Komarov met with Captain Brovko.
“I was able to speak with Colonel Zamyatin again, this time by radio,” said Brovko.
“What did the colonel have to say?”
“Not only are his men shooting dogs and cats on the loose, but local farmers who refuse to leave the area are shooting livestock.”
“Imagine,” said Komarov, “if such an accident happened in America.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Brovko, looking puzzled.
“In America, where guns and vigilantism run rampant, they would be shooting more than dogs and livestock. Here it is different. Here everything is under control. Our veterans give up their arms and take up shovels to bury
