Lazlo took her hand and led her to the front of the cars. The black Skoda was there, ahead of the lead car where she had been unable to see it, the black Skoda looking like a child’s toy compared to the Volgas. She got inside the Skoda with Lazlo, and they drove away. When she looked back, she saw the two Volgas turn around on the dirt road and head north, their taillights becoming dimmer and dimmer in the distance.
“Laz, am I dreaming?”
“No. But we’ve still got to get into Czechoslovakia. We’ve got to do it soon because Brovko said the militia will be looking for us.”
“Why did he let us go?”
“He said he has training in nuclear engineering, and he, as well as others, had doubts about Komarov’s claims of sabotage at Chernobyl. He said it would be best for everyone involved if we were not taken back to Kiev. He also told me something else.”
“What?”
“Komarov murdered Tamara.”
Juli reached out and held Lazlo’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Laz.”
“Komarov killed his informant first, a poet from Tamara’s club.
Brovko said he doesn’t know why Komarov killed Tamara.” Lazlo paused. “Tamara would have wanted us to escape.”
Lazlo drove fast along the deserted farm road. When he reached a paved road, he turned north, and Juli saw a sign saying Uzhgorod was ten kilometers away. She remembered the instructions from the woman in Yasinya. First guardhouse to the north.
Ask for directions to Uzhgorod, then directions to Laborets Castle.
If the guard lectures about Prince Laborets’ murder in 903 AD, he is the correct guard.
Soon Juli could see it, a lighted guardhouse well off the road to the left. On the other side of the guardhouse, where the last light from the sun had disappeared, was Czechoslovakia.
Once they were on the main road to Lvov, the second Volga dropped back about fifty meters, and the headlights were not quite so bright.
Before leaving the spot where they left Detective Horvath and Juli Popovics, Captain Brovko announced they would spend the night in Lvov and drive to Kiev in the morning. Nikolai drove the lead Volga, with Brovko in the passenger seat. The four other men were in the second Volga.
Brovko turned on an interior light and consulted the map.
“About a hundred kilometers more. We’ll get there before the restaurants close. None of us has had a hot meal or a night of sleep in two days.”
“I’m looking forward to it, Captain. There are supposed to be some fine Polish restaurants in Lvov.” Nikolai glanced in the mirror at the following headlights. “I’ll bet the others are discussing our dinner in detail, right down to the size and texture of the dumplings.”
“They are good men,” said Brovko, turning out the light.
Except for an occasional oncoming car causing Nikolai to dim the headlights, the road was dark. It was still farm country, not as flat as the plateau they had come from, but with rolling hills, one after another like the hill on which the farmhouse was perched like a medieval castle.
“One would not have expected such a deep wine cellar,” said Nikolai. “Usually they are built into the side of a hill or a mound.”
“And surprisingly dry,” said Brovko. “It probably never floods because the water table is far below the hill.”
“None of the other men noticed the tin plates on the ground?”
“They noticed.”
“They did?”
“Yes,” said Brovko. “It’s one of many things I learned while speaking with them.”
“They knew the women and children were down there, yet they didn’t tell Komarov?”
“Correct. And they might not have told me if I’d asked them as a group. It’s always an advantage to compare individual observa-tions of a situation.”
“What about Detective Horvath and Juli Popovics?” asked Nikolai. “Wouldn’t it have been better to return them to Kiev?”
“There are overriding factors. I phoned Deputy Chairman Dumenko last night. I was assigned from the beginning to observe the situation and report back. There is concern in Moscow about what Komarov has tried to do and what he has done in the past.
Taking Detective Horvath and Juli Popovics to Kiev would have put the KGB in a bad light in Kiev and in Moscow. Dumenko thinks Gorbachev has enough trouble right now.”
“So Komarov did plan Pavel’s death?”
“Yes. But now, Nikolai, I must give you the order I gave the rest of the men. The order comes directly from Deputy Chairman Dumenko.
You are to discuss this incident with no one. When we return to Kiev, all of you, including myself, will be given a final briefing.”
“Is this how the KGB eliminates its rotten apples, Captain?”
“Things are changing in the Soviet Union, Nikolai. The KGB must change with them. Even the Chernobyl disaster will change us. Gorbachev realizes this, and so do others on the politburo. For now we should salute the heroes created by the Chernobyl disaster.
Men like Colonel Zamyatin, whom I met on my way from Moscow to Kiev. He is in charge of army refugee and cleanup operations.
Many have volunteered to help. They are calling themselves liquidators. Perhaps the Chernobyl accident will usher in the new era of openness Gorbachev has spoken of. Everything changes, Nikolai.
Everything.”
As they drove, the number of houses increased, and soon they could see a town in the distance. The lights from the town spread before them, taking away the blackness of night for a few minutes.
Then they were in the dark again.
“What was the name of the town?” asked Nikolai. “I didn’t notice the sign.”
“Sambor,” said Captain Brovko. “Fifty more kilometers, and we’ll be in Lvov, where our dinner and our beds await us.”
Back in Sambor, the windows of the houses flickered as residents watched the latest report about Chernobyl. No one had noticed the two Volgas speeding through town on their way to Lvov.
36
August 1986
It was Sunday. The bells of Vienna’s churches had tolled the noon hour. The view from the seventh-floor window of the Vienna Intercontinental Hotel was facing northeast across the city park, where people in colorful summer clothing walked along tree-lined paths.
Juli stood looking out the window, holding her abdomen. Although her baby was not moving now, she had felt it earlier. The baby moved most in the morning, waking her. But now, as she looked out the window, the baby was asleep in its small world. The only feeling Juli had now was the tingling of her newly stretched skin.
According to tests several days earlier in Budapest at the Institute for Radiobiology, everything was normal. The doctors said the baby’s growth did not seem affected by radiation. But there were no guarantees. There were never guarantees. The technician asked if she wanted to know the sex of the baby, but she declined. She already had possible names picked out, but she did not want to tell Lazlo, at least not until the baby was closer to being born. If it was a boy, she wanted to name him Mihaly. If it was a girl, she wanted the name Tamara.
After they crossed into Czechoslovakia, several days passed before they could cross farther into Hungary, north of Budapest. Farmers in Czechoslovakia hid them and the Skoda until searches decreased. In Hungary, they abandoned the Skoda, and more farmers transported them south to Miskolc and got them on a train to
