'It's a postcard.' On the glossy side was a picture of nomads in blue robes riding camels across desert sands. On the reverse was Arkady's name, office address and the message 'Two is cheaper than one.' 'A postcard from Morocco,' Arkady added.
'I can see that. What's it about? Who is it from?'
'I have no idea. It's not signed.'
'You have no idea. A coded message from Hoffman?'
Arkady studied the postcard. 'It's in Russian and in a Russian hand.'
'Never mind.' Zurin leaned forward. 'Doesn't it stick in your craw that you got absolutely nowhere in the investigation? What does that say about you as an investigator?'
'Volumes.'
'I agree. Why don't you enjoy another bottle of Irish beer while I visit the duty-free shop and see if I can dig up some decent cigars? But stay here.'
Arkady nodded. He was diverted enough by watching the parade. A boy walked in slow motion behind his GameBoy. A beautiful woman rolled by in a wheelchair, her lap covered with roses. A group of Japanese schoolgirls gathered for a photograph around two militia officers with a dog. The girls giggled behind their hands.
The same night Arkady had driven Alex's truck to Eva's cabin, they returned to Pripyat with her car to leave the truck behind. The following day the four bodies were discovered, and Captain Marchenko's small militia force was overwhelmed. Also compromised, since three of the dead were the captain's own men. Detectives and forensic teams were dispatched from Kiev, but their examination of the crime scene was rushed due to the background radioactivity of the site. One of the bodies was radioactive, and another was a Russian executed by a shot in the head in a totally professional style. How coincidental was it, Kiev asked, that on the night of the attack, a Russian security team under the command of Colonel Ozhogin happened to be in the Zone? It was the sort of question that demanded a frank dialogue country to country, and a thoroughgoing, no-holds-barred investigation of not only the crimes but the militia and the administration of the Zone; in short, an honest look at the entire squalid situation. Or a quick flush of the problem down the drain.
Arkady had that second beer and bought a newspaper to peruse. He thought it might be wise to catch up. Zurin seemed content in the duty-free shop, choosing among French cognacs, silk neckties and paisley scarves. The Japanese schoolgirls trooped by again. Coming the other direction was a girl of about eight years old, with big eyes and straight dark hair cut shoulder-length. She had a wand and streamer that she twirled as she skipped. He had seen her dance much the same way in Kiev's Independence Square. It was the dentist's daughter.
Arkady picked up his newspaper and followed. The waiting hall was a scene of family encampments, of slumber, of unshaved anxiety and a slow but constant milling around souvenir shops, ATMs and newsstands. The girl darted into a crowded music store, and he kept track of her by her upraised wand until she appeared in a back corner with a woman in a stylish Italian-looking traveling suit. Dr. Levinson. Victor had been concerned about the dentist's physical safety, but she could not have seemed happier, an attractive woman who could not completely contain her travel excitement. The girl collected a kiss and ducked out of sight.
The wand and streamer reappeared at a newsstand, a catchall of paperbacks and magazines, perfumes and nail polish, condoms and aspirin. A display of lipsticks was stacked three levels high. The girl squeezed through the crush and took the hand of a man choosing among brands of toothpaste. He was dressed like an American golfer in a windbreaker and cap. His hair was brown instead of bleached, and a wedding band had replaced his diamond horseshoe ring, but Arkady recognized the sloped shoulders and heavy jaw of Anton Obodovsky. This toothpaste promised whitening power and the other a brighter smile. How to decide? Anton joked with the girl, who demonstrated a radiant grin. His laugh faded when he saw Arkady coming down the aisle. Anton's eyes screwed down. He sent the girl off with a kiss and replaced the toothpaste on the shelf.
Arkady moved down the aisle as if considering the toiletries. 'Going somewhere?'
'Away.' Anton kept his voice down.
Arkady spoke softly, too. He played the game. 'Let me see your passport and ticket.'
'You don't have any authority here.'
'Let me see them.'
Anton pulled them from the windbreaker. He swallowed hard and tried to keep a smile pasted on while Arkady read, 'Final destination, Vancouver, Canada, for Mr. and Dr. Levinson and their daughter. A Ukrainian passport and a Canadian immigration visa. How did you manage that?'
'As an investor immigrant. You put money in their bank.'
'You bought your way in.'
'It's legal.'
'If your past is clean. You changed your name, you changed your hair, and I'm sure you changed your record. Anything else?'
'There was a Levinson. He ran out on them.'
'And you came to the rescue?'
'Yes. Two years ago. I was already her patient. But Rebecca wants nothing to do with the Mafia. We're married, and I only get to see her and the girl maybe once a month because I couldn't let anyone find out, most of all, my former colleagues.'
'And the hygienist?'
'Her? I had to have a cover to be around the office. Anyway, I'm sure she's having a good time in Morocco. A nice kid.'
'That's what Victor said.'
'I saw Victor. I dragged him around Kiev. He's looking better.'
'The call you made from Butyrka Prison to Pasha Ivanov, what was that about?'
'It was a warning, or it would have been a warning if he'd ever returned the call.'
'Warning Pasha about what?'
'Things.'
'You'll have to do better than that.'
'Come on.'
'Let me help you. Karel Katamay. He's dead, by the way.'
'I saw on the news.' Anton backed into a lipstick display like a fighter who'd decided to absorb punishment. 'Okay, I knew Karel from Pripyat, from when he was a kid. I knew what he went through. I remember the evacuation and how people treated everyone from Pripyat as if we had the plague. I was lucky I was a boxer; no one made much fun of me. It was tough for Karel. I'd hear from him a lot when he was little, then nothing for the last few years until suddenly he calls up, says he's in Moscow and needs to borrow a van. A fumigator van. He never asked a favor before.'
'Did he say why?'
'He said, a stunt. A joke on a friend.'
'And you got him the van?'
'What, do you think I'm crazy? I'm going to put the future of my family in jeopardy to steal a van for a kid I haven't seen for years? When I said no, that's when he told me he came to Moscow to take care of Pasha Ivanov. Trying to impress me, saying we'd get even. I told him there was no way of getting even with Ivanov, ever. What's done is done. Then I put myself away into Butyrka until the thing blew over. I called Ivanov but he never called back. I tried.'
'And now you're going to run?'
'I'm not running. There comes a point when you've had enough. You just want to live somewhere normal, with laws.'
'With your criminal background, how do you think you can get out?'
'Like this. Walk out the door. Get on a plane. Start over.'
'What about the heads you broke and the people you ruined? Do you think you can leave them behind?'
Anton gathered his hands into fists. The lipstick display began to tremble. Arkady glanced at the waiting hall and saw Dr. Levinson and the girl standing with their assembled bags, their eyes on the tickets in his hand. He could almost see the floor open up beneath them.
'No,' Anton said. 'Rebecca says I take them all with me. The ones I hurt, they all go with me. I never
