Orest Stelmach - The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

“Where are you going?” the Ammunition said.

Victor frowned. Just as they showed evidence of progressing, one of them asked a moronic question.

“Not me,” Victor said. “We. We are going to offer the boy’s lawyer our services, of course. How else are we going to get him out?”

NADIA CALLED THE National Commission for Radiation Protection of Ukraine, identified herself as an American journalist, and told them she’d met a scientist during a tour of Chornobyl last year. All of that was true, except for the journalist part. After being transferred to the right party, she was told Karel Mak had been declared a prospective invalid by the Division of Nervous Pathologies in Kyiv. It was responsible for monitoring the health of people with injuries related to the nuclear fallout in Chornobyl.

Another phone call revealed that his disability checks were being sent to his last known address. An apartment in Lviv. Nadia called the phone number on record but it had been disconnected. He wasn’t listed in the Lviv phone book, either. Neither of these developments surprised Nadia, as many people in Ukraine were disconnecting their landlines to save money and relying on their cell phones for primary communication. Karel had probably failed to update his telephone number with state agencies. That wasn’t a surprise either. He wanted to get checks, not phone calls. Nadia decided that if monthly checks were being sent to the address on record, odds were high he’d be there. If corporate America had taught her anything it was to follow the money.

Nadia and Marko left on the overnight train for Lviv at 10:15 p.m. The trip would take six hours. While Marko slept, Nadia thought about her father. He’d hailed from the western strip of Ukraine bordering Poland known as Galicia or Halychyna , derived from the name of the medieval city of Halych . Lviv was the unofficial capital of Halychyna , historically the epicenter of the nation’s quest for independence. To listen to her father, this was the real Ukraine. People spoke Ukrainian, not Russian. Nationalist sentiment ran hot.

Now, on the train headed to Lviv, Nadia felt as though she was going home for the first time. A different home. Not her primary home. She was an American. This was her parents’ home. It was the place that had shaped their souls.

Nadia ate a protein bar during the last half hour of the trip. They arrived in Lviv at 6:35 a.m., fought off the gypsy drivers, and took a licensed taxi from the train station to the Leopolis Hotel. Their rooms weren’t ready but they checked in and stored their luggage, except for a small canvas bag Nadia had packed earlier. She tucked her purse beneath the clothes in the bag, too. A concierge recommended a breakfast place in the center of town. Nadia made sure it had outdoor seating. Afterward, Nadia and Marko sat in the lobby and studied a map like tourists.

She’d first noticed the bald man with the pointed chin on the train reading a woodworking magazine. He was sitting alone in the same car. The car was only half-full but he’d taken the seat adjacent to the lavatory so the entire cabin was in front of him. Who wanted to listen to the door opening and closing during the entire trip, and absorb the occasional smell that emanated from within? A spy, she thought. That’s who.

And then when the taxi driver lifted their luggage out of their trunk, she caught his profile in a black Renault cruising past the Leopolis. He didn’t have time to rent a car. That meant there were at least two of them. Each time she saw him Johnny’s words rang in her ear.

Your life is in danger.

Nadia and Marko left the hotel and walked along a cobblestone street to Rynok Square in the center of town. Forty-four architectural masterpieces from various eras formed the square’s perimeter. They’d survived centuries of wars and invasions. Their front doors looked like entrances to castles. Some of the mansions boasted elaborate carvings. One featured a row of intricately sculptured knights along its rooftop.

The air smelled of freshly ground beans. They found their restaurant, Kentavir, at 34 Rynok Square. It was a few minutes after 8:00 a.m., and the outdoor seating area was already half-full. The patrons spoke authentic Ukrainian.

Nadia and Marko chose a visible yet private table where no one could hear their conversation even though they were speaking English. They ordered omelets with buckwheat bread and homemade cherry preserves. Nadia asked for tea. Marko chose coffee. After they placed their orders, Nadia panned the crowd.

There he was. Alone. Wearing sunglasses now. And reading a newspaper. A server arrived at his table.

“Look at that waitress with the legs and the braided hair,” Marko said. “You see a ring? You think she’s single? I think she looked at me when she walked by.”

“Focus, Marko. Please?”

Marko glared at her and took a deep breath. “Feels like home. U-kra-yi-na .”

“Yeah. Except at home I feel safe.”

“I got your back, baby.”

“And I’ve got yours. The problem is we both have to turn our backs to get anywhere.”

“You think we’re being followed?”

“Bobby told Johnny our lives are in danger. When a kid not talking decides to talk, you have to consider his words. And I don’t think we’re being followed. I know we are.”

“No way. I’ve been keeping an eye out. I don’t see anyone.” He started to turn.

“Don’t look. Don’t look.”

Marko looked back at Nadia.

“I don’t want him to know we’ve spotted him.”

“You sure it’s not your imagination?”

Nadia described the two times she’d seen him before and her plan.

“Even if you lose them,” he said, “we’ll have to go back to the hotel. Eventually they’ll catch up with us.”

“I don’t care about that. I don’t want them to follow me to Karel’s apartment. I don’t want them to know who or what we’re looking for. And I don’t want Karel put at risk.”

“You’re going to eat first, right?”

“No,” Nadia said. “I ate on the train. He saw us order breakfast. It’s only natural for him to let his guard down. He’ll be more focused after we finish eating. Don’t forget to get my bag. If no one else takes it first.”

“You got it.”

“We should put him even more at ease before I leave, though.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Laughter.”

“That might be tough. Neither of us has a sense of humor.”

“Did you know Sherlock Holmes is the butt of many Russian jokes?”

Marko started to grin, then narrowed his eyes. “You serious?”

Nadia nodded. “Holmes and Watson pitch a tent and go camping. Holmes wakes Watson up in the middle of the night and says, ‘Watson, what do you deduce from all the stars in the sky?’ Watson says, ‘It tells me there may be life beyond Earth.’ Holmes says, ‘Watson, you’re an idiot. Someone stole our tent.’ ”

Marko shook his head and chuckled. Actually showed his teeth.

Nadia couldn’t tell if she’d really made him laugh or not but she smiled nonetheless. She liked that one. “Ladies’ room. Be right back.”

She took her canvas bag and walked toward the front door to the restaurant. Not too slowly, not too quickly. Like any woman going to freshen up.

She swung the door open. A hostess greeted her without a smile.

“I’m sitting outside,” Nadia said. “Which way to the bathroom?”

The hostess pointed to a corridor beyond the dining room.