Orest Stelmach - The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

“We lost her,” Saint Barbara said.

The General heard the words but couldn’t believe the message. “Sorry. Say again? I thought I heard you say you lost her. We must have a bad connection.”

“You heard right,” Saint Barbara said. “We lost her.”

“Explain.”

“They checked in to the Leopolis. Then they went to breakfast at Rynok Square. They ordered food. Shared a laugh. Then she went into the bathroom and never came out.”

“What do you mean she never came out? Did your man check inside the bathroom?”

“He tried. But her brother collided with him. Made it look like an accident. By the time he checked the bathroom, she was gone.”

The General ground his teeth. “Then if she was gone, obviously she came out the bathroom. Come on, man. You’re smarter than this. Are you ill?”

“I didn’t mean she never came out. I meant they never saw her come out. Not the man in the front. Or the man in the back.”

“How can that be?”

“The man in the front found a bag in the bathroom. It had her clothes in it.”

The General chuckled. “Smart girl. She keeps this up I may fall in love with her.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Don’t panic. She was in Ukraine and Russia last year, yes?”

“That’s what Border Control said.”

“And there was a watch list on her passport when she was in Russia. Who put it on and then took it off?”

“The deputy minister of the interior.”

“Call him. Tell him I said hello. See if you can trace her steps from the moment she landed in Kyiv last year. This time she didn’t go anywhere except Simeonovich’s office. Who else does she know in Ukraine? Whom did she meet with last year? Remember the urgency. She is the boy’s guardian. The boy killed Valentin’s son. She will pay. It is a matter of honor. Call me back in an hour.” The General glanced at the partitioned area. “Make it two hours.”

He hung up.

As a rule, the General shut his cell phone off whenever he was busy with the fulfillment of his dreams. This time, however, he kept it on. News of this Tesla woman was starting to qualify as such.

He marched to the side wall. Took a deep breath, pulled the partitions apart, and stepped back to eye his prize. He lost his breath.

She lay fully assembled on a table next to the carrying case in all her glory. The Nosler Model 48 Professional. Satin black composite stock. Match-grade stainless steel barrel. One piece steel-hinged floor plate. Magazine release in the trigger bow for fast reloading. In the trigger bow, he thought. How ingenious. How intoxicating.

The General lifted the rifle off the table and held it for the first time. 3.4 kilograms of pure ecstasy. Expensive, though. Three thousand American. But that was a good thing. Quality never came cheap except with tramps and traitors. The rifle was sub-moa, which meant he would be able to shoot a grouping of bullets approximately one inch apart at one hundred yards. To help him achieve that goal, the General had purchased some high end glass, a Schmidt and Bender scope. He caressed the barrel. He named all his rifles after women. He would call this one Nadia.

The ballroom featured curtains and a stage but it was actually a shooting range with proper ventilation and reinforced walls and roof. Seven stations faced seven targets. The General brought the rifle and carrying case to the center station. He doubled up on ear protection. First the plugs followed by the earmuffs.

He loaded the rifle, assumed a balanced shooting stance, and acquired the target. It was a hundred meters away.

The General fired. Afterward, he retrieved the paper target.

There was a hole in the woman’s head.

NADIA STARED INTO the barrel of the gun. The woman was serious. The mere mention of a World War II ghetto gave her instant credibility. She had witnessed horrors beyond Nadia’s comprehension. Who knew what she’d done to survive? Shooting a stranger dead in broad daylight was unthinkable to most people. But to a mother with such a background who thought she was protecting her son, not so much.

“My name is Nadia Tesla. I met Karel at the café outside the power plant in Chornobyl last year. I told him I was a journalist but he knew better. He knew I was there to see my uncle who’d sent me a message to America that he had something valuable. Something very valuable. Karel took me to see my uncle, and then he showed me wolves.”

“You say your name is Nadia Tesla? What did my son call you? Did he call you Nadia? Or did he call you Panna Tesla?” Panna, with a pause on the ‘n,’ was the Ukrainian word for Miss. “I raised my Karel to be a gentleman. I’d like to know if I succeeded.”

Nadia sensed it was a test. “He didn’t call me by either of those names. He called me Nadia- Panya .”

She raised her chin and studied Nadia, as though for the first time. “Oh. So you’re that Nadia Tesla.”

Nadia’s father had used that line all the time. Nadia could see his lip curling up as he said it. She knew she was out of harm’s way. It was a classic, old-school Ukrainian line that implied the given person was one of the good guys.

“Who are your parents? Where are they from?” Karel’s mother said.

“My father was born in Bila Tserkva. My mother was born in Kyiv. They moved to Lviv when they were teenagers. Then they immigrated to America. My mother’s retired. My father passed away when I was thirteen.”

She waved the gun at Nadia. “What are their names, kotyku ? Their names?”

“Maxim and Katerina.”

She studied Nadia again. “Oh. Those Teslas.” She turned and put the gun in a drawer.

Nadia didn’t bother asking if Karel’s mother knew her parents. She knew the answer was no. She’d asked their names to make sure they didn’t stir a memory. A bad one, Nadia suspected.

“Is Karel here?” Nadia said.

“No. Karel is gone.”

“Where did he go?”

“Have you had breakfast yet? When did you get into town?”

She insisted Nadia sit down at the kitchen table. For the second time since Bobby had been arrested, a woman with a gun served her tea. If there were a third time, Nadia was certain it wouldn’t go so well.

Nadia explained that she’d flown to Kyiv on business, and come to Lviv to see her parents’ adopted hometown.

Karel’s mother poured water into cups. “What religion are you? Orthodox or Catholic?”

“Catholic.” Nadia remembered the Mezuzah. “Why do you ask?”

“Because if you had said neither, that you are an atheist, that would have told me something about you.”

“What would it have told you?”

“That you are like my son.” She smiled. “He was born a Jew but became a scientist. He only believes in that which he can prove. Though he’s searching. He’s questing. He’s trying to find a being higher than the equation.”

She served tea with rugelach and poppy seed cake. Nadia started with the poppy seed cake. She could never resist it. This one had raisins and nuts and melted in her mouth. Nadia sensed that Karel’s mother was as lonely as she was wary. Her best approach to find Karel was to continue the conversation and be sociable.

“I noticed the castle up the street with the star of David on it,” Nadia said. “What is that building?”

“That was the Jewish hospital,” she said. “It was dismantled in 1965. Now it’s a tourist destination.”

“Why was it dismantled?”

“Because it had fallen apart. It was no longer necessary after the war because the Jewish quarter ceased to exist.”