Orest Stelmach - The Boy from Reactor 4

Nadia introduced herself and Adam. Fyodor spoke in a strange dialect. Nadia had to focus on the words to understand him.

“How did you know my father?” Adam said. “Did you work together on the railroad?”

“No. I knew father from gulag in Kolyma. Many years ago. We did business together.”

“Business?” Nadia said. “At the gulag ?”

“Were you a prisoner, too?” Adam said.

Fyodor shook his head and glared at Adam. “No Yakuts in gulag . Bounty hunter.”

“Bounty hunter?” Nadia said.

“Yakut is hunter. Government hire Yakut to hunt prisoners who escape from gulag .”

“So how did you do business with my father?” Adam said.

“Your father arrange for prisoner to escape. Bounty hunter catch prisoner and bring him back. Bounty hunter get paid. I get paid. Father get paid. Prisoner get paid—if live.”

Nadia envisioned prisoners escaping and returning, and money changing hands.

“Didn’t the guards catch on after a while?” she said.

“Guard, no problem,” Fyodor said. “Other gang leader, problem. He set trap. Prisoner caught. Bounty hunter caught.”

A horn blared. Nadia craned her neck to the right. A massive cargo truck headed straight toward them.

Fyodor swerved into a pothole to avoid it. Nadia’s head hit the ceiling. She yelped.

“Sorry,” Fyodor said. “They work on railroad, extend all way to Yakutsk. Supply come to Tommot. Many trucks. Many holes in road.” He turned to Adam. “When I caught in gulag , your father pay money to guards. Bounty hunter escapes. Owes father debt. Yakut always pay debt.”

They drove farther north for a hundred kilometers until they reached a small village beside a river surrounded by rolling hilltops.

“This is Anga,” Fyodor said. “Oldest Russian settlement in Siberia. We are headed to one hundred kilometers from Yakutsk, near Sharlam’s lodge. Evenk meet you there, yes?”

“Outside Yakutsk,” Adam said. “Yes. An Evenk. Another friend of my father’s.”

“Evenk,” Fyodor said with a derisive sneer. “Yeah, good.”

Nadia whispered to Adam. “What’s an Evenk?”

“Another indigenous people of Siberia. About eighty thousand of them. Great herdsmen. Laid-back. Total opposite of Yakut.”

They drove on for another three hours along an increasingly awful road. Nadia was starting to think that it might just be possible to jar a person’s brains out of his skull, when Fyodor pulled to a stop.

Everyone climbed out of the vehicle. The sun burst into an orange ball of fire as it set over the horizon. Beneath the ridge, water rushed packs of rocks and ice along a river. After three hours in the van’s cloying heat, the Arctic chill was a welcome relief.

“You okay?” Nadia said.

Adam shivered and nodded.

“You see the trapper’s lodge where we’re supposed to meet this guy? I don’t see any lodge.”

Fyodor pointed at a cluster of pine trees a hundred yards away. “There.”

The corner of a roofline formed by three intersecting logs protruded through the trees.

“Five fifteen,” Adam said. “He’s supposed to be there at five. From five to nine.”

Thanking Fyodor for the ride, they ran to the lodge.

When they got there, a man was waiting. Like the Yakut, the Evenk was of medium height and lean build. His chin and cheekbones, however, were less pronounced, and his nose was sharper. He had a darker complexion, like an Australian aborigine.

The Evenk raised a shotgun and aimed it between them. “Who goes there?” he said in coarse Russian. He was even harder to understand than the Yakut.

Nadia and Adam froze.

“ Umukon ,” Adam said. “ Umukon Khalganchuluk .”

“Then let’s run from here,” the Evenk said, “because it’s a place where evil spirits live.”

The Evenk laughed heartily and lowered his gun. He bounded forward and hugged them as though they were long-lost friends.

“Sorry late. Stopped by to see friends on way. In, in,” he said. “Leave quick.”

They climbed into a vehicle similar to the white van they had just left.

“Who is Umukon Khalganchuluk ?” Nadia said.

“I don’t know,” Adam said. “It’s just something my father made me memorize.”

“ Umukon Khalganchuluk . One-arm, one-leg, one-eye evil spirit,” the Evenk said.

“Why is he evil?” Nadia said.

“Because,” the Evenk said as he turned the van around, “he steal children from their sleep.”

ASHOTGUN EXPLODED behind him.

Kirilo ducked. The kid behind the wheel swore. The Volvo screeched and swerved to a halt on the bridge.

Kirilo waited, turned, and looked back through the rear window.

The second taxi, an old Peugeot, wobbled to a halt. The rubber on the front driver’s side wheel lay flat in a pothole. It wasn’t a shotgun. The tire had exploded.

“How far are we from Tommot?” Kirilo said.

“Ten kilometers.”

Kirilo glanced at his watch. It was 11:05 a.m. The train had probably arrived on time five minutes ago.

“You almost made it,” Kirilo said. “Excellent job.”

The kid frowned into the rearview mirror. “But I didn’t make it. I failed.”

Kirilo pushed his door open. Water rushed and chattered below the bridge. Victor opened the other rear door beside him.

“Failure creates opportunity, my friend,” Kirilo said. “You will be paid your bonus in full. Stay in the car and keep the engine running. We will be moving in a few minutes.” Kirilo turned to Pavel and the other bodyguard. “Step outside and keep our friends company. Especially the American.” He glanced at Victor. “You. Follow me.”

Kirilo put on his fur hat and a pair of finger-hugging Italian driving gloves. He stepped out of the car, leaving his warm cashmere gloves behind.

The other driver opened the trunk and removed the spare tire.

Misha had already gotten out of the other car. He pointed a gun at the driver’s head. Pus oozed from a sore festering on his sunken left cheek. Misha waved the gun as though it were a pointer. “You’ve got thirty seconds to change that tire,” he said. “Thirty seconds. We would have been on time. We were almost there. But no. You had to screw it all up.”

The driver’s hands shook so badly he couldn’t get his fingers under the spare tire to lift it out of storage. Specter and Misha’s other bodyguard helped him.

Kirilo made soothing noises and motioned for Misha to lower his gun. “There, there, my friend,” Kirilo said. “Sometimes bad news brings good news with it. Siberian waters are known for their antioxidants. The Lena River is known for its healing powers. People travel from all over Europe to bathe in it. Come down to the river with me. Fortunately for us, it’s late April, so the river melts during the day before freezing at night. Come splash some water on your face, and you will be instantly rejuvenated.”

Misha appeared baffled. “Where?”

“To the river. Down below,” Kirilo said.

“No,” Misha said. “Where are we?”

Specter started toward him.

Kirilo put his hand out for him to stop. “No, no. We’re fine. He’s just a little feverish from all the travel. You all help the man with the tires.” He turned to Misha. “You are in Russia. Past Tommot on the way to Yakutsk. The formula, my friend, the formula.”

“The formula.” Misha’s eyes lit up. “The formula.”

Specter stepped aside tentatively. He took the jack and lug wrench while Misha’s bodyguard grabbed the spare tire. As they began to work, Specter kept glancing over his shoulder.