Michael Beres - Chernobyl Murders

“But you must know more.”

Asimov forced a look of sincerity. “It will all come out in the investigation, Detective Horvath. Your brother was the engineer in charge at the time, so if there was trouble, I presume he would have been close to it.”

“In charge? He wasn’t a chief engineer.”

“Nevertheless, he was the senior technical person present at the time.”

“I see,” said Lazlo. “And in this so-called investigation, will you be investigating your inadequate safety precautions and shoddy construction practices? Or will you be examining the character of my brother?”

Asimov pulled a stack of papers from the corner of his desk and began shuffling them. “I’m sorry about your brother, Detective Horvath. The sympathy of the ministry goes out to you and your family. As for investigations, I cannot speak of what has not yet taken place.”

The wine cellar. Mihaly describing systematic deprivation of safety procedures and dangerous experiments. Mihaly saying the situation was “fucked.” Down in the wine cellar, laughing at the fucked world, and now Mihaly was fucked. Without thinking about it, Lazlo stood and walked around the desk. He stood over Asimov and put his hand on his shoulder. “I’ll come back this afternoon.

When I do, I want to speak to someone who knows about safety at Chernobyl. Someone technical.”

Asimov stared silently up at Lazlo, his jowls visibly shaking.

“Who will I be speaking with this afternoon, Comrade Minister?”

“Who?”

“Yes. Who is your resident technical expert?”

“Vatchenko, the deputy chairman of the engineering council.

He knows about safety.”

“And he’ll be here?”

Asimov nodded his head. “Yes, Detective Horvath. But please listen. There’s something Moscow has instructed me to say.”

“What’s that?”

“They said no news is to leak out except through official channels. They said we are to report to them and to no one else.”

The room blurred, and Lazlo took out his handkerchief to dry his eyes.

Asimov pushed his chair back and stood up. “Please believe I’m sorry, Detective Horvath. At times like this, there is nothing one can say or do to set things right.”

“Yes, there is.”

“What?”

“Find out about my brother’s family and have Vatchenko here this afternoon.”

The shade of a chestnut tree across the street from the Ministry of Energy made the inside of the Volga comfortable. A few minutes earlier, unable to stand it any longer, Komarov had lit a cigarette.

Captain Azef rolled his window partway down and said, because of the nuclear accident, air drawn through a cigarette filter might be better than the air outside.

Komarov knew about the death of Detective Horvath’s brother, Mihaly Horvath, the engineer in charge at the time of the so-called accident. These facts, plus the work his KGB branch office had done concerning the Horvath brothers, their American cousin, and Juli Popovics, prompted Deputy Chairman Dumenko to place Komarov in charge of an aggressive investigation in spite of the Chernobyl accident.

Already, an agent digging into Soviet army records had uncovered a questionable shooting incident involving Detective Horvath.

The detective was his to watch and, perhaps, catch, like a fish out of water in this scheme, whatever the scheme might turn out to be. And now two of Captain Putna’s men had followed Juli Popovics from Pripyat. She was in Kiev, and the PK agent named Nikolai was to meet Komarov at his office later in the day. On the phone this morning, Nikolai sounded gratified to be out of the back room of the rural post office. The same PK agents who first revealed the possible Gypsy Moth connection were here in Kiev. Was it coincidence that, prior to visiting his cousins last summer, Andrew Zukor had stopped at the CIA station in Budapest? Perhaps Zukor wanted to obtain information about the plant from Mihaly Horvath in order to discredit the Soviet nuclear program, or perhaps he was digging deeper, searching for plutonium production numbers the way the Americans had always done.

As they waited across from the Ministry of Energy for Detective Horvath to emerge, Komarov wondered why Juli Popovics had come to Kiev instead of going directly to her aunt’s house in Visenka. She might contact Detective Horvath, her lover’s brother; such a contact would definitely suggest conspiracy. Yes, everything was falling into place. Even Juli Popovics’ pregnancy with Mihaly Horvath’s child added to the growing evidence.

Komarov found the business of childbirth and pregnancy distasteful. When he saw duck-shaped women waddling down sidewalks, he was reminded of the birth of his son. At the time, he reacted as anyone would expect. Grigor Komarov, proud father of a son who would grow into a man, follow in his father’s footsteps, and carry on his name. But Dmitry had betrayed him. Instead of normal courtship, instead of sewing the customary wild oats, Dmitry was a lover of men, forcing into his father’s mind the image of another man’s penis in his son’s anus or even his mouth. A son who had been held up for him to see while moisture from the womb was wiped from him. These private thoughts of Dmitry made Komarov think of Gretchen, made him recall the feel of the knife entering her womb… It was as if he had tried to kill the womb.

Komarov’s wife, in her ignorance, welcomed Dmitry’s friends into their house. Several nights ago, he watched her kiss Dmitry’s current

“lover,” Fyodor, on the lips. Normally it would have been an innocent greeting, but he could not forget it. Last Saturday night, after intercourse, his wife asked why he no longer kissed her. What was he to say? He could not kiss her because her lips had kissed lips that sucked her own son’s penis? He might as well tell his wife her body had, in his imagination, become Gretchen. Gretchen beneath him in the bedroom of the “safe” house. Gretchen musklike following her union with Pudkov, who lay dead in the hall. Gretchen moaning as he touches her with one gloved hand, while in the other hand…

“Insane,” said Azef, interrupting Komarov’s thoughts.

“What are you talking about?”

“The entire situation,” said Azef. “An accident occurs, and Kiev’s public prosecutor opens an investigation. It does nothing except take our men away from us.”

“Only a few men,” said Komarov. “Not our best men.”

“I agree,” said Azef. “We save our best men for genuine investigation. While the Regional Party Committee tells Moscow what it wants to hear, we seek the truth.”

“This is why I’ve assigned men to Chernobyl,” said Komarov.

“Even though rescue and evacuation take precedence, those in charge must be questioned. Unfortunately, it leaves us shorthanded in Kiev.”

“Rather than going to the accident site, you and I must take care of matters here.” Azef paused. “But I wondered what you thought about the possibility of another explosion?”

“Nonsense,” said Komarov. “I spoke personally with Colonel Zamyatin this morning. He’s in touch with scientists from the Energy Ministry at the site. Soon all will be under control at the reactor.”

“Some who might know what caused the accident are in Moscow,” said Azef.

“I’m aware of that,” said Komarov, somewhat annoyed. “The Moscow office assured me they will handle interviews in Hospital Number Six. In case you forgot, Captain Azef, I was fully briefed before you arrived this morning. The evacuation of Pripyat is under way, directors of surrounding collectives will find space for evacuees, Black Sea hotels and campgrounds have been reserved, and komsomols will provide food. During my conversation with Moscow, we estimated as many as one hundred thousand people will need to be evacuated from around the power station. Therefore, Captain, since recovery operations are being handled, we are responsible for determining whether the explosion was an accident or sabotage!”