Michael Beres - Chernobyl Murders

“Lunch is almost over,” said Bela. “What are you going to do?”

“Quickly, Bela, tell me about the other men, the ones who arrived earlier and the ones there now. Komarov is a madman, and I need to know how loyal the men are to him.”

Bela watched to be sure no one was coming while he spoke.

“The first group arrived a week ago. They didn’t question us at all, simply said they’d been assigned to guard duty. We knew they were looking for you because of what Nina told us. Poor Mihaly.” Bela grasped Lazlo’s arm. “I nearly forgot.”

“There’s nothing we can do for Mihaly now, Bela. The men.

Tell me about them.”

“At first there were only three, then three more and a captain.

During the week they took turns guarding the house three at a time.

One in front, one in back, and one inside. There’s still one man inside with us day and night. Except last night it was Komarov with his cigarettes stinking the place up. The men Komarov brought with him are stationed outside, at least a dozen, all of them young and fired up.

“It’s hard to say how loyal the men are to Komarov. The first men seemed amateur, friendly enough fellows except they carry these enormous automatic pistols beneath their coats. They wouldn’t tell us anything. Then a captain named Brovko arrived. He spoke a lot more. He wanted to know about you and Mihaly. He asked about the farm and your mother and father and even Cousin Zukor’s visit last summer. But it was all in a friendly way, not the way Komarov asks questions. In fact, one evening before Komarov arrived, two of the men played cards with me. And while we played… you know how you can tell about a fellow when he’s playing cards.”

“What did you find out?”

“These men don’t understand why they were put on guard in and around the house instead of simply watching the road. And something else, something they didn’t say but I could tell by their reaction whenever his name came up. They despise Komarov. At least the men who arrived earlier. And Captain Brovko… the second in command since Komarov arrived… he wonders why Komarov is after you with such vengeance. I watched his eyes. I watched him while Komarov interrogated us. You can tell a lot by watching eyes.

Mariska’s mother often told us about the old days when she was a fortune-teller. I know this is important, Laz.”

Bela peered through the engine compartment and continued.

“The men who arrived last night with Komarov haven’t been in the house, so I’m not sure about them. But on my way to the bus this morning, I passed one who was stooped down in the weeds along the road. When he saw me he frowned, motioning his back ached.

When they arrived with Komarov, they were full of spunk. But this morning, the one I met didn’t look happy with the situation. I have a feeling all the men feel this way. They arrive ready to fight, but there is no fight. The only men with enthusiasm are Komarov and Brovko. But their enthusiasm goes in opposite directions. While Komarov is intent on… I have to say it, Laz, he wants to kill you, and he wants to discredit you. He hates us for being related to you.

While Komarov is this way, Brovko seems intent on finding out about Komarov’s motives. I don’t think Komarov will simply go away if you don’t come. He was hard on Nina last night. When Brovko went outside, Komarov struck her. And when I went at him, he pulled a knife from his pocket and held it to Nina’s throat.”

Through the engine compartment, Lazlo saw a worker walking out to one of the other tractors. While Bela spoke, Lazlo tried to imagine going to the house after dark, tried to remember a way he and Mihaly might have snuck up on the house when they were boys.

But, except for the cover of darkness, he could remember no safe approach to the house because of the way it was situated on the hill.

“We have to hurry, Bela. How many men are out at night, and where?”

“Usually one out front, either by the door or sitting in a car.

Always one in back. From what I saw this morning, the men who arrived last night circle the house at a one-hundred- to two-hundred-meter radius. So it’s one man in the house, probably Komarov if he stays the night again, two men immediately outside, and at least seven or eight out in the weeds. The man I saw this morning was on the south edge of the road where the hill starts down to the village.”

Bela grabbed Lazlo’s arm. “They’re coming! What are you going to do?”

The workers began walking out into the field. A man and woman sang a Hungarian folk song. “Geraniums in my window, come to my window.”

“Bela, if I kill Komarov, will the other men leave you and Mariska and Nina in peace?”

“I don’t know the answer to that, Laz. But we must do something.”

“I’ll come to the house tonight,” said Lazlo, shaking his fist and meaning it. “I’ll come at ten o’clock. You’ll be in bed if he lets you.

Wait! The wine cellar! Do they know about the wine cellar?”

“The wine cellar. No. The children were playing on the cover.

It’s got a tablecloth on it.”

“Listen, Bela. Before ten o’clock, see if you can get the women and children down there.”

“How? There’s a guard in the back.”

“What if they go out the side bedroom window?”

“Yes,” said Bela. “They’ll go out the side window, and I’ll run out the back door to keep the guard busy. Somehow, I’ll get to the back door! It’s up to us, Laz!” Bela motioned across the field. “Go now. Hurry before someone recognizes you. If I’m unable to get the women out, I’ll leave the bedroom window closed. If they get out, I’ll leave the window open. You enter the house through the window. Do you have a gun?”

Lazlo opened his coat to reveal his Makarov in the coat pocket.

“I’ll shoot Komarov. If I’m successful, guards will converge. Don’t try to help me. Tell them you didn’t want anyone hurt so you sent the women and children to the cellar. If I’m not successful… if Komarov survives, don’t say anything about the cellar, no matter what.”

“I understand, Laz. Go now.”

As Lazlo walked across the field, he shook his fist in the air without turning back. One of the workers yelled out, “Good-bye, Lajos, my friend! It was pleasant speaking with you!”

Lazlo shook his fist once more, then walked south on the dirt road in the direction of the Kalinin collective where Lajos lived.

While he walked, Lazlo felt the weight of his pistol bouncing against his chest. Because he had left the shoulder holster behind at the Hotel Dnieper, the pistol hung loosely in the pocket of the musty old coat. Behind him tractor engines started, and the task of spring planting resumed.

To avoid being seen, he bypassed the village, taking a long circular route to the hill on which his boyhood home waited. It was at least a ten-kilometer walk on plowed fields. He stopped frequently to scan the horizon for men or vehicles on the dirt roads bordering the fields. The sky was clear, the sun baking the turned earth creating a fragrance he recalled from boyhood. He took off the coat as he walked and put his pistol into his belt.

If it was clear tonight, it would be cool again, the sky blanketed with stars. He thought of the moon, thought back quickly to the previous night with Juli in the Skoda, remembered trying to see her as they embraced in the dark. There was no moon last night, and there would be no moon tonight. The men out in the weeds would huddle down, trying to keep warm. Unless a storm came, it would be quiet. The weeds, brittle from winter, would sound like dry twigs underfoot.

Lazlo stayed well away from several farmhouses he passed as he worked his way to the family farm. At one point a mongrel dog from one of the farms chased him, making a sound like the Skoda when it had barely outrun the train. Rather than be seen by the woman who came out of the farmhouse to see what the dog was after, Lazlo lay down in the weeds and prepared to defend himself.