Traffyck (56 page)

When she heard gunfire, Nadia tried to leave with the rifle, and Vasily also struggled onto one leg with a determined look on his face. But, suddenly, Vasily held her back.

“A plan is a plan!” he yelled. “We cannot betray it!”

“But Lena is there!”

“Those shots are out over the river! The river mutes them!

“How can you know!” yelled Nadia, her eyes blurred with tears.

“I know!” shouted Vasily.

Some of the Chernobyl survivors had begun screaming, and Vasily turned Nadia’s face toward him. “Do your job! Lena expects it!”

Suddenly, Nadia realized Vasily was correct. If screams were heard on the beach and Lena and the others were trying to sneak up or fight…

Nadia ran to the screaming Chernobyl survivors and began hugging them and talking softly to them. She began singing a Ukrainian lullaby called “A Dream Passes by the Window.”

Vasily joined in, and this quieted the Chernobyl survivors, causing some of them to close their eyes and smile.

After the Russian Mi-8 helicopter loaded up with fuel and more SBU junior agents, Yuri Smirnov switched seats so he could sit at a window seat behind his comrade, Agent Sergei Izrael. This gave Smirnov a better view of the ground and also allowed him to speak to Izrael without shouting across their fellow passenger, Opus Dei representative Mikhail Juliano. As the helicopter headed south to the peninsula, Izrael passed word back to the men, who now totaled ten, that they should ready their weapons. Mikhail Juliano, hearing this, wondered aloud if these precautions were superfluous, but Izrael simply stared at him.

Smirnov leaned forward in his seat so he could speak privately to Izrael. “Do you think it superfluous?”

Izrael turned toward Smirnov. “If Lyashko found it necessary to kill himself, nothing is superfluous. Evidence exists of attacks on clinics and fires in Kiev started by young men. The client of your investigator friend, Nagy, was kidnapped by young men. How many and how old and how well armed? These are the unknowns.”

Smirnov sat back and looked out the window. In a few minutes, the Dnepr River widened and the vast Kiev Reservoir began. Up the Pripyat outlet to the west, Smirnov could see a few derelict barges half sunk on the shoreline. And then there was the peninsula.

When the pilot came in low and slowed, Smirnov saw three inflatable boats nosed onto the beach. Farther up the beach, he saw perhaps a hundred people. As the pilot banked and turned west to come back over the peninsula at lower altitude, Smirnov saw another boat out in the reservoir speeding toward the shore. And something else! Puffs of smoke from the barrels of rifles. Many rifles on shore shooting at the boat, and someone in the boat firing back!

Izrael shouted forward to the pilot. “Keep your altitude! Can you land on the north shore?”

The pilot shouted back. “I can! But if those idiots down there start firing at us—”

“Go north beyond those three standing there!”

Smirnov looked ahead and saw the three men. He pulled a pair of binoculars from his bag. Two of the men had rifles; the other was unarmed. The unarmed man was heavy, bearded, and wore a business suit. Smirnov recognized him. Rogoza! He shouted ahead to Izrael. “Father Vladimir Ivanovich Rogoza of Kiev’s Moscow Patriarchate is down there!”

“Look at the boat!” shouted Izrael.

“What?”

“It’s coming into shore!”

As the helicopter slowed for its landing north of the men, the inflatable boat speeding into shore did not slow. Instead, it ran onto shore, lifting a plume of sand as it skidded forward onto the beach. The three men tried to scatter, but the speed of the boat coming onto the beach was too fast for them and the boat mowed them down.

Farther down the beach, what appeared to be a group of ragtag soldiers near one of the beached inflatable boats began firing at the helicopter. A dozen or so young women dressed in jeans and sweatshirts dove down onto the beach. Smirnov heard several bullets hit the helicopter, but the pilot kept in control and, instead of landing in his original spot, hovered low and went farther north to land behind a natural dune.

Izrael shouted orders to the men, who piled out the back door of the helicopter, ran up the dune, and lay down in firing position. Izrael, Smirnov, and Juliano ran with them. Izrael handed Smirnov a Stechkin machine pistol, but Izrael had a sniper rifle with scope. When Smirnov looked to the side, he saw several of the other men also had sniper rifles. Smirnov had brought his binoculars and looked behind the inflatable, which was slowly deflating. The three men mowed down by the boat did not move. Two rifles were on the ground away from the men. Smirnov could see Rogoza, face-up in the sun. The two others were uniformed with ammunition and equipment belts. All three were either dead or knocked out. The blades of the helicopter behind them were coming to a stop, and, for a moment, there was silence.

Suddenly, screams came from the deflating inflatable between the SBU and the crowd on the beach. A woman yelled, “Janos!” and Smirnov knew it was Mariya Nemeth. She crawled over the side toward them, reaching back into the inflatable, while several of the ragtag soldiers ran toward her from the far side.

“Take them out!” shouted Izrael.

Within seconds, six ragtag soldiers were down.

This caused a commotion on the beach in the distance. Obviously the remaining soldiers were gathering their captives into a group. In a matter of seconds, all the young people in jeans and sweatshirts had become human shields.

Mariya Nemeth waved from within the inflatable, and Izrael sent two of his men scrambling on the sand to her. They dragged her out, reached in, and dragged out another man. The soldiers with their human shields in the distance were too far away to interfere, and the men came back to the dune with Mariya Nemeth and Janos Nagy. Both were injured, Nemeth with cuts and a possible broken leg, Nagy with a bullet wound in his shoulder and a wound on his arm, wrapped earlier. Izrael sent them back to the helicopter with the medic.

Suddenly, one of the men hit by the inflatable got to his hands and knees and crawled to a rifle. Izrael aimed and killed the man. “I am taking no chances. It is time to show strength.” He turned to a nearby man. “Sasha, watch those other two. If one goes for a gun, kill him.”

“So now we will wait?” asked Smirnov.

Izrael turned and smiled to Smirnov. “I think you will be a good negotiator.”

Smirnov looked through his binoculars. Roughly twenty grisly-looking mercenaries had surrounded themselves with at least fifty young people. Most of the young were women, but there were also some men, and two boys. Perhaps Smirnov could count on some of the young men to act. Or perhaps women who’d been abused would be better. He tried to study their faces, but at this distance…

A guttural voice rang out. “You will give us helicopter with pilot!”

The man spoke in Russian, but the accent was from one of the former republics, Kazakhstan or Uzbekistan.

Another voice shouted. “He does not joke! We will begin killing in seconds!”

This accent was completely different. Romanian.

“Professional mercenaries from various countries?” asked Izrael.

“I think so,” said Smirnov, trying to think of what to say.

A shot rang out. Sasha had killed the other in uniform behind the inflatable who had moved toward a rifle. Smirnov saw only Rogoza remaining and made an assumption.

He rose up slightly and took a deep breath before shouting loudly and strongly. “I have killed your leader! SBU agents and Army troops surround you! You will either give up or die! There is no choice! Hostage taking is not acceptable in Ukraine! We do not even know who these so-called hostages are! Perhaps they are your comrades posing as hostages!”

Smirnov listened. He could hear arguing among the men in various languages. Suddenly, two shots were fired in rapid succession, and the group reacted by all going to the ground. Smirnov saw one of the soldiers crawl to another, and one of the young people seemingly attending to another hostage. A soldier and a hostage, shot.

The same guttural voice rang out. “You will give us helicopter with pilot! Two are dead! You will move away from helicopter and leave pilot!”

“There is not enough room in the helicopter!” shouted Smirnov. “Take the boats!”

More arguing among the men. Smirnov waited.

The guttural voice again. “We will take ten with us in helicopter and leave rest! Move your men to trees! Stand and drop weapons! We will come now! To helicopter with pilot!”

“The helicopter has a pilot and navigator!” shouted Smirnov.

“Fuck your mother! We will take helicopter and crew!”

“What should we do?” whispered Izrael.

“Nothing,” whispered Smirnov.

Pyotr’s recovery from his collapse after chasing Nadia and Guri through the woods took longer than expected. Perhaps he’d had a heart attack. His arms and legs had gone numb, and he tried to think of symptoms. The pain in his chest and his shortness of breath kept him down for what seemed hours. Yet the sun was high when he collapsed, and it was still high. Time had simply stretched. He remembered hearing gunshots but could not determine the direction. Perhaps a heart attack, or perhaps nothing but his imagination after a fainting spell.

He stood, wobbled for a moment, recalled his plan to injure the children and take them to the guardhouse near Opachychi and demand a vehicle to transport them to the hospital. Yes, even better now, because of his heart.

Pyotr Alexeyevich Andropov began walking in the direction the children had gone. Seventeen or eighteen, they were still children, young-looking, especially when a concerned grandfather comes to the hospital with them after an accident on the highway.

After walking only a few hundred meters, Pyotr heard mumbling. Although his legs ached, he crouched down and moved ahead. Soon he saw what he needed. His Chernobyl orphans were there in a clearing. And beyond them was the girl Nadia, but not the boy Guri. Instead, Vasily was there, holding an AKM.

Pyotr moved cautiously in a wide circle to Vasily’s back. Along the way, he found two stones, each almost a hand wide. His plan would still work! He would use one stone on each and take the girl Nadia with him. And now, he would also have a weapon should the guards at Opachychi be uncooperative.

He moved slowly through the bushes. Although they were not facing opposite directions, there was an angle at which he could come close enough. When he was within five meters, he ran with the stones and hurled both at their heads.

Vasily called out, and the girl screamed. Two of the male Chernobyl orphans Pyotr recognized as demented troublemakers came toward him just as he got hold of Vasily’s AKM. The orphans were large but armless, and he easily knocked them off balance. But someone was at his leg. Vasily was not knocked out!

Pyotr turned the AKM on Vasily, but one of the Chernobyl orphans was back, pushing the rifle sideways just as Vasily pushed Pyotr’s knee, knocking him to the ground. Suddenly, Vasily was upon him with both hands around Pyotr’s neck. There was no way to aim the gun he held in one hand. He had no choice but to let go of the gun and put his hands to Vasily’s neck.

Vasily stared at him with hatred only a son could express as he choked Pyotr. Pyotr squeezed Vasily’s neck as hard as he could in return for all the years of loyalty eaten by mistrust he could not understand. The choking was not as painful as the pain returning to his chest. He stared into Vasily’s eyes. “Come with me, Vasily,” he wanted to say. “We will take the girl to the hospital and get treatment… We will be able to return to our Chernobyl orphans … Please, Vasily! Please!”

Suddenly, a face other than Vasily’s intervened. A face full of blood … a face full of hatred so intense he knew it must be death. Nadia lay on the ground, unable to move anything except her arms. Her eyes were clouded over with what she assumed were tears because of the pain in her head. But when she moved her hand to her face and cleared one eye, she saw the blood on her fingers.

Not far from her face, Vasily and Pyotr choked one another. It was a dream, a nightmare from which she would soon awaken. Someone had switched food plates, and she had gotten drugs meant for someone else. And if this was a nightmare, perhaps all was a nightmare, even the men’s insides blown into her face and onto her costume at the lodge in the mountains.