Scorpion Winter (23 page)

“Don't go. Meet me. We can stop this.”

“You found Shelayev? You have proof?”

“It'll change everything,” he said. He heard her talking urgently to Viktor in Ukrainian. She came back on.

“Viktor wants to talk to you,” she said.

“Mr. Kilbane?” Kozhanovskiy said. “You found what you were looking for? You can prove we had nothing to do with Cherkesov's death?”

“I have Shelayev's confession on video.”

“He says he was acting under Gorobets's orders?”

“It's all Gorobets; all of it.”

There was a pause. He heard them talking urgently among themselves in Ukrainian. Kozhanovskiy came back on.

“I don't know what to say,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “This is—” He took a deep breath. “—good news.”

“Put Iryna on. We don't have much time,” Scorpion said.

Iryna came back. He told her where to meet him.

“One moment,” she whispered. He waited until she came back on. She must have gone somewhere to get away from Slavo, he thought. “I'm worried,” she said. “I tried to call the clinic about Alyona. No one picked up.”

“All right,” he said, his teeth clenched.

“Except it's not all right, is it?”

“No.”

Scorpion ended the call and got back into the limousine. As they headed toward the center of town, he called the Medikom clinic. The phone rang for a long time. He dialed again. Finally, on the third try, a woman answered. He asked for Dr. Yakovenko. The woman told him the doctor had left on vacation. He asked about a patient, giving her the name they had used to check Alyona into the clinic. The woman told him to wait. After what seemed like a long time, she came back on the line.

“I'm sorry,
pane
,” she said. “There's no record of any such patient.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Shevchenkivskyi

Kyiv, Ukraine

I
ryna was waiting for him at a counter at a snack bar in the Central Station. She wore glasses and the curly redheaded wig under her fur Ushanka hat and had ordered coffees and
pampushky
pastries for two. Scorpion had watched her enter the station's main entrance from the McDonald's across the street. It didn't look like she was followed, but he watched for another ten minutes just to make sure.

The TV in the McDonald's was broadcasting news about widespread panic. Tens of thousands were evacuating Kyiv, headed for the countryside. All roads out of the city were packed with cars going one way, military vehicles going the other. In some districts of Kyiv and other cities, there had been looting. Store windows were smashed and supermarket shelves picked clean. Gangs of youths roamed the streets, breaking into houses and taking food and whatever else they could. Gorobets, speaking for Davydenko, declared at a podium that the office of the acting president had declared a state of martial law. “Looters,” he said, staring straight at the camera, “will be shot.”

Scorpion double-checked one last time, then crossed the street to the station. The main hall was crowded with people, many with families, heavy with luggage and desperate to get out before the war started. He found the snack bar. It was standing room only and thick with cigarette smoke. As he squeezed in beside Iryna, he put his hand on the counter and she gave it a squeeze.

“Why is Slavo still around?” he asked.

“I don't know. I think until you called, Viktor was beginning to question whether I wasn't too much of a liability.” She looked around. “Why are we meeting here?” Crowded in at the counter, they could have been any couple trying to get on a train.

“The airport is jammed. Every flight is booked. There's a train leaving for Krakow at 2248 hours. Thanks to a little extra,” he said, rubbing his thumb against his fingers in the universal sign for money, “I was able to get two tickets. I want you to come with me.”

Her eyes searched his face. “What are you saying?” she asked.

“You know what I'm saying.”

“Because of the war?”

“Because after the TV broadcast, we'll have done everything we can.” He partly covered his mouth with his hand so only she could hear him. “There are a lot of people who want me dead around here, and after the broadcast, your life won't be worth a plugged nickel either. Not if Gorobets has anything to say about it.”

“But Viktor—” she began.

“Maybe he can pull it off. After the broadcast, Davydenko and Gorobets will be on the defensive. But NATO is scared shitless. If there's a way out, they'll take it. The Russians too. They've backed themselves into a corner. Our broadcast will give them the excuse they're looking for. If Gorobets gives them what they want, the Russians will do a deal. Look around you,” he said, glancing at the people packing the snack bar. “These people aren't ready to fight a war.”

Iryna took a cigarette out of her handbag and lit it. She took a long puff and exhaled thoughtfully.

“What would we do in Krakow?” she said.

“Get on a plane. There are some places I'd like to show you.”

She gave a little snort of laughter. “
Gospadi
, all this time I've thought you were the least romantic man I'd ever met.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “We can't go,” she said. “So much depends on us. What about Alyona?”

“You tell me. The clinic said they never heard of her.”

“She's gone. Disappeared.” Iryna nodded. “I stayed at the clinic all night. In the morning, when I left to meet with Viktor, Alyona was still there. She was in no condition to be moved.”

“And now supposedly that doctor, Yakovenko, all of a sudden, with a war coming, has gone on vacation!”

“After we spoke, I asked Viktor to have someone check it out. All they got was that men came into the clinic sometime after I left and took someone—no one will say who—away. No one saw anything. No one knows anything. The nurse told them if anyone asked her even that, she would swear the patient never existed.” She leaned closer. “Shelayev killed Cherkesov? You're certain? You've got proof?”

Scorpion nodded.

“Why?”

“Gorobets lied. He told Shelayev that Cherkesov was planning to give Crimea back to Russia.”

“That's crazy. Even Cherkesov—” She stopped herself. “Shelayev admitted on video that Gorobets ordered Cherkesov's death? Will that be enough for the Russians?”

“It'll have to be,” Scorpion said, checking his watch. “We better get to the TV station.”

Iryna began gathering her things. Before she got up, Scorpion put his hand on her arm.

“About Krakow?” he said.

Iryna stood, pulling her handbag strap over her shoulder. She pressed her body against his. He could feel the entire length of her against him. “I can't leave my country. Not now,” she whispered. She took his hand and they went outside.

It had started to snow. Traffic in Vokzalna Square was heavy. They caught a tram heading toward Prospekt Peremogy. Looking out the tram window at the streets and the falling snow, Scorpion had the most bizarre thought. For no reason he could imagine, he wondered if he would ever see snow again.

T
he Inter TV station was in a rectangular building in the Shevchenkivskyi district. They walked into the lobby, stamping their feet on a mat to clear the snow. The receptionist's eyes widened when, despite the wig, she recognized Iryna. She gave them directions to the station manager's office on the second floor. Before they got there, Iryna stepped into a women's bathroom and came out wearing the black wig cut the way people were used to seeing her. The change was incredible. She was the Iryna again. Even her walk was different. They knocked and went into the station manager's office.

It seemed he'd been alerted by the receptionist, because he was standing behind his desk, waiting for them. He was a middle-aged man with thick plastic-rimmed glasses.

“Dobry den,”
he said to Iryna. “I am Vladyislav Korobei.” He looked at Scorpion.
“Khto vy?”
Who are you?

“
Miy okhoronets
,” Iryna jumped in quickly. My bodyguard.

Korobei came around the desk saying something Scorpion couldn't get, but he caught a mention of Pane Akhnetzov. He gestured at the big screen TV on the wall and clicked on the volume with a remote. They listened to the announcer's voice-over while watching a TV spot for Iryna's upcoming appearance. There were images of Iryna, Kozhanovskiy, and Cherkesov, followed by a montage of the rally in the stadium in Dnipropetrovsk and a jumbled video of shooting and people running. The camera froze on the fireball of Cherkesov's car exploding, then cut to a head shot of Iryna, looking drop-dead gorgeous at some function.

Still talking, Korobei led them to an elevator. They went down to a large basement studio where people were busily working. Korobei introduced them around, then to Tetyana, the star of the show, a buxom brunette in a low-cut top who sat on a stool as a cosmeticist applied her makeup. She and Iryna air-kissed cheeks and talked like they were old friends, the two of them preening and eyeing each other like fighting birds. Scorpion studied the layout. There were three cameras pointing at the stage set designed to look like an upper-class living room with a backdrop view of the Saint Sophia Cathedral.

They went into the control room. One of the men—Scorpion assumed it was the director—spoke in Ukrainian to Iryna.

“They want the video,” she said, turning to Scorpion, who opened his backpack, fished in the pocket and pulled out the DVD.

The director handed it to one of the men sitting by a monitor with lots of dials, and after a moment it came on. There was Shelayev sitting at the farmhouse table by the light of a lone candle, the image not crystal clear but unmistakably Shelayev.

“How did you find me?” Shelayev said.

“Something Alyona said,” he heard himself say, which brought it all back to him, the cold and the terrible isolation of that radioactive place.

Everyone watched the video intently. He glanced over at Iryna. She was as engrossed as the others. She's seeing it for the first time, he reminded himself. There were gasps when he told Shelayev that Alyona had been tortured and Shelayev screamed and banged the table. And a buzz of conversation when Shelayev talked about wiring the C-4 in the Mercedes to a cell phone. The murmurs continued, but there was only stunned silence when Shelayev quoted Sherchenko and stuck the knife in his mouth and killed himself. The video captured him toppling over, the blade sticking out of the top of his skull, then went blank.

“Isus Khrystos!”
Jesus Christ, someone said.

There was a long moment, then everyone started talking. The director said something to Iryna. She turned to Scorpion, her eyes glistening.

“He said up till now, he thought like everyone else that we were guilty. He said this changes everything.” One of the men said something to the director and he repeated it to Iryna.

“What did he say?” Scorpion asked.

“He said it's not good television, it's great television!” She smiled.

There was an excited buzz on the set. People were whispering to each other. One of the men showed them where he and Iryna would sit and which camera would be on them. Scorpion was surprised to hear that, and as soon as he could, he pulled Iryna aside behind the cameras.

“What the hell's going on? They don't expect me to be on camera, do they?”

“Yes,” she said. “They think it's an important part of the story. Tetyana wants to ask you some questions. Is it a problem?”

“I don't go on TV. I don't have my picture taken. Ever. It would destroy what I do,” he told her.

“Of course,” she said, looking into his eyes. At that moment, the hair rose on the back of his neck. He had the feeling she was falling in love with him. “I'll tell them.”

She went over and talked with the director and Tetyana. They spoke for some time before Iryna came back.

“You have to be on. You're the one on the video talking to Shelayev. They've suggested a mask. Is that all right?”

“Not if it shows half my face,” Scorpion said.

Iryna had another conference and came back. “You'll wear dark glasses and have the rest of your face covered, plus it will be digitally obscured. Your voice will be electronically disguised. Ilko—”

“Who?”

“The director,” she said, indicating the man talking to Tetyana, “he thinks the disguise will make it even better. More believable. Okay?”

Scorpion nodded. He checked his watch. They would be taping in half an hour. Still plenty of time for him and Iryna to catch the Krakow train, although he wasn't sure she would come. Watching her now, the center of attention, the TV cameras getting ready, he wondered if she was ready to give this up for him.
Why would she?
he asked himself.
Why would anyone?

An assistant led Scorpion to a small room offstage, where he tried on the dark glasses, a workman's cap, and a wraparound mask and voice device. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a terrorist. If he were a viewer, he thought, he wouldn't believe a word out of his mouth. Then Iryna joined him and studied him critically, tilting her head.

“Ilko's right. It'll make it better,” she said.

A female assistant came in and brought them tea, then began to do Iryna's makeup. Scorpion checked his watch again. He was getting antsy.
It's almost over,
he told himself, but his instincts were telling him something was wrong. He heard sounds outside.

“Chto eto?”
he asked. What's that?

“They are just getting ready on the set,” the assistant said. She checked her watch. “Only five minutes.”

Scorpion heard something, people outside the door. He started to reach for the Glock when the door burst open.

Half a dozen SBU team members in full battle gear swarmed into the room, their weapons pointed at Scorpion and Iryna. Even if he reacted, Scorpion realized, there was a good chance that Iryna, if not both of them, would be killed. Two men grabbed him and forced him to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he could see they had done the same to Iryna and the assistant. His body was patted down and someone kicked him in the ribs. Someone else ripped his Glock out of its holster as his hands were shackled behind him with tight plastic cuffs. Iryna was lying nearby, two SBU men on top of her, one of them with his hand between her legs.

An SBU team officer holding a pistol walked into the room. Even from the floor, with a knee pressing hard on his neck, Scorpion could see who it was—the man's cheek and broken nose still swollen and bruised from where he had kicked him.

Kulyakov.