The Boy Who Stole From the Dead (42 page)

“Wait?” The question didn’t make sense to Lauren. Of course she wasn’t going to wait. Whoever got the story first would be the winner. “Why would I wait?”

“Because you said you would.”

“I said I’d wait before I wrote anything. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to investigate.”

Nadia thought about this for a moment. “I assumed waiting meant waiting before you did anything, but I see what you mean. I should have been more explicit when I made a deal with you. So what is it you think you know?”

“I know he’s not from Kotzebue. I know you brought him in from Ukraine via Russia via the Diomede Islands. And I know his name is Adam Tesla.”

“How do you know that?”

“I visited your mother.”

“Yeah. I heard. That was not cool.”

Lauren shrugged. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“But my mother only told you his name was Adam. Who told you his last name was Tesla?”

“You and the kid did. About ten minutes ago. When you didn’t say boo when you heard me say it. When you invited me into your home.”

Nadia studied Lauren and shrugged. “You didn’t need me to confirm it. You knew already.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’m starved. How about you? I have to order. Bobby’s going to be starving when he comes out—Oh. We use the name Bobby to keep things simple. So there are no slip-ups or confusion. Okay?”

Lauren wondered what the hell was going on here.

Nadia rushed to the kitchen and pulled out some menus. “I’m ordering a large pizza and a huge pile of sushi. Any favorites?”

Nadia placed two orders for food. Afterward, she poured them each a Diet Coke on ice. They sat in the living room. Lauren was confused. She thought she should be furious but she wasn’t. She felt strangely comfortable with the woman she wanted to hate.

“Why the urgency for this story?” Nadia said.

“That’s the business. That’s journalism. You have to be first or you’re dead.”

“Were your parents in the business?”

The reminder of her mother knocked Lauren off balance. As it always did. “No.”

“You went to law school, didn’t you? You’re an attorney by trade. Why did you get into journalism?”

“I was an intern in the Sports Network’s legal department. One of the producers offered me an assignment to look into a college quarterback’s alleged ties with a booster. I learned something about myself.”

“What’s that?”

“I like to dig. Especially when there’s a wrong involved.”

“Me too.”

“And I like the race. The urgency. I like the need to be first to win.”

“Why is that?”

The images flashed before her eyes for the zillionth time. The phone call from her father.
Your mother doesn’t sound good. I’m in Florida. You should go take a look. Can you go take a look?
Richie pulling her back into bed, begging for a morning romp. He was gorgeous, irresistible, the man who could make her career. How could she say no? Then the detour. When she arrived her mother was lying dead on the sofa, a syringe sticking out of her arm. If only she’d taken her father’s warning more seriously. If only she’d moved faster. If only she’d gotten there first.

“I don’t know,” Lauren said. “Must be how I’m wired.” She considered Nadia’s questions. “This is starting to sound like a job interview.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Funny you should say that. Because like I said, I thought we had a lot in common and got along real well. Bobby’s going to be eighteen next year. The day that happens he’s eligible for the NHL draft. He’s going to need an agent. With your legal and sports backgrounds, I thought you might be interested in exploring the possibilities.”

“Of what? Being his agent?”

“Yes.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You.”

Lauren sat dumbfounded. “This is a cruel joke, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.”

Lauren allowed herself to entertain the notion. “What would I do for the next year leading up to his graduation?”

“Build the foundation for your practice. Get the word out. You’ve got connections. Go to the games. Be seen. I have a friend from Russia who might be able to help. He’s very powerful. Maybe he can find a promising Russian kid who doesn’t have an agent yet and wants to play in North America. You never know what can happen until you get out there and give it a try.”

Lauren thought about the idea some more. The pause allowed her to gather her senses. “This is all very nice. You invited me into your home. You’re talking to me. I appreciate that. But as for this other thing, it’s crazy. How do I know you’re not just saying whatever you can to push me away? To buy time. He can’t sign a contract until he’s finished his amateur career. What assurances can you possibly give me?”

“That’s easy,” Nadia said.

“It is?”

“Sure. We can give you the truth.”

Bobby came out of the shower with wet hair, a t-shirt, and sweats. They drank soda and talked. The food arrived in two deliveries. They ate pizza and sushi. Nadia told Lauren the truth about Adam Tesla’s identity and their journey to America. The kid sat listening and eating. He never said a word.

“Now you know everything,” Nadia said when she was finished. “Bobby came here for the freedom and the opportunity. The same way you have the freedom and opportunity to do whatever you want. You can go publish your blog. Tell the whole truth. Or you can join us. See where it takes you. You want to sleep on it, that’s fine. All I ask is that you decide within a week and give us a heads up if you go the blog route so we can prepare ourselves. Because for sure Bobby will get deported back to Ukraine, and that’s if they’re even willing to take him.”

Lauren agreed.

On the way home, an unfamiliar calm enveloped her. Her pace slowed of its own accord. She enjoyed sights and watched people. She’d lived in New York for eleven years but she couldn’t recall when she’d been more content. She was no longer in a hurry. There was no one left to save. Her mother was in a better place and she had arrived at her final destination.

Fifteen minutes after she left, Lauren called Nadia on her cell phone.

“Tell me about this powerful Russian friend of yours.”

EPILOGUE

N
ADIA DIDN
’
T TELL
Lauren about Bobby’s experience with the Valentines in Chornobyl. She also didn’t reveal that the locket might actually contain a revolutionary formula. Neither one was relevant to Bobby’s real identity, which was the essence of Lauren’s story.

Lauren’s arrival wasn’t a surprise. When Nadia’s mother described the woman who’d come asking questions about Bobby, Nadia knew it was Lauren. She could reveal Bobby’s true identity by publishing her suspicions. Even if her story were inaccurate, it could lead to Bobby’s deportation. Nadia had liked Lauren when they first met, and crafted her solution based on instincts. It was a risk but so was giving an illegal immigrant from Chornobyl a new life in New York City.

After Lauren left, Nadia and Bobby went to the jewelry district on Forty-Seventh Street. She visited with a jeweler who’d designed an amethyst ring, earrings, and a bracelet as gifts for her mother over the years, back when she was gainfully employed and flush with cash. The jeweler removed the gilding from the entire locket. The process exposed a web of chemical symbols etched into the underlying metal.

Nadia’s heart pounded as they took the subway uptown to Columbia University. At 4:00 p.m. they met with Professor Eric Sandstrom, a radiobiologist. Professor Sandstrom studied the symbols. Enthusiastic exclamations ended with disappointment.

The etchings consisted of the known formula for 5-Androstenediol modified to include a protein substance of some kind. 5-Androstenediol was a direct metabolite of the most abundant steroid produced by the human adrenal cortex. Its potential as a radiation countermeasure was discovered by the Armed Forces Radiobiology Institute, and later studied by Hollis-Eden Pharmaceuticals for acute radiation syndrome. Initial studies on monkeys were successful. 12.5% of monkeys treated with 5-AED died compared with 32.5% of those treated with a placebo. In 2007, however, tests were cancelled due to a supposed decline in success rates. Scientists reported that an additional protein complex was necessary to further modify 5-AED and make it effective. To-date, such a modification had not been discovered.

Professor Sandstrom concluded the etchings on the locket were promising but incomplete. It appeared that only half the essential protein was defined. There was plenty of room left on the locket for additional etchings. His first thought was that a scientist had conducted some experiments and had gotten marginally better results from additional protein substances that shared the identified composition, but the results were not conclusive enough for humans. His second thought was that the formula was complete nonsense, and the etchings had been added to make the locket’s purported value stand up to a cursory inspection.

Three weeks and three days later, Nadia was working on a new project for the Orel Group at 10:30 p.m. at home when she heard a sound from Bobby’s bedroom. It was more masculine than a shriek, but louder than a gasp. It propelled Nadia to her feet and sent her running to Bobby’s door. He opened it before she got there. He looked either amazed or terrified, she couldn’t tell which. He moved out of the way like a barefoot zombie to let her in.

“Computer,” he said.

Nadia marched to his desk and looked at the picture on the screen. It was a photo of the necklace and the locket in the palm of Bobby’s hand.

“Why did you take a picture of yourself holding the locket?”

“I didn’t,” he said.

“What?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then who did?”

“No one.”

“I’m confused.”

“That’s not my hand. And it’s not my locket. The necklace has smaller loops. The locket is more circular.”

Nadia lost her breath. Bobby edged past her and slipped into his chair.

“There’s another locket,” Bobby said.

Nadia let the words sink in. “There’s another boy,” she said, as much to herself as to Bobby. “Is this an e-mail?”

“Just got it.”

“Who sent it?”

Bobby scrolled to the message details. The sender’s name was ‘GenesisII26486.’

“Does that mean anything to you?” Nadia said.

Bobby shook his head. “No.”

“Can you get any more information about where it was sent from?”

Bobby summoned the source information. Half a page of gibberish came up. Nadia couldn’t make any sense of it. Bobby pointed at the screen with his pen.

Sender> Okuma-asahi.net.

“Asahi,” Nadia said. “That sounds Japanese.”

“Must be the local Internet provider.”

Bobby searched. Asahi Net was, in fact, one of Japan’s top broadband providers.

“What about Okuma?” Nadia said.

Bobby searched again. A Wikipedia page offered five subjects named Okuma. Nadia and Bobby scanned the list. Nadia stopped when she reached the fourth subject. She knew Bobby was transfixed by the same entry without even asking.

Okuma was the name of a Japanese town in the Futaba District. It was a city whose name was known in infamy around the world. It was the only place besides Chornobyl to experience a level seven nuclear disaster, according to the International Nuclear Event Scale. The message from the second boy had been sent from this location.

Fukushima.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am indebted to the many articles and books I sourced for historical context and setting. Among them were Mark Hollingworth’s and Steward Lansley’s
Londongrad
, and Peter Lane Taylor’s
The Secret of Priest’s Grotto
.

My sincere thanks to the following people for their invaluable assistance:

Professor Roman Voronka and Mykola Haliv helped with various matters Ukrainian, including editorial input and book reviews. They are the smartest and kindest men in any room. Kim Palmer, Pam Marra, Jeff Palmer, Mary Jane Cronin, Jim Cronin, John Jarosz, Eudokia Stelmach, Dan Simeone, and Bob Simeone spread the word. Thanks to Bob for also sharing his intricate knowledge of firearms. How lucky I am to call you family and friends. Olga Konuich, Lydia Gulawsky, and the other members of the Soyuz Ukrainok of Warren, Michigan, turned a conference call into a motivating experience. The Ukrainian Museum in New York City, Paul Stankus, Jud Ashman, and the entire Gaithersburg Book Festival provided generous hospitality. Kathy Ryan and Chernobyl Children International make wonderful partners and create an effective means for every reader to help save children’s lives with the purchase of a book. My intrepid editors, Alison Dasho and Charlotte Herscher, shepherd a book to creation and kill the darlings within like nobody’s business. The rest of the team at Thomas & Mercer including Alan Turkus, Terry Goodman, Jacque Ben-Zekry, Gracie Doyle and Paul Morrissey have supported and promoted this author beyond all reasonable expectations. For this I will always remain indebted to Daphne Durham, the high priestess of the Boy cult, and Andy Bartlett. My fierce and fabulous literary agent, Erica Silverman, remains my formidable and trusted partner and friend.