The Boy from Reactor 4

CHAPTER 17





A RESTLESS CROWD watched the Amtrak departure board overhead at Penn Station. Some carried briefcases, others dragged suitcases. None looked happy.

The bars on the board spun forward and rotated. The revolving numbers sounded like a giant roulette wheel. One of the bars landed on the 8:45 a.m. Empire State to Albany. It was now boarding at Gate 13A.

Victor handed Tara a fanny pack. “Wrap this around your waist under your coat. There’s two thousand dollars in it. Another seven thousand was wired into your bank account this morning.”

“Victor—”

“A woman will meet you at the train station. She will take you to her home in a town called Voorheesville. When it is safe for you to come home, your aunt will call you from New York. Until then, you must not speak to anyone. Otherwise, Misha will find you, and you will never be free from him.”

“Okay, I understand. But what about you? Here,” she said, pushing the fanny pack into his chest. “This is too much.”

“No, it’s not. You see…I need you to do me a favor.”

Tara hesitated. “What kind of favor?”

Victor reached down and picked up what looked like a small duffel bag. One end was vented. He unzipped the other. A black-and-white cat poked its head out and chirped like a parakeet at Tara.

“I need you to take care of him for me,” Victor said. “I have no one else.”

Tara froze, mouth open, as though she weren’t a cat person but didn’t want to admit it. “Why can’t you take care of him?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m going to be traveling soon. He answers to Damian, but you can call him whatever you want. He’s a good boy.”

Tara swallowed and forced a smile. “Okay. I’ll take care of him. Damian and my baby will be friends.”

“That would be…so nice. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He took a final look at Damian and zipped up the carrier. Tara reached out and grasped it by its strap.

“You have it?” Victor said.

“Yes, I have it.”

“Because he doesn’t like to be dropped.”

Tara laughed and tightened her grip. “Yes, Victor. I have it.”

Victor let go of the strap. His hand fell to his side, still clutching an imaginary strap. He handed her a second bag that contained some food, the cat’s favorite toys, and its vaccination history.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get a porter to help you with your suitcases.”

Victor walked away. He resisted the urge to turn back. To tell her how much joy she’d brought him the three times he’d seen her. Instead, he found a man in a red cap pushing a trolley. He gave him twenty dollars and asked him to help Tara board the train early. Afterward, Victor did not return to say good-bye to Tara.

Instead, he circled the waiting area until he found an intense young woman in a business suit typing away like a nutcase into one of those small phone-like contraptions everyone is obsessed with these days. She was sitting in a corner against a wall. Perfect. Victor slipped behind a support beam, removed his right arm from its jacket sleeve, and replaced the coat around his shoulder.

He sat down beside the woman. She paid no attention to him. With the sleeve of his jacket hanging by her side as it normally would, Victor slipped his right arm around her waist. He dipped into her purse, rummaged around, and lifted her wallet. The entire exercise took ten seconds.

Victor tucked the wallet inside his jacket and sauntered out of the waiting area. He looked around. The police weren’t rushing from their booth toward him. No one sounded an alarm.

He wiped a trace of sweat off his brow. Just like the old days in Kyiv Central Station.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, after returning to the waiting area. “I think you dropped this.”

The startled young woman took her wallet and thanked him profusely. Victor bowed slightly and walked away.

He still had it. After all these years, he still had the edge. Good.

He was going to need it.