The Boy from Reactor 4

CHAPTER 18





NADIA CLIMBED THE hilltop to the carousel in Central Park at 10:00 on a crisp morning. A smattering of children gathered with their nannies and parents at the ticket window. A vendor sold popcorn and cheap T-shirts featuring a prancing horse. People crisscrossed the path below toward the skating rink or the zoo.

Nadia’s optimal course of action was obvious. Still, she was having trouble picturing herself on a plane, landing in Ukraine, and walking the streets of Kyiv. She spoke the language well enough, but she’d be a stranger in a foreign land. She needed the money to solve her troubles, though, and now that its mystery was wrapped in her family history, she couldn’t resist the temptation to see it through to her ancestral homeland.

She found her attorney, Johnny Tanner, waiting on a bench. She’d met him a year ago when she accidentally walked into an airport with a gun in her bag. Johnny had gotten the charges reduced to a misdemeanor. A fine and probation. He wore a ponytail, a black pinstripe suit, and a look of unequivocal dread.

He started reading from a file as soon as Nadia sat down.

“Misha’s full name is Mikhail Markov,” Johnny said. “Thirty-eight. Born in Moscow. Immigrated at age seven. Grew up in Brighton Beach. He’s been investigated for gasoline sales-tax evasion, prostitution, extortion, murder, and selling a Russian submarine to the Colombians. Two priors for assault. Did six months at Mohawk Correctional.”

“Extortion and murder,” Nadia said, swallowing hard. “What about Victor Bodnar?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Brad Specter?”

“Master’s degree in art history from Rutgers. Convicted of fraud for selling art forgeries. Did two years in Mohawk at the same time as Misha.”

At the carousel, a homely girl and her young father climbed atop a pair of emerald-and-silver horses with cherry tongues hanging out of their mouths.

“I have to find the money to pay these people,” Nadia said. “There’s no running away from them.”

“You’re kidding yourself, Nadia. Once they start squeezing, they’ll never stop.”

“No, you’re wrong. The old man, Victor Bodnar, he’s different. I don’t know why, but I trust him. They just want to be compensated for their antiques business in their own sick and twisted way.”

“You really believe that?”

“Yes. But I hear you. I may be wrong. So I’m going to try it my way. If I find the money to pay them and they keep squeezing, then I’m going to the cops. In the meantime, I have to follow this trail on my own. If they’re with me when I find the money, there’s too big a risk they’ll kill me and take everything. Whatever it is, cash or commodity, I have to bring it to America, make it my own, and then pay them. Otherwise, I’m as good as dead.”

An organ-based version of “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head” started up. The carousel began to turn.

Johnny said, “So you really want to go through with this?”

Nadia watched the carousel. “I have no choice.” It was a snap decision, the kind that had made her career on Wall Street, based on a decisiveness she’d inherited from her father.

“As your attorney, I have to advise against this. You should go to the police and the FBI and tell them what happened. That business with the stolen-art ring was dangerous last year. But this thing…with these people…”

“I appreciate it, Johnny, but my mind is made up. I’m going to get that money before anyone else does.”

“Your next meeting with your probation officer in Jersey is in twenty-five days. Be sure you’re back by then.”

“Twenty-five days? Please. In twenty-five days, I’m treating you to a hamburger and fries at the fast-food restaurant of your choice.”

Johnny managed a smile. “You big spender, you.”

The carousel spun round and round. The little girl stayed two lengths behind her father, unable to catch up to him no matter how much she willed her horse to run faster.