The Boy from Reactor 4

CHAPTER 28





KIRILO STOOPED AND squinted over Misha’s shoulder as they squeezed through the tunnel. This was ridiculous. All three of them would be hunchbacks by the time they got out.

He had known it would be like this when he insisted on going along with the two Americans, but what choice did he have? The other American, Specter, had done his college dissertation on the caves and said he knew them well. The Upper Lavra connected with the Lower Lavra. A knowledgeable man knew half a dozen exits. Hell, some thought the tunnels went all the way to Moscow.

He’d be damned if the moscal and his man were going to get away with the clue to the money or whatever it was they were certain was so valuable before he got paid.

They approached a doorway. Misha raised his fist in the air for Kirilo and Specter to slow down. The tour group they’d passed at the Church of Nativity dawdled behind them. Kirilo could smell the perfume of the woman who’d screamed when he’d shoved her aside so they could get past her, some sort of rose-infused rat piss.

“You’re sure she’s here,” Kirilo whispered to Specter.

“I’m sure,” Specter said. “She lost two of my people and thinks she’s alone. Whoever she was trying to meet at Yaroslaviv Val used kids to deliver a note. That person must be here.”

“He’s the one we want,” Misha said.

“What will you do with the Tesla woman?” Kirilo said.

“The Varangian Caves,” Specter said. “In the eastern end of the Lower Lavra. Where the Vikings used to bury their loot in the tenth century. There are no bodies there. No one will ever find her.”

Specter turned the corner and burst through the doorway. Misha and Kirilo followed him inside the small room.

Seven monks in black cloaks stood chanting with their heads bowed. They didn’t look up, as though used to idiot tourists interrupting them. Specter shined the light around the room. Nothing. He looked at Misha, who nodded toward the door.

Kirilo backpedaled, and the other two men came out with them. This was not good. Ukrainians knew better than to mess around with the bodies of the saints or the monks who protected them. They were asking for trouble. He began to wonder if the money was worth tempting God himself.

A single candlelight illuminated a coffin in the distance. Specter shined the light farther down the tunnel. A tall, angular man shielded his eyes. Misha pulled a garrote out of his pocket. The three of them advanced quickly. They were upon him in thirty seconds.

“Who are you?” Kirilo said.

The man raised the badge around his neck while still shielding his eyes. “Lavra official.”

“Where are the others?” Misha said in Russian.

“What others?”

Kirilo measured him. “Do you think your body would fit in this tomb if I folded it in three?”

The man hesitated for a second. “One woman. Alone. She went back that way.”

“What way?” Specter said.

The man pointed over their shoulder. “This is the end of the caves. She went back in the direction you were coming from.”

Kirilo turned and shuffled back toward the refectory as quickly as the tight confines allowed him. When they got there, the tour group was five paces away. The monks were still chanting.

Misha shined the light from floor to ceiling on all the walls. There was no sign of the woman.

“Wait,” Kirilo said. “Shine the light again.”

Misha aimed the beam at the men cloaked in black.

“There were seven monks a minute ago,” Kirilo said. “Now there are only six.”