This night, the beach was empty. And even though it had been warm enough to swim during the day, only a handful had ventured into the Dnieper River because of news coming out of Chernobyl.
According to bus drivers from the north, the banks of the Pripyat, which drained into the Dnieper, were being shored up to avoid radioactive contamination to Kiev’s water supply. Outspoken bus drivers showed off face masks they’d been given to wear on their drives back and forth, and they spoke of soldiers on the roads, with Chernobylites hiding to avoid being bussed out. There were rumors of looting, buses abandoned, and entire villages bulldozed. However, despite the tragedy to the north, Kiev, the beautiful city, was peaceful, especially when viewed from the seventh floor of the popular Hotel Dnieper.
The window of the room in which Lazlo had registered as Mr. and Mrs. Yuri Antonov faced north. In the distant hills, beyond the quaint lights lining Lenkomsomol Square, he could see the plan-etarium and the ascending and descending funicular cable cars.
Farther west was the lighted bell tower of Saint Sophia’s Cathedral.
Straight ahead, a hundred kilometers beyond the black northern horizon, was Chernobyl. Lazlo thought of Mihaly telling him several times about the KGB snooping around at Chernobyl, looking for something to happen so they could cover it up. He thought of Mihaly’s body covered with radioactive debris from the explosion, Mihaly shipped to Moscow not for treatment, but for burial. He recalled the day over a week ago when he had gone to the cathedral and wept. Almost fifteen years earlier, when Mihaly came to Kiev to attend university, the cathedral was one of the first tourist spots Lazlo took Mihaly. He remembered the look on Mihaly’s face, an eighteen-year-old boy looking aloft at the domes and icons, Mihaly viewing the vast possibilities of his future. Last week, Lazlo went to the cathedral to pray for Mihaly. Now, several blocks away, Saint Sophia’s bell tower was outlined in the black of night.
Below the window of the room, when he opened it and leaned out far enough, Lazlo saw the window washers’ scaffold left hanging outside the sixth-floor windows for the night. That was why he had picked a room on the seventh floor with a northern view. It was part of his plan.
Lazlo took off his jacket and sweater, unbuttoned his shirt. Juli had given him undergarments from her overnight case. These he’d brought with other clothes in a fishnet bag. He rinsed and hung Juli’s undergarments to dry in the bathroom. He turned on the shower and left it running. Soon the room was warm and moist despite the open window. He sprinkled perfume Juli gave him into the tub, giving the room the pleasant scent of a woman.
He looked at his watch. Almost nine thirty. Tamara would have gone to KGB headquarters by now, and soon they would arrive. From his room, the sidewalk in front of the main entrance was visible. When he had asked Tamara to go to Komarov, it was obvious she knew that part of the plan was to put her in the clear, as he had done with Aunt Magda.
He went into the bathroom and turned off the shower. He carried a dripping washcloth out of the bathroom and to the window, allowing water to drip on the floor as he went. At the window, he held the cloth outside and let water drip onto the windowsill and the window washers’ scaffold below. When he took the washcloth back to the bathroom, he moistened a towel, dried his hands on it, and threw it with the washcloth onto the floor. He glanced at Juli’s brassiere and underpants hung to dry on the shower bar, left the light on, and closed the bathroom door.
In the main room, he pushed the tall-backed heavy sofa in front of the open window, leaving enough room for him to stoop behind it. He lowered the window enough so it would not appear open when viewed from the door, yet would still allow him to squeeze through.
Everything was ready. He sat on the sofa facing the door and waited. Next to the door on the hinged side, so he would be behind the door when it opened, was Vladimir Ilich Lenin holding a Makarov 9mm pistol.
Actually, it was only a statue of Lenin, and he wasn’t really holding the pistol. The pistol, one of the shiny new ones taken from the KGB agents in Visenka, was tied to Lenin’s outstretched hand with one of Juli’s nylon stockings. The other nylon stocking was stretched over Lenin’s head, his pointy beard forming an inverted tent over his face. Around Lenin’s shoulders, partially concealing the stocking holding the pistol in place, was Lazlo’s overcoat. The coat and stocking over the face gave Lenin color. The statue looked like a thief with stone-gray gloves and slacks, who had put a nylon stocking over his face as a disguise.
The statue was from a secluded stairway landing off the lobby.
Lazlo gave the elevator operator ten rubles to keep his mouth shut and take him with Lenin to the seventh floor. He told the elevator operator it was for a joke on a friend and the statue would be put back the same evening. The statue was heavy, but he’d been able to tilt it slightly and roll it like a barrel of wine.
Lazlo stood and took out his wallet. He emptied the money out of it, stuffed the money into his pocket, and placed the wallet on the lamp table. He would leave his identification and other papers because he no longer needed them. Leaving his identification would prove he was there as Tamara had said, on the remote possibility the agents coming through the door did not recognize him. He took his old Makarov 9mm pistol from the side pocket of his trousers and inserted it into the back of his waistband where it would be hidden from view. The other shiny new Makarov from the agents was with his shoulder holster, clearly visible on the bed. He turned off the floor lamp next to the sofa, leaving only the lamp on the bed table lit. This lamp cast its brightest light on the pistol and shoulder holster on the white bedspread. When he looked back to the door, he could see Lenin in the shadows, looking almost alive.
Everything seemed in order. He checked once more to make certain the door was locked, returned to the sofa, and waited. From the open window behind him, he could hear the sounds of traffic.
Other than this it was quiet.
After a minute or so, the elevator bell clanged in the hallway.
He felt his muscles tense, aware of the cool outside air at the back of his neck. There were voices in the hallway, men and women speaking, but he could not tell what they were saying. A woman laughed loudly, like the shriek of a bird. A door slammed, and it was quiet again. But he did not relax on the chance the KGB had gotten off the elevator with the revelers. He wondered if they would take the stairs instead. No, both. Men on the stairs, he hoped above the sixth floor, and men on the elevator. His only problem would be if there were men on the stairs between the second and sixth floor.
On the second floor, he had hidden a waiter’s jacket behind a fire extinguisher outside the door to the stairwell. Once on the second floor, he would put on the jacket, go through the restaurant’s kitchen and out the back, where there was a metal stairway down to the alley. He would avoid the lobby and front entrance. The plan depended on a clear stairwell between the sixth and second floors.
If not, he might have to kill again.
Although it seemed an inappropriate time, Lazlo could not help thinking about the man he killed today. He remembered the man’s face when he raised his gun and pointed out the car window. The man’s face held a look of panic, of not knowing what to do next.
The reason Lazlo had fired first was because in the past he’d seen criminals with the same look on their faces. He’d also seen this look years earlier, when the deserter who’d shot Viktor turned the gun on him slowly, so slowly.
Today, with the partner weeping and even admitting he had not radioed for help, Lazlo theorized that two amateurs had been purposely assigned. This afternoon in the park, his theory of a setup was proven correct when Tamara said she had not sent the message saying Juli was in danger. The only message Tamara had sent through the poet was the one after her interrogation.