The Boy from Reactor 4

The AirTrain circled around JFK Airport like a limousine in the sky. Adam noticed a sign on the subway and realized that JFK stood for John F. Kennedy Airport. He felt a little less like a foreigner after he read this. After all, he was named after the former president’s brother.

Adam followed the ticket seller’s instructions and switched trains at a stop called Howard Beach. He paid $2.25 for a ticket for the underground A train. He made sure he was on the right train before boarding by asking two different people if he was headed downtown. They both nodded.

When the train arrived at Washington Square, Adam got out and climbed the stairs to the street. He gaped at the size of the buildings. Gawked at the number of people on the sidewalks. But mostly, he tried to contain an overwhelming sense of joy.

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket that his father had given him in case of emergency.

The first person he approached was a dapper man in a pinstripe suit.

“Excuse me,” Adam said, holding out the paper his father had given him. “To help, please?”

The man glared at Adam as though he were a criminal about to rob him and hurried by.

The second person Adam approached was a chic young woman with a miniskirt and legs as long as the skyscrapers around him.

“Excuse me,” Adam said, holding out the paper again. “To help, please?”

The woman took one look at him, wrapped her arms around her chest, and circled around him, leaving a berth far and wide, like a Kyivan who feared he might be radioactive.

Before Adam could approach a third person, a glamorous woman with dark skin ambled up to him. She had the shoulders of a Black Beret and a masculine face but wore makeup and high heels. In fact, Adam wasn’t sure if the person was a man or a woman, but he decided on the latter because only women wore high heels.

The woman said something and smiled. She had teeth the size of piano keys.

Adam showed her the paper.

She read what was on the paper and asked another question.

Adam pleaded with his eyes. “Downtown,” he said.

The woman studied Adam for a moment and then pointed to a bench. They sat down together. The woman removed a notepad from her briefcase and drew a beautiful map. She put a big X next to a square and pointed to the ground.

“Here,” she said.

Afterward, she drew a second X next to a street corner far away and pointed to the paper her father had given him.

“There,” she said.

Adam thanked her profusely in Ukrainian and took off toward the second X.

CHAPTER 79

AFTER KILLING MISHA, Kirilo had struck a bargain with his excellent bodyguard, Stefan, who’d saved him from being shot by the babushka. He put him and his crew on retainer, paying them the equivalent of US$50,000 to become his American security consultants. In fact, Kirilo was paying to prevent them from seeking retribution and to agree that Misha had left the casino complaining of stomach pains and had simply vanished with his friend Specter. If Specter was a musor, as Kirilo suspected, that would convince those who profited from Misha’s existence that he had turned snitch for the American police. Hence, no one would regret the moscal’s disappearance.

That Stefan had worked for Victor previously was of no consequence. It was not unusual for men to shift allegiances as their bosses faded. Victor was on the decline. His power had eroded to younger men such as Misha. More important, he was broke. Stefan’s betrayal of Victor for Misha implied he was a rational economic being. He followed the money. Kirilo had money. Still, since some allegiances died hard, Kirilo instructed Pavel and his team of bodyguards to maintain a safe distance from him.

Two of Stefan’s men picked them up at Newark International on Saturday morning. Pavel, the bodyguards, and Stefan drove in one car. Kirilo and Victor rode in the other.

Victor had been on the cell phone when Kirilo finally got through Customs. Strangely, it made Kirilo happy to see him talking to his men in Kyiv because they were taking care of Isabella. Their line of dialogue brought Kirilo closer to his daughter, if only in his imagination.

“How is she?” Kirilo said, once they were on the highway to New York.

“Demure, humble, and compliant. Just like her father.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

“She is fine. Just as she was two hours ago on the plane when I called.”

“And this Johnny Tanner?”

“I have two men watching him now. We’re going to meet with him straight away.”

Kirilo’s hand went to his coat pocket, where he usually kept his cattle prod. “Damn,” he muttered. It had been confiscated at Customs.

“Don’t worry,” Victor said, looking out the window at a giant sports stadium. “You’re not going to need it. This is America. It’s a civilized country.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot. You’re just going to ask him where the Tesla woman is, and he’s going to tell you, right?”

“Exactly,” Victor said.

“This I can’t wait to see.”