The Boy From Reactor 4 (41 page)

Victor was an American citizen, so they parted ways at US Customs and Border Protection. When Kirilo caught up with Victor at the gate to their connecting flight, Victor handed him a cell phone.

“Where did you get this?” Kirilo said.

Victor nodded at a kiosk for a cell phone vendor. “There’s someone on the other end of the line who wants to talk to you.”

Kirilo pressed the phone to his ear.

“Papa?” It was Isabella’s voice.

“Bella?”

“Papa.” Isabella sounded teary, as though she’d been crying.

“Are you all right?”

She sniffed some tears in. “Yes, I’m okay. Oh, but it’s horrible, Papa. It’s horrible.”

“Are you hurt? Have they touched you in any way?”

“Well, no…”

“Are you getting enough to eat? Are they taking care of you?”

“Well, yes…”

“Good. Listen to me, Bella. Be good. Do whatever they tell you to do, and don’t show them any of your sass. Do you hear me, Isabella?”

She didn’t answer. By the time Kirilo realized the line had gone dead, Victor had already stretched his hand out to retrieve the phone. Kirilo gave it to him.

“You didn’t have a phone before,” Kirilo said. “You were worried I’d take it from you, triangulate the number you called, and find her. But you’re not worried anymore.”

“The boys are expecting me to call every hour on the hour from now on,” Victor said. “And you’re in my country now.”

“Yes, we’re in your country now. So why don’t you just let her go?”

“Soon, cousin. Soon.”

An airline employee announced that the flight to New York City would begin boarding in half an hour.

“You have her residence under surveillance right now?” Kirilo said.

“Yes, but she won’t go there. That would be too obvious.”

“Where will she go?”

“The question isn’t where she’s going. We can’t even be sure she’s going to New York. The question is, who does she trust? The question is, who’s going to know where she’s going?”

“Why do I feel as though you’re saving the best for last?”

“He wears his hair in an elastic band like a schoolgirl, is built like a man who worked the docks, and dresses like an Italian fashion designer.”

“What is this abomination’s name?”

“He calls himself Johnny Tanner, and I’m going to make him my willing accomplice.”

CHAPTER 77

A
S SOON AS
she stepped foot in Robert Seelick’s house, Nadia called Johnny Tanner.

“How are you? Where are you?” Johnny said.

“That’s not important,” Nadia said. “I need you to do something for me and not ask questions.”

“Shoot.”

“I need you to find a biologist in or around New York City. A radiobiologist would be even better. Private sector or academic. But not a government employee. You hear me? He can’t be a government employee.”

“I hear you. What am I supposed to tell this guy?”

“That you have a friend in possession of a scientific formula with epic ramifications. And she’ll only reveal it to an American man of science. Can you sell that, Johnny?”

“I’ll try.”

“You have to do more than try. You have to make it happen. I need to go directly from the airport to a meeting with him as soon as I land.”

“When will that be?”

“Wednesday morning. I’ll call you back with the details when I have them.”

After she hung up, Nadia whispered to Adam, “Locket?”

He nodded confidently and pulled it out from under his shirt to show her.

That evening, Robert’s wife served a dinner of caribou steak, steamed vegetables, bannock bread, and frozen berries. She was a slight woman, with lithe features and a kind face. After dinner, they sat in the living room and had coffee, tea, milk, and fresh chocolate chip–walnut cookies.

“In Inupiat culture,” Robert said, “there is a supreme being called
Silap Inua
, but there is no afterlife. Instead, Inupiat believe that, after spending some time in limbo, the soul of a deceased is reincarnated in the body of a newborn infant.”

He paused for Nadia to translate for Adam from English to Ukrainian.

“There was a boy in our village some years ago named Aagayuk,” Robert said. “He vanished when he was two. He may have been kidnapped, he may have wandered off and drowned accidentally. No one ever figured it out. He had a lot of energy and showed promise to be a good hunter. He would have been seventeen in September if he were still alive. How old are you, Adam?”

“Sixteen,” Nadia said. She translated for Adam.

“Sixteen,” Robert said, nodding. “This boy’s parents, the Kungenooks, were older when they had their child. They lived in a nearby village and were close friends of ours. They’ve also died since then. They had no other children.”

Robert coughed to clear his throat while Nadia translated. When she was done, he opened the manila envelope.

“This is your new birth certificate,” he said, handing Adam a letter with a raised stamp on it. “And this is your Social Security card. A death certificate was never issued. This will allow you to travel to the Lower Forty-Eight with Nadia. You are under eighteen. No photo ID is required.”

Adam reached for the papers.

“There is one thing you must do first, though,” Robert said. “You must choose an Anglo name. It can be the name of any person that you admire.”

Nadia translated.

Adam appeared flustered for a moment. “Can I use your name, Uncle?” he said. “Can I be Robert, too?”

Robert didn’t need a translation.

“Robert was my father’s name. He chose it because it was the name of a man he admired very much. It was a man he worked for as a member of his campaign for president of the United States. This man’s name was Robert Kennedy. He was the brother of the former president John Kennedy. Will you remember that name, Robert Kennedy? Will you promise to learn more about him in America?”

Nadia translated. Adam nodded eagerly.

“Good,” Robert said. “If I am Robert, though, then you should be Bobby. Let it be so, then. From this day forward, you will be known as Aagayuk Bobby Kungenook.”

They started a small bonfire in the backyard and burned Adam’s Ukrainian passports. Robert’s wife trimmed and styled his hair so that it covered his ears seamlessly. Later in the afternoon, they bought him some new clothes in town, including a collared shirt, khaki pants, brown moccasins, sunglasses, and a plain blue baseball cap made of wool. Robert gave him an old navy blazer that was a little too loose in the waist but otherwise fit well. When he tried on his entire ensemble, Adam looked like a college student.

Nadia also bought him a cheap wallet and gave him five twenty-dollar bills to put inside, fresh out of an ATM.

“A young man should always have emergency cash in his pocket,” she said.

Nadia plotted a route back to New York with Robert’s help. After checking flight schedules on his computer, she called Johnny and gave him the details of her arrival. He called her back a few hours later.

“I found your man,” Johnny said. “Professor John Horton, Department of Radiobiology, Columbia University. He lives near the United Nations. We can meet there. In a public place. One thing we haven’t talked about. You realize you’re returning to Victor Bodnar’s home turf, right?”

“It’s my home turf, too. I’m tired of running, and I have nowhere else to go. Besides, I have you, don’t I?”

Johnny remained silent for a moment. “I’m not sure I’m a match for Victor Bodnar, but yes. Yes, you do.”

At 10:00 on Tuesday morning, they said their good-byes at the Kotzebue Airport. The bush pilot, a childhood friend of Robert’s, flew them to Seattle, stopping in Anchorage to refuel along the way. In Seattle, Nadia bought two one-way tickets for the Delta red-eye, Flight 1642, to JFK Airport.

There were no unoccupied adjacent seats in the economy cabin when Nadia booked the flights. When they got on board, she put Adam in the front so she could keep an eye on him from the other seat fifteen rows back during the flight.

Their cumulative flight time was fourteen hours. With the time change, they arrived at JFK on schedule at 7:13 a.m. on Wednesday. Nadia watched with pride as Adam helped an elderly lady wheel her carry-on off the plane, with his own bags slung over his shoulders. Five minutes later, it was her turn to leave.

She hustled up the ramp to the gate to catch up to Adam. Her quads and hamstrings ached. When she burst into the terminal, six armed Port Authority policemen and four burly men in suits surrounded an unremarkable businessman in a suit and tie. The man’s hands were cuffed behind his back, and one of the officers was searching his briefcase. Nadia looked around for Adam but couldn’t find him. She walked around the perimeter of the gate, checked the food court, and asked a restroom attendant washing the floor to check the men’s room for him. Adam wasn’t there.

Nadia finished where she’d started, at the gate where she’d arrived. As the cops escorted the businessman in cuffs out of the
area, she realized that Adam must have emerged from the ramp to find cops converging. The men in plainclothes looked like Homeland Security agents—government men, to borrow Adam’s phrase. His paranoia was such that he had probably assumed they were there to arrest him and send him back to Ukraine. In a panic, he ran.

Adam didn’t speak English. He didn’t know anyone in America and didn’t understand the city. As Nadia wondered what she would do if she were in his shoes, she realized that she wasn’t as concerned about the locket as she was about Adam himself. Nadia remembered when her mother had paced the kitchen, wondering where her brother was and what harm might have come to him, when he disappeared for days as a teen.

Nadia bolted in search of a customer service desk. Halfway down the main aisle, her cell phone rang.

It was Johnny, calling with details of the meeting he’d arranged.

CHAPTER 78

A
DAM DIDN’T HAVE
time to stop and try to find someone who spoke Russian. He had to get out of the airport fast. He’d seen the government people as soon as he climbed up the ramp from the airplane. Fortunately, they didn’t recognize him because he was dressed differently and helping the old lady.

He found a perky woman in front of a computer with a first-aid symbol embedded in the sign above her desk. Adam had studied English in school and knew some basic words.

“New York City. Train. For downtown,” he said.

She answered so quickly he couldn’t understand a word. She also pointed down the corridor—didn’t Americans know it was rude to point?—and Adam took off in that direction. He followed others down a long stairwell, past a shiny silver carousel rotating with no luggage on it, and emerged in a giant lobby. Men in suits and ties held big white cards with words written on them. Other men, some of them not so well dressed, bombarded him with questions.

Adam had never seen so much dark skin in his life. He’d seen pictures of black men and Indian men, but he’d never seen them in person. It was incredible. This must be why the United Nations was in New York. Every type of person on the planet had to live in New York.

A beady-eyed woman behind a wall full of pictures of gleaming hotels helped him find the train. She drew a picture of an airplane beside a railroad track and slowly repeated a single word:

AirTrain.

After climbing stairs and finding the AirTrain, Adam gave the ticket man a twenty-dollar bill. The ticket man barked the word “peak” at him and gave him twelve dollars back. Adam didn’t understand what “peak” meant and guessed he was charged more for having two bags. It was just like Ukraine. People were looking to make money any way they could.

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.