Traffyck (44 page)

Instead of parking on the street, Lazlo drove through the alley, turned in to the opening in the fence, and parked in the lot reserved for militia vehicles. An old man in ragged coveralls and militia cap ran up to the side of his car, looking angry. But suddenly, the old man displayed a four-toothed smile. When Lazlo opened the door and got out, he and the old man hugged.

“Investigator Horvath!” shouted Kholov, who was obviously hard of hearing.

“Kholov!” shouted Lazlo. “I am no longer an investigator! But you are still here!”

“Yes, Investigator Horvath, I am still here after all these years! I was on pension, but pension is not enough! They allowed me back into the parking lot!” Kholov opened his arms wide and turned. “I am eighty-two years, and this is my domain!”

After an exchange of the fate of relatives, Kholov led Lazlo in through the motor pool garage, sidestepping oil and grease puddles, to the back entrance of Kiev militia headquarters.

“Have a pleasant visit!” shouted Kholov.

Lazlo climbed the stairs to the third floor, paused to catch his breath, and went immediately to the office of the chief investigator. A middle-aged man in a gray suit stood speaking to a good-looking blond secretary who sat at her desk, staring at her computer monitor.

Lazlo broke into their conversation. “I’d like to speak to the chief investigator.”

The man turned. He was tall, his face pockmarked. He gave Lazlo a stern Soviet look. “I am Chief Investigator Boris Chudin. Do I know you?”

Lazlo held out his hand. “I am Lazlo Horvath. I was an investigator here under Chief Investigator Chkalov.”

Chudin shook Lazlo’s hand weakly. “Ah, yes. Chkalov left after Chernobyl. I came from the Army shortly after. What can I do for you?”

“I would like to inquire about a friend in Kiev,” said Lazlo.

“What is the name of your friend?” asked Chudin, leading Lazlo to his office.

“Janos Nagy.”

Chudin stopped just inside the office door. He motioned Lazlo past and closed the door. They sat across from one another at Chudin’s desk, the same huge wooden desk once belonging to Chkalov, except now the desk was cluttered with stacks of papers, files, and law books. Missing were the old flags and portrait of Lenin.

Chudin closed an open file on his desk and folded his hands on top of it. “So, former investigator, what can you tell me about Janos Nagy?”

“Perhaps I am still an investigator,” said Lazlo.

“Private, like Nagy?”

“I am retired. However, I come to ask about Nagy, and instead you ask me about him.”

Chudin stared at Lazlo sternly. “Janos Nagy is missing. You must already know this?”

“Yes,” said Lazlo, trying to act contrite. “I am worried. What can you tell me?”

“He was hired by Mariya Nemeth, who was married to Viktor Patolichev. Patolichev died in a fire in his video store near Zhulyany Airport. A private investigator named Aleksandr Vasilievich Shved was also found dead at the fire. Mariya Nemeth was kidnapped and released within days of the death of her husband. We put a militia guard on her, and apparently she wished to go into hiding with Janos Nagy. Either that, or Nagy kidnapped her.”

“Janos Nagy would never do that.”

Chudin smiled for the first time. It was a sly smile reminiscent of Soviet days. “You just arrived from the US. How can you know anything? Have you spoken to Nagy by phone?”

“Only once, just after he took the case. And now, when I try to call his phone, there is no answer. It has been days, and because I have been planning a trip to Kiev, I came earlier. That is the extent of my knowledge. I have even spoken to friends in the US State Department responsible for Eastern European affairs, and to the Trafficking Center of Homeland Security. But to no avail.”

Chudin frowned. “The US is always the boss, ranking countries as it sees fit.” Chudin stood. “I have told you the extent of my knowledge.”

Although he walked down the hallway and went down the stairs, Lazlo did not leave militia headquarters. Instead, he waited in the lunchroom. The windows in the lunchroom had a clear view of the fenced-in parking area. When Lazlo saw Chief Investigator Chudin and his secretary drive off in a BMW, Lazlo went back up to the third floor. It did not take long to find Svetlana Kovaleva in her office. She was an attractive, dark-haired woman in slacks and jacket.

“Janos said you might come,” she said, giving him a hug he did not expect. “I have heard much about you.”

Lazlo felt his face flush. “Janos says I can trust you.”

Svetlana led him to a conference room, closed the door, and they sat at a long table.

“Chief Investigator Chudin must not know we have spoken,” said Svetlana.

“I watched him leave with his secretary,” said Lazlo.

“But I must be brief. Others are about. When Mariya Nemeth was kidnapped, I was surprised Chudin put Nikolai Kozlov on the case. He is the investigator for cases not wanting to be solved. This leads me to believe there are other connections, perhaps to the SBU and even the Russian Orthodox Church. Janos went to Kharkiv to meet an informant. The informant, along with a known Mafia thug, were found dead. After this, another of Janos’ informants here in Kiev was found dead. So, Lazlo Horvath, I know Janos has disappeared because his and his client’s lives are at risk. It began when the burned bodies of Mariya Nemeth’s husband and Aleksandr Vasilievich Shved were found in the video store fire. The lab has determined Shved was dead before the fire. Someone brought his body there. Many things are at work; it involves human traffickers in Ukraine straining to hold onto power. Advertising warning young people of recruiters is working, so traffickers have resorted to kidnapping. But after the kidnappings, informants along the routes out of Ukraine say they see nothing. Young people are being held somewhere, and Janos believes this place, wherever it is, prepares them for shipment. The missing are mostly girls, but also some boys.”

Svetlana stood and stared down at him. “So now you know everything I know.”

Lazlo stood. “Thank you.”

Svetlana went to the door, opened it slightly to look out. “You must leave quickly. Loose tongues numbed with vodka will be back from lunch.”

After they stepped into the hall, Lazlo turned toward the stairway, but Svetlana took his hand and pulled him the other way. They went into a room of cubicles and into the cubicle with her nameplate. She opened her desk drawer, took out a key, and stooped down to unlock a file cabinet beneath the corner work-table of the cubicle. Her slacks tightened considerably as she stooped, and Lazlo could not help recalling Janos having said they were once lovers.

Svetlana turned without standing, looked to the cubicle opening to make sure no one was there. “Open your jacket.”

Lazlo did as he was told and Svetlana quickly handed him a gunmetal Makarov 9mm automatic, along with two boxes of cartridges. He tucked the pistol into his belt at his back and put the boxes of cartridges in his inside jacket pockets.

Svetlana stood and reached out her hand. She held Lazlo’s arm, stared at him with her dark eyes, and said, “Now hurry, Lazlo Horvath. Janos needs you. I hope we will meet again.” In the small village of Salycha, ten kilometers from the main highway, Janos took his handful of coins to a phone at a petrol station while Mariya shopped in the resale market with several stalls across the street. The mechanic in the petrol station came out to admire the camper van but quickly went back to work after waving to Janos.

Janos called Eva Polenkaya at her home office. She remembered him immediately, the slightly higher pitch in her voice making it obvious she thought at first he might have news about one of the missing, especially her grandson, Alek.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any information, Eva. I called because I am looking into something I think Shved was close to. I remember you telling me about the telephone system used in your La Strada work, the system able to forward calls, and I wondered—”

“You want me to transfer you somewhere so you cannot be traced.”

“How did you know?”

“I have already done this for parents who wanted to complain to Kiev officials and supply information without the source being traced back to them.”

“But it is your phone.”

“La Strada’s phone. La Strada is not timid. Where do you want the transfer?”

“A number at the SBU office in Kiev.”

“This is not a problem. What could they do to a widow? Take away my only grandson?”

When she said this, Janos recalled the photographs of grandmother, mother, dead husband, and Alek in her office. He knew Eva Polenkaya would be looking at those photographs as she spoke.

“You know I cannot guarantee anything about your grandson,” he said.

“No one has guarantees. Give me the number. I can tell by your voice you are rushed. Give best wishes to your friend Lazlo.”

“Have you seen him?”

“No, but I remember dancing with him at Casino Budapest. I hope to dance again someday. But now, give me the number.”

Several seconds after Janos gave Eva Polenkaya the number, Smirnov answered.

“Yuri, this is your Gypsy.”

“Janos Nagy? Where are you?”

“I cannot say, Yuri. Speak while we can, and make it fast. I must hang up soon. Why are men trying to kill us?”

“What men?”

“I thought you might know.”

“All I know is you were seen kidnapping Mariya Nemeth near Kilija.”

“Did you put out the bulletin?”

“SBU Deputy Anatoly Lyashko put out the bulletin.”

“Think about how you might help us,” said Janos. “I will call again in two hours.”

“Wait, Janos. I spoke with Eva Polenkaya at La Strada, and with parents. I know about Shved’s trip to Kilija. The Odessa and Kiev syndicates are boiling.”

“I will call in two hours. During that time, think about what you can do to help us.”

“I will be here.”

“Have you thought of anything?”

“Yes, Janos,” said Smirnov. “The parents who died near Kilija last year were searching for leads about their missing child. Do you think they were murdered?”

“Yes, just as Mariya Nemeth and I were almost murdered. We made it out of our Fiat before it crashed. So tell me what you can do for us.”

“If I knew where you were or where you were going—”

Janos interrupted. “If you knew, you would have to report it, and it is too soon.”

“Very well,” said Smirnov. “I will tell you this. The rumor here is that you are going to the Slavutich area on the left bank where the Chernobyl workers live. If you tell me your exact destination, I can stop whoever it is you are after from escaping, and I can keep whoever is after you from killing you when you get there.”

“Many have heard guarantees like these,” said Janos. “Unfortunately, most are dead. And you yourself said the Mafias are boiling—”

“Are you flying or driving?” asked Smirnov.

“I will call again,” said Janos. “Stay there.”

“Clever of you to have your calls transferred. How long before you call back?”

“Just stay there,” said Janos, and he hung up.