Traffyck (55 page)

Suddenly Lena jumped up, interrupting Lazlo. “Wait! The Chernobyl refugees! They are locked in the other cabin!”

All except Vasily ran with guns and the shovel and the saw and hammer Guri carried. Smoke was already in the sky beyond the cabin from which they had escaped. Three men stood watching the cabin burn. When one turned and saw them coming, Janos opened fire and mowed down all three, shouting an oath in Hungarian.

Rather than go beneath the cabin where they would have to saw through the floor, all of them, especially Guri and Nadia, who were strong and agile, worked at the door with the tools. The men had started the fire on both sides of the door, beneath the high, boarded-up windows. Despite the heat, they worked together, prying a board up with the shovel tip, then all hands grasping the board and pulling it away, the long nails groaning. They heard screams from inside, and this made them work faster. One board after another was pulled away until they were at the padlock on the door. Lazlo motioned the others back, stood to the side so the bullets would not go inside the cabin, and shot the padlock away.

They pulled the Chernobyl victims out of the cabin and then ran in turn, carrying one after another to the clearing in the woods where Vasily waited, calling each by name, and consoling them as they arrived. Tears ran down Lazlo’s cheeks as he ran, carrying a young woman with no arms and foreshortened legs. These were children born after Chernobyl. These would have been playmates of Juli’s daughter, Tamara, his stepdaughter. Tamara joyful on the streets of Pripyat if it had not been for Chernobyl, if it had not been for the greed of men! The deformities of the Chernobyl refugees moved Lazlo to such anger, he spoke with God as he ran. “You have their legs and arms! Use them, vengeful one! Help us help ourselves!”

Janos tightened the bandage on his arm made from the lining of Lazlo’s jacket. The arm no longer throbbed, and he knew it would heal. The Chernobyl victims lay in a clearing several meters deeper in the woods. They murmured but no longer cried out, because Vasily and Nadia were there, comforting them. Part of the comfort came from two of the women in the group of refugees who fawned over Vasily’s leg wound and a deep cut Nadia had gotten on her hand from helping to saw into the floor of their cabin.

Janos, Mariya, Lazlo, Lena, and Guri sat in a circle, catching their breath after carrying the victims into the woods. Within the circle were five AK-47s and two rifles with scopes. One AK-47 was an original from 1947, the rest were newer, modified AKMs. It was like sitting around a shrine to Mikhail Kalashnikov, the inventor, whose death in 2008 prompted newscasts around the world of him and how many copies of his weapon existed.

“How many people have been killed by Kalashnikovs over the years?” asked Janos.

“As many as you wish,” said Lazlo.

“I know what you mean,” said Janos.

“What does he mean?” asked Mariya.

“He means we will be next in line to add to the total. He means we have no choice but to return to the beach. He means he and I will go now. Am I correct, Lazlo?”

“Yes, we only sit for a moment before our journey. It is traditional for good luck.”

“I will go,” said Mariya, picking up an AK-47.

“And me,” said Lena, with anger in her eyes.

“And me,” said Guri, his voice deep and strong.

“Who has the plan?” asked Janos. “Lazlo, my old boss?”

Lazlo smiled. “You will create the plan, Janos.”

Janos raised his voice so Vasily and Nadia behind him with the survivors could hear. “Vasily and Nadia stay, each with an AK-47 and ammunition. The five of us go by way of the south shore. They will not expect us back that way again. But I will take the boat and come in from the reservoir firing to divert their attention. This way the rest of you will be able to shoot guards who turn toward me. Guri and Nadia know the peninsula—”

“Like animals,” said Guri, smiling.

“I have only one suggestion,” said Lazlo. “Take someone with you in the boat so one can steer at high speed while the other fires. The passenger in the bow could fire two guns forward at the beach.”

“I have strong arms from cycling,” said Mariya. “I can fire two guns at once.”

“She knows best,” said Lena, with anger in her eyes. “Those who have been captive here will know to stay down. You will be able to shoot the creatures in the rags they call uniforms.”

Janos thought for only a moment. “I agree. Lazlo, Lena, and Guri to the beach. Lazlo will have an AK. Lena and Guri will carry rifles with sights, because they have steady hands and it will be easier for them to fire and pick off men. Mariya and I will take the boat with two AKs. I need only one arm to drive it. Mariya can lie down and use the bow to support the weapons. We will come in at high speed and fire on them. When we come ashore, we’ll each have a gun.” Janos stood. “Agreed?”

Mariya stood with two AK-47s, handed one to Janos, and put her arm around him. Lazlo handed a rifle to Guri and one to Lena, and the three stood together with Lazlo in the center.

Janos waved to Vasily and Nadia. “We go now. But we will return.”

Lazlo also waved back. “We are all one.”

After Lazlo gave a short course in the use of their rifles and scopes, Guri led the way, with Lazlo behind and Lena behind him. The path looked familiar, and Lazlo realized it was the same path Vasily had taken during the initial assault, which had led to Mariya and Lena being raped. Lazlo would not allow this to happen again. If necessary, he would sacrifice himself. If captured again, somehow, some way, he would kill Vakhabov because without their leader, Lazlo was certain his ragtag men would dissolve into chaos.

Lazlo carried his weapon slung over his shoulder and spare magazines tucked into his belt. But he also carried something else. At the boat, before Janos and Mariya had launched, Lazlo had taken the violin case. When he took it, Janos asked if he still knew how to play. Mariya had answered for him, saying, “It is like riding a bicycle. Of course he knows how. He is like you, Janos. Perhaps there will be an opportunity to frighten superstitious men.”

The violin case bumped against Lazlo’s leg as Guri led the way up the path. Behind him, Lena whispered nervously, “Bring on the Gypsies.” Ahead, Guri repeated the whispered refrain. Although he could not see it, Lazlo felt the creases of a smile on his hardened old face.

Because they had some way to go, Lazlo motioned both Guri and Lena closer and spoke softly to them. “When this is finished, both of you will have to travel with me to Chicago. It is busy and safe, and there is a neighborhood called Ukrainian Village. We can visit the Chicago Loop, which is the city’s center. It is a much newer city than Kiev, but just as wonderful in its own way. There is Lake Michigan, one of the Great Lakes, which, together, rival the Black Sea. On the shore of Lake Michigan is a historical museum and an aquarium and a planetarium. To the south, down a highway called Lake Shore Drive, there is a technical museum in which you can operate machinery and learn the latest in technology. Children run about freely pushing buttons and interacting with displays. And, of course, you can use my new computer and purchase video games. Some of the games are like what we are doing now. Perhaps you will go to college in Ukraine or even in the US and design a game of battle because you have experience. This is what the game makers want. Young people with experience.”

As he spoke, trying to reduce the nervousness he could sense in both Lena and Guri, Lazlo thought of Jermaine and prayed to God, the infinite vessel of those who have lived. Lazlo, the Gypsy, praying for Lena and Guri, two souls he had met that very day. Two souls merging with his.

Lazlo stopped speaking when they neared the mound from which they had launched the attack early that morning. The sun was high now, perhaps noon. His jacket, without a lining, stuck to his skin and became a second skin. He was thirsty and tired, but he did not care.

When they climbed the mound and settled in, they peeked over. All was as before, except now Vakhabov and Rogoza and a guard stood on a mound watching as several guards began leading a group of girls to one of the boats. It was already happening. They were taking the youngest of the girls away. Lazlo put his violin case on the ground, opened it, and left it there at his side, just in case a melody was needed to accompany the melody of the AK-47 he gripped.

As he watched, the girls being led to the boat stopped, everyone looked out toward the reservoir, and Lazlo could hear the buzz of the boat’s motor. But there was also another buzzing.

Guri came close and pointed. “A helicopter, coming this way.”

“Still far off,” whispered Lena. “But definitely coming this way.”

CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE

Standing on the beach, preparing to board the boat, Rogoza felt the rifle press into his back as he pleaded with Vakhabov.

“I can be of use to you in Kiev, Maxim Vakhabov. I would do as you say. I can find recruiters for you, and you will have so many off the streets you will not know what to do with them all. These will be cooperative ones. I will personally convince them of jobs awaiting them abroad. It will be a wonderful enterprise, my comrade. Please think about it. Simply take me across to the other side where I have a vehicle parked, and we will make arrangements. How could I possibly go back on my word? All you would have to do is call my bishop and my—”

“Quiet!” shouted Vakhabov, staring out at the reservoir. “You sicken me! You would dig your mother out of the ground and fuck her to save your skin!”

“Blasphemer!”

Vakhabov turned and faced Rogoza. “I may take young women and sell them to men, Father Vladimir Ivanovich Rogoza, but I do not have little girls transported to my so-called church under cover of darkness and abuse them behind closed doors. I give women a chance to dance or sing. You simply use their bodies for gratification! You do not deserve your name!”

Vakhabov turned back to the reservoir. “Quiet! Listen!”

In the distance, an inflatable boat sped toward the peninsula. And above, a plane? No! A helicopter! The SBU men were coming with reinforcements. They would save him. SBU Deputy Anatoly Lyashko had gotten a message from his men, and now the full force of the SBU would come down on them!

Janos put both the AK-47s on full automatic, and Mariya lay on her stomach in the bow, her feet braced against the wooden seat across the center of the boat. Janos had tried various speeds while far out in the reservoir, and now he drove in at full speed.

Mariya recalled killing the SBU man named Zoltan in the house on the other shore and knew she could do this. If children were in the way, she would aim high and make them drop down. Above all else, she could not kill a young person, not even one. She did not say this to Janos, but she was certain he knew.

The motor was very loud behind her, and because there was little wind, the waves were small. The boat bounced some, but she would be able to see who was on shore when they got closer … at least she hoped so. She kept her body as low in the boat as possible, just as Janos did, hoping the waterline would be high enough to protect them.

It happened very quickly then. The boats on the beach growing in size, the tiny figures on the beach becoming young people and men with rifles. She began firing high above the peninsula, and the crowd scattered. That is, everyone scattered except several men off to the north. They were not on the beach and apparently felt safe. They were not being fired upon.

Although she could not hear the return gunshots, bullets sounding like quick whispers went past her head and she ducked lower. But it was no use. Bullets had penetrated the inflatable. She saw a hole erupt near her shoulder, felt the bow of the boat softening.

She kept firing and glanced above the bow. The men to the north stooped down. But they were out in the open! And she knew by the way they were dressed who they were!

Mariya scrambled back over the wooden seat to Janos. She was about to shout up to him when he winced in pain! He was hit again, blood spurting out of his shoulder!

Mariya pushed Janos to the bottom of the boat and took the tiller, twisting it to keep the boat at full speed. She headed for the group stooped down on the beach. The shore came closer, more bullets flew past. And then, as if they were in an airplane on takeoff, the boat touched bottom and launched itself onto the beach directly at the group of men.