Vanko had been hanging back out of earshot but reluctant to leave a scene where more dollars might appear. Sensing a gap in the conversation, he sidled up to Arkady and asked, as if helpfully suggesting another local attraction, "Did you tell them about the new body?"

Bobby's head swiveled from Vanko to Arkady. "No, he hasn't. Investigator Renko, tell us about the new body. Share."

Yakov rested his hand in his jacket.

"Trade," Arkady said.

"What?"

"Give me your mobile phone."

Bobby yielded the phone. Arkady turned it on, scrolled through stored numbers to the one he wanted and hit "Dial."

A laconic voice answered, "Victor here."

"Where?"

There was a long pause. Victor would be staring at the caller ID.

"Arkady?"

"Where are you, Victor?"

"In Kiev."

"What are you doing there?"

Another pause.

"Is it really you, Arkady?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm on sick leave. Private business."

"What are you doing in Kiev?"

A sigh. "Okay, right now I'm sitting in Independence Square eating a Big Mac and watching Anton Obodovsky sip a smoothie only twenty meters away. Our friend is out of prison, and he just spent two hours with a dentist."

"A Moscow dentist wasn't good enough? He had to go all the way to Kiev?"

"If you were here, you'd know why. You've got to see it to believe it."

"Stay with him. I'll call you when I get there."

Arkady turned off the mobile phone and returned it to Bobby, who clutched Arkady's arm and said, "Before you go. A new body? That sounds like progress to me."

Kiev was two hours by car from Chernobyl. Arkady made it in ninety minutes on the motorcycle by riding between lanes and, when necessary, swerving onto the shoulder of the road and dodging old women selling buckets of fruit and braids of golden onions. Traffic came to a halt for geese crossing the road, but it plowed over chickens. A horse in a ditch, men throwing sand on a burning car, stork nests on telephone poles, everything passed in a blur.

As soon as Arkady saw the gilded domes of Kiev resting in summer smog, he pulled to the side of the road, called Victor and resumed his ride at a saner pace. Anton Obodovsky was back in the dentist's chair and looked like he would be there for a while. Arkady rolled along the Dnieper and endured the shock of returning to a great city that spilled over both banks of the river. He climbed the arty neighborhood of Podil, rode around the Dumpsters of urban renovation and coasted to a halt at the head of Independence Square, where five streets radiated, fountains played and somehow, more than Moscow, Kiev said Europe.

Victor was at a sidewalk café reading a newspaper. Arkady dropped into the chair beside him and waved for a waiter.

"Oh, no," Victor said. "You can't afford the prices here. Be my guest."

Arkady settled back and took in the square's leafy trees and sidewalk entertainers and children chasing fountain water carried by the breeze. Soviet-classical buildings framed the long sides of the square, but at its head the architecture was white and airy and capped with colorful billboards.

Victor ordered two Turkish coffees and a cigar. Such largesse from him was unknown.

"Look at you," Arkady said. An Italian suit and silk tie softened Victor's scarecrow aspect.

"On an expense account from Bobby. Look at you. Military camos. You look like a commando. You look good. Radiation is good for you."

The coffees arrived. Victor took exquisite pleasure in lighting the cigar and releasing its blue smoke and leathery scent. " Havana. The good thing about Bobby is that he expects you to steal. The bad thing about Bobby is Yakov. Yakov is old and he's scary. He's scary because he's so old he's got nothing to lose. I mean, if Bobby thinks we're working together, he'll be pissed on one level but half expect it on another level. If Yakov thinks so, we're dead."

"That is the question, isn't it? Who are you working for?"

"Arkady, you're so black and white. Modern life is more complicated Prosecutor Zurin told me that I wasn't supposed to communicate with you under any circumstances. That it would insult the Ukrainians. Now the Ukrainians have a president who was caught on tape ordering the murder of a newspaper reporter, but he's still their president, so I don't know how you insult the Ukrainians. Such is modern life."

"You're on sick leave?"

"As long as Bobby is willing to pay. Did I tell you that Lyuba and I got back together?"

"Who is Lyuba?"

"My wife."

Arkady suspected that he had committed a gaffe. The struggle for Victor's soul was like catching a greased pig, and any mistake could be costly. "Did you ever mention her?"

"Maybe I didn't. It was thanks to you. I sort of screwed up with your little friend Zhenya the Silent, and I ran into Lyuba when I was coming out of the drunk tank, and I told her everything. It was wonderful. She saw a tenderness in me that I thought I had lost years ago. We started up again, and I took stock. I could carry on the same old life with the same crowd, mostly people I put in jail, or start fresh with Lyuba, make some real money and have a home."

"That was when Bobby e-mailed you?"

"At that very moment."

"At Laika 1223."

"Laika was a great dog."

"It's a touching story."

"See what I mean? Always black and white."

"And you're dry now, too?"

"Relatively. A brandy now and then."

"And Anton?"

"This is an ethical dilemma."

"Why?"

"Because you haven't paid. I'm not just thinking about me anymore, I have to consider Lyuba. And remember, Zurin said no contact. Not to mention Colonel Ozhogin. He said absolutely no contact with you. No one wants me to talk to you."

"Did Bobby Hoffman call you while I was coming here? What did he say?"

"To talk to you but keep my mouth shut."

"How are the new shoes?" Arkady caught sight of Victor's footwear.

"Beginning to pinch."

From time to time Arkady saw Victor glance two doors over at a building with an Italian leather-goods shop on the ground floor and professional offices above. Victor had an ice-cream sundae. Arkady picked at a crepe. Somehow, the Zone dampened hunger. Afternoon faded into evening, and the square only became more charming as spotlights turned fountains into spires of light. Victor pointed out a floodlit theater on the hill above the square. "The opera house. For a while the KGB used it, and they say you could hear the screams from here. Ozhogin was stationed here for a while."

"Tell me about Anton."

"He's having dental work done, that's all I can say."

"All day? That's a lot of dental work."

Arkady got up and walked to the Italian leather store, admired the handbags and jackets and read the plaques for the businesses upstairs: two cardiologists, a lawyer, a jeweler. The top floor was shared by a Global Travel agency and a dentist named R. L. Levin-son, and Arkady remembered the vacation brochures on Anton's bunk at Butyrka Prison. On the way back to Victor's table, Arkady noticed a girl, about six years old, with dark hair and luminous eyes, dancing to the music of a street fiddler dressed as a Gypsy. The girl wasn't part of the act, just a spontaneous participant making up her own steps and spins.

Arkady sat. "How do you know he's visiting the dentist and not getting tickets to go around the world?"

"When he arrived, all the offices but the dentist were shut for lunch. I'm a detective."

"Are you?"

"Fuck you."

"I've heard that before."

Victor sank into a bitter smile. "Yeah, it's like old times." He loosened his tie and stood to observe himself in the plate glass of the café window. He sat and waved for a waiter. "Two more coffees, with just a touch of vodka."