"It's me." He started to open the door and get out of the truck.

"Don't get out, Alex." She kept moving forward.

"It's all right." Arkady swung the door open and stepped down so she could see him more clearly. He was ashamed, but he wasn't going away. Besides, he was exhausted. This was as far as he could go. She stepped closer until she could not miss before she distinguished him apart from the truck. He knew he didn't look good. In fact, the way he looked would have scared most people off. She began to shake. She shook like a woman in icy water until he carried her inside.

Zurin was put out because Arkady wouldn't sit in the VIP lounge. The prosecutor had arranged admission, but Arkady refused to spend hours waiting for the plane to Moscow with nothing to entertain him but the sight of Zurin consuming single-malt whiskey. Zurin considered a little comfort in a plush setting his due, after coming all the way to Kiev to fetch his wayward investigator. However, Arkady had walked out and settled in an Irish pub exactly where the traffic flowed into the main hall.

He hadn't seen a child in over a month. Had seen hardly any clothes but camos. Had gone nowhere without being aware of the diamond-shaped scarecrows of Chernobyl. Here people bulled ahead, eyes on the linoleum as they dragged suitcases of monstrous proportions. Businessmen as weary and creased as their suits tapped on laptops. Couples heading south to Cyprus or Morocco wore extraordinary colors to signal a holiday frame of mind. Men stood transfixed before the flight board, and though morning sun poured through the glass front of the hall, Arkady could see from the way the men stared that for them the hour was the middle of the night. It was wonderful.

After the empty apartments of Pripyat, families seemed miraculous. A baby wailed and beat on the bar of its stroller. Another in diapers decided, for the first time, to walk. Twins with round heads and blank blue eyes strolled hand in hand. An Indian or Pakistani boy was carried in a quilt like a prince by his tiny mother. A veritable circus.

"Enjoying yourself?" Zurin inquired. "You stall until I have to come get you myself, then you act as if you're still on vacation."

"Was that a vacation?"

"It wasn't work. I ordered you back seven days ago."

"I was under medical care." Arkady had the bruise to prove it.

However, Zurin had ostensible grounds for complaint. True, the prosecutor had set up every obstacle to a successful investigation of Lev Timofeyev's murder, but the fact remained that Arkady had failed to find out who had cut Timofeyev's throat.

"You could have come back with Colonel Ozhogin."

"We talked briefly. I had more questions about security at NoviRus, but he had to run."

"Ozhogin proved a disappointment. Although no worse than you. Here, this came to the office yesterday." Zurin flipped something at Arkady that hit him in the chest and dropped into his lap. "What is that?"

"It's a postcard." On the glossy side was a picture of nomads in blue robes riding camels across desert sands. On the reverse was Arkady's name, office address and the message "Two is cheaper than one." "A postcard from Morocco," Arkady added.

"I can see that. What's it about? Who is it from?"

"I have no idea. It's not signed."

"You have no idea. A coded message from Hoffman?"

Arkady studied the postcard. "It's in Russian and in a Russian hand."

"Never mind." Zurin leaned forward. "Doesn't it stick in your craw that you got absolutely nowhere in the investigation? What does that say about you as an investigator?"

"Volumes."

"I agree. Why don't you enjoy another bottle of Irish beer while I visit the duty-free shop and see if I can dig up some decent cigars? But stay here."

Arkady nodded. He was diverted enough by watching the parade. A boy walked in slow motion behind his GameBoy. A beautiful woman rolled by in a wheelchair, her lap covered with roses. A group of Japanese schoolgirls gathered for a photograph around two militia officers with a dog. The girls giggled behind their hands.

The same night Arkady had driven Alex's truck to Eva's cabin, they returned to Pripyat with her car to leave the truck behind. The following day the four bodies were discovered, and Captain Marchenko's small militia force was overwhelmed. Also compromised, since three of the dead were the captain's own men. Detectives and forensic teams were dispatched from Kiev, but their examination of the crime scene was rushed due to the background radioactivity of the site. One of the bodies was radioactive, and another was a Russian executed by a shot in the head in a totally professional style. How coincidental was it, Kiev asked, that on the night of the attack, a Russian security team under the command of Colonel Ozhogin happened to be in the Zone? It was the sort of question that demanded a frank dialogue country to country, and a thoroughgoing, no-holds-barred investigation of not only the crimes but the militia and the administration of the Zone; in short, an honest look at the entire squalid situation. Or a quick flush of the problem down the drain.

Arkady had that second beer and bought a newspaper to peruse. He thought it might be wise to catch up. Zurin seemed content in the duty-free shop, choosing among French cognacs, silk neckties and paisley scarves. The Japanese schoolgirls trooped by again. Coming the other direction was a girl of about eight years old, with big eyes and straight dark hair cut shoulder-length. She had a wand and streamer that she twirled as she skipped. He had seen her dance much the same way in Kiev's Independence Square. It was the dentist's daughter.

Arkady picked up his newspaper and followed. The waiting hall was a scene of family encampments, of slumber, of unshaved anxiety and a slow but constant milling around souvenir shops, ATMs and newsstands. The girl darted into a crowded music store, and he kept track of her by her upraised wand until she appeared in a back corner with a woman in a stylish Italian-looking traveling suit. Dr. Levinson. Victor had been concerned about the dentist's physical safety, but she could not have seemed happier, an attractive woman who could not completely contain her travel excitement. The girl collected a kiss and ducked out of sight.

The wand and streamer reappeared at a newsstand, a catchall of paperbacks and magazines, perfumes and nail polish, condoms and aspirin. A display of lipsticks was stacked three levels high. The girl squeezed through the crush and took the hand of a man choosing among brands of toothpaste. He was dressed like an American golfer in a windbreaker and cap. His hair was brown instead of bleached, and a wedding band had replaced his diamond horseshoe ring, but Arkady recognized the sloped shoulders and heavy jaw of Anton Obodovsky. This toothpaste promised whitening power and the other a brighter smile. How to decide? Anton joked with the girl, who demonstrated a radiant grin. His laugh faded when he saw Arkady coming down the aisle. Anton's eyes screwed down. He sent the girl off with a kiss and replaced the toothpaste on the shelf.

Arkady moved down the aisle as if considering the toiletries. "Going somewhere?"

"Away." Anton kept his voice down.

Arkady spoke softly, too. He played the game. "Let me see your passport and ticket."

"You don't have any authority here."

"Let me see them."

Anton pulled them from the windbreaker. He swallowed hard and tried to keep a smile pasted on while Arkady read, "Final destination, Vancouver, Canada, for Mr. and Dr. Levinson and their daughter. A Ukrainian passport and a Canadian immigration visa. How did you manage that?"

"As an investor immigrant. You put money in their bank."