Locket full of Secrets (22 page)

              It was frightening, but also a comfort to know that Steven had given all the details of our trip from Michigan to the Embassy and everything in-between. After taking a few calming breaths, I began at the beginning and told Hodwell as much as I could remember. He asked for a few details about things like the car we stole and where Olena got our passports, but other than that just sat and took notes while I talked. I left out details about Steven and I, not ready to relive the moments we shared. Once I had filled in all the gaps he had remaining, Agent Hodwell pulled a stack of photos from the file he was holding.

              “Can you identify the man who chased Olena in Kiev?” he asked as he laid the photos on the tray table in front of me.

              “None of them,” I frowned, after studying each of them for a few minutes. “Does this mean he is still out there?”

              With a heavy sigh Hodwell removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It was clear there was a lot at risk here, more than just Olena’s life. He was no doubt stressed due to everything, and was likely sleeping as well as I had the night before. It made me even more thankful that I at least had morphine to help me when I could not calm down on my own.

              “We identified the body we found,” he said pointing to one of the photos. “Since you did not recognize him it confirms the suspicion that we found the wrong body. The body was likely a decoy, planted to trip us up and buy more time for whoever is behind this. We know the man Olena killed in Michigan was part of a larger crime syndicate. The other photos here are of the members that we know to be in that group. The fact that someone else was following her means that either there are others we don’t know about yet, or the group we know of has joined with another gang to keep the film you discovered hidden.”

              “What exactly was on the film?” I asked, hoping that he was too exhausted to censor his response.

              “I wish I could say,” he sighed. “You and your friends uncovered something bigger than you can know. When this is all over you will be a hero for a lot of people who lost loved ones back in Chernobyl.”

              We spent another hour going over details from our time in Kiev and the escape we made after the tour. Hodwell was convinced there was some small fact that would lead them to Olena. I was exhausted by the time he left, but was feeling better about it all. The reminder of just how important the photos were helped to ease some of the emotions I was still wrestling with, thanks to Steven and the last week of my life.

              A full week passed before Hodwell felt that I was no longer needed in Berlin. My parents and I were taken to a local military base where we flew back to the US. They told me Steven was still in Kiev, helping to search for Olena now. I did my best not to think about Steven too much, but until Olena was found I knew it would be impossible. Finding her would hopefully be the start of the healing I so desperately needed. Unfortunately, I knew it would be a long time before I could fully get over all that Steven and I went through.

              Arriving back in Ohio after 18 hours of travel, I was sadly taken straight to the hospital. Despite having excellent medical attention in Berlin and staying in a wheelchair the entire trip back to America, my doctors insisted I see a local surgeon once we landed. I was annoyed about this additional hospital visit, but it turned out to be a needed stop. Doctors immediately did an additional surgery on my leg, and re-cleaned the wounds on my arm that were just starting to become infected. When I finally went home the next evening it was with the understanding that I would be back at the hospital in another week to have my leg looked at once again. After that I would be in for regular checkups, possible surgeries, and a lot of physical therapy. The road to recovery would be a long one, but all I could think of at that point was getting home.

              After what felt like a week of sleeping, but was actually only a solid day, I began spending all my time watching TV. At first I would watch random shows and flip the news on now and then. But, before too long, I was watching CNN nonstop. Nothing about Ukraine was ever on the screen, but I was determined to be watching the moment the breaking news came out.

              My dad drove to Michigan once we got home to collect everything from my dorm room. It was clear to everyone that I would not be returning to school for a while. While he was gone for the weekend my mom worked on cleaning and organizing my room. Apparently a friend of hers said a room makeover would help me deal with everything better. The friend was not a doctor, or even a mother, but mom took her word and ran with it. I slept on the couch, the news playing both day and night. After only three days my determination paid off.

              “...and we will go to Kiev with that story after this break.”

              I sat up in on the couch suddenly, the action instantly causing a shooting pain in my left knee. Glancing at the clock on the VCR, I saw it was 2am. Clearly my pain medicine had worn off during the night. Reaching for my water and bottle of pills I stared at the screen while toilet paper and new movies were advertised. I was certain I had heard them mention Kiev.

              Two minutes later I watched in shocked silence as the reporter informed viewers that three Ukrainian officials had been arrested on suspicion of their involvement in the Chernobyl nuclear power plant explosion, thanks to new evidence. The video showed police walking the men into the courthouse through a crowd of people, most of whom were screaming and yelling. The police did their best to not only guide the men, but also keep the crowd back. Whatever information was told to the people in Kiev, it was enough for them to get worked up very quickly.

              Gritting my teeth I swung my legs off of the couch and onto the floor. Using my arms to push myself to a standing position I hopped on one foot to the phone that was mounted to the wall across the room. Grabbing it off of the receiver, I stretched the cord out as I hopped back to lie down. Sweat covered my brow thanks to the small journey as intense pain streaked through my body.

              Dialing the number I had memorized days before it was only a moment before I heard a woman answer on the other line, “US Embassy, how may I help you?”

              “I need to speak to Agent Hodwell,” I managed through the pain. “It’s Claire Santori.”

              After the time I spent in both the Embassy and also in Berlin my name seemed to get things done. I was put on hold for only a minute before Hodwell was on the line.

              “Did you find her?” I asked in a rush as soon as he was on the line.

              “Yes,” he said, and even through the phone I could tell he was smiling.

              “Alright Claire, let’s try it one last time,” Libby, my physical therapist, smiled.

              With a groan I held onto the parallel bars and walked the dozen steps from where I was standing to where Libby was waiting for me. Each step was a strain after the last two hours of therapy. I could feel my left leg shaking, my arms holding less and less of my weight up as they also grew more tired. Finally, with a near tumble I reached Libby, who wrapped her arms around me for added support.

              “Great job!” Libby wheeled a stool under me and lowered me onto it so I could catch my breath. “That was three more than last week.”

              Breathing heavily, I removed the 10 pound weight from my ankle before rubbing my thigh. I could feel the muscles pulsing at the strain they had been put through. It was a throbbing I was used to, but still hated.

              “Water?” I rasped the question, catching my breath while doing the stretches I had memorized months ago.

              After I downed the water, Libby gladly gave me back my forearm crutches and walked me to the locker room. She chatted to me about a few things to work on before I saw her again in two days, then headed off to find her next victim. Libby was great, but a part of me was always glad to leave her. Today was no different.

              Standing in the locker room shower, I let the water wash over me to clear the sweat from my strenuous session with Libby. While the water eased my still pulsing muscled, I thought through my last conversation with Olena. She was in New York, preparing for a flight to Akron that would be followed by a drive in to Youngstown. In only a few hours I would see Olena again. It would be the first time since racing away from each other on a street corner in Kiev almost eight months ago.

              The time since then had passed painfully slowly. I had struggled to get news about just what was going on in Ukraine, the TV stations having stopped covering information out of Kiev in exchange for what everyone was talking about: Y2K! Then, when the New Year began, it seemed like any news about Chernobyl was suddenly a thing of the past.  My parents bought a home computer so I could look up the latest news online, but it felt like I was missing out on a lot of what was truly happening. And anything I heard through Agent Hodwell was minimal at best.

              My ongoing healing was no help in the matter. After the initial surgeries in Moscow and Cleveland I had gone under the knife three more times to help heal the damaged muscles and tissue. It gave me a lot of time to sit around my house and play on that computer dad set up in my room. The best thing about it all was getting to e-mail with Olena, with no care about the time difference between Ohio and Ukraine. There was usually a week or two between each e-mail, but Olena did her best to keep me updated on how she was doing, and what was happening around her. It was clear that there was a long road ahead of her still, but it looked as though all we had gone through was proving to be worth it in the end.