Opalescence- the Secret of Pripyat Read online

  The discussions were lively, there was an atmosphere of open comradeship that stood in contrast to the harshness of the outside world. I was trying to communicate with my neighbours. They were engineers, welders and backhoe loader operators. Their main concern was the containment arch that had been erected only few years earlier. They described various aspects of their work to me, including the construction of the beast that lasted for years. Then it had to be moved over a hundred metres by means of rails specially designed to support such a structure. The challenge had been brilliantly met. The arch was a marvel of engineering and represented the hope of cleaning up the exclusion zone.

  The workers worked in rotation. Every fortnight, they left the Zone and enjoyed forced leave. It was essential to limit exposure to radiation and save the world. The project was supported by the highest international bodies. There was no way the liquidators’ scandal was going to happen again. Everything had been carefully thought out, planned and executed. Of course, they missed the families. Some had crossed the entire continent to come here. Still others came from Asia or Africa. Overall, they were not afraid and were rather satisfied with their working conditions, which were well above the Ukrainian average. However, as the discussion unfolded, I gained their trust and discordant voices rose. One of them confessed to me halfway that he was not convinced that their safety was fully assured.

  —It’s a taboo subject here. There are a lot of radioactive leaks. The authorities do not relay them all. Besides, I doubt you’ve heard of it, but we had a threat of an attack once. Chechens according to rumours. They wanted to sabotage the arch. We had a massive army deployment for several days to protect us while we were working. The guys were pretty tense. It also seems that Greenpeace is considering actions, symbolic or violent, it would depend. Big mouths, those. We’ve never seen them do anything. Apparently they infiltrated some of the units working in the Zone. Confidential photos and descriptions are circulating on the Internet. Reports of radiation leaks, breaches of personal safety, maintenance defects, that sort of thing. The chief was mad as hell. We’re very careful now, trying to detect intruders. Our work is too sensitive.

  I nodded, looking innocent. The man took up again:

  —At night, things happen that are not clear. There is no doubt that people are venturing into the Zone and doing all kinds of things. Some of them, crazy people, are trying to penetrate the ark.

  —You have no plans to protect the complex?

  —Yes, of course. I can’t talk about it too much, but there is a compound, dogs and many other things.

  He stopped suddenly.

  —My name won’t be mentioned in your article, will it?

  —Don’t worry, I’ll use a fake one, I replied with a big smile.

  —One last thing: There are places where it is forbidden to walk, the Red Forest is one of them. The trees are cursed, some pines have been burned by radiation, others have kept an unnatural ruby colour. I suggest you give it up, the forest will take over…

  After these final words, the worker remained silent and turned his attention to the food. I choose to do the same.

  Filled, I left the canteen and went outside to continue my exploration. I had approached the most famous of the ghost towns, I was now intrigued by the villages that revolved around them.

  Multitudes of small hamlets were scattered throughout the exclusion zone. Often inhabited by farmers, they had also been abandoned. Thus, like an archaeologist, I spent the day exploring the plains and undergrowth of the Zone, in search of traces of deserted human lives.

  In the late afternoon, I arrived in a rather small clearing where unnatural shapes adorned the ground. Pieces of wood, cloth and metal rubble were piling up in a certain disorder, decomposing in an uncontrolled way. It was probably the remains of a camp of former Stalkers, or even smugglers. The Ukrainian army had probably been reluctant to destroy it, contenting itself with looting what was left of it. Apart from old blankets and dead bottles, there was not much left. No one had come to sleep there for a long time. It was no longer a strategic point, but simply a passage area like any other. However, I managed to find a few old walkie-talkies that were in a half-buried box. I took the device in hand. It was unlikely that this equipment would have remained in this condition for nearly 30 years. It was an American model, unthinkable in the Soviet Union. The object had to be brought in and left behind many years after the disaster. Some individuals may have finally slept well there recently…

  The camp was messy, but intact. It seemed to have been abandoned in a hurry as if its occupants had had to flee. What could the Stalkers have been afraid of? Lonely in nature, they were not always peaceful when they crossed paths and brawls could break out.

  In recent years, the Zone had become a hide and seek ground between the Stalkers and the Ukrainian army. The latter had very few resources, with funds being allocated primarily to the bloody conflict in the east of the country. More than the health of these clandestine explorers, it was the risk of fire that really worried the authorities. The smoke that would be released would release new radioactive particles into the atmosphere that the wind would then disperse throughout Europe. All containment efforts over the past 30 years would be annihilated and in vain in a single moment. Travelling around the Zone was much more risky in the past than it is today. The dangerousness of radiation was then misunderstood by the local population and the lure of gain too high.

  In the months following the evacuation of Pripyat and the surrounding villages, thousands of greedy and unscrupulous individuals returned to commit looting in defiance of morality. Silver, copper, furniture, radios, fabrics… Everything that was transportable became appropriable. All you had to do was help yourself, be the first to get hold of the debris of lives abandoned by tens of thousands of people.

  Of course, this windfall aroused jealousy and violence. The looters were often armed and aggressive. Confrontations could break out. Some people took their last breath, killed by another or eaten away by radiation. At that time, the Zone was a lawless territory where individuals were fighting against each other who were destined to be forgotten. A certain death must have been waiting for them. This prospect was only vaguely dissuasive, as there were so many Stalkers entering illegally. Moreover, they were not all alone. According to reports, some Belarusian and Ukrainian looters were operating in organised groups. They entered the Zone in order to strip everything in their path and sell their catches in the countryside where the populations were the most deprived. They sometimes had a right of way with the army, which closed its eyes. There are many legends about these looters. Simple inhabitants or real organised mafia it was difficult to characterise them. Some were particularly methodical, meticulously visiting each apartment in selected buildings and taking their belongings. A Russian group was famous in the region. A myth gave them the discovery of an incredible amount of wealth. It was even said that not all of them had managed to extract their trophies from the Zone, hiding them so that they could recover them later discreetly and avoid Ukrainian army patrols. A loot would be somewhere, buried in the Zone. No one had ever confirmed or denied these legends to me. Everyone was unaware of the very nature of the treasure. Oleksandr seemed so disinterested in the Zone that I hadn’t dared to discuss the subject with him.

  With my flashlight, I was looking for remains, clues that could inform me about this camp and unlock some of its secrets.

  My gestures were measured, almost fearful. I had the impression that I was profaning a sacred place. My eyes were drawn to a black shape near a tree stump. A toolbox was present. I dug it up carefully by clearing the snow and mud from it. The lock was dislocated, I had no trouble opening it. Inside the commonplace objects for the most part: a few nails, a screwdriver, an English wrench, a rather archaic Geiger counter. The equipment looked American.

  I grab the counter. Having a back-up device could only reassure me. I powered it with two batteries I had at my disposal. It worked but its ac
curacy was questionable. Dissatisfied, I turned it off and threw it to the ground. The meter provided by Oleksandr would be enough for me.

  I slowly walked away from the clearing, resting my arms on the snow-covered birches. These first discoveries had whetted my curiosity. I needed more than that.

  I was progressing randomly, improvising my way. I felt that I was approaching, my instincts could not be mistaken. I finally saw a glow through the branches.

  He was there, trained and imposing as I had imagined so many times. The sarcophagus glittered in a freezing darkness. He had suddenly appeared in my field of vision like a shooting star, both magnetic and elusive.

  Noises of ventilation and busy men were coming out in the distance. The Zone was under video surveillance, but whatever. I approached the gigantic structure in wolf steps, determined to examine it more closely. This huge dome that contained the famous reactor No. 4 fascinated me.

  Once I reached the edge of the forest, I had to walk in the open. Nervous, I gradually pressed the pace, glancing furtively around me. Long perimeter walls lined with barbed wire surrounded the complex. I had no intention of entering the sarcophagus anyway. Oleksandr had informed me of the increased risks of such a company. In addition, the place was far too protected, making it really inaccessible.

  According to Oleksandr, the installation of the new sarcophagus at the end of 2016 had reduced the intensity of radiation by nearly 90% around the reactor. Indeed, despite the repeated rattling, my Geiger counter displayed 0.20 microsieverts which was a ridiculously low level considering my position so close to the heart of the plant. In order to perfect my discretion, I decided to disable the device and store it in my pocket. I now proceeded blindly, completely concealing the radioactive danger of my progress.

  The sarcophagus enclosure was particularly high-tech, in contrast to the general decay of the Zone. Thus, many motion detectors and infrared cameras were regularly arranged to locate intruders like me. The place was too sensitive, the stakes too high. A further explosion of the reactor and the whole of Europe would be condemned, destroyed by radiation and contamination. Fortunately, the engineers —these modern heroes— had done the job brilliantly and designed this huge 11,000-ton steel arch, postponing the problem to other generations.

  I tried to get closer, trying to get around the main entrance. My strides were getting faster and faster, maybe too fast. My feet got caught in a barbed wire knot that the darkness had prevented me from seeing. I fell backwards and pushed a swearword to curb the suffering. I was hoping the barbed wire hadn’t pierced the flesh, my toe was probably bleeding. Nevertheless, I kept on going, faltering and weakened.

  As I progressed, I felt an increasingly sharp pain that spread throughout my entire foot. Lesser, I was forced to stop to heal myself. The wound had to be bandaged to avoid infection. My bandage was sketchy, but effective. I was ready to go again.

  As I got up, I came face to face with a big, nervous dog. Surprised almost as much as he was, I stumbled and found myself ashore again. With joy, he started barking and jumping, noisily betraying my position. The voices of intrigued men were heard. I had to run. The dog was imposing, but seemed too old to chase me. I hastily fled through the forest, leaving the animal behind me and the silhouette of the sarcophagus evaporating in the night.

  Chapter 3 — Apogee

  51 ° 18’ 19,31” N 30° 03’ 57,66” E

  Duga was very close, I could feel it. I was heading towards him. I didn’t really know how I knew about it anymore. Probably I have heard about it by randomly wandering the Internet during my periods of insomnia. Its story was surrounded by a rather bewitching mystery. I had to go there and observe it.

  The Duga site was located about fifteen kilometres south of the city of Chernobyl and was supposed to be a secret and therefore unknown to the general public. Nevertheless, the road was frequently used by military vehicles and maintenance personnel. I had to make my way through the forest in order to remain discreet.

  Four hours of walking were necessary for me, during which I met many deer, lynx and even a wolf. I finally arrived at the site, a little nervous and impatient.

  Soviet propaganda was still visible on the walls of the buildings at the entrance to the complex. There were inscriptions and slogans in the Cyrillic alphabet as well as representations of Soviet officials in advantageous positions inciting admiration and reverence.

  Once occupied by hundreds of soldiers and scientists, the complex was now inhabited only by a guard and his dog named Tarzan, a jovial and dedicated German shepherd. Fortunately, the animal was asleep and did not wake up when I passed by. As the area was fenced, the checkpoint of entry was the best way to get there. I crawled on all fours under the window of the small building where the guard was dozing noisily.

  With wolf’s steps, I ventured into the complex while holding my breath. There was no way to wake the sleeping dog. I had crossed the compound and entered the forbidden perimeter. I guided my steps serenely towards Duga, whose silhouette rose above the treetops, piercing the pale blue sky with its countless metal rods. It was necessary to progress a few hundred meters on a path along the forest before reaching the thing. The structure was huge. I was thinking that in foggy weather it would be impossible to distinguish the summit.

  This steel monster, whose existence few people knew about, deserved as much attention as the city of Pripyat. The object of fantasies for its dimensions and occult character, it fed all kinds of more or less smoky theories combining paranoia, mysticism and secret ambitions. It must be said that the place was intimidating. The radar was up to 150 metres high and nearly 600 metres long. By its size and appearance, it seemed to come straight out of a science fiction movie. Its hidden position in the middle of the forest made it an enigmatic building, a kind of sacred totem pole. It was the cathedral of Chernobyl, a unique work of which the Soviet Union had perhaps never revealed all the mysteries.

  The undeclared objective of such a facility was to detect American-made intercontinental missiles and thus protect the territory from an attack considered imminent by the Soviet staff. The titanic project had disadvantages, the main one being to alter commercial and amateur communications. As a result, European radio broadcasts and air transmissions were affected, causing various disruptions.

  From 1976 to 1989, the beast emitted at a frequency of 20Mhz with a power of 10 Megawatts jamming the radio waves of all Europe. Despite the vain protests of private individuals, the radar continued its activity and its defence mission. He was acting in the greatest secrecy and with general indifference since no one knew of his existence, and even less of his location. It was only recently that this Soviet military base had become popular in the eyes of the general public. Previously, it was either concealed or falsified by the mention of a youth summer camp on the various maps.

  Like the Manhattan Project in the USA, most of the workers on the complex were subjected to a watertight division of labour and were unaware of what was really happening with this machine. Everyone went about their mission without worrying about the more global plan behind it.

  The inhabitants of Pripyat, on the other hand, had lived peacefully a few kilometres away without even having been aware of it. NATO, for its part, was well aware of what was going on there thanks to the many satellite and aerial photos available to its agents. Well, I wanted an aerial view too.

  Eager for curiosity, I approached the radar. One of the first ladders of the structure on the North facade had been broken by an intrepid visitor who wanted to climb with too much haste in order to achieve his selfie. The unfortunate man had finally crashed to the ground with his head first, dragging the metal ladder into his fall, as it had not supported his weight and stupidity. Fortunately, there were other access roads to the top of the radar. I had a plan in my possession that I had retrieved from the Internet. He detailed the different footbridges and ladders that marked the structure. I had briefly studied it before my expedition and had a vague idea
of the path I would have to follow.

  Some routes were less reliable than others. The Soviet-designed construction had not been maintained for 30 years and left abandoned, promised to die slowly from rust and oxidation. A death that it seemed to want to repel, however, as the structure seemed stable and solid despite its neglect and the many dilapidations committed by the curious who had climbed it.

  I left my backpack in the snow, also unloading my anorak before starting the ascent. I knew it was long and painful, but I had prepared for it. I pretended to ignore the rubiginous aspect of the scale and tried not to look down.

  As I climbed higher, gusts of air made the structure slightly shake, slowing my progress. Forced by the ever-increasing wind, I was forced to take a break on one of the intermediate platforms that were once used for maintenance and observations. The place was cramped, it wasn’t really made for rest. My balance was precarious. Trapped by a hasty gesture, I stumbled. Duga’s plan fell out of my pocket and flew away in an icy blast, spinning towards the snow-covered forest below. It didn’t change my determination, I would persist no matter what. It was time to resume my climbing. The limbs were sore and despite the gusts, I finally reached the upper bridge.

  My hands were frozen and bruised. I had no idea how much time had passed, but I didn’t care. I had succeeded in doing so. Duga’s summit was reaching out to me. From up there, I could see the barracks of the military complex and even some red lights in the distance. It was the shards of the power plant and its gigantic sarcophagus.

  Sitting on a rusty railing, I watched the sunset unfold across the Zone. My eyes were focused on the horizon, looking at the infinity of the landscape. Thousands of pines surrounded Duga and me, like a huge shield to the eyes, to the intrusion. The twilight offered its most elegant finery while the wind had subsided. Very fine snow continued to fall, silently. The first stars began to sparkle. I was happy with this show for many minutes. The night was beautiful and cold, I hoped it would last forever.