Poe (21 page)

“Ask him what he’s doing out here.”

After an exchange that lasted nearly half a minute, Olek said, “Well, that was fun. Let’s see. He says he’s going to call the police if you don’t get him medical attention right away. He also says you’re in big trouble. It was a little more colorful than that, but that’s the gist.”

“Tell him to answer the damn question.”

Olek repeated the question, but before Vanko could plead his case again, Cooper tapped his damaged knee with the toe of his boot. The guard yelped in pain.

“Tell him if he doesn’t want matching knees, he’ll cooperate.”

Olek told him. The response was nowhere near as long as Deuce thought it would be.

“He says he needs medical attention now,” Olek explained. “He claims he’ll tell you what you want to know, but you’ve got to get him to a doctor first.”

“Oh, he’s definitely gonna need a doctor. Surgery, too, is my guess. But they won’t be able to do anything until the swelling goes down. A week or two at best. So I think we have a little bit of time.”

The story, as Vanko finally told it, was an interesting one, involving Alex—whom he called “the prisoner Powell”—a prison doctor, and a nurse who was apparently the one Deuce had seen drop off the note. According to Vanko, the doctor and the nurse seemed to be working together. If true, that was news neither Cooper nor Deuce had known.

Vanko’s reasons for following the nurse were a little sketchy, so he was either leaving something out or lying entirely.

When asked who else knew about his trip out here, Vanko hesitated before blurting out that his friend Danya knew all about it.

There was no either-or this time. It was clearly a lie.

When Cooper and Deuce had gotten all they could out of Vanko for the moment, they let Olek hang up, then moved to the other end of the barn to have a private conversation, just in case Vanko understood more English than he was letting on.

“What do you think?” Cooper said. “Is he working alone or not?”

Deuce glanced at their prisoner. “Alone would be my guess. Did you see the way he looked when he was telling us about the nurse and the doctor? I got the sense he had it out for them. But that’s just a guess. I could be wrong. I could be
very
wrong.”

Cooper frowned as he nodded. “That’s the same sense I got, but there’s one way to know for sure. If he’s working with someone, sooner or later they’ll come looking for him.”

“Yeah, but before they do that, they might shut down Traz and go after Alex. Is there any way to get a warning to them?”

Cooper shook his head. “Only the dead drop.”

“Right, but McElroy must have communicated with Traz somehow before this.”

“Burner phone.” Cooper pulled his cell back up and started going through the contacts list.

“You have the number?” Deuce asked.

“Yeah, but don’t get too excited. They were instructed to only hold on to it until Alex arrived at the prison, in case something went wrong before then.”

Cooper found what he was looking for and punched in the number. But only a few seconds passed before he hung up. “Disconnected.”

“So we’re stuck with the dead drop.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

Deuce sighed heavily and shook his head in disbelief. “I’m gonna say this again. Maybe it’s time to call this thing off. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a real uneasy feeling, and the sooner we can get Alex out of there, the better.”

Cooper was silent for several seconds. “McElroy won’t approve it.”

“Fuck McElroy. You’re on-site mission chief, right? Don’t you get final call?”

More silence. Then, after taking a deep breath, Cooper gave Deuce a nod. “I’ll write the note.”

When Alex woke
the next morning, she could hardly believe that only two days had passed. She felt as if she’d been in this shithole of a prison for half her adult life.

Her ribs, shoulders, thighs, and calves were all screaming for more rest. The cut on her arm was worse. The medication Dr. Teterya gave her the night before had worn off, and the wound throbbed painfully with every beat of her heart.

It would have been great to just stay in bed, but besides the fact the guards would eventually rouse her, today was the big day. She would either make contact with El-Hashim, or lose that opportunity altogether. Sleep was not an option.

Down in the cafeteria, she found Frida eating breakfast by herself, so she sat with her. “Any more problems?”

Frida swallowed a spoonful of gruel. “I saw Kalyna last night right before dinner. She gave me…what do you call it? A dirty…”

“A dirty look?”

“A dirty look. Yes. But she leave me alone.” She smiled now. “Thank you.”

Alex retuned the smile, but didn’t say anything. She knew Kalyna would be back at her old games before long, especially after Alex left.

Before they finished eating, Rachel joined them. Alex wasn’t as surprised that the other two women had met, as she was by the fact Frida didn’t seem to like Rachel. Frida greeted Rachel’s questions with frowns and mumbled responses and seemed uncomfortable in her presence.

Rachel, however, didn’t seem to notice, and Alex didn’t have time to question Frida privately about it. Once they all got out to the yard, she excused herself and left them to deal with their own problems. She had no interest in playing moderator.

Her first task involved a leisurely trip to the door in the back wall. The purpose of this was to see if she could hear anything coming from the other side. She knew that El-Hashim and her friends were over there somewhere, but the only noise she heard was that generated by the prisoners on her side of the wall.

Stepping forward, she gave the door a closer look. Made of metal, it was thick, heavy, and formidable. Meaning it would be impossible to get through without an explosive charge—unless you were authorized, which Alex most definitely was not.

Turning now, she started walking, heading directly for the administration building, counting the steps as she went. Give or take a few feet, it was just shy of a hundred and fifty yards. Adding that to the approximate distance on each end, she came up with an estimate of five hundred to five hundred twenty-five feet—a number she filed away for later use.

Scanning the back wall again, she focused on the guard towers. The observation areas were enclosed by clear glass or Plexi, and she could easily see there were two men in each. Three towers along the back, six men.

Although she couldn’t see it from where she stood, she knew from the satellite photo that there was an additional outpost at the back of the isolation area. So potentially eight watchers could spot someone caught out in the open.

Another piece of info for her file.

She walked over to the exercise area, and pretended to watch a group of women kick a soccer ball as she mentally went over everything again.

And when the horn signaled the end of the outside hour, she was ready.

* * *

H
ER ASSIGNMENT THAT
day was once again in the kitchen. When lunch started, she quickly ate her food before getting back to work, washing the pots and pans that had been used to prepare the meal. She was in the middle of cleaning out a particularly grimy kettle when someone tapped her shoulder.

“You go.” It was Oksana, the inmate who ran Building One’s kitchen.

Behind her were two guards.

Finally
.

While Oksana had a rudimentary knowledge of English, the guards apparently did not. They communicated with Alex using points and nods as they guided her back to the administration building and up to the infirmary.

The nurse who had been helping Dr. Teterya the night before glanced up from her computer, then stood and walked over. The doctor had called her Irina.

“We work together,” the doctor had said the night before as they were finishing their discussion. “She starts her next shift tomorrow at noon. She’ll send for you when she gets here to do a follow-up.”

“That’s not something that should take very long,” Alex had said.

“Leave that to us.”

Irina talked to the guards for a moment, then motioned for Alex to follow her. Unlike the guard from the night before, these two simply left, apparently having other, more pressing duties.

Irina took Alex to the examining table farthest from the lobby, and pulled the curtain around.

“My English not good,” the nurse whispered. “Doctor come, look arm. Make like hurt, yes?”

“Sure,” Alex said, though she wouldn’t actually have to pretend.

It was several minutes before the older doctor—the one who had initially stitched Alex up—pulled back the curtain just wide enough to enter. Unlike the previous day, he looked pale and a little sweaty.

“Hello,” he said, his tone brusque.

He pulled a stool over to the table. As he sat down, he shot out a hand, grabbing the edge of the bed to steady himself, then paused for a moment, panting.

“Are you all right?” Alex asked.

He frowned at her. “Arm.”

She held it out.

As he examined the wound, she could hear low grunts and groans emanating from his throat, and knew that there was something definitely wrong with him. She winced as his fingers traced her stitches. When he got to the ones Dr. Teterya had redone, he paused, but went on without saying anything.

A moan this time, louder than the grunts that had preceded it.

“Wait,” the doctor said, suddenly rising to his feet. With three quick steps, he was gone.

Alex sat silently. Five minutes passed, then ten. Finally Irina appeared with another nurse and said, “You must…” She struggled for a moment before continuing. “Not go. Doctor come…soon.”

A smirk graced Alex’s lips. “Like I have a choice.”

* * *

D
R. TETERYA HAD
a hard time sleeping that morning, knowing that less than four hours after he laid his head down, he would need to be up again. Of course, the thing that was really keeping him awake was the prisoner Powell.

It had been less than a week ago when the doctor was approached outside his apartment building. The offer: money.
Lots
of money. Half upon agreement to help, and half upon completion. All he and Irina had to do was provide assistance to an inmate who hadn’t even been arrested yet. This assistance, the man had told the doctor, would come in the form of information, communications relay, and most importantly, escape—but not just the new inmate.

There would likely be another.

Teterya and Irina had, of course, done this before. Once. It had been out of necessity. Irina’s sister had been sick and quality medical assistance was far from cheap, so they’d helped a Hungarian woman escape, and made the needed cash.

As it turned out, the man making the new offer knew all about their previous assistance. And while he didn’t say it directly, it was clear that if the offer was refused, the authorities would become aware of their earlier indiscretion.

Dr. Teterya was given two hours to think about it.

He went directly to Irina’s home.

“How much?” Irina had asked.

He repeated the number to her, and knew exactly what she was thinking. The amount of money the man had offered was more than enough for them to quit their jobs at the prison and take the time they would need to find better employment in Sevastopol or even Kiev.

“The money is fantastic,” Irina asked, “but how are we supposed to get them out? Anton can’t fit two inside his truck. And more than one trip will be too much of a risk.”

But the doctor had an answer for that. There was one other way. It was trickier than hiding in the compartment of a truck, but he had discovered it when he first started working at the hospital, and knew it would work.

He told Irina what he was thinking, then said, “In the end, it probably doesn’t even matter. What are the chances that this woman will actually show up?”

Not much, they had agreed. Not much at all.

No one was that crazy.

It was a good thing neither Teterya nor Irina were gamblers.

When his alarm sounded at 11:30 a.m., Teterya was already staring at the ceiling, his stomach a bundle of nerves.

Sucking in a breath, he slapped the clock and silenced the buzzer.

As he crawled out from beneath the blankets, he realized his hands were shaking. Soon the spasms extended to his arms, then shoulders, and even his torso. He was shaking so hard it was as if he were freezing, yet his apartment was already warm with the growing day. He stumbled into the bathroom and managed to turn on the shower, and as soon as he was under the stream of water, his muscles began to relax.

By the time his phone rang at 12:20 p.m., he was sitting on his couch, dressed, his hands steady.

He answered the call. “Yes?”

“Dr. Teterya, it’s Irina.” They had managed to keep their relationship a secret from the prison staff, worried it might damage their careers if anyone found out. To that end, every conversation they had outside their private moments was cordial and professional.

“Hello, Irina. What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry if I woke you, but Dr. Timko has taken ill and needs to go home. He would like you to fill in for him the rest of the day.”

“Ill? What’s wrong?”

“Stomach. Probably the flu.”

“All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Teterya forced himself to wait five more minutes before heading out, then drove through town and out into the country. He was slowing to turn down the road to the prison when he remembered the message drop. It was his turn to check, and if he didn’t do it now, Irina would be forced to handle it when she got off work.

He sped back up and continued down the highway. It would delay his arrival at the prison for another ten minutes, but that probably wasn’t a bad thing.

To his surprise, there was a message behind the box. It was sealed in an envelope marked with the letter P. For Powell, he presumed. The sealed envelope also meant it was for the prisoner’s eyes only—and that was fine by him. The less he and Irina knew at this point, the better.