Vanguard (10 page)

“Watch out for him, Sophie. He’s not a nice man.”

“Believe me, I know.” She told him what the Commandant’s plans were for the refugees.

Will’s face flushed red with anger. “If he thinks we’re here to do nothing more than keep these people alive through the winter just so he can ship them off to Siberia, he’s dead wrong. He’ll never be allowed to take an entire population prisoner and turn it into a slave workforce!”

“What do you mean ‘allowed to’, Will? He’s already done it.”

~~ - ~~

After Will left, deeply troubled, Sophie went back to the screen to read further into the profile Maxwell Trent had provided for her.

Vasily Jaros, age 59, commandant in the Soviet army. Currently serving as commandant of the Parnaas refugee camp.
She skimmed a long list of military honors, making mental notes. The personal information section revealed much more.

Married for 41 years to Elena Sidorov. One child, male, Anton Jaros, born June 8, 1968. Began a promising career in the Soviet military. Died August 12, 1989, at the age of 20, during the final battle of the Orlisian Revolution in throwing off Soviet rule.

Only one child. A son. Lost as his adult life had barely begun, in the battle that had ended the Soviet Republic’s control over Orlisia. It didn’t take much to figure out where Commandant Jaros’ hatred of Orlisia sprang from. She read on.

Extraordinarily intelligent. Given extra educational opportunities in the areas of physics, mathematics, and music before pursuing a career in the military. Fiercely loyal to the Soviet Republic, its history, and the Soviet way of life. Considered incorruptible, not susceptible to bribes.
That wasn’t good news.

Excellent player of chess and other games of strategy.

Maybe she could play him for Michael’s life? Not likely, although Sophie wasn’t a bad chess player herself. She’d look for a chess set in his office.

Fluent in Russian, English , and several other dialects common to the Soviet Republic.

“I knew you spoke English, you bugger,” she murmured.

She pushed back from the computer and thought for a while, vague ideas swirling in her head. She made herself a cup of tea, considering strategies and discarding them.
Always be planning, Sophie.
She smiled as she remembered Kei-Yee from that Chinese aid agency.
I wonder if she has any idea how well that lesson stuck with me.

Sophie frowned, thinking of something else Kei-Yee had told her. She tapped out a quick email to Alex back home. Just a theory, but it was worth checking into.

~~ - ~~

The next day, Sophie spent as much time as she could with Commandant Jaros, who seemed more than happy to have her company. Whatever else he might be, he was a man of enormous natural intellect and knowledge, just as the profile had indicated.

Just like her.

Sophie found herself looking at Jaros surreptitiously. Had the loss of his son made him mad? Or had he always been this unbalanced? The latter seemed unlikely given how much success he had achieved in his early career. But a loss that deep could destroy anyone.

If I lose Michael, what will prevent me from following the same path?

They took lunch together in his office. Sophie entertained Jaros with stories about the backstabbing and politicking so prevalent in American companies. His merry laughter rang out through the meal.

He would answer few personal questions about himself, other than he was married and lived to serve the Soviet Republic. He did tell her, however, that he’d fought in the first Soviet occupation of Orlisia and won many accolades. Sophie mentally compared his stories to the profile she’d reviewed the night before, and everything checked out.

“I will show you my most prized possession.” He crossed the room to pick up a box from his desk. Jaros flipped open the lid and removed an object, his eyes dancing. In his palm lay an elegant knife, inscribed with Cyrillic script acknowledging a military accomplishment.

This was no ceremonial blade, Sophie realized. The way he hefted it, looked upon it … this was clearly an item he was comfortable handling. Nauseated, Sophie thought of those carved symbols on the prisoners’ faces. Instinctively, she knew this was the knife that created them. And this, the man who had wielded it.

“Both commemorative and practical I see,” she said neutrally, her eyes meeting his. The Commandant laughed.

In the afternoon Sophie took her walk, the same two young Soviet soldiers trundling behind her. Despite the icy wind that whistled down the lines of shelters, Sophie wore no hat, allowing her red hair to fly free. It blew out behind her like a flag. Like a beacon.

She looked at more faces, hands clenched so tightly in the pockets of her vest that her fingernails dug into her palms, drawing blood. The thin, silent faces of the refugees looked back at her.

Where are you?

~~ - ~~

That night, Sophie found Anjali humming away in her new infirmary, setting up equipment. In the tiny lab, a tech was preparing agar plates for culturing.

“You got receipts for all this stuff?” Considering how quickly Anjali had obtained this material, Sophie felt sure that some of it had come through less legitimate channels. This was one of those “don’t ask, don’t tell” situations. “What the hell? They’re selling AEDs on the black market now?” Sophie picked up the tiny automatic defibrillator and examined it.

“Oh no,” said Anjali with a smile. “I bought that on eBay.”

“Unreal.” Sophie put the case down. “I see Meha is culturing. Is that the pneumonia bacteria?”

“Looks like it. I’m glad we decided to move on that because we had five more cases come in today. Two deaths from some earlier cases. Standard antibiotic treatment slows it down but doesn’t stop it, so we’ve got an exotic flavor on our hands. Once we’ve got it cultured, we’ll know how to kill it off.” Anjali finished assembling an IV pole and smiled with satisfaction. “It doesn’t help that these people are malnourished, weak, and suffering from hypothermia. Plus half of them have other illnesses.”

“Keep me posted, okay?”

“I will,” Anjali promised, casting a critical eye over Sophie. “As your physician, I’m ordering you to bed. You need more sleep.”

“Yes, Dr. Shah.”

Sophie went to her quarters, took half a sleeping pill, and fell into bed. She dreamed she was running through the camp, screaming Michael’s name. No one answered. It was deserted. The wind tugged at the plastic sheeting as she raced up and down the grid, looking for him, looking for anyone. But there was no response.

Chapter 6

February 10, 2014

Sophie developed the habit of working together in the Commandant’s office all day long now, to the chagrin of the exec team. They trusted Sophie, but expressed concern that Jaros might suddenly decide to sharpen his knife on her.

That was the least of her worries. The antibiotic-resistant pneumonia continued to claim a couple of victims each day. Every morning brought a handful of new cases to the already over-stressed infirmary. Fortunately, the executive team had convinced Jaros to move the outer fence back two hundred feet on the western perimeter, and the engineering staff had begun hastily constructing a temporary medical building on the newly claimed land. It would be in service in the next forty-eight hours.

The bacteria cultures would be finished by end of the next day. The answer had to be there.

The team had been registering newly arriving refugees since the day the coalition had set up shop, but now they began the monumental task of registering everyone who had been a resident before the coalition had arrived. This would allow them to determine who was in Parnaas (and convey that information back to the outside world, where anxious relatives waited), as well as distribute emergency aid packets including better bedding and cooking supplies. Plus, they could tally up special health issues, such as pregnancies. Anjali – whose specialty was obstetrics, although she no longer practiced it exclusively since becoming RCI’s medical director – and her team had delivered two babies since arriving. There were undoubtedly more to follow.

Registration was how they were most likely to find Michael. Sophie’s walkie sat at her hip, her ear always partially tuned to it. She hadn’t realized how much useless conversation there was between coalition members until she started listening more closely. Sophie scribbled a note to bring it up at the next exec meeting.

Commandant Jaros continued to quiz her throughout the day about ethical issues, methodologies she had developed for the camp, and the protocols the coalition followed. Sophie gave him enough truth to maintain credibility, and enough lies to keep him believing that she was a scheming self-promoter. In fact, they were having a conversation about immorality in government (a fairly global issue, it seemed) when her walkie crackled.

“Sophie, you there?”

“I’m with Commandant Jaros, Anjali. What’s up?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

~~ - ~~

Sophie arrived at the infirmary in ten minutes, the Jeep bounding across the rutted paths with her two Soviet soldiers hanging on for dear life. She slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop. One of the doctors, Raj Patel, met her at the door, gloves and mask in hand. The soldiers stayed with the Jeep.

“Procedure, Sophie,” Raj said, snapping the gloves on her. They entered the infirmary together where she found organized bedlam.

“What’s the situation?”

“We have a sudden escalation of the pneumonia. When we arrived this morning, nearly twenty cases awaited us, most in critical condition. It’s now...” He checked his watch. “...two hours later, and we’ve received a further forty-four cases. All typical profile: elderly, infants, the very weak or sick. Which, in this camp, is just about everyone.”

“Fuck me,” she breathed, then remembered Raj worked for a faith-based charity. “Sorry.”

“I had a similar reaction. No apologies needed.” He smiled behind his mask. “We’ve moved all non-essential equipment and personnel to the new medical building, which is being pressed into service a little earlier than scheduled. In fact, they haven’t finished putting the roof on yet. As of this moment, this infirmary is in quarantine. Nobody in or out without gloves and masks, no visitors, highest level of infection control enforcement.”

“Any idea what’s driven the numbers up so rapidly?”

“It could be the natural progression of the disease, or maybe one of the latest groups of refugees brought in a more virulent strain. We’ll get the cultures back tomorrow and know which antibiotic will work against this. In the meantime, we’re getting creative.”

“What do you need from the exec committee?”

“More space, for one. That means more workers to finish the new building.” Sophie whipped out her iPhone and started taking notes. “Infection control supplies: gloves, surgical masks, face shields, gowns, goggles. Another autoclave wouldn’t hurt.”

“Meds?”

“We’ll know tomorrow which antibiotic we need. We’re fully stocked with the usual suspects – penicillin, amoxicillin, clarithromycin, tetracycline. Unfortunately, they’re not working. We’ve had better results with some cephalosporin antibiotics, but we don’t have as many of those because they’re expensive. Cefepime has been the most effective so far. If you can lay hands on that, we’ll take it.”

“Got it. Anything else, Raj?”

“Get some folks going tent-to-tent looking for other cases. We need these people isolated immediately,” he said. “Staff should be masked and gloved. We can’t take chances. If we go down, the whole camp follows.”

“We’ll need more vehicles on standby as well for patient transportation. I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” Sophie typed madly, an uncomfortable task in latex gloves. “What else?”

“Anjali asked if you would kindly brief Rasputin in the front office about the situation. Her words, not mine.”

“My pleasure,” she said with a grin. “I’ll pull some folks off other details and have them over to the new medical building within the hour. Plus we’ll find some warm bodies to do the tent-to-tent. Jim Watson stayed back behind the border today. I’ll call him up. He loves stuff like this.” They walked out of the infirmary together, Sophie remembering just in time to thank the man standing beside her. “Terrific job, Raj. You guys are absolutely the best. I know you’ll get this.”

“Thanks, Sophie. Anjali or I will check in on the hour unless something crazy happens.”

“Too late for that!” she shouted over her shoulder as she climbed into the Jeep.

~~ - ~~

By lunch, containment efforts were in full swing. They scaled back all non-essential activities to a minimum, and the extra bodies were assigned to either the completion of the second medical building or the tent-to-tent search party. Jim Watson, an old campaigner who had been working in the field longer than Sophie had been on the earth, jumped at the chance to lead the search. He had a knack for putting people of all cultures at ease.