Vanguard (9 page)

“That’s something I want to talk to you about,” Anjali said. “Both Will and I agree that if we do find Vanguard in this camp, you need to keep your distance at first.”

Sophie gaped at her. Not going to him if –
when
– she found him was like telling her to breathe underwater.

“I mean it. You’ll need to get close enough to identify him. But until we can assess his state of mind, it’s better that he not know that you’re here.”

“Why the hell not?” she demanded.

“We don’t know how he’ll react, which is exactly what you’re worrying about right now, isn’t it? He might go ballistic. You want him to start screaming at you in Orlisian in front of the Soviets? That would be game over. Same if he flung his arms around you, sobbing with joy. No, we need to control the situation very carefully, or his life will be at greater risk.”

Sophie mulled that over for a bit. “Good point.”

“Back to your original concern,” Anjali continued. “You’re overthinking things, as usual. If I were imprisoned in a camp with this many people and a fruitcake Commandant, I’d be pretty damn glad to see you. He will be too.”

That made Sophie smile, and she gave Anjali a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. And not just because you’re the best medical director in the field.”

“Me too,” Anjali replied. “By the way, I’m staying back tomorrow. I want to equip the infirmary near the front of the building. It’s got all the basics; we just need to get it working.”

Sophie looked at her in surprise. “Any special reason?” Getting Anjali to take any personal time away from the crisis zone when they traveled to the field was usually a struggle.

“I’d like to set up a simple lab space to culture that pneumonia,” Anjali said. “If it’s bacterial, we can nip it in the bud earlier with the right antibiotic. Maybe even vaccinate.” She winked at Sophie. “Plus, it never hurts to have a little extra space when you might be expecting company.”

They hadn’t even found him yet, and Anjali was already looking after him.

~~ - ~~

Sophie spent her days in Parnaas working in the office, a prefab hut erected near the camp gates that served as the coalition administrative building. It had a power supply, heat, satellite phone, and – incredibly – openly accessible wireless Internet service. There were strange upsides to a refugee crisis in midst of the developed world. Sophie had no idea whose service they were using, but they were going to get a rude shock next month when they saw the bill.

She did not work alone. For the last four days running, the Commandant had joined her. “Just a social visit,” he assured her each time. “I wish to observe you.”

And observe he did, in total silence from one end of the day to the other. She completed paperwork, wrote reports, and drew up personnel rosters. Responded to calls on her walkie. Members of the coalition came in and out, glancing uneasily at her companion. For the most part, she ignored him and his creepy gaze, although she never allowed herself for a moment to forget he was there.

Today, he finally spoke.

“You are very young, Ms. Swenda.” Sophie started in her seat at the sound of his voice. “May I ask how old you are?”

“Please, Commandant, call me Sophie. I’m twenty-eight years old. I’ll be twenty-nine later this year.”

“So young to be in such a position of authority! How do you find time to tend to the needs of your husband and children while you work a man’s job?”

She hid a grimace of distaste at his question. Clearly, Jaros wasn’t a participant in the cultural revolution around women’s roles that Alex had described to her. “No, I’m afraid I’m too busy to settle down. You know how we Americans are.”

“No children then? Such a pity. You should be respectably married, with two or three babies by now.” He smiled, smiled, smiled. “Why does a young woman choose to work under these unfortunate conditions instead of marrying and starting a family?”

“Altruism, Commandant. I wish to help my fellow man.” She continued her paperwork in silence.

“You lie, Sophie.”

She stiffened and looked up at him. His eyes shone with some strange emotion. As much as Sophie wanted to order him out of the room, she realized she had an opportunity to learn more about this disturbing man. She proceeded cautiously.

“Do I, Commandant? What makes you say that?”

“You are much more intelligent, more complex than your childish explanation suggests. No, something else motivates you. Something hidden. I wish to know what it is.” They looked at each other. The Commandant was dangerously close to the truth. But perhaps, Sophie thought, she could lure him into another line of thinking.

“Can you not guess, Commandant?” She pitched her voice a little lower, making him lean in a bit. “You are an observant, perceptive man. What do you think motivates me?”

“Ah, no! I want you to tell me.” His eyes sparkled with excitement.

He’s enjoying this. Tell me, Commandant, what motivates you to tag people’s foreheads with the symbol of what your country once was?
Sophie fiddled with her pen, pretending to appear uncertain. Jaros smiled his encouragement.

“Ambition,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “I have done well in my career. I am only twenty-eight, yet I am leading the most significant relief mission America has ever seen. When this mission succeeds and I return home, I will have my choice of jobs.” Sophie let her mind go on a flight of fancy. “Definitely a book deal. Perhaps even a movie.”

The Commandant laughed as if she were giving him the purest form of entertainment.

“It is just as I thought!” he exclaimed. “Indeed, you are ambitious. Now perhaps, you seek more power? The ability to influence others? I am not surprised. I’m good at reading people’s true thoughts. It is pointless to lie to me. Altruism…bah! A wasted emotion.”

“Really, Commandant?” She feigned surprise. “You say that, yet this place…–” Sophie gestured around her. “…is a refugee camp. You give aid to the very people you have invaded and conquered. You’ve allowed a humanitarian organization in to help care for these refugees. Is that not altruism?”

The Commandant’s grin widened further. “Your coalition’s presence here is but a temporary one, my dear,” he said. “I have allowed you access only to keep my prisoners alive through the winter.”

“Refugees,” Sophie corrected him, fear creeping down her spine. “This is a refugee camp, not a prison.”

Jaros laughed suddenly, startling her. “It is a refugee camp in name only,” he scoffed. “I prefer to think of this as a holding facility for the Soviet Republic’s future workforce.”

Sophie bit the inside of her lip until she drew blood. “The days of the totalitarian regime are over. They ended before I was born. You cannot force the people of Orlisia to comply with such demands.”

“There is no one to prevent us from doing so,” the Commandant said. “We are the world’s only true superpower. And your international security forces are too weak to intervene. Even now, they sit idly by.”

“The United Nations will eventually take action. The deadlock your country has on the Security Council will be broken, international forces will arrive, and this invasion will be over. The world knows this to be true.”

“Perhaps,” said Jaros. “Or perhaps the deadlock will continue for many months…plenty of time for me to finish gathering and relocating this new workforce to the far reaches of the Soviet Republic.”

“This is the age of the Internet. The age of freedom. The world will not permit this.” Sophie looked him straight in the face. “Commandant,
I
will not permit this.”

He laughed. “Young Sophie, you are but one person – and a woman at that. Leading a team of barely sixty people, feeble civilians with no weapons or power of any kind. The outside world may or may not believe your tales. You are here at my indulgence only. I could force you all to leave at any moment, or I could take out my displeasure with you on the detainees. Regardless, I will not permit even one prisoner to leave this camp alive. By the time the UN finishes its futile wrangling, this camp will be emptied of able-bodied workers.”

Sophie sat frozen as the Commandant continued. “The population of the former country of Orlisia will provide a convenient labor force for the growing Soviet Republic. The people are hardworking and industrious. We will transport them in the spring to their new homes. The residents of this camp – the number grows daily – can spend the remainder of their days working for the betterment of my nation. We have need of many strong laborers in our mines, factories, and oil fields.”

His eyes burned with a fervor Sophie had seen one too many times in her career – in the eyes of military dictators, homeless drug addicts, and all manner of ordinary citizens in between. This affliction did not discriminate.

The camp – and its entire population – was under the control of a madman.

~~ - ~~

Before she returned to base camp that day, Sophie began to walk through Parnaas. Two armed Soviet soldiers followed.

She had to find him.

She walked along the muddy paths between ragged rows of shelters. In the week or so they’d been at work, the coalition had made progress. The teams had set up potable water stations, and every person received a daily allotment. All shelters now had strong plastic sheeting to keep out the wind and snow. High protein biscuits – not terribly appetizing, but highly nutritious – were distributed daily, along with blankets, sleeping mats, and other necessities.

Her team had begun surveying work using the maps provided. Sophie could see small flags marking the rough grid that had been laid out around the camp. Rows and columns of shelters had been designated with letters and numbers, allowing team members to locate specific areas of the camp quickly in an emergency.

She heard a sound down the nearest row, the telltale deep coughing that marked the pneumonia currently plaguing Parnaas. She listened at each shelter until she found the right one. Sophie dug into her pockets for a mask and slipped it on, entering the makeshift hut. The guards came with her.

An elderly man supported a woman, probably his wife. She lay on the freezing ground, coughing up mucus and blood. Several other refugees huddled nearby, their glances darting back and forth between the sick woman and the armed guards who had so suddenly appeared. Sophie pulled out her walkie and called for a Jeep to be brought to this sector. Then she spoke to her armed companions.

“This woman is very ill,” she said in Russian. “She will be taken to the infirmary. I have called for a vehicle.”

The guards looked at the elderly woman uneasily. They were young men, probably early twenties, and may well have never seen a dying person before.

“Perhaps you’ll want to step outside for a bit,” Sophie suggested. “Unless you’d like to catch it, too.”

The guards glanced at each other and backed out.

“
Sveiki
,” Sophie greeted the shelter inhabitants softly in Orlisian, not wanting the guards outside to catch her.

The old man stared at her in surprise, a faint light of hope appearing in his eyes.

“This is your wife?” He nodded. “I would like to take her to the doctor. She needs medical treatment.” Sophie could see fear on his face. “She will be safe there.”

A few minutes later, the Jeep rolled up, and the attendants bundled the old woman inside. Sophie continued her vigil up and down the rows of the camp.

She looked at every face. She couldn’t stop herself, despite knowing the population here was in the six digit range and growing daily. Refugee registration would start in the next day or so. In the meantime, she looked, desperate to find the one face she was searching for. It was all she could do not to stand in the middle of the row and scream for him at the top of her lungs.

She saw more people with the hammer and sickle symbol on their faces. Some had it carved into their cheeks. Only men, she noticed. Mostly young, a few older. All capable looking, intelligent. Sophie found an excuse to speak to a couple of them on trivial matters. All were well spoken, educated.

She wondered.

~~ - ~~

Will visited her later that night when the team was back over the border in relative safety. He didn’t bother with the niceties.

“I hear Commandant Jaros started talking today. The Rev says he dropped by the office to find you two as thick as thieves, so fascinated with one another that you didn’t even notice he was there. What the hell are you up to?”

Sophie didn’t look up from her computer screen. “Beating him at his own game. I want to figure out what drives him.” She turned to Will, who was frowning. “I’ve got to plan ahead. If –
when
– we find Vanguard, I need a way to get him out of the camp that doesn’t involve a bullet in his back or a one-way trip home for the entire coalition.

“The Commandant gave me an idea today. I’m reading up on his background, trying to figure out what really motivates him.”

Will gestured to the computer screen. “Did you find anything? I wouldn’t think Jaros has his own publicity website.”

“I got some information before I left,” Sophie said unhelpfully, gesturing to the flash drive that Maxwell had given her before she’d left the US. “He’s a career Soviet military man. Old school views on women. He kept asking me about why I didn’t have children, which makes me think there might be something there. I need to keep reading.” She chewed her lip. “There’s got to be something driving him to go around marking other human beings with an archaic Soviet symbol. Like he’s trying to bring back the old Soviet era in his own sick little way.”