Vanguard (22 page)

An exit sign loomed, to which someone had attached a hand-lettered board indicating this was the last gas station before entering the militarized zone. Michael signaled to pull off. Sophie was fine with that since she needed to pee. When she came out of the bathroom, he was tossing a bottle of water from one hand to the other.

Once in the SUV, he produced a handful of pills. “Medication time,” he said with a stiff smile.

“Thank you so much, Dr. Nariovsky-Trent,” she said sourly, opening her water. He shook the pills into her hand: the anti-parasitic, two antibiotic capsules, and…

“What’s this?” She nudged the red and blue capsule with her finger. “That’s new.”

“It’s a mild antiemetic. It will keep you from feeling carsick. The road from Parnaas to the camp seems to make you nauseated, and I want you to be comfortable.” He suddenly seemed uncomfortable, and she wondered if he felt affronted that she had questioned his medical expertise.

“Oh.” She swallowed everything. He watched her with a strange expression while she did it. He looked almost guilty, like he had the other evening.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. His expression immediately smoothed out.

“Nothing,
mana mila
. Just wishing you did not have to endure so many hardships on my behalf.” He leaned over and kissed her. It felt so good that she put her hand up behind his head to hold him there for more. His lips opened under hers, and she eased her tongue into his mouth. They kissed each other for a long time. Michael’s hand found its way under her shirt, cupping her breast, and Sophie’s was headed between his legs when someone thumped on the window. They leaped apart, startled. A couple of teenagers passed by the SUV, making lewd gestures.

She flushed with embarrassment and desire. Michael reached down and shifted the bulge in his jeans, trying to find a comfortable place.

“See what you do to me?” He grinned sheepishly as he started the SUV. She laughed as they pulled back onto the highway.

They hadn’t yet reached the Parnaas turnoff when she started to get sleepy.
Probably the new medication he gave me.
She laid her head back against the seat, turning so she could see Michael’s face. She yawned hugely.

“Tired,
mana mila
?” His voice sounded like it was coming from far away. Sophie tried to clear her head, but all she wanted was to sleep. The feeling became so strong that it was disconcerting. She decided fresh air might help, so she attempted to turn around to put the window down. Her arms felt like they weighed a ton. When she tried to move her head, none of the muscles would do as she wanted.

“Michael.” She called for him in alarm, but his name came out like mush. He looked at her, his face a picture of pain and guilt. Sophie looked back, struggling to stay conscious.

He drugged me.

Her mind reeled as she put the pieces together. The stitches he’d removed and then never asked about. The guilt. The questions. His extraordinary sweetness. Everything about his body language that suggested he was thinking hard and fast to come up with a plan.

He’s going to do something. Something dangerous. Something so dangerous that he risked my anger – risked our love – to ensure I could not stop him, could not follow him.

Shoving aside her rage, Sophie tried to reach out to him, to tell him not to do whatever he was planning.

I love you. Please don’t do this. I can’t live without you again.

Darkness claimed her.

Chapter 14

Michael watched Sophie’s hand come up toward him then fall back down again as the temazepam carried her away into unconsciousness. He saw the realization in her eyes; she knew that he’d done this to her. He hated himself for it.

He drove back to the base as fast he could without breaking the axles on the horrific road. Only a few people on scheduled days off hung about. Sophie’s Soviet guards looked at him in alarm as he roared into the compound and brought the vehicle to a screeching halt in front of the door.

She felt sure of their purchased loyalty. Michael did not.

The one named Sevastian appeared at Michael’s elbow as he removed Sophie from the passenger seat. The other man – Sergei, he thought his name was – had already yanked the door open to the main building and disappeared inside. Michael did his best not to flinch away from the armed Soviet guard beside him. A few weeks ago, this man was his mortal enemy. Now he was helping Michael, adding support to Sophie’s head, touching her hand gently.

“Dr. Shah told us she is ill. With dysentery.” Michael didn’t spare him a glance as he raced to the front door. Sevastian let go of Sophie’s hand to hold the door open for him. “Is her condition serious?” he asked. Michael didn’t answer. “Please,” Sevastian said, the courtesy startling him. “Answer my questions. We are concerned for this woman.”

“Yes, dysentery.” He lowered her into his own hospital bed in the infirmary. “You should not be in here. She is still contagious and would be most unhappy if you fell ill.” Sevastian backed toward the door, looking distressed. For the next ten minutes, Michael made sure that whatever else happened, Sophie would be safe. He reinserted her IV, hung fluids, then grabbed a file and recorded her treatment to date, including the tranquilizer he had administered. Raj walked in with Sergei just as he was finishing up.

“Did she relapse?” Raj walked over to check on Sophie, looking concerned.

“No, she’s asleep. I simply wish to ensure she receives a full course of treatment.” He made a final notation on the chart. “I prefer she take another twenty-four hours of fluids for proper hydration. All the information is on her chart. Please take good care of her for me.” Raj didn’t have time to look up before Michael shot out the door and down the hall.

It took him only a minute to find the Temples’ quarters. Will’s physique was a bit different than his, but his clothes would suffice. He tore open Will’s bag and searched for the most typically American-looking clothing he could find. He emerged dressed in a white button-down with an Abercrombie t-shirt underneath, blue jeans and – best of all – a pair of cowboy boots.
Cowboy boots in a military zone? What sort of man is this?
He grabbed a coalition vest on the way out.

He could do nothing about his bristly hair, but everything else looked perfect. He passed Sergei and Sevastian in the hall on the way out the door.

“Look after her,” he said fiercely in Russian. “Whatever happens, do not allow her to go to Parnaas. She should not leave this room. This is an order.” Not waiting to see their response to receiving instructions from their own prisoner, he jumped back into the SUV and roared off toward the camp.

He hoped that the Soviet guards had grown so used to coalition vehicles driven by foreigners coming in and out of Parnaas that they no longer did identification checks. They waved him through with bored looks on their faces as he drove up.
So far, so good.

He parked the SUV beside the other coalition vehicles and started walking across the compound to the building where the Commandant worked. He was halfway there when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the coalition executive committee step out of a building to his right.

~~ - ~~

The exec committee had finished a lunch meeting and was cutting through the administrative compound when Anjali gasped. Will swung around to follow her gaze. Incredibly, Michael was striding across the compound toward the Commandant’s office with a look of ferocious determination on his face.

Will waved everyone else back and took off, racing across the muddy gravel toward him. Michael saw him, but didn’t break stride. Will skidded to a stop beside him, alarmed by the intensity in the younger man’s eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Will glanced around to see if any of the guards had spotted his headlong sprint across the open ground.

“Dealing with this in my own fashion.”

“By choosing to commit suicide?” he asked in disbelief. Michael glared at him, and some hazy part of Will’s mind registered that the younger man was wearing his clothes.
Including my cowboy boots!
That made him pissed. “I can’t believe Sophie let you to come here.” Will saw a flicker of emotion on Michael’s face, then the blank glare returned.

“She does not know I am here,” he admitted.

Will could only imagine what kind of deception had gone into that accomplishment. “Michael, seriously. What are you doing? If you walk in there, you’ll die or be interred here again. What will happen to Sophie if you get killed?”

“She is safe, and that is all that matters. I will not allow her to put herself in any more danger because of me.” His face softened a bit. “Will, I appreciate your concern. Truly I do. But I do not permit others to fight battles on my behalf. I must try this my way.” Will wanted to point out that trying this his way might be the last thing he ever did, but Michael silenced him with a look.

“Please. I can do this.” His voice was strained. “I can buy back my own life and ensure safety for the people – my people – still trapped in this place. If I had had time for a more collaborative approach, I would have done so. But I have an opportunity at this moment that will not come again. I must try.” He held his hand out. Will stared at it for a moment, then shook it. “If I leave this camp alive today, I believe you and I could end up being friends,” Michael said unexpectedly.

“I’d like that.”

“Look after her for me.” He swallowed, his voice rough. “If this does not work, get her back to New York, away from this place. Take her to Carter, to our class. The class will care for her.”

Will nodded. He wanted to ask Michael if there was any personal message for Sophie, but he knew he wouldn’t tell him even if there was.

Michael turned and walked through the front door of the Commandant’s office. Will saw him put his hand into his pocket and draw something out as he did. He waited for the gunshots that would end Michael’s life. And Sophie’s sanity.

~~ - ~~

Michael reached into his jacket pocket and held up his US passport as he stepped through the door. This turned out to be wise, as both guards standing in the room had their weapons up and trained on him as soon as they realized he was a stranger.

“Wait.” An older man, hair more white than black, dressed in the uniform of a higher-ranking Soviet officer, gestured to the guards. They lowered their weapons. The officer continued writing at his desk for a minute more, then put his pen down and looked up. It took every ounce of strength in Michael’s body to smile at him.

“Commandant Jaros?” he asked in English, flattening his inflection to make himself sound American. He’d learned as a teenager how to mimic an American accent to avoid questions from annoying schoolmates. “Pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is Mike Trent.” He gave the guards a nervous glance, then edged forward, passport held up in front of him like a shield. “Please don’t shoot me.”

“Welcome.” The Commandant smiled in amusement at Michael’s timid approach. “Please, sit down. My guards will not harm you.”

He pulled out a chair, laying his passport in front of him on the desk. The Commandant’s hand snaked out to take it. “I do not believe I recognize your face or name, Mr. Trent. This is odd because I thought I was familiar with all members of the coalition in this newly acquired part of the Soviet Republic.”

Michael’s stomach rolled, but he kept his face friendly. They had to continue to think he was just another American aid worker for the time being.

“Just arrived, sir. I’m new to the mission, here to prepare you for the impending arrival of the United Nations forces.”

Jaros’ eyes narrowed at Michael’s mention of the UN. “Michael
Nariovsky
-Trent. Born in the former nation of Orlisia, I see. Now part of the Soviet Republic. How ironic.” He snapped Michael’s passport closed and pushed it back to him. Michael slid it close to his elbow, out of the Commandant’s reach but still in view. “If I may say so, you look far better with your current hairstyle.”

“Why, thank you,” he said. “Perhaps we could turn to the matter at hand.”

“Ah yes.” The Commandant sat back, a calculating expression on his face. “I fear there is an error. The United Nations has not been invited to enter this camp. Parnaas does not require any preparation. Or at least, not any preparation that you might be able to provide.” He let that last statement hang in the air, and Michael felt his skin crawl at the implications.

“I was not referring to preparing the camp, Commandant Jaros.” He allowed the faintest edge of his American accent to slip away. “I was referring to preparing you personally.” The superficial friendliness of the meeting drained away, and the Commandant’s eyes went dark.

“Explain yourself.”

Michael checked his watch. “It is currently 15:40, Commandant. In approximately twenty minutes, a press conference will be held at the United Nations headquarters in New York to announce details of the Orlisia operation. I am sure you heard about the UN Security Council’s decision to send a peacekeeping mission to Orlisia? It was announced earlier today. You have lost your stranglehold on the Security Council, it would seem.”