Vanguard (6 page)

After that, Signe shared gossip and rumors from the Orlisian community. Then they ate lunch. They had done this every Sunday since Michael had disappeared. Nobody outside the family knew about this exchange, not even Will. He never questioned where Sophie got her nuggets of inside information. She doubted Max ever gave her any truly classified material, but she imagined much of it was restricted.

After lunch came the hardest thing. Signe told Sophie about the years that she and Michael lived in Vollka. Places they’d been. Favorite excursions. Friends. Events. And always she’d pull out the photos, pictures of Michael as a child and a preteen, before he’d come to America. His young face made Sophie want to weep.

If she had to search for him in Orlisia outside the refugee camp, she needed starting points, contacts. He might go to familiar places and people. Sophie wrote it all down in a growing series of notebooks, never knowing what piece of information might be the critical one when she was on the ground in occupied Orlisia.

Oh God, it hurts so bad.

You have to. Always be planning.

At the end of their time, Maxwell invited her to his study, something he rarely did. Curious, Sophie followed him upstairs, where Maxwell put a paper shopping bag on the desk between him.

“I have some things to tell you that I didn’t wish Signe to hear.” Maxwell’s mouth settled into a grim line, and Sophie’s heart froze. “Intelligence sources have determined that the person in charge of the Parnaas camp is Commandant Vasily Jaros.”

“I’m not familiar with the name,” said Sophie, frowning. “Should I be?”

“Probably not. He served in the first Soviet occupation of Orlisia.” He toyed with some papers on his desk, deep concern in his expression. “He has a dark mind and an irrational hatred of Orlisia. This accounts in part for the concerns that the State Department has for the safety of the refugees. New estimates say there are more than a hundred thousand people in that camp with winter fully upon them. The Soviets could kill them all just by taking away their shelters.”

“We’ve examined the satellite photos inch by inch, looking for evidence of mass extermination,” Sophie said softly. “There’s nothing. A burial trench, yes, but that’s to be expected in any refugee situation. Whatever the Soviets are planning to do, they want them alive.”

“So it would seem.” Maxwell opened his desk drawer and handed Sophie a thumb drive. “Here’s a workup of Jaros. Read it carefully. If you make it in, he’ll be a formidable enemy.”

Sophie dropped the device into her bag. She started to rise, but Maxwell gestured to her to stop.

“I don’t tell you often enough how much we appreciate what you’re doing to find Michael. How much I appreciate you coming here every week to talk to Signe. I know it causes you great pain.”

Sophie opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. There was no point denying it.

“I’m aware that the odds of finding my son alive are very slim, but Signe and I believe that if anyone has that chance, it’s you.” Maxwell pushed the shopping bag across his desk to her. “Take what’s in here. It’s untraceable back to me. It is a gift from some prominent members of the Orlisian community.”

Sophie looked into the bag and gasped. It was bundles of US currency. “How much?”

“About 100,000 dollars. For whatever is needed to get my son out of Orlisia.” His expression turned bleak. “If you learn he’s dead, bring his body home to us if you can. Then take the rest and use it to ensure other Orlisian sons survive to return home to their parents. Food, clothing, shelter, whatever your coalition needs.” Sophie’s hands shook as she closed the bag. She’d never seen that much money in her life.

I’m going to have to take this back to Brooklyn on the freaking train!

“Signe does not know about this,” said Maxwell, gesturing to the bag. “She wouldn’t react well.” Signe’s hatred of the Soviets now ran so deep that it was unlikely she’d give even a penny of family money to a Soviet soldier, even if she bought Michael’s safety with it.

“Understood.”

“And, Sophie?” She looked up at Maxwell questioningly. “Let me call you a cab.”

~~ - ~~

Sophie worked late into the night. Using aerial photos, she planned how they might divide the overflowing camp into sections, each holding no more than twenty thousand refugees. She had a working plan when the phone rang at 11:30 p.m.

Who the hell is calling this late?

“Sophie. It’s Will.” Her heart leaped at the tense, triumphant sound in his voice.

“Green light?”

“Green light. The coalition has clearance to enter Orlisia.”

~~ - ~~

“Two breaths and then one, two, three, four. Take it easy, kid. These are chest compressions. You’re not beating the snot out of the guy.” Everyone laughed, Sophie included. The instructor winked at her.

Green light or not, it took a frightening amount of time to get tens of thousands of pounds of equipment and fifty-five people ready to enter a warzone. It had been nearly two weeks since the coalition had gotten the go-ahead. Two weeks of endless prepping, inventorying supplies, obtaining visas. The logistics were staggering.

The real delay, however, was the Soviet Republic. They questioned every piece of equipment, every person on the roster. Now, finally, the last preparations were nearly complete. They departed in just days.

Sophie despised the wait. She kept busy and tried to make herself as prepared as possible. Today, she was taking a refresher class in emergency medical response.

“Okay, let’s take fifteen minutes, then we’re back for our session on musculoskeletal injuries. Come prepared to splint a few legs.” Sophie was pulling on a sweater over her shirt when the instructor stopped her. “What happened to your arms?” He gestured toward the bloom of multi-colored bruises covering her freckled arms.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, on this arm, hepatitis A and B happened, plus my booster shot. On the other arm, we got typhoid and a flu shot. Down here was my tuberculosis test.” She pointed to her inner elbow. “My doctor has an obsession with keeping my shots up to date.”

“Either you’re the world’s most disease-prone person, or you’re going somewhere really scary.”

“The latter,” Sophie said. “But I’m ready.”

~~ - ~~

On Sunday, after her weekly visit with the Nariovsky-Trents, Sophie borrowed Anjali’s car and drove to Westchester to see Carter. They had discussed this a few months ago, and now it was time.

Life had been kind to Carter and his bride, Janet. After leaving GYL, Carter had gotten his MBA and joined the family brokerage. Janet had pursued a career as a corporate finance lawyer. Together, they discovered they were very good at making money. Sophie had no issues with this. DeVries Financial donated generously to Refugee Crisis International. In fact, DeVries Financial owned the Manhattan building where RCI made its home, and Carter was a founding board member.

He met her on the doorstep with a hug, ushering her into the sitting room. Sophie saw Janet smiling tiredly in an armchair and leaned down to embrace her.

“Janet, you look…” She stared at Janet’s enormous belly. Carter’s beautiful wife was nearly nine months gone with their first baby, a son.

“Huge?” Janet suggested. “Scary, isn’t it? People avoid getting into elevators with me.” She took Sophie’s hand in hers, placing it on her mountainous belly. “Feel him.” A moment later, Sophie felt a kick under her palm, and she jerked back, startled by its ferocity.

“Carter’s son, for sure.” She eyed Janet’s stomach nervously. “He’s already starting a party in there.”

They talked a bit more about the baby’s imminent arrival. Then Janet gave Sophie a sad smile and heaved herself to her feet, going into the other room to give the two of them privacy. Carter stood at the bay window, watching the falling snow and running his hand through what little was left of his hair. When he turned around, there were tears in his eyes.

“Hey,” Sophie said softly. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to find him and bring him home.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you.” Carter scrubbed at his eyes. “I’m just scared I’m going to lose both of you. I should be going with you. Look at me, living in this stupid house, more money than I ever goddamn dreamed of.” He kicked viciously at the edge of what was undoubtedly a priceless Persian rug. “Every time I see these things around me, I think of him. Wonder where he is. Whether he has enough to eat, if he’s warm enough.” Carter stopped, emotion overwhelming him.

“You’re not going to lose me or Michael,” she said, putting her arms around his waist. “I swear to you, I’ll come back. And I’ll bring him with me.”

“There’s a war on. You can’t make that promise.”

She had no answer to that, so she clung to him instead, giving and taking comfort. Finally, Carter pulled away. “Come on. Let’s get this done.”

They sat down at the dining room table, and Sophie opened the folder she’d brought with her. “This is my will,” she said baldly, causing Carter to flinch. “You’re the executor, as you know. All of this is just in case something goes wrong, which isn’t going to happen.” Next, she took out two envelopes, sealed. “This is for Michael, in case he gets out but I don’t. The second is a letter for the class, for the same reason. My lawyer has a letter for my mom and dad. But these two, I’m leaving with you.”

She reached into her pocket. “Spare keys to my apartment, in case you need a place to bring your girlfriends while Janet is delivering your son.” Carter laughed in spite of himself. Finally, Sophie handed him a small blue gift bag. “For your son. I’m pretty sure I’ll be gone for the birth, so that’s a gift for the little guy. Tell him Auntie Sophie will be home soon.” Carter took the bag and bundled the documentation together.

“Just bring him home, Sophie. Bring him home. The whole class will be waiting for you.” He got up and crushed her against his chest. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too. I’ll be home soon, and I won’t be alone. I swear it.”

~~ - ~~

“Deep breath in, please. Hold. Now out. Again. Again.” Anjali moved the stethoscope over Sophie’s back, listening carefully. Sophie was the last person on the team to have her field physical done. Anjali did the examination herself in the Situation Room one evening after shooing everyone else home at a reasonable hour for a change.

“Arm, please.” She strapped on the blood pressure cuff and pumped it up. Sophie practiced her breathing techniques. Anjali took the pressure again. Then a third time.

“What?”

“It’s pretty much normal,” Anjali replied. “I thought I’d made a mistake. I figured you’d be through the roof.”

“Meditation,” Sophie said knowingly.

“Freak.”

Anjali went through the rest of the exam thoroughly and professionally. Nobody cared better for the employees of Refugee Crisis International than she did.

“You’re fine, good to go,” she said at last. “Your blood work checked out too.”

Sophie let out a long breath of relief. Part of her had thought Anjali and Will might try to stop her from going at the last minute, to keep her from doing something insane in Orlisia.

“Give me a copy of your immunization record for your file. I don’t want some border official keeping you out after all this just because you don’t have proof of vaccination.”

Sophie yanked her shirt on and retrieved the required paper from her briefcase. “Are you ready to go, Anjali?” Her friend nodded but looked troubled. “Will’s uncomfortable that we’re all going, isn’t he?”

“Of course he is. The three of us should never go on a mission this risky together. Bad succession planning.” Anjali paused. “But I need to be there.”

Sophie put her arm around Anjali, resting her head on her friend’s slim shoulder. “I wouldn’t want anyone else but you and Will by my side,” she said. “We’re unstoppable.”

~~ - ~~

Sophie’s language teacher, Alex, dropped by to say farewell before the team headed out. “Don’t forget what I taught you,” he said. “Tell me again, one more time, what I taught you last week.”

Grinning, she ripped out a volley of curses in Russian that would make a dock worker blush. Alex laughed delightedly.

“No Soviet soldier stands a chance with you. Remember, never show fear. Stand tall and strong.” He embraced her, kissing both of her cheeks. “I love my country, but I believe that whatever is happening in that camp is wrong. I pray you are in time to stop this madness. God be with you.”

~~ - ~~

The last goodbye was the hardest.

She visited Signe and Maxwell the day before the coalition left for Orlisia, sharing with them what she knew about the schedule ahead, and setting up a communication protocol.

“The code word is
Vanguard
,” she said. “I can’t say over an open cell or satellite phone connection that we’ve found an American citizen in the camp. The Soviets would be all over us in seconds, and we might never get him out. I’ll contact you as soon as I can. If you get a message from me that has the word Vanguard in it, it means I’ve got him. Understand?” They nodded, and she saw hope blazing in Signe’s eyes.