“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.”
“Peacekeeping mission.” Jaros spat out the term like an obscenity.” A farce contrived by the UN Security Council in order to prevent the Soviet Republic from exercising its veto powers.”
Michael ignored the comment and continued. “The press conference will include the announcement that UN peacekeeping forces will be headed by Major General Cecil Wilder of the United Kingdom.” This information was classified, and the Commandant would surely know that. Jaros’ pale blue eyes gleamed, and he leaned forward slightly.
“A total of twenty-one countries will be sending troops and observers, a tremendous show of support for a UN peacekeeping mission.” He paused to see Jaros’ reaction to this piece of information. How much of this the Commandant already knew through his own intelligence channels was unknown. What Michael needed to do was to ensure his own credibility as a source in the Commandant’s mind.