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