Cultural revolution.
“Please, you must stop. You dishonor the Soviet Republic with this act. Our new laws.” For a moment, everything went silent. Sophie’s forehead blazed with agony. Then she heard the knife clatter down to the desktop.
“Go. Leave this camp, do not return.” Jaros released her, stepping away. “Your guards will accompany you to ensure the patient returns to the camp, dead or alive.”
Sophie spun around dizzily, grabbing her bag and laptop. She used her scarf to wipe away the blood pouring down her nose and cheeks, then tied it clumsily over the wound. Her guards took her by the shoulders and moved her toward the door.
“Wait,” Jaros said. They stopped.
“You knew this would happen. You planned this.”
“Yes.”
“We are more alike than you realize, Sophie.”
She smiled, drunk with pain. “God, I hope so, Commandant.”
They dragged her from the room.
Chapter 8
Anjali and her team had Michael out of the Jeep and onto a gurney in record time. On the wild ride back to base camp, Will wouldn’t tell her what had happened inside the administrative building. His face was bone white, eyes dark with unspoken horror as he helped get Michael inside. The patient started seizing just as they entered the infirmary.
“Get him on his side,” Anjali said to Meha, who had appeared out of nowhere, masked and gloved. She touched him and hissed.
“Probable febrile seizure,” Meha said. “He’s burning up.” She positioned and supported him until the seizure ended, then took his temperature, gasping as she read the result. “107.2.” Below the point where brain damage became imminent, but way too close for comfort. They moved quickly to get Michael moved on to a table.
“We need to get the fever down, fast,” Anjali said. “Ideas, anyone?”
A commotion at the door interrupted them. She spun to see two Soviet soldiers enter the infirmary with Sophie hanging between them. Both men looked at Anjali with trepidation. Will made a sound in his throat.
“Sophie,” he whispered.
Her head came up, and the blood-soaked scarf slipped to the floor. With a sigh of relief, the team turned back to the real medical emergency. Sophie had an ugly diagonal gash on her forehead, about an inch and a half long. Like any wound to the forehead, it was bleeding profusely, making it look more serious than it was. A few stitches and antiseptic would do the job.
“How?” Will stared at her incredulously.
“Always know the customs of the country you are entering. It creates an atmosphere of goodwill and respect from the start.” The nonsensical words slurred on Sophie’s tongue. “I resign my leadership of the coalition. Tell the Rev…” Her eyes rolled back, and she went limp in the hands of the guards. The two men took her to the nearest bed and laid her down carefully. They moved back to the door, their eyes never leaving Anjali. One of them spoke.
“She is woman,” he said in heavily accented English. “Violence on woman is forbidden. Law of new Soviet society.” The infirmary went silent for a moment.
“She knew,” Will said to the guards. “She knew and gambled that you would stop him.” They looked back at him, expressionless.
“At some point, you’ll have to explain to me what’s going on here. In the meantime, Kathy, see to Sophie,” Anjali ordered the closest nurse. “Clean the wound, apply pressure. Dr. Patel can stitch it up later.” She turned back to Michael and got to work.
“We’ve got to get this fever down.” Anjali looked around for inspiration. “You and you.” She pointed at Sophie’s guards, still standing in the doorway. “Take a piece of plastic sheeting outside, fill it with snow, bring it back here.” They stared at her. “Do it now!” They moved gratifyingly fast for two men who had allegedly not been able to understand English until about ten minutes ago.