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.
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