“The one Sophie used to develop the vaccine that stopped the pneumonia outbreak?” Jaros asked carelessly. “What of him? My guards tell me he is on the brink of death. Has he died?”
Michael looked at the Commandant, aware of the irony of the question. Was he dead? You might be after tonight, said a helpful voice in the back of his mind.
The person he’d been when he’d left for Orlisia last summer no longer existed. Most of him had been burned away by his horrifying time in the resistance. The remaining part had died as he had sat beside Sophie’s bed, watching her fight against the dysentery and realizing what an utter fool he had been for the last decade. Perhaps the terrible act he’d visited on her earlier that day was the final echo of a lifetime of pride and misplaced anger.
“Yes,” he said. “He is dead. It would be a significant gesture on your part, Commandant, to allow the coalition to return the body to the young man’s family, wherever they might reside. He did not appear to have any family with him in Parnaas. A fitting end for one who gave his life for the benefit of others. It also demonstrates your willingness to cooperate with Ms. Swenda’s wishes.” There was such a long pause that Michael thought he had lost him for a moment.
“Of the prisoner and his resting place, I care nothing,” said Jaros. “But for Sophie Swenda, I have much respect. If it pleases her to do this, I’ll allow it. I expect the two guards to return to me once the body is disposed of.”
“I believe these gestures will improve your standing with the coalition executive.” Michael glanced out the window as if in surprise. “It is dark. I should return to the camp in order to debrief the team.” He rose and, with an inward shudder, extended his hand to the man who had violated Orlisia’s citizens and mutilated the woman he loved. Jaros shook it, and they walked together to the door, followed by the guards.
“I hope we have the pleasure of future conversations, Mr. Trent.” Jaros turned to him as they reached the door. “For an Orlisian, you have a lively mind. You remind me much of Sophie herself.”
Michael gave his first genuine smile of the entire wretched interview. “That is one of the finest compliments anyone has ever paid me, Commandant. Good day, sir.”
He waited for the bullet to enter his back as he walked across the gravel. The coalition vehicles were gone, save for his SUV and one Jeep. He was shocked to see Will sitting in it, shivering against the encroaching night wind and smoking a cigarette.
“Tobacco is harmful to your health,” Michael grunted as he approached his vehicle.
“So my wife tells me. Which is why I only smoke when I’m hanging around outside refugee camps in the dead of winter waiting for people who have no business being alive to appear at the side of my car.”
He extended the pack to Michael, who took one and attempted to light it off Will’s. Michael’s hands shook so badly that he dropped both in the dirt.
“Rats.” Will cranked the engine, which started with a protesting groan in the cold. “Oh well, better for both of us, I guess. Anjali hates it when I smoke. Are you good to drive, or do you want to come with me? The SUV might survive the night out here. I mean, stranger things have happened.”
“No, I can drive,” Michael said. “But I will follow you as I am less familiar with the road in the dark.” He climbed into the SUV, gunned the engine, and drove out behind the Jeep.
-
He had created an intricate house of cards, built on illusion, promises, and favors – the currency of Eastern Europe and a building block of the society in which he had grown up.