Vanguard (34 page)

“What was the worst outcome you could have had from your search? Finding out that Michael was dead?”

“No,” she said. “It would have been not knowing. It would have been searching every tent, looking into every face and never finding the one I was looking for. It would have been following every lead, combing the country top to bottom, and never turning up any trace of him.” She could see tears in her eyes on the television. “Spending the rest of my life wondering what had happened, never knowing, never getting closure. Never seeing his face again, or hearing his voice.” On screen, Sophie had stopped talking because she was crying. Sitting on the couch with Michael, she felt the tears sliding down the sides of her face. He wiped them away and kissed the top of her head, holding her close.
Michael, Michael, Michael. He’s here. He’s safe.

On the other side of the room, Carter blew his nose and pulled Janet closer to him.

“But you did find him.”

“Yes. Just in time.”

“Just in time because – Michael, you had contracted a bacterial pneumonia that had broken out in the camp?”

“Yes. I fell ill very rapidly, having been living hand to mouth for several weeks before arriving at the camp. The fever took me so fast that I was incapable of making rational decisions within hours of becoming ill. The men I shared my tent with were suspicious of the Soviets, and did not take me to the medical post that had been set up. I would have died on the floor of my shelter had things gone differently. The last thing I remember was an aid worker entering my tent, asking my name.”

“And then?”

“And then I woke up in a clean, warm hospital bed on the Soviet side of the border to find Sophie giving me a hard time,” he said with a grin.

“He makes that sound easy, but I have the feeling it wasn’t,” Annabelle said, turning to Sophie. “How did you get him out of Parnaas?”

She could see herself pause and collect her thoughts on screen for a split second. They’d all agreed it would be best if she presented a sanitized version of her encounters with the Commandant on this program.

“I told lies. Lots of them. Good ones,” she said. “The Commandant did not want any of the refugees to leave Parnaas. But in the end, I persuaded him.”

“How close did Michael come to dying from the pneumonia?”

“Our medical director figures he might have survived another twelve hours at most. He had a 107 degree temperature when we found him. I didn’t recognize him.” On screen, Sophie touched her finger to the corner of her eye, and Michael leaned over to kiss the side of her head. She hadn’t realized they’d caught that moment on film.

“You are together now. Romantically.”

“Yes,” Sophie responded.

“For the first time in your eleven-year friendship.”

“That is correct,” said Michael.

“Many people find it difficult to believe that you haven’t been involved prior to this.”

“Ah, but that is a complex story,” he said, smiling. “We have been in love for a very long time, but we had many reasons why we could not act upon it. School. Our careers. Geography. Culture.” He smiled teasingly. “For a while we did not speak to one another.”

“You fought?”

“Oh, yes,” Sophie said. “We fought. Constantly, especially as teenagers. We still do. Only now, we’re better at compromising and making up.”

“What finally changed after all this time to bring you together? Was it the war? The threat of losing one another?”

“Not in the way most people would think,” Sophie said. “It certainly added a sense of urgency. But we would have gotten together even if the war had not broken out. It was time. After all these years, it was finally time.”

“Do you have plans for the future together? Marriage? Family?” They glanced at each other quickly and smiled.

“We have been dating for just five weeks. The topic has not yet come up in conversation,” he said delicately. Everyone laughed. “I am traditional in my views regarding relationships. Yes, I wish to marry Sophie. Sooner rather than later, if she permits. She already knows my views on having children.” Sophie blushed on screen. She’d remembered what he’d said to her at Carter’s house a few weeks earlier. “But I am willing to wait as long as I have to.”

“And you, Sophie?”

“I can’t imagine a life without Michael in it. Am I ready to get married and have babies? Not yet, but soon. I’ll do those things with him when the time comes.”

“And your careers?”

“I don’t plan on changing my line of work,” Sophie said. “Refugee Crisis International’s services are very much needed in this world.” They both looked at Michael. At the time, she had seen something in his eyes, something evasive. She saw it again now on screen.

“I have some thinking to do, decisions to make, about what my next steps are,” he said smoothly. “Some adjusting to do after several months under very challenging circumstances. For now, I will be staying in New York City and being thankful that I am alive.”

“Will you return to Orlisia one day?”

“I hope so,” said Michael. “Perhaps even to live for a little while?” His voice went up a bit at the end of the sentence, and he looked at Sophie out of the corner of his eye with a hopeful smile. On screen, she smiled at his hesitancy.

“Another topic that has not yet come up in conversation,” Sophie explained. “I wouldn’t be opposed to spending a few years in a free Orlisia in a time of peace. I’ve not seen the country at her best.”

Throughout the interview, Annabelle had had a folder beside her, from which she now drew a single piece of paper.

“I want to go back to something we touched on earlier. The media has been giving you a hard time over the question of cost. About how much money was spent rescuing this one individual while tens of thousands of others are in need.

“This is a balance sheet showing exactly how much money was spent to find and repatriate you, Michael. This is all a matter of public record, of course.” She handed the piece of paper to him, and he gave it a cursory glance.

“Yes, I am aware of this figure. I am also aware that it was fully reimbursed to the coalition by a private donor. No public money or donations were spent on this effort.” He handed the paper back to her.

“That amount is well into six figures,” she noted. “Do you know who made that donation?”

“No,” Sophie said honestly. “We were told that the donor requested anonymity. We respected that, and we are enormously grateful to them, whoever they might be.”

“We traced the parties involved and spoke with them.”

At the time of the interview, Sophie’s heart had sunk at Annabelle’s words. This was a gross violation of someone’s privacy. She and Michael had suspected that the money had been donated by the Orlisian community, or by Maxwell and Signe themselves. Whoever it was, the donor didn’t want people to know.

“The party eventually agreed to be interviewed for this program. Would you like to see that interview?”

“Do we have a choice?” asked Michael acidly.

Annabelle laughed. “No, you don’t. Here it is.”

The Global Youth Leadership program is known the world over for its prestigious academic program. During their year abroad, the students who qualify for this program have opportunities that most of us only dream of. Meeting with world leaders and heads of state. Hands-on experience in their fields of study. Ports of call on each of the seven continents, including the Antarctic. Upon completing GYL, these young scholars have a network of contacts that most professionals do not collect in a lifetime.

But that is not, according to GYL alumni, the most valuable thing that they get from the program.

“The friendships you form as a class, the bond we have with one another, is lifelong and life altering,” came a familiar voice from the screen. Dressed in a suit and tie and looking every inch the power broker that he was, was Carter DeVries of DeVries Financial.

“Jesus, look at that. I am seriously losing my hair,” said Carter in the room. Everyone laughed.

On screen, he continued. “For our class, this has been a very difficult and emotional year. First, one of our classmates was lost in a warzone and given up for dead by nearly everyone around us. Then we watched as a second classmate risked her life to get him back. Now they’re getting dragged through the mud by the media.

“Michael is my best friend on this earth, and Sophie’s a close second. They are also two of the most stubborn people I know. Neither of them would have accepted financial help from the class directly. So we chose to give our support a different way.” Carter grinned, so proud of himself.

“The GYL class of 2002 paid the bill for these costs, willingly, voluntarily. Every penny, and then some.” His grin broadened. “Welcome home, guys.”

The camera returned to Michael and Sophie. On screen, she wept and even Michael’s eyes seemed suspiciously shiny. Annabelle smiled.

“You have very loyal friends, you know.” Both of them nodded, still stunned. “There are fifty people in your class, plus a number of road staff. Not one of them would speak to our reporters until Carter DeVries came forward to make this statement on their behalf.”

“We’re pretty tight,” Sophie said.

“Any final thoughts that you wanted to share? Sophie?”

“Only to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to all the people who made it possible for me to find Michael again. I didn’t do any of this alone, and I’m grateful for the support I’ve received.”

“Michael?”

“I want an end to this war,” he said passionately. “I want Orlisia to be free again. Those are real people in Parnaas who have lost their homes, their families. Their captors would have them forced into slave labor. The world cannot stand by and allow this to happen, no matter how large and powerful the Soviet Republic is. I beg the United Nations to continue to take swift action to end the occupation and free my country.”

“Thank you for speaking with us. We are happy you are safe on American soil again.” Annabelle turned to the camera. “We leave you tonight with some still images of the Parnaas refugee camp, provided courtesy of the Refugee Crisis Coalition. I’m Annabelle Hunter. Goodnight.”

The pictures created a beautiful and haunting montage. At the end, the screen dissolved into darkness, and they showed a list of agencies where viewers could donate money or learn more about the refugee situation in Orlisia. When that disappeared, it was replaced by the address where viewers could obtain more information about GYL.

Then it was done. There was a long silence in the dark living room.

“That was extremely well done, my children,” said Signe emotionally. “I am proud of both of you. More than I can ever tell you.”

“We know how hard it was for both of you to do that,” said Maxwell. “You nailed it. Well done.” The phones – which had never stopped ringing and vibrating during the entire program – continued ringing.

“I’m just glad they didn’t crucify us.” Sophie looked at Michael curiously. “Are you okay?”

“I am not sure. I found it very difficult to watch. To experience the emotions over again.” He glared at Carter. “I still want to kill you for surprising us that way. But I will do that later.”

“You want me to take the money back?” asked Carter, putting little Michael over his shoulder to burp him. “I could use that cash to buy a new Jaguar, you know.” He lurched forward. “Damn it, he threw up down my back again.”

“I told you to use the cloth.” Janet wiped her husband’s back while Michael chuckled.

“Laugh away. It’ll be your turn soon enough,” warned Carter darkly.

Half an hour later, the DeVries family drove off into the night as Sophie and Michael waved from the doorstep.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Right now, I would like to go to bed.” Michael looked and sounded tense. “If you would prefer to stay up, perhaps listen to some of the many messages on your iPhone,” he said, gesturing to Sophie’s jittering phone, “I understand.”

“They can wait.”

~~ - ~~

Michael lay in bed, his hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling in the darkness. He didn’t move when Sophie got under the covers and lay down on her side, facing him. Finally, he sighed and rolled over, taking her into his arms. He put his face into the crook of her neck, and ran his hand up and down her back.

“You were perfect,” she whispered.

“Thank you. It hurt me to see it again. More so than to actually do the interview.”

“I know. I’m proud of you. On both counts. On all counts.” She wound her arms around his waist. “You are braver than anyone else I know. Stronger. I love you more than my own life.”

“I made the decision to leave so easily.” He snapped his fingers in the darkness. “I had to go, and so I went. And now I will never be the same. I will never be able un-see the things I saw in the warzone, in Parnaas. It was madness.”

“War usually is.”

He didn’t answer, only pulled her closer together so that their bodies were as close as they could be. They fell asleep like that.