Vanguard (7 page)

“A moment of your time upstairs, Sophie,” Maxwell said after she’d handed them the information she had. She wondered if he had another shopping bag full of cash for her, but today he had something different.

“Three addresses.” He laid index cards down one by one in front of her. “Safe houses, you understand? One in Finland, two in the Soviet Republic itself. Don’t take those cards with you to Orlisia. Memorize the addresses, then destroy them. Tell them you know me, and they will take you in, hide you. They are completely trustworthy.”

“Thank you for this.” Max’s years of diplomatic postings and UN experience were invaluable for information like this. She tucked the cards into her bag, then started in surprise when Maxwell came around the desk to take her hands in his.

“You’ve been more than just our connection to the coalition these last few months,” he said, his dark eyes soft. “You’ve been a daughter to us.”

Sophie blushed when he said that. She always felt like such an impostor when Michael’s parents treated her like family. But what Maxwell said next shook her to the core.

“
Mana meita
, I know you love my son, love him enough to risk your life many times over. Although he’s never spoken to us directly about his feelings for you, both Signe and I believe he feels the same way. You’ve been wise to establish your careers before settling down. But, Sophie, when you bring Michael home, perhaps you two could get on with the business of being together? Signe and I wouldn’t mind some grandchildren, you know.”

Sophie looked at him incredulously, not sure if she should laugh or cry. In the end, she did a little of both.

She left the brownstone in the freezing cold, turning one more time to wave to Michael’s parents, who stood on the front step watching her. Signe wept, and Sophie saw Max put his arm around her to guide her back into the house.
He waited more than a decade to marry her
, she thought suddenly.
Four years of which he spent alone, here in New York, praying that the first Soviet-Orlisian war would eventually give her and Michael back to him.

Sophie could only hope her own wait would have a similarly happy ending.

~~ - ~~

The strike team met Friday evening for a final briefing. The team included representatives from all sixteen of the coalition agencies – experts in a variety of fields from medicine to sanitation to logistics.

“Okay.” Sophie gestured for quiet. “Looks like we’re ready to go. I’m going to cover a few housekeeping items, and we’ll get some sleep. We’re going to need it.

“First, I’ve taken temporary leave of absence from RCI while I’m heading up this mission. Will accepted my notice last night.” She heard murmurs in the room. “Consider me a freelancer. I need to be as objective as possible.

“The Rev is my second-in-command.” She nodded to Dave Bryson, the veteran head of one of the biggest Christian relief aid agencies in the US. He and Sophie had their differences about the role of religion in international development, but she had a ton of respect for him. In addition to being a skilled and compassionate aid worker, he was a card-carrying man of the cloth, hence his nickname. Choosing him, and not Will, as her second helped balance things out between the religious and secular factions of the coalition.

“The Rev is the go-to guy if I’m not available. There’ll be times when our philosophies won’t mesh, we know it. The exec team will meet daily to deal with issues that aren’t covered by the protocol we’ve developed. The bottom line is this: if you’re faced with a situation with lives at stake, don’t call a committee meeting. Work the problem, and we’ll fight about it later. I’m not going to bust anyone’s ass for making the best call they could under challenging circumstances. The Rev feels the same way as I do.” Sophie paused. “Not that the Rev busts asses.” A wave of laughter went through the group.

“Last thing I’m going to talk about is Vanguard.” Another murmur from the crowd. Everyone had heard they were to be keeping an eye out for a “person of interest” in the camp. Sophie flipped the computer open and projected an image up on the screen at the front of the room.

“We believe there may be an American citizen caught in Parnaas.” Michael’s passport photo glared down from the wall, but Sophie didn’t react. No one needed to know about the emotional tie between her and Vanguard until he was safely out of Orlisia. If the Soviets discovered a weakness, they wouldn’t hesitate to press it. “Michael Nariovsky-Trent is Orlisian by birth, a US citizen and a former Médecins Sans Frontières doctor. He’s in Orlisia illegally, likely working for the resistance. Last contact was September 10 of last year.” She flipped to an altered image she’d had created.

“He’s probably using the name Mikael Nariovsky. This is a computer-generated image of what he may look like today.” A stranger looked down at them. Michael’s curls were shorn, and the artist had taken thirty or forty pounds off him. “The US government would prefer if Dr. Nariovsky-Trent could be removed from Orlisia as quietly as possible.

“If you encounter this person, do
not
draw attention. Detain him. Pretend you’ve got a paperwork problem, ask for his help, pull him aside to chat, whatever. Use the walkie to report in. Code word is Vanguard. Remember that our walkie signals will be monitored, so try to be imaginative. Screaming that you’ve found Vanguard is not imaginative.” Everyone chuckled.

Sophie steeled herself for what she had to say next. “This is a secondary mission consideration. Our primary job is to get this refugee camp functioning. We all know there are upward of one hundred thousand people in the camp. Vanguard is just one. Use your judgment. Questions?”

There were a few relating to protocols and scheduling. When they petered out, people started preparing to leave. “One more thing,” Sophie called, and the rustling stilled. “I’d like the Rev to bless the mission. For those of the non-Christian persuasion, substitute the deity of your choice. For the atheists in the crowd – and you all know that includes me – just bow your heads and look serious.”

The Rev took the floor in astounded silence. Everyone knew Sophie vehemently opposed religious involvement in international development and was a proud, self-proclaimed atheist, so this was a surprising – and unifying – move on her part.

“Thanks, Sophie.” The Rev raised his hands. “Lord, we ask for your blessing upon us as we prepare for this important mission of mercy. Help us to do your work. We pray for…” Dave continued, but Sophie had stopped listening. After all she’d seen in the field over the years, she no longer believed that there was a higher power who paid attention to anything going on in the world. But this time, she wasn’t hedging any bets. She’d take any help she could get, including that of a deity she didn’t believe existed.

Please. I’ll give you anything, just please let him be alive. Let me be in time.

“We ask especially for your blessing upon Sophie, our courageous leader in this mission. Give her strength as she leads us in saving your people in Orlisia. Keep her and everyone else in the coalition safe as we carry out your work. Amen.” There was a murmured response from the group, then silence.

“Everyone at the designated meeting area at JFK by 2 p.m. tomorrow. Flight leaves at 7 p.m. Sleep well, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chapter 4

January 25, 2014

Will watched Anjali ease herself out from under Sophie’s sleeping body and walk down the aisle to him. Sophie had curled up against his wife as soon as the plane had taken off, and Anjali held her until her friend had fallen fully asleep. One of the big airlines had donated a flight to the coalition, so the strike team had the plane to themselves. Most were taking advantage of the extra space by stretching out to sleep.

“Asleep.” Anjali sat down in Will’s lap and put her arms around his waist. She pulled his shirt out of his pants and slid her hand up his back. He moved his face to kiss her. Anjali always got this way when they went on a mission together. Will had never imagined that marrying a field doctor would lead to so much amazing sex on airplanes.

Anjali Shah had entered his life just after Sophie had moved to New York to join him in starting Refugee Crisis International. Their first task had been to recruit an executive team, including a medical director.

Anjali had come from Médecins Sans Frontières with a remarkable amount of experience in the field for someone in her thirties. The little Indian doctor was five feet and two inches of pure hellfire, working under horrific conditions without complaint. Will had once seen her help dig a burial trench by hand in 115 degree heat during a cholera epidemic. Men twice her height and three times her weight did her bidding without question.

Of course, he’d fallen in love with her. In addition to being an excellent field doctor, Anjali was beautiful with her long black hair, brown skin, and slender figure. To this day, he lost his mind every time she fluttered her wide brown eyes at him. They’d married two years after their first trip to the field together, a violent and dramatic mission to India that had nearly cost them both their lives.

He rubbed Anjali’s back tenderly. He couldn’t imagine a day on this earth without her. He hated flying into a warzone with her, hated having her in harm’s way. When Will tried to imagine how Sophie felt – knowing the man she loved was missing and quite possibly dead – his brain went on overload. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Sophie’s sanity might not survive if Michael didn’t make it home.

“I’ve still never met him,” Will said quietly. “After all these years. I feel like I know so much about him, but our paths have never crossed.”

“The universe conspires to keep you two apart, I’m convinced,” said Anjali. That Michael and Will had never met was a running joke, although Will was pretty sure Sophie had engineered a few of their near misses over the years. To introduce Michael to Will represented a level of commitment that she hadn’t seemed comfortable with. “Even I’ve met him.”

Her husband pulled back in surprise. “You have? When? Where?”

“Haven’t I ever told you?” Anjali’s brow puckered in thought. “In 2006, I think. I was representing Médecins Sans Frontières at a career fair at Harvard between field assignments. He came by my booth and introduced himself, said he was interested in doing some development work after he got his MD and before he started practicing. We talked for a while. Very intense, very idealistic.”

“I can’t believe you remember him.”

“You don’t forget a guy like Vanguard.” She traced circles on Will’s inner arm. “He’s compelling. Just as intense as Sophie – and you know how intense she is. Plus he’s smoking hot.” He could feel her grinning against his neck, and knew she was trying to get a rise out of him. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“Will,” Anjali whispered, “do you think he’s alive?”

He let out a long sigh against her neck. He told Sophie on a daily basis that he thought Michael was alive. Here with Anjali, he could qualify his optimism.

“Let’s put it this way,” he said. “If it were anyone else, I’d say it’s a million-to-one shot that we find him alive. But Vanguard went through the same program that Sophie did.”

Anjali looked at him curiously. “GYL? You think
that
will make the difference?”

“If I hadn’t met Sophie near the beginning of her GYL year and seen the impact it had on her afterward, I never would have believed it myself. Look at everything she’s accomplished in her short career. She’s carried that experience with her every step of the way.” He looked over at his protégé’s sleeping form a few rows up. “Vanguard is GYL too. He’s got that same experience. Maybe it’ll give him the edge to survive.

“God help her if it doesn’t.”

~~ - ~~

They landed in Kaliningrad, the westernmost city in the Soviet Republic, around midday. Unloading began immediately. The strike team commandeered a three-star hotel until they could set up their own base closer to Parnaas. Snow lay on the ground, dirty drifts against buildings, icy sidewalks, damp wind.

The next day, the Rev and Sophie visited the Soviet ministry for foreign affairs. Everybody exchanged greetings. Sophie received many effusive compliments on her mastery of the Russian language, and nothing else happened. They repeated the same process the next day. And the next. It was all part of the diplomatic dance. While the Rev and Sophie kicked their heels at the government office, the team secured vehicles, connected with local aid agencies that would supply most of the labor in the base camp, gathered intelligence, and hired local translators and guards.

On the fourth visit, they made progress.

“The Commandant of the Parnaas camp is willing to receive you,” the Soviet envoy said with a thin smile. “Only Mr. Bryson and Ms. Swenda to begin with. The remainder of your party can follow in a day or two if the Commandant permits.”

Nobody loved the idea of the two coalition leaders walking into the refugee camp alone, but they had little choice. By this point, Sophie would have crawled the entire distance, and the Rev felt the same way.

~~ - ~~