The Heroic Surgeon

by Olivia Gates

  “You’re sorry I’m alive?” He jerked at her intensity then at her rough grab for him. He was already so shaky, he lost his balance. They went down together on the mattress. She kissed him, hard, then harder and harder, all over his face, her tears filling his eyes, his mouth, his soul. She expended her frenzy and slumped on him, her lips at his healed wound, her bleeding words filling his chest. “I lived only when I loved you. Now I realize it’s because you loved me, too. I don’t care for survival any more. Either I live, and that’s with you, or I don’t.”

  He went death still. Pain was flooding his left side. Was he having a massive coronary? Would he die of too much love, in her arms? He wasn’t doing that to her either. “No, Gulnar. No.” His rasp was almost inaudible. “You had the right idea all your life, not getting close so it wouldn’t hurt to lose. I won’t stay close so it will kill you to lose me. When I’m gone, you won’t know what happens to me, may even hope I’m OK, and you’ll always remember me as I am now.”

  He tremblingly put her away and she clawed at him, weeping and wailing. “The only thing that will kill me is losing you this way. Have mercy, Dante, don’t leave me, not now that I know you love me, not this way…”

  He jumped to his feet, grabbed his shirt, his backpack. He’d run. Run until he dropped. Then he’d lie there and let go. He’d just end this.

  He escaped her snatching hands, long deaf so he wouldn’t hear her wails, snapped the tent’s zip down and ran out—and into six masked, armed men.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE men shoved him back into the tent, ramming him with the barrels of their guns. He shouted out the only thing screaming in his mind.

  “Put something on, Gulnar, now!”

  He struggled with them, giving her time to dress. In the end he stumbled back under their combined weight and violence, spilled from the inky night outside back into the light of their tent, glaringly artificial by comparison.

  His gaze sought her. She’d slipped into her track pants, was now quakingly buttoning up her shirt. Their eyes collided, clung, communicated.

  Don’t worry. I’ll be OK, his said.

  I’m not worried. We’re together, hers answered.

  One of the masked men barked something Dante recognized as Badovnan.

  “He’s saying we’re their prisoners. That they will avenge their brothers in arms,” Gulnar whispered.

  Dante laughed, loud and taunting. “How predictable.”

  The man barked again, at Gulnar. She said something, translated most probably. And the man turned on him, rammed him hard in his chest.

  Dante gritted his teeth. “Gulnar, tell him, I’m the one who brought their terrorist operation down and caused the deaths of two dozen of their comrades.”

  Gulnar shook her head and he snarled, “Tell him, Gulnar.”

  She held his eyes for one more second then turned to the man. Her rapid Badovnan was cut short when the man swung the back of his hand and slapped her so hard she staggered and tumbled to the ground, sprawled flat on her back.

  Dante’s world exploded in vicious crimson. He heard a deafening roar and then he was straddling the man and bashing his head on the ground, the manic bellows unbroken. Then the world exploded again, in a detonation of blue and yellow. Then black.

  Something fell on his cheek. He tried to brush it away and couldn’t find his hands. He didn’t care. Gulnar! Where was she?

  He opened his eyes and she was there. It had been her tears that had roused him from unconsciousness. She was leaning over him, kissing him, whispering he didn’t understand what. Then he did.

  “Thank God—Oh, darling, are you OK?”

  He didn’t find his voice so he nodded. It took him another chaotic moment to realize. His hands were tied behind his back. Then it all came back.

  He’d attacked the piece of trash who’d struck Gulnar down. He remembered his clear intention to kill the man. No one was abusing her ever again. He’d given it a good shot, too, until the bastard’s comrades had come to his rescue. From the nauseating pounding in his head, and the fact that he’d been unconscious, they’d bashed him, and hard, on the head.

  He struggled up to a sitting position, looked around.

  Gulnar gave him specifics of their location. “It’s one of their bases in the Badovnan mountains. We drove for seven hours.”

  He’d been out that long? He wondered if he’d have any residual neurological damage. Didn’t matter now. One thing did. Getting Gulnar out. To plan this, he had to have as many facts as possible. “Molokai?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess I should have expected it.”

  “I don’t see why you should have. It wasn’t very plausible for him to venture into the Sredna camp when it’s heavily guarded by a multinational peace-keeping force.”

  “Not plausible, but apparently very possible, since we’re here.”

  “They had plenty of help on the inside, people who made it possible for them to infiltrate and overpower security.”

  It figured. “The woman who confronted you the day you arrived?”

  “And whomever she convinced to help. I guess it was too much to believe she’d set aside her hatred.”

  “The vindictive bitch! You personally saved her youngest child when she was dumb enough not to recognize he was having an anaphylactic reaction and not his usual asthma attack!”

  Gulnar edged closer to him, rested her head on his shoulder. “I guess she hated me even more afterwards.”

  Outrage rushed to his head. “Sick. Just plain sick.”

  “But not surprising. You don’t find a lot of balanced psyches in refugee camps, Dante.”

  “Don’t make excuses for that bitch. You’re what proves a pure soul remains so no matter what.” Her eyes filled. He bent and closed each one with a hot, cherishing kiss. “Which is probably more reason for her to hate you.” He straightened. They needed to use the minutes they had to themselves. “What more do you know?”

  “Just that we’re waiting for their boss to come, that he intends to make an example of us for the example we spoiled.”

  Hmm. Molokai himself was coming? He could use that.

  And he would get his chance, right now. The door to their cell opened, and four armed men preceded a taller, more distinctive one. Molokai.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t our worthless host!” Dante took the offensive. He knew what kind of instinctive response he would get from Molokai. He made his blood boil. And one of the men present was Molokai’s right-hand man. The one who understood good English.

  Molokai just smirked. “Guerriero. We meet again.”

  “Yeah, fancy that. Still playing terrorist, Molokai, like the vicious, stupid failure that you are? Is this how you pretend to be a man? Play with big guns and attack only the unarmed? You want to make an example of me? How about you do it personally, you bed-wetter?”

  Molokai’s steel-gray eyes flared. Then froze again. “If you think you’re going to anger me so I’ll kill you right away, you’re wrong.”

  Dante captured the eyes of Molokai’s right-hand man, shoved his point home. “I’m daring you to show your men you can kill me without their help. You’ve made fools of them, sold them the lie that you’re a man when you’re just a dirty rat, that you’re a hero when you’re just an arms dealer making millions from their deaths and blind faith. I’m a surgeon, and I use my hands only to heal people. You’re supposed to be a killer. Let’s see who can actually—”

  “Shut up, Guerriero. I should have killed you that day you walked into my camp, asking to collect your debt!”

  Good. He was already angry. On to the next step. “You didn’t only because I embarrassed you and your men were already restless about the siege in the municipal building. But you always kill those who help you, don’t you? Like your brave men in the hostage situation? Do you…” he swung his gaze to Molokai’s right-hand man “…know that Molokai sent your comrades to die? That he never intended to stage an attack to save
them, that he intended to detonate the place with them inside? He’s only angry his plan didn’t work, that they didn’t all die!”

  Molokai took a few angry steps towards him, intending to kick him. Then he suddenly stopped and turned his soulless eyes to Gulnar. No. Keep your attention with me, you bastard!

  Dante threw himself at his feet, bowled him over. Molokai landed with a heavy thud on the floor. Dante mounted him with his free legs and rammed him in his jaw with his head. In seconds he was hauled off him and the impacts of a dozen rifle butts were screaming down his nerves.

  Molokai staggered to his feet, holding his jaw. “Trying to turn my men against me won’t work, Guerriero…”

  “Oh, no?” He turned to the men. “Who do you believe? You kidnapped me from a refugee camp filled with your people, where I’ve been living in the tent you saw for yourself, to treat them, to save their lives. What does your leader do for these people? Or is he splitting his money with you and that’s why you don’t care?”

  Gulnar suddenly spoke, translating, and from the amount she said it seemed it was everything he’d said from the beginning. He wanted to shut her up, made a desperate gesture for her to, but she shook her head and plowed on.

  Molokai went for her and Dante roared, “Come near her and you will die, right now, Molokai! Do you hear me? You know I can do it. I brought your trained armed men down, alone and unarmed. I don’t need my hands to snap your neck!”

  Molokai stopped, his lips compressed. Gulnar kept talking. Then he smiled. “So she isn’t just your harlot, huh? You care about her!”

  Oh, God, no!

  “That makes everything easier.” Molokai rubbed his reddish beard. “You see, Guerriero, I want to put you on video, saying what I tell you to, begging and weeping for your life. I knew you might refuse to, even with torture. She’d do it, but I don’t want a woman. Not good for our image. I want you! Now, if you don’t, we’ll rip her apart a piece at a time until you do!”

  Dante’s blood charred in apoplectic impotence. Gulnar said something to Molokai in Badovnan. His men gasped then a couple burst out in helpless snickers. She said more and two laughed outright.

  Molokai snatched his gun from his holster and turned on her.

  “Shut up, Gulnar!” Dante growled.

  “Easy on the English, darling. The guys didn’t understand a thing until I explained, and the one who understands English I think is with his boss on it. I think it was news to the others.” Her eyes swung to Molokai. “Seems you’re not that popular either, if they enjoy your embarrassment that much, Molokai.”

  Molokai bared his teeth. “Azeri bitch, I can shoot pieces off you and you’d still live. I don’t need you in one piece to have your lover begging to do my bidding!”

  Gulnar smirked. “Go ahead, you fart! Makes you more and more of the brainless, rattled coward that you are! So scared of a tied-up woman!” She quickly translated to the others, drawing more of their resentful glee.

  “Gulnar!” Dante was losing his mind. He was still male and entitled to challenge Molokai to a degree, but her…Molokai might shoot her outright!

  She turned flashing eyes on him. “I live with you, or not at all!”

  No. No way.

  Dante struggled to his feet. “Molokai! I’ll do what you want. One condition. She walks out of here, gets delivered back to GAO, unharmed. I get proof of that, I’ll record anything you want!”

  “No, Dante. He’ll double-cross you! He betrayed his own men and you think he’ll honor his word to you, after you exposed him to his men?” She rushed to translate to the men.

  Molokai gave her a murderous glance, circled around him. “How can I be sure you’d keep your word? You broke your word to me once.”

  Dante almost gagged on rage and loathing. “I didn’t give you my word then. You allowed me two lives, didn’t ask me to pledge my agreement. This time I am giving you my word.”

  The men’s murmuring rose at Gulnar’s translation and Molokai’s almost colorless eyes crinkled. He was enjoying this, the son of a bitch! He said something to his men. They fidgeted.

  They were hesitating to obey him!

  Yes, yes! Their plan was working.

  One of the men said something. Gulnar translated. “He’s asking him if what we said is true.”

  Molokai turned on his man, fury blotching his pale complexion. Gulnar kept talking, addressing the other men. “I’m telling them their turn is coming, that he will just keep conning them, disposing of them one by one and getting more stupid recruits all the time, using their heroic example.”

  Molokai turned the gun on her and one of his men stayed his hand, raised his voice. The enraged exchange went over Dante’s head. He only knew the tide was turning. He noticed the right-hand man slipping out. Then all hell broke loose.

  There was a gunshot. A thunderclap, curdling Dante’s blood. His shouts for Gulnar to get down were drowned in more and more gunshots and roars. Then a fully fledged storm of gunfire broke out—outside.

  A man, bloody and inert, fell over Dante. He struggled to shove the body off him, bellowing for Gulnar to stay down, to answer him. He was heaving in a breath to bellow another shout when everything hushed. For five seconds. Then the door to their cell exploded open and a dozen heavily armed soldiers stormed in.

  Dante barely registered them, his eyes seeing only to find Gulnar, his breath coming only to gasp an incoherent litany of her name. Then he found her. Face down, with one of the fallen men on top of her.

  Hands were on him, someone was cutting his restraints and he was roaring for her. He exploded from the hands that pulled him to his feet, hauled the man off her and hurled himself to the ground beside her. She was covered in blood, unmoving. Air screamed in his chest, came out in choppy howls, his hands, out of control, groped for her pulse. Nothing. Nothing.

  “Gulnar!”

  Someone tried to help him turn her over. “No!” He rammed him away. No one was touching her. He’d do everything. He’d save her. He’d stop her hemorrhage and she’d be OK. Get yourself together!

  “An emergency bag, right now!” he bellowed again, and the man who’d been trying to help sprang to his feet and ran out.

  Forcing his hands to steady, Dante wiped his tears away, their flow only thickening as he turned her with all the care and the desperation that had long ruptured his heart. He had to hang on, for her. He’d give her every drop of his blood. And what if it wasn’t enough…?

  No! She had to live. He had it all planned. Her safe new life.

  He checked her, murmuring to her. “Gulnar, amore mio, ti amo, ti amo. Open your eyes for me, darling.” Where had the bullet hit her? Where had this blood come from? Her head, her chest, her abdomen, her back—nothing anywhere. So where? Where?

  He should have taken her away sooner! He shouldn’t have left her living as she had been one more day! He was to blame for this. He’d made an enemy of Molokai. He’d kept her near him, made her a target, too. But his greatest crime was that he’d been about to leave her, desolate and broken. She’d begged him not to leave her. Oh, God…

  “Gulnar, amore, I won’t ever leave you, never waste a moment we can spend together…Just open your eyes—I beg you!”

  The emergency bag landed beside him. He didn’t even notice who’d brought it. He tore it open, produced a stethoscope. But he was weeping now, huge racking sobs shaking him apart, and he couldn’t hear a thing. He forced himself under control and smoothed her hair away, traced her closed lids, coaxed her flaccid lips apart, bent and breathed his whole life into them.

  Her lips moved beneath his and his heart stopped. He jerked back to look at her and her eyes shot open, then she shot up to a sitting position, spluttering. He almost blacked out.

  She swayed, too, slumped back, holding her head. “Molokai…he shot his man—he fell on me. I barely turned my face away before hitting the ground…” Her eyes focused on his distorting face and panic flooded them. “Dante, darling—what happened? Are you hu
rt?”

  “Are you? I can’t find any wounds and there is so much blood…” His words choked, his hands feverish all over her, his tears running faster.

  “It has to be that guy’s. I only hit my head—again…” He immediately pounced, examining her head, revisited nightmares of their first day, of fractures and accumulating intracranial bleeding robbing him of all reason. She caught at his hands, brought him down to her, rubbing her face against his. His buried his face into hers harder. He’d never, never let go. At least until…She groaned and he jackknifed up. “I’m OK. I know I am. It’s just I have a wrecking ball inside my head. I always end up hitting the ground head first. Seems my head is the heaviest part of me!”

  “And since it’s also the toughest part of you, we shouldn’t worry.”

  Both Dante and Gulnar blinked and swung their heads towards the speaker. Emilio!

  “You both OK, then?” Emilio lips were tilted into a half-smile. His eyes were anything but humorous. Both Dante and Gulnar, still clinging to each other, nodded mutely at him. “That was too close, folks. If it weren’t for the info we got from Helena, we would never have found you. Yeah, your instincts about her were correct, Dante. She’s Molokai’s mole and she worked with Tatiana to distract the guards at the camp’s access point near our tents. There were many casualties.”

  “Damn! Damn!” Dante snarled. “I should have heeded my instincts. And GAO should—must have—a better screening system for its recruits.”

  They were silent for a moment. Then Gulnar moved. Dante swooped to support her within the curve of his body. She chewed her flushed lip thoughtfully. “How did you find her out?”

  Emilio pursed his lips, his face grim. “She seemed agitated after the attack and your disappearance became known. Her agitation felt disproportionate to her attachment to either of you and I got suspicious. I…persuaded her to talk. She was distraught that they took you, too. It was why she was so agitated in the first place. You’re her precious Dr. Guerriero!”