“What are you doing?” Anna asked.
“You’ve got me interested,” she admitted. “I want to take a peek at your Prince Charming!”
With a girlish giggle, Anna rolled to the edge of the bed and hit the floor in a mad dash to catch up with her older sister.
The bedrooms for the entire family were located on the third floor. They took the elevator down one level, which was home to the kitchen as well as the infirmary.
Reaching the doors to the medical area, Anna held her finger to her lips. She looked around and seemed suspicious. “That’s odd,” she whispered. “Dargo’s had two guards posted here ever since Cyrus was brought up. I wonder why he let them go?”
Natasha shrugged, peeking through the small window set inside the swinging double doors of the infirmary. The lights were dim and the room was cloaked in shadows. One of the three main beds had been wheeled to the center of the room. She could see the vague outline of a figure laying in it. A collection of medical devices flanked the bed near the man’s pillow. Even from across the room she could tell that some of the equipment monitored his vitals.
Slowly, they pushed through the swinging doors and slipped into the room. Though she was silent, Natasha could sense her sister right at her heels. As they entered, the quiet ‘thump’ and ‘hiss’ of the medical equipment became audible.
As she stepped to the foot of the bed and stared at the unconscious figure lying helpless, Natasha felt her heart seize in her chest. Her knees threatened to buckle and, for a few moments, the entire room went silent as the dull clatter of equipment was muted by her mind’s inability to interpret what she saw. With lips quivering silently, she felt the floor shift under her feet.
She suddenly felt Anna’s hand on her arm. “Tash, are you alright?” she pleaded in a harsh whisper. “You don’t look so good.”
Natasha turned and locked eyes with her sister. She struggled to reconcile the story Anna had relayed back in her bedroom. “This is who you brought in from outside the gate?”
Anna nodded. Her lack of understanding was evident in her eyes.
Natasha felt her sister take her by the hand. “Come on. We need to get out of here. You look like you need to sit down—and we don’t want to get caught in here,” Anna said.
In a trance, Natasha let her sister lead her from the room. As they reached the doorway, she stole one more glance over her shoulder and confirmed that the figure in the bed was exactly who she thought.
What in God’s name is Jonny doing here?
Chapter 32
The Voss Compound
5:58 pm
Watching from the shadows in the corner of the room, Dargo remained silent watching the two girls sneak into the infirmary. They had no business there, but at the same time he could hardly blame them. The young man’s arrival was the most unusual thing to happen around there in a long time. He’d worked hard to keep it that way.
He chose not to interrupt their sojourn. The kid had been unconscious since he’d been brought through the gate. Even so, with his restraints he didn’t pose an immediate risk to anyone. Still, the fact that the girls had snuck in at all was a bit disconcerting.
Dargo watched as the sisters stepped closer to the bed. But when Natasha took a look at the young man, her demeanor changed. Her hand shot to her mouth and she looked as if she might collapse. Dargo couldn’t understand her reaction. The boy was badly banged up, but Natasha was made of sterner stuff. He was surprised to see her react in such a way.
Even more surprising, it took Anna several attempts to regain her sister’s attention. Anna hadn’t reacted to the young man’s injuries in such a way. The nature of Natasha’s unusual response nearly caused Dargo to step from the shadows. He only stopped himself at the last moment. There was more to be gained from silent observation, than loud interrogation. Natasha had never been entirely forthcoming when it came to personal matters, which is something Dargo already knew. And whatever was wrong now seemed to be deeply personal.
Though it was difficult, Dargo remained silent. Two minutes later, he watched Anna lead her sister from the room. It was difficult to tell in the poor lighting, but Dargo was almost certain that he saw tears running down Natasha’s face.
Chapter 33
The Voss Compound
Time: Unknown
Opening his eyes, Cyrus found himself in a dimly lit infirmary. He lay in a bed that had been wheeled to the center of the large space, several machines pulsing quietly at his side. His heart rate, blood pressure, and other vitals were displayed on screens among the equipment.
The simple act of turning his head caused a sharp pain to spike through his skull, and the meager contents of his stomach to roil in protest. He closed his eyes as the room spun and the pain radiated across the back of his neck and down his spine. When he tried to raise a hand to steady himself, he found that he could not. Braving his vision once more, fearfully, he cracked opened his eyes. He found his wrists strapped to the rails of the hospital bed.
Confused, he looked around the sterile room. Memories of what had happened outside the gates of the Voss compound flooded back, and he suddenly had a good idea of exactly where he was.
At least, he hoped that he knew.
His suspicion was further supported when a figure stepped from the shadows—a large man, easily six and a half feet tall with wide shoulders. Cyrus guessed him to be in his mid-fifties. He had short, silver-gray hair, a square face, and a strong jawline. The two-day-old stubble on his face was also gray.
The man advanced into better light with slow, deliberate steps. When he stopped, he stood silently at the end of the bed and regarded Cyrus with penetrating dark eyes. He was a bear of a man. He looked far more formidable in person than Cyrus had expected. His name was Ian Dargoslav, and he was the head of Doctor Voss’s security team. Dargoslav was more commonly known simply as Dargo, according to the reports Cyrus had read.
While Dargo regarded him silently, Cyrus took a few moments to consider his situation. If things had worked according to his plan, he was now inside the infirmary of Voss’s secure installation. The hint of a disapproving scowl evident in Dargo’s expression definitely supported that theory. According to all that Cyrus had read, Dargo was near fanatical about limiting outsider’s access to the compound. In the last fifteen years, few had ventured beyond the installation’s front gates.
Looking down at his restrained hands, Cyrus pulled at the straps. “Is this really necessary?” He asked. “Where am I?”
Appraising him for another quiet moment, Dargo turned and walked a few paces away. He pulled a small radio from inside his suit coat and tapped the transmit button. “He is awake and coherent,” was all that he said before slipping the radio once more into a pocket.
The man spoke English, but his voice was heavily accented with Russian. Not to the point where he was difficult to understand, but enough that it was clear English was not his first, or preferred language. That was a relief to Cyrus since, while he was familiar with Russian and German, he wasn’t fluent in either. Though the Isle of Kapros’s official language was English, its proximity to Norway and Sweden meant that both languages were well represented within the nation’s borders.
A couple of minutes later, a tall thin woman pushed through the swinging double-doors. Her long, dark hair was a striking contrast to the white linen lab coat she wore. According to her file, Cyrus knew she was in her mid-thirties, and that serving as the compound’s medical doctor was only Gretchen Gamble’s ancillary responsibility. Approaching the bed, she examined the displays beside Cyrus before making eye contact.
“My name is Gretchen,” she said, in a detached, professional manner. “How are you feeling?”
“Where am I?” Cyrus asked, rather than offer an answer.
Before responding, Gretchen shot a look over to Dargo. He scowled, but then nodded his approval with a seemingly reluctant distaste.
“You’re in the infirmary at Doctor Voss’s family estate,” she
explained. “Tell me, are you in any pain?”
“Are you American?” Cyrus asked. His confusion was obvious on his face.
“Yes,” she smiled for the first time. “I’m the staff medic and personal—”
From a few feet behind her, Dargo cleared his throat. It was an obvious signal that she was revealing more than was appropriate. Cyrus realized that Dargo’s professionalism was everything he’d read it to be. The man didn’t miss a beat. No intelligence would be gained from her while he was around.
“American—yes,” she corrected herself, somewhat uncomfortably.
The squeak of the doors alerted them to a new arrival. Cyrus looked up to see Doctor Rutger Voss for the first time. He was a compact man, perhaps five-foot-six or seven, weighing no more than one hundred and forty pounds. He had a thin face, with a head that was bald on top and a fringe of gray circling just above the ears. Like Gretchen, Voss also wore a white lab coat.
Just before Voss reached Cyrus’s bedside, Dargo flipped a series of light switches on the wall. The overhead lights blinked on full force, driving every bit of shadow from the room.
Stabbing pain shot through Cyrus’s head as the light stabbed at his eyes. His first reaction, to shadow his face with his hands, was defeated by the restraints still wrapped around his wrists. He couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his mouth, as his eyelids slammed shut. He turned his head and fought the urge to vomit.
Voss reacted swiftly. Though Cyrus couldn’t see him, he heard his voice for the first time.
“Dargo!” Voss chastised. “That’s not necessary! Please turn off half the lights. You know the young man has a severe concussion!”
From behind closed eyelids, Cyrus saw the blazing light dim. Thankfully, his stomach reacted favorably and calmed to some degree. The stabbing pain, however, continued to shoot back and forth through his head, like a televised tennis match running on fast-forward.
He took a few deep breaths, but was still reluctant to open his eyes for fear of being sick. Suddenly, he felt a numbing sensation in his jaw. The sensation spread across his face and then through his head. It felt like he’d slowly submerged his skull in a bucket of cool water. It was an odd sensation, but strangely comforting.
Upon opening his eyes, Cyrus saw Gretchen pulling a syringe from the side of the IV bag that hung near his head. He wanted to ask what she’d done, but found himself momentarily unable to gather the words. The sudden reprieve from the unrelenting pain was refreshing. Even as he watched her step back from the IV stand, he felt the injection working its magic. Some measure of comfort began to reach his extremities for the first time since waking.
“Don’t worry,” Gretchen said, as if seeing the concern in his eyes. “It’s only something for the pain. You have a concussion, several deep lacerations, and deep tissue bruising to most of your torso. And that’s saying nothing of the gunshot wound to your abdomen. I’m afraid this pain medication is going to be your close friend for some time,” she concluded.
Despite the clinical way she’d recited his injuries, Cyrus recognized an almost maternal sympathy in her eyes. That fit with what he knew of her. Though Dargo had stopped her from explaining it, aside from being the facilities ad hoc doctor, she was also a professional tennis coach for Voss’s youngest daughter, Anna. According to the files, Gretchen and Anna had a close relationship. In some small ways, it seemed that Gretchen filled the role of Anna’s mother, a woman who had died shortly after Anna was born.
“Thank you,” Cyrus said finally. “That helps a great deal.”
“Surprisingly,” Gretchen continued, “those may not be your biggest problems. That gunshot wound had become badly infected. You’re lucky to be alive. To be honest, I’m not sure how you survived as long as you did.”
“I was worried about the infection,” Cyrus admitted. “I broke into a veterinary office outside of Copenhagen and helped myself to some antibiotics.”
A hint of a smile crossed Gretchen’s face. “Yes, we found the drugs among your belongings. You do realize those antibiotics were intended for dogs, don’t you?”
Cyrus offered a slightly embarrassed smile. “I figured that, if they were good enough for dogs, they were good enough for me.” Then, he thought better of his condition. “Then again, I’m not feeling so hot. Should I have looked for something used on horses?”
Gretchen burst out laughing. Voss joined in from his position behind her. The only one among them who was not amused, was Dargo; he remained stone faced and wary.
Voss wheeled a high office stool to the side of the bed, and climbed onto it. “All of this begs the question,” he asked rather frankly, “Why go to all the trouble? You were attacked—shot, actually. Why not go to the authorities?”
Cyrus took a long look at the man before responding. “You’re Doctor Voss?” he asked in a quiet voice.
The man nodded, smiling warmly. “Rutger Voss,” he said, and offered his hand.
Instinctively, Cyrus went to shake, but was held fast by the thick leather restraints.
Voss scowled and looked at the bindings as if seeing them for the first time. Then, he looked to Dargo. “I don’t think these are necessary. Please release the young man.”
Dargo didn’t move.
“Dargo,” Voss urged. “Please release him. He’s clearly no threat—certainly not in his current condition.”
Dargo simply shook his head, his expression cold and unchanging, silently refusing the request. Clearly Dargo took security far more seriously than Voss. It was surprising given the lengths Voss had gone to, securing his family in a compound the way that he had. Cyrus filed the information away for future reference.
“I’m sorry,” Voss said; his face red with embarrassment. “It’s his job to protect me from myself. Why don’t you tell us what happened? I’m sure once everything has been explained, even Dargo will have no problem releasing you from your bindings.”
His last words were barbed with sarcasm and spoken over his shoulder in Dargo’s general direction. Cyrus found himself already liking the small man with the comforting demeanor.
“It’s understandable,” Cyrus conceded. “Something’s going on and I’m not sure what it is. Your man is right to play it safe. Someone already tried to kill me, and I’m afraid they might try again.”
This was the next stage of the plan, and the reason he’d had Paul Gladd beat the living hell out of him just before getting off the train in Hamburg, Germany. Cyrus needed Voss to believe that someone was after him, and that the only place he would be safe was inside the walls of the high security compound. That would give Cyrus prolonged access to the facility and aid his infiltration.
The gunshot wound had been accidental, a parting gift from the female assassin on the train. The rest of the injuries were all the work of Paul Gladd, at Cyrus’s request. Even Gladd had been reluctant to offer up the level of beating that Cyrus insisted upon. But in the end, Cyrus had gotten exactly what he needed; complete with a concussion and more abrasions and contusions than he could easily count. The infection had been a bonus. Though the bullet had passed through his abdomen without striking any vital organs, it had managed to offer up a nasty infection. Cyrus really had broken into a veterinary clinic to find treatment as he claimed.
Cyrus needed to be offered sanctuary, and in order to get Dargo to go along with it, he knew he would need to convince Voss that there were life or death consequences in refusing him. He had already seen Dargo overrule his employer when it came to matters of security. He had to put Voss in a situation where he would not allow Dargo to countermand him.
“After I was attacked on the train,” Cyrus explained. “I called Professor Ragsdale back at the university. Since I was delivering a package for him, I needed to know how to proceed. But I couldn’t reach Ragsdale at first. When I finally got a hold of someone close to him, I was told that he’d been mugged and was in the hospital.
“My friend didn’t know what happened, but he said that Ragsdale was in
really bad shape. It didn’t take a genius to realize that what happened to the Professor was likely related to what had just happened to me. So I had to make a decision. I had to figure out what to do with the package that I was supposed to deliver to you.”
“And you decided to fulfill your task and complete the delivery?” Voss seemed surprised at that decision. “Why not go to the authorities?”
Here we go…
Shifting in his half reclined position, Cyrus hinted that he was reluctant to answer the question. He took a few moments to consider his words before responding. “Ragsdale gets himself into trouble from time to time,” he finally said.
Cyrus was trying to be vague, hoping to seem as if he were being diplomatic regarding Ragsdale. He really didn’t know how much Voss knew about Ragsdale’s proclivities.
“You’re referring to his gambling?” Voss asked.
Cyrus met his eyes. “Yes,” he said with relief. “I wasn’t sure if what happened to Ragsdale was the result of trouble he’d gotten himself into over a gambling debt. And when I realized that I was pulled into whatever mess he’d started, I knew I could be getting myself into even more trouble by going to the police.”
From the look on Voss’s face, Cyrus could tell he was processing the line of thought. Dargo’s face, however, betrayed nothing. He simply watched Cyrus with cold, dispassionate eyes.
“To be honest,” Cyrus said, somewhat sheepishly, “I didn’t know if bringing the package to you here would get me out of trouble, or just put me in deeper. But I didn’t think I had a choice. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
He looked down at his hands, strapped to the rails of the bed, and then back at Voss. “I appreciate the medical attention and all, but I’m still not sure I made the right choice,” he said flatly.
Voss watched Cyrus’s eyes for a few moments, and Cyrus could see the wheels working inside his mind. Finally, his expression softened, and he smiled warmly. “Dargo,” Voss said without taking his eyes off Cyrus. “Free the young man, please. Now.”
Rogue Faction Part 1 Page 19
