Wolfe’s agent, Cossack, slung his rifle and watched impassively as Tobin worked his way toward them.
Out of breath, Tobin finally reached Laynie. “Bella? Bella?”
She smiled a little but didn’t move. She was sitting in the snow while the others stood. A woman—a girl, actually—put a protective hand on Laynie’s shoulder and spoke in rapid-fire Russian.
Cossack translated quietly, “She says, er, Bella is sick and needs a medic ASAP. Her left arm is severely infected.”
Tobin frowned. “You’re Cossack, yes?”
“I think that code name is blown, but yeah. And you are?”
“Quincy Tobin. US Deputy Marshal and utterly out of my jurisdiction.”
Cossack looked him up and down. Slowly nodded. “You’re Tobin. Okay. Got it.”
The faintest frown of confusion flickered across Tobin’s face and was gone. “Wolfe’s in that helo. I’m going to get Bella aboard.”
“Director Wolfe? He’s here?”
“Yup. Your beacon was picked up and relayed to us not five minutes ago. Come on—let’s move it.”
Cossack addressed the girls. They gathered around Laynie and began to help her up.
Tobin gently muscled them aside. “Please. Let me. Let me. I got her.”
As he lifted Laynie, her head lolled back, and the veil she had half-removed slid off her head into the snow.
Tobin choked. “Marta! Oh dear God! Sweetheart, what did they do to you? Oh, Jesus!”
Laynie’s eyes fastened on him. “Quincy! How did you . . .”
Tobin blew out a breath. Again. “Tell you later, m’kay, buttercup? You-you just rest now.”
The girl who seemed particularly protective of Laynie picked up her veil and motioned to Tobin.
“Magda is running a fever. She’s afraid Magda’s head will get cold.” Cossack murmured.
“Roger.” Tobin knelt in the snow while the girl wound the fabric around Laynie’s head with quick efficiency. When she finished, he started down the slope, bearing precious cargo, taking his time.
A line of black-garbed goslings trailed behind him. Cossack brought up the rear.
Wolfe was waiting for them outside the rotor wash.
“Bella’s sick,” Tobin said. “We need to evac her to Grozny, like now.”
“Get her aboard, Marshal.”
WOLFE EXTENDED A HAND to Cossack. “I’m glad to see you in one piece.”
“Not as glad as I am to see you. Frankly, sir? I need a vacation.”
Wolfe chuckled. “I think you just might have some leave stored up. I’ll ship you straight back to the States, but,” he gestured to the three girls, “what about these, er, young ladies?”
“They had better come with us. Magda—or Marta or Bella, or whatever else she goes by these days—has developed some attachments.”
“Right. We’ll sort it out in Grozny.”
It took Cossack several minutes to convince the confused and terrified girls to join Laynie on the chopper. When Cossack climbed in, they finally consented to board, too. The cabin was crowded, and they found Laynie lying across a row of four jump seats, half-asleep, her head cradled on Tobin’s lap. Cossack, Wolfe, and the remaining two girls took the row of seats opposite Tobin and Laynie. Ksenia took the seat at Laynie’s feet and studied Tobin’s possession of Laynie with uncertain eyes.
Tobin, for his part, seemed to sense and understand her trepidation.
He put his hand to his chest. “Tobin.”
Ksenia looked away.
“His name is Tobin,” Cossack said to her. “I think he is Magda’s special friend . . . come all the way from America to find her. Why don’t you tell him your name?”
She chanced a nervous look at Tobin. “Ksenia.”
“Her name is Ksenia, Marshal.”
Tobin nodded at Cossack. “Thank you.”
He held out his hand, palm up, toward the girl. She flicked a glance at Cossack, who gestured his approval.
She put her small hand into Tobin’s. He gently brought his other hand down and just as gently pressed hers. “Ksenia,” he said. Then he grinned.
That earned Tobin a shy smile from the girl . . . and a notch in Cossack’s estimation.
I hope you’ll find a lifetime of happiness with this man, Magda.
They were rising into the air moments later.
Wolfe got on the radio to Fenelli. “We have our people, Tony. The Russians can blow the place to kingdom come if they’ve a mind to.”
“No . . . no . . .” Laynie moaned. “Kafir women. Save them.”
Cossack explained. “She’s talking about the captive girls Sayed used . . . to service his militia. They are down the first tunnel to the left past the main cavern.”
“Charming fellow, Sayed.”
“You have no idea.”
Wolfe spoke into the radio again. “Look, change of plans, Tony. Tell the Russians there are more hostages, female, first tunnel to the left past the main cavern. Oh. You have them? Good.”
Cossack tugged Wolfe’s sleeve and pointed down. The Black Hawk had crossed the valley and was nearing the entrance to the mine. Russian soldiers were herding the surviving dissidents into the open, sorting the wounded from the unwounded.
“Director? I’d like to get out here. Help identify Sayed and Dr. Gupta.”
“So that lying traitor made it here after all. Yes, you do that—do not let her escape.”
Cossack’s expression went flat. “You have my word.”
Wolfe asked the pilot to put down near the entrance. As the Black Hawk approached, Fenelli and his men emerged from the mine. Fenelli jogged to them. Cossack and Wolfe got out to meet him.
“Outstanding job, Tony,” Wolfe said. “Give your men my best and send your after action report soonest.” He motioned to Cossack. “This is my inside man. He can identify Sayed. Then make sure he gets back to Turkey with you. I’ll arrange a flight for him back to the States. Thanks.
“Oh. By the way, my other operative is quite ill, and I’m calling for my plane to meet us in Grozny, so this is goodbye for now. Again, outstanding work. Thank you.”
WHEN WOLFE RETURNED to the copter, he tapped the copilot’s shoulder and said, “Radio my pilot in Turkey, please. Tell him I need him in Grozny the soonest he can manage—and tell him to bring an Air Force flight nurse cleared to fly with us to Ramstein. Then radio ahead to Grozny. We’ll need medical attention for a severe infection when we arrive.”
As they approached Grozny, flight control ordered the Black Hawk’s pilot to put down on the landing zone outside the base’s triage unit. A Russian medical team was waiting for them and wheeled Laynie inside. Wolfe, Tobin, and the girls accompanied her.
Wolfe explained to the doctor that he needed Laynie stabilized for the flight to Ramstein Air Base in Germany. The doctor, a seasoned combat surgeon, took one look at Laynie’s arm and started shouting orders.
Wolfe translated for Tobin. “Cellulitis—a bacterial infection of the soft tissues—in addition to severe dehydration. He’s quite concerned and is calling for immediate fluids and an IV antibiotic. Once my plane gets here, we can load her aboard and keep going. Get her to an Army specialist.”
“Good. She’s burning up.” Tobin frowned. “So, you speak Russian, Director? Didn’t know that.”
Wolfe gave him an enigmatic smile. “I wasn’t always the Director, Marshal, and in a role like mine, one must have ample field experience.”
“Uh, right.”
Wolfe noticed a man standing a few yards away. Waiting.
“I think I’m needed over there. Excuse me.”
He knew the man by his photographs. Tall, still lean, in his mid-fifties, no longer as youthful as his smile in those photographs often made him appear.
Wolfe offered his hand. Addressed him in perfect Russian. “Jack Wolfe. I want to thank you for your assistance.”
“Is that her, behind the curtains? The woman I knew as Linnéa Olander?”
“
It is.”
“I am glad you rescued her. Might I . . . see her?”
Wolfe pursed his lips. “She’s not looking or feeling her best just now.”
“She is seriously injured, then? In danger?”
“Seriously, yes, from a bad infection. Your people, however, are addressing it—for which you have my deep appreciation.”
“Da. You are welcome.” He glanced away before changing the subject. “I have received an initial report from the assault commander. With your information and help, we have rid ourselves of a particularly troublesome radical militia.”
“That’s what we in America call a ‘win-win’—a win for you, a win for us.”
“Yes, but you will please tell her, whatever you call her now, that the favor she said I owed her is now paid.”
“I’ll tell her—however, she did save your life, did she not? Such a cruel, agonizing death swallowing hydrofluoric acid would have been, being slowly eaten from the inside out, your bones melting away. For rendering you such a grave service—against orders, I might add—I assume your people won’t be looking for her in future? After all, she is no threat to you any longer. And, as you say, with our information, your people rid Russia of a particularly troublesome militia. A ‘win-win.’”
The man studied Wolfe. “She disobeyed orders to save me?”
“Yes.”
“I am surprised. Yes, surprised. There are many things, looking back, that I regret.”
He sighed. “Then perhaps you are right and I owe her more. If . . . if I have your word that she will never again meddle in our affairs, I believe I can persuade the appropriate authorities to leave her be. Let her live out her life in peace.”
Wolfe again held out his hand. “My word, then, Vassili Aleksandrovich.”
The Russian took Wolfe’s extended hand. “Safe travels, Dzhon Ivanovitch.”
Wolfe walked away. He hadn’t permitted his surprise to show.
Interesting. Haven’t been called by that name in a couple of decades. And I did think all those who knew me by it were dead.
Yes. Interesting.
SIX HOURS AFTER SETTING down in Grozny, Tobin helped Laynie from the wheelchair at Wolfe’s jet. Still running a fever but somewhat improved, she insisted on getting onto the plane under her own power.
“Up the steps, Marta, okay?” He went ahead of her, tugging gently at her hand.
She nodded and started up the steps, praying the fog would clear. So much of what had transpired in the past twelve hours—or was it eighteen?—was a blur. Surreal. She’d be fine one moment, then her mind would twitch and she’d be back in Sayed’s escape tunnel, a fresh jolt of adrenaline telling her she needed to move faster . . . Then she’d see Tobin and remember.
Tobin. He had his sweet hazel eyes on her.
Because I stopped halfway up the steps.
She shut her eyes, squeezed away the mist, and got herself going again.
Tobin saw her into a seat on the starboard side of the narrow aisle. Wolfe joined them. An Air Force nurse waited behind him, her kit under her arm.
“We’ll be wheels up in ten,” Wolfe said.
“How long before we get home?” Laynie asked. Her voice seemed distant.
“Turns out, we’re not going stateside right away,” Wolfe answered softly. “We’re flying you directly to Ramstein Air Base first. The base is five miles from Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, run by the Army. They’ll check you out. Deal with any injuries or underlying health problems.”
The nurse who’d been hovering nearby spoke up. “Ms. Garineau? I’d like to check your IV line. Get a fresh bag of fluids and antibiotics flowing. Take your temp.”
Laynie wanted another stranger touching her like she wanted leprosy. She moved her feverish gaze from Wolfe to Tobin. Tobin was trying so hard to keep the worry out of his voice. Out of his eyes.
“You need this, Marta. Okay?”
Oh, yeah. Guess he saw the mess my arm is in. Like Daniel in the lions’ den, you saw me through the pit, Lord. You’ll see me through this.
She looked from the nurse then back to Wolfe. “Ksenia? Asmeen and Mariam?”
“The girls with you?” Wolfe asked
“Yes, but they . . . they’re only children. Need our help. Asmeen and Mariam . . . to their families . . . Azerbaijan. And I-I . . . keeping Ksenia.”
Wolfe drew himself up. “Sorry, what? Are you talking about that little spitfire who hovered over you like a mama hawk during the flight? Keeping her?”
Pride rose up in Laynie. “Yes. Mine.”
Wolfe moved his head up and down. Slowly. “All right. Didn’t see that coming, but I’ll get her on the plane with us. Ramstein has a history of receiving refugees. Don’t fret. I’ll get it sorted.” He left immediately to make the arrangements.
“Thanks,” but the word came out after he’d gone.
Laynie leaned toward the window and turned inward. She didn’t notice when Tobin gave up his seat to the Air Force nurse. Didn’t see when the nurse drew up her sleeve to view Laynie’s wound and hissed through her teeth. Didn’t react when the nurse started fresh IV antibiotics.
Laynie’s head slowly drooped and rested on the window. Minutes later, Wolfe showed Ksenia to the seat beside Tobin facing Laynie, but Laynie had drifted off to a state of peaceful rest.
Chapter 39
LAYNIE WAS ADMITTED to the Army’s hospital in Landstuhl, Germany, where the medical staff worked to find the right course of antibiotics to wipe out her multiple infections. The cellulitis in her burned arm was most concerning, but other bacteria had found their way into some of the several wounds on her head. The worst was the cut she sustained when she was thrown into the cistern and that now bore five sutures.
She slept much of the time—a healing sleep, the doctors assured Tobin—but she was not a sight for the faint of heart. Her face was purpled and swollen, her body thin to the point of emaciation, her scalp a harsh landscape of stitches, scabs, bruises, and dabs of antiseptic ointments.
Ksenia refused to leave her side and would shout, “Nyet! Nyet!” if anyone attempted to move her.
A nurse took Tobin aside. “What the story with the little Muslim girl?”
Tobin put his hands on his hips. “Don’t have a complete answer for you. I know her name is Ksenia and that Bella befriended her. I don’t think, though, that she’s Muslim. She . . .” Tobin had a hard time getting the words out. “She was kidnapped by a radical Islamic group and . . . used.”
The woman had been an Army nurse for a long time, and she’d seen her share of horror. “That girl needs an exam. And a shower. No telling what she’s gone through or what the damage.”
“Well, I doubt you’ll pry her out of this room without a war.”
“Maybe she doesn’t need to leave the room.”
She returned later and introduced Tobin to a female physician and a female Army translator.
“We’re going to admit her overnight and give her the other bed in this room, but not before we’ve established a rapport with her. Sergeant Fattah will attempt to identify her native tongue and explain why we’d like her to take a shower, then convince her to let Major Toomey do an exam.”
The translator walked up to a wary Ksenia and spoke. She tried three languages before she hit on Kurmanji and Ksenia answered back. When Ksenia gave her permission, the sergeant pulled up a chair and spoke with her further, asking a few questions, pointing to Laynie, and nodding multiple times when Ksenia opened up and spoke for several minutes, gesturing at Laynie more than once.
In the end, Ksenia consented to a shower, and Tobin left the room to give her privacy. When he returned over an hour later, the curtain was pulled around the second bed in the room, and Sergeant Fattah was standing nearby in case translation was required.
The young woman grinned. “You should have heard her in the shower. She loved it. Know those little soap and shampoo samples the hospital provides? She used every bit of them. And she sang! I didn’t re
alize she spoke Russian until she started singing ‘Amazing Grace’ in Russian with the water going full blast. We couldn’t get her out until she’d exhausted the hot water.” She smiled again. “Guess she’d never taken a shower before.”
Sergeant Fattah shrugged. “But that was before they ordered her into a bed and I had to tell her to stay put.”
The nurse pulled the curtain back, and Tobin spied Ksenia, worried and confused, wearing a drab hospital gown and confined to bed, her whole being dejected with a capital D. The doctor motioned to Tobin to join her outside the room.
“Hold on a sec. Is it all right if she wears this? Picked it up at the base commissary. They let the base spouses sell homemade goods there on commission.”
“Sure. That’s fine.”
“Thanks.” Tobin looked at the translator. “Would you mind helping me with this?”
He walked up to the bed and placed the garment on Ksenia’s legs. “Ksenia, I thought you would like something pretty to wear.”
The sergeant picked up the gown sewn from pink flannel dotted with white rose buds. She showed Ksenia the ruffles on the hem and cuffs while she translated for Tobin. She ran her fingers over the fabric. Ksenia did the same and said something to the sergeant.
“She says it’s very soft. She’s never worn anything so soft or colorful.”
“Okay, squirt?” Tobin asked with a hopeful uptick.
Ksenia looked from the translator to Tobin, then replied—exactly as he’d said it—“Okay?”
Tobin chuckled as he nodded. Then he joined the doctor and nurse in the hallway.
The doctor sighed. “I’ll be brief. This poor child. I won’t bother testing her until there are fewer things to test for. I’ll prescribe meds for every sexually transmitted disease out there and for worms, lice, and other parasites. I’ll give orders for her to be scrubbed daily with medicated soap and shampoo and all her linens and clothes managed carefully. We’ll reevaluate in a week.”
“What about Bella?”
“I’ll contact her doctor and recommend the same.”
Laynie Portland, Spy Resurrected Page 44
