Authors: CJ Markusfeld
Tags: #behind enemy lines, #vanguard, #international, #suspense, #international aid, #romance, #star crossed lovers, #romantic suspence, #adventure action romance, #refugee
Vanguard
By
Copyright 2015 CJ Markusfeld
Smashwords Edition
To my own class, UWP93A.
Although you’ll try, you won’t find yourselves in these pages. What you’ll find instead is the joy of what we once were, and the truth of all we’ve become.
Prologue
The dark-haired man lay on the frozen ground, surrounded by a dozen others. He was wrapped in a thin, filthy quilt, and he was dying.
His lungs burned as he drowned slowly from the inside out. Thirty-six hours ago, he’d been able to walk down the row of shelters to collect his meager rations. Now his emaciated body shook from the fever brought on by the pneumonia sweeping the camp. He wouldn’t last another twenty-four hours.
He ought to know. He was a doctor.
He was also, he realized dimly, a failure. He’d failed to save the men assigned to his resistance cell. Failed to save his beloved homeland from being overrun by the Soviet Republic. And worst of all, completely failed the woman he loved.
He’d never see Sophie again, never be able to tell her how much he loved her. She’d search for him, would continue to search long after his body was flung into the burial trench outside the camp. Sophie would never give up; she never did.
The man drifted in and out of consciousness as his body’s systems faltered. His youth, resilience, and ferocious will had kept him alive beyond what most men could endure. But now his reserves had run out.
Her face appeared in his mind. Even in his fever dream, he appreciated her grave beauty – red hair framing a serious face, freckles across her nose. Her grey eyes, filled with tears as they’d been when he’d last seen her, when she’d granted him leave to go on this futile mission.
Mana mila
,
do not mourn for me, my dearest love. Promise me you will have a happy life. I will always watch over you.
In his mind, the dream-Sophie looked furious. The vision swam thickly before his eyes as the woman he adored railed at him.
Mikael, don’t you dare! Don’t even think about dying! You must hang on, beloved, for just a little while longer. You must.
Michael Nariovsky-Trent was more than four thousand miles from home, dying in an overcrowded shelter in a refugee camp in northern Europe. His body sank deeper into unconsciousness, the tips of his fingers turning blue as they starved for oxygen.
November 13, 2013
It had been two months, three days, and fifteen hours since Sophie Swenda had heard from him.
The conference room door opened, and Hallie Gibbs, the head of Red Cross International Services, entered. She crossed the room to shake Sophie’s hand. “I wasn’t expecting you. What brings you to Washington?”
“I was in town meeting with Interpol,” said Sophie, forcing herself to smile. “Thanks for seeing me on short notice.”
“Interpol? What for?”
“A private matter,” she hedged. “Thought I’d stop by to see what the news is out of northern Europe.”
Hallie sat down. “We’re still waiting. Have you heard from the Soviet embassy?”
“Not yet,” Sophie said, “but we will soon. They’ve had the latest draft of our proposal for forty-eight hours.” She spoke with confidence. As the co-founder of Refugee Crisis International, one of the country’s most respected refugee aid agencies, she had more than enough experience to know the dance steps of razor-edged negotiations between international aid agencies and unwilling governments.
Lying awake at night not knowing if Michael was alive was the part she couldn’t bear.
“One, maybe two more drafts. Then we’ll get permission for the aid coalition to enter the Parnaas refugee camp.”
Hallie nodded. “The Soviets are running out of time. Whatever their intent, they want the Orlisian refugees alive, not frozen to death.”
Sophie did her best not to flinch. “Your European counterparts haven’t had any luck convincing them to allow messages in and out of the camp?” The Red Cross specialized, among other things, in facilitating the flow of messages between refugees and family members in times of disaster.
“Not so far,” Hallie said. “They’ve got Parnaas buttoned up so tightly that no one can get near it. We’ve only seen satellite images at this point.” The women spent the next twenty minutes discussing tactics until Sophie drained her coffee and stood.
“Flying back to New York tonight, Sophie?”
“Train.” She gathered her notes. “It’s faster than the plane. Traffic from LaGuardia to our office is murder.”
“I’ve told Will to move you guys down here to DC,” Hallie said. “Your Manhattan office rent must be astronomical.”
“Refugee Crisis International office space is donated. Besides, New York City is my home…as much as I’ll ever have one.” They walked to the door, but Hallie put her hand on Sophie’s arm before they entered the hallway. Her voice was gentle, eyes full of compassion.
“Child, you need to slow down. You’re working too hard.” Sophie started to protest, but Hallie shook her head. “Don’t tell me you’re fine. You look like you haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. I doubt you’re eating properly, if at all. You might be a rising star in this field, but you still need to take care of yourself.”
“You sound like Will,” said Sophie with a scowl.
“Good. You could do worse than listening to him. Believe me, I know what’s at stake here. But you’ve got to maintain some distance.”
“There are upwards of seventy thousand people in that camp.” Sophie did her best to keep the terror out of her voice. “The Soviet Republic isn’t keeping them there for a sleepover. They’re going to do something to them, and
we’ve got to get them out
.”
“We’ve got to do our best.” Hallie handed Sophie her jacket. “We may succeed, we may not. The Soviets could bow to international pressure tomorrow, let the refugees return home or at least allow the High Commissioner for Refugees into the camp. The Soviet Republic is a democratic nation, a member of the UN. This isn’t the 1970s. I refuse to believe they’d revert to their totalitarian roots after coming so far.”
“Feels like they’ve already done that by invading Orlisia.”
Hallie nodded. “Either way, there’s only so much we can do. This isn’t the first refugee crisis in the world we’ll work, and it won’t be the last. You can’t make it personal.”
Sophie’s mouth quivered, then she drew a deep breath. “You’re right,” she lied. “I’ll head straight home instead of going back to the office. Eight hours of sleep will do me good.”
“A world of good,” the older woman agreed, opening the door. “We need you. You’re the heart and soul of this coalition, and you need to look after yourself.”
Sophie walked swiftly away, her eyes cast down. She didn’t want Hallie to see the fear she knew was showing in them, the lies and the knowledge that the situation in Orlisia was as personal as it could get for her.
~~ - ~~
“Union Station, please.” Sophie climbed into the taxi. Traffic spilling out from the Mall was heavier than normal, and she arrived with just a few minutes to spare. She had the documents she’d gotten from Interpol spread out in front of her as the train left the station.
The agent had been kind but unable to tell more than she already knew. The subject in question – he’d peered into the file – Dr. Michael Nariovsky-Trent had entered Kaliningrad in the Soviet Republic on July 20. His passport showed no entry into any other country since. He’d handed Sophie a copy of the completed workup, and she’d started to leave the office when the agent’s words had halted her.
“Kaliningrad is extremely close to the warzone,” he’d ventured. “And Dr. Nariovsky-Trent holds Orlisian citizenship, does he not?” The agent, of course, would have known full well that Michael had dual citizenship. “With the Soviet Republic currently occupying Orlisia, Dr. Nariovsky-Trent’s proximity to the conflict is concerning.”
“All the more reason for me to find him,” she’d replied.
The agent had taken off his glasses and held her gaze for a long moment.
“Ms. Swenda, there’s not a person in international relations today who doesn’t know who you are. Your coalition represents the best hope the world has of saving the people trapped in that camp.” He paused. “But you can’t save everyone. You’ve got to know that.”
She’d stood for a moment more, feeling the cool, professional demeanor she presented to the world trembling under the pressure of the intensely personal fear beneath.
“I know. But I have to find him.”
Sophie had been an infant at the time of the former USSR’s rapid evolution in the mid-1980s. The first government of the new era had originally pursued political reforms that had rocked the stability of the faltering superpower. With the separation of Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia, however, the Politburo had changed direction and undertaken a series of steady economic reforms, similar to those taken by China. The renewed approach had held the country together.
As the new market economy had grown, so too had regional stability. Greater emphasis on food production had meant the USSR was no longer reliant on imports. With the immediate crisis of financial collapse defused, the superpower had turned its focus back to the three nations – now one – that had escaped its rule.
Comprising the three breakaway states on the Baltic Sea, the new republic of Orlisia had lasted longer than international affairs pundits had predicted. Although linked by ethnic ties of the past, the people of Orlisia had united for one reason – to maintain their independence. The USSR had immediately put the young country’s resolve to the test.
The superpower had invaded Orlisia in 1992, crushing the nation’s military force and taking control of the ports on the western coast. But where the Soviets had had might, Orlisia had had endurance. Global outcry against the invasion had been furious, something the USSR did not need as it reinvented itself as a peaceful nation on the world stage. After four years of international pressure, intense cold, and supply-chain disruption, the Soviet military had withdrawn.