The colonel nods and walks out of the room. A second after he leaves, Peter’s voice comes on the line: “Esguerra?”
“Yes, it’s me.” My grip on the phone tightens. “I assume you heard the news.”
“Yes, I heard.” A pause on the line. “I had Yulia Tzakova detained in Moscow. It seems like she’s got some connections that our Kremlin friends overlooked.”
So Peter is already on top of this. “Yes, it seems like it.” My voice is even, though anger boils within me. “Needless to say, we’re scrapping the mission. When are we getting picked up?”
“The plane is on its way. It should be there in a few hours. I sent Goldberg along in case you could use a doctor.”
“Good thinking. We’ll be waiting. How is Nora?”
There is a brief moment of silence. “She’s better now that she knows you’re alive. She wanted to fly out there as soon as she heard.”
“You didn’t let her, though.” It’s a statement, not a question. Peter knows better than to fuck up like that.
“No, of course not. Do you wish to see her? I may be able to set up a video connection with the hospital.”
“Yes, please set it up.” What I really want is to see her and hold her in person, but the video will have to do for now. “In the meantime, I’m going to check on Lucas and the others.”
* * *
Because of the bulky cast on my arm, it’s a struggle to put on the clothes the nurse brings me. The pants go on without any issues, but I end up having to rip out the left sleeve to get the cast through the armhole. My ribs hurt like hell, and every movement requires tremendous effort as my body wants nothing more than to lie back down on the bed and rest. I persist, though, and after a few tries, finally succeed in clothing myself.
Thankfully, walking is easier. I can maintain a regular stride. As I exit the room, I see the soldiers Sharipov mentioned earlier. There are five of them, all dressed in army fatigues and toting Uzis. Seeing me emerge into the hallway, they silently fall into step behind me, following me as I head over to the Intensive Care Unit. Their expressionless faces make me wonder if they’re there to protect me or to protect others from me. I can’t imagine the Uzbekistani government is thrilled to have an illegal arms dealer in their civilian hospital.
Lucas is not there, so I check on the others first. As Sharipov told me, they are all badly burned, with bandages covering most of their bodies. They’re also heavily sedated. I make a mental note to transfer a huge bonus into each of their bank accounts to compensate them for this, and to have them seen by the best plastic surgeons. These men knew the risks when they came to work for me, but I still want to make sure they’re taken care of.
“Where is the fourth man?” I ask one of the soldiers accompanying me, and he directs me to another room.
When I get there, I see that Lucas is asleep. He doesn’t look nearly as bad as the others, which is a relief. He’ll be able to return with me to Colombia once the plane arrives, whereas the burned men will have to stay here for at least a few more days.
Coming back to my room, I find Sharipov there, placing a laptop on the bed. “I was asked to give this to you,” he explains, handing me the computer.
“Excellent, thank you.” Taking the laptop from him with my right hand, I sit down on the bed. Or, more appropriately, collapse on the bed, my legs shaking from the strain of walking all over the hospital. Thankfully, Sharipov doesn’t see my ungainly maneuver, as he’s already heading out the door.
As soon as he’s gone, I go on the internet and download a program designed to conceal my online activities. Then I go to a special website and put in my code. That brings up a video chat window, and I put in yet another code there, connecting to a computer back at the compound.
Peter’s image appears first. “Finally, there you are,” he says, and I see the living room of my house in the background. “Nora is coming down.”
A moment later, Nora’s small face shows up on the screen. “Julian! Oh my God, I thought I would never see you again!” Her voice is filled with barely contained tears, and there are wet tracks on her cheeks. Her smile, however, radiates pure joy.
I grin at her, all my anger and physical discomfort forgotten in a sudden surge of happiness. “Hi baby, how are you?”
She gapes at me. “How am I? What kind of question is that? You’re the one who was just in a plane crash! How are you? Is that a cast on your arm?”
“It appears to be.” I lift my right shoulder in a brief shrug. “It’s my left arm, though, and I’m right-handed, so it’s not a big deal.”
“What about your head?”
“Oh, this?” I touch the thick bandage around my forehead. “I’m not sure, but since I’m walking and talking, I assume it’s something minor.”
She shakes her head, staring at me with disbelief, and my grin broadens. Nora probably thinks I’m trying to be all macho in front of her. My pet doesn’t realize that these kinds of injuries truly are minor for me; I’ve had worse from my father’s fists as a child.
“When are you coming home?” she asks, bringing her face closer to the camera. Her eyes look enormous this way, her long lashes spiky with residual wetness. “You are coming home now, right?”
“Yes, of course. I can’t exactly go after Al-Quadar like this.” I wave my right hand toward the cast. “The plane is already on its way to get me and Lucas, so I’ll be seeing you very soon.”