VANGUARD(18)

“A moment of your time upstairs, Sophie,” Maxwell said after she’d handed them the information she had. She wondered if he had another shopping bag full of cash for her, but today he had something different.

“Three addresses.” He laid index cards down one by one in front of her. “Safe houses, you understand? One in Finland, two in the Soviet Republic itself. Don’t take those cards with you to Orlisia. Memorize the addresses, then destroy them. Tell them you know me, and they will take you in, hide you. They are completely trustworthy.”

“Thank you for this.” Max’s years of diplomatic postings and UN experience were invaluable for information like this. She tucked the cards into her bag, then started in surprise when Maxwell came around the desk to take her hands in his.

“You’ve been more than just our connection to the coalition these last few months,” he said, his dark eyes soft. “You’ve been a daughter to us.”

Sophie blushed when he said that. She always felt like such an impostor when Michael’s parents treated her like family. But what Maxwell said next shook her to the core.

“Mana meita, I know you love my son, love him enough to risk your life many times over. Although he’s never spoken to us directly about his feelings for you, both Signe and I believe he feels the same way. You’ve been wise to establish your careers before settling down. But, Sophie, when you bring Michael home, perhaps you two could get on with the business of being together? Signe and I wouldn’t mind some grandchildren, you know.”

Sophie looked at him incredulously, not sure if she should laugh or cry. In the end, she did a little of both.

She left the brownstone in the freezing cold, turning one more time to wave to Michael’s parents, who stood on the front step watching her. Signe wept, and Sophie saw Max put his arm around her to guide her back into the house. He waited more than a decade to marry her, she thought suddenly. Four years of which he spent alone, here in New York, praying that the first Soviet-Orlisian war would eventually give her and Michael back to him.

Sophie could only hope her own wait would have a similarly happy ending.





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The strike team met Friday evening for a final briefing. The team included representatives from all sixteen of the coalition agencies – experts in a variety of fields from medicine to sanitation to logistics.

“Okay.” Sophie gestured for quiet. “Looks like we’re ready to go. I’m going to cover a few housekeeping items, and we’ll get some sleep. We’re going to need it.

“First, I’ve taken temporary leave of absence from RCI while I’m heading up this mission. Will accepted my notice last night.” She heard murmurs in the room. “Consider me a freelancer. I need to be as objective as possible.

“The Rev is my second-in-command.” She nodded to Dave Bryson, the veteran head of one of the biggest Christian relief aid agencies in the US. He and Sophie had their differences about the role of religion in international development, but she had a ton of respect for him. In addition to being a skilled and compassionate aid worker, he was a card-carrying man of the cloth, hence his nickname. Choosing him, and not Will, as her second helped balance things out between the religious and secular factions of the coalition.

“The Rev is the go-to guy if I’m not available. There’ll be times when our philosophies won’t mesh, we know it. The exec team will meet daily to deal with issues that aren’t covered by the protocol we’ve developed. The bottom line is this: if you’re faced with a situation with lives at stake, don’t call a committee meeting. Work the problem, and we’ll fight about it later. I’m not going to bust anyone’s ass for making the best call they could under challenging circumstances. The Rev feels the same way as I do.” Sophie paused. “Not that the Rev busts asses.” A wave of laughter went through the group.

“Last thing I’m going to talk about is Vanguard.” Another murmur from the crowd. Everyone had heard they were to be keeping an eye out for a “person of interest” in the camp. Sophie flipped the computer open and projected an image up on the screen at the front of the room.

“We believe there may be an American citizen caught in Parnaas.” Michael’s passport photo glared down from the wall, but Sophie didn’t react. No one needed to know about the emotional tie between her and Vanguard until he was safely out of Orlisia. If the Soviets discovered a weakness, they wouldn’t hesitate to press it. “Michael Nariovsky-Trent is Orlisian by birth, a US citizen and a former Médecins Sans Frontières doctor. He’s in Orlisia illegally, likely working for the resistance. Last contact was September 10 of last year.” She flipped to an altered image she’d had created.