VANGUARD(6)

The futility of it had stopped her. Locating him was a million-to-one shot; convincing him to leave Orlisia seemed even less likely. Not even Sophie’s unannounced arrival in a warzone would be enough for him to abandon his beloved homeland. She knew him too well.

But then he’d vanished – sometime on or around September 10 – and everything had changed. As the days had passed with no contact, she’d become willing to do anything, take any risk, to get into Orlisia with the right resources at her fingertips.

She was just twenty-eight years old and had already achieved so much. In the last ten years, Sophie Swenda had revolutionized the way refugee camps were managed. Jointly created an infant NGO with Will. Created order out of chaos under desperate circumstances time and again. She’d even delivered a baby in a camp in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Now she needed to save one life. Only one. Surely it wasn’t too much to ask.

“Sophie?” She looked up from her wool-gathering. Anjali and Will had packed up the leftovers. “Let us give you a ride home.”

“You can’t drive me to Brooklyn at this hour. Just take me to the train.” Like most New Yorkers, Sophie couldn’t afford to live in Manhattan, so she rented the upper floor of a ratty duplex in Brooklyn.

“You’re staying with us tonight,” Anjali said.

When Sophie started to protest, Will interrupted. “You can’t help him if you keel over from exhaustion before you get to Orlisia.”

She surrendered silently, following them out of the office and into their car.

“Did you have any luck at Interpol today?” asked Will.

“Not much. I got a few new things. Photocopy of Michael’s US passport. The number might come in handy in the future. Some interesting notes in his dossier. I dropped by to see Hallie at the Red Cross before I caught the train.”

“We’ll be there soon,” he said. “The Soviet government will grant us access any day now. If he’s in that camp, we’ll find him.”

Sophie caught his eye in the rearview mirror. “It’ll be at least another month, probably more with Christmas coming on,” she said bleakly. Will looked back at her, troubled. She was right, and he knew it.

She took the tiny guest room that had once been the den in her friends’ condo on the Upper West Side. She’d slept there many nights as of late and kept several changes of clothing in the cupboard. Sophie left Will and Anjali to enjoy a drink in the kitchen, took half a sleeping pill, and went to bed. Oblivion took her fast. She did not dream, for which she was grateful.





-





January 10, 2014





Friday flew, as always. She felt like she’d just sat down at her desk – a few stray Christmas cards gathering dust there – when Will appeared beside her, his face expressionless.

“Five o’clock already?” she mumbled. Sophie stuffed her laptop into her bag and walked to the door with him. Everyone in the office found other things to look at.

“Let’s have them.” He held out his hand, and she handed him her office keys and security card without a word. He put them into his pocket and hugged her like he always did every Friday. “Have a good weekend. We’ll see you Monday.” Then he gently pushed her out the door, his worried eyes never leaving hers as the elevator doors closed between them.

Will had put his foot down when he’d found her curled up asleep on the floor in the Situation Room one Monday morning, unwashed and wearing the same clothes she’d had on the previous Friday. Now, she couldn’t enter the office on weekends. She was allowed to take her laptop and iPhone home with her, but that was it.

As humiliating as the weekly ritual was, it turned out to be one of the best decisions Will could have made. In retrospect, Sophie realized she should have made it herself, if nothing else than to maintain one of her guiding principles: Always be planning.

Sophie had learned this at the feet of a young development worker to whom she’d been assigned during a volunteer opportunity in China as a teenager. The woman’s name had been Kei-Yee, but Sophie had been startled to learn that the woman also had a Western name – Vivian – that she’d expected Sophie to use because it was easier to pronounce. Sophie had refused to call her anything except her Chinese name. Amused by her stubborn charge, Kei-Yee had relented, but hadn’t hesitated to turn it into a lesson on cultural sensitivity.

“Many Chinese professionals take Western names in addition to the names they were born with,” the woman had explained. “This is the way of business here. Always know the customs of the country you are entering. It creates an atmosphere of goodwill and respect from the start.”