The Heroic Surgeon(6)

Such a concise account. Such nonchalance. He’d thought her an enigma before, now…he just didn’t know. Couldn’t think. It was too much to take in. Impossible to imagine. Her life. A fifteen-year chunk of it. She must have been no more than thirteen or fourteen when it had all started. Had she lost her family? She’d said everyone she knew and loved. So she had. She’d been homeless and terrorized and abused, alone.

And there she was, surviving one war only to plunge, voluntarily, into another. Whatever her reasons for doing this, they had to be even more bizarre than his.

The fluid in both their bags had run through. She detached both lines, left the cannulae in and got up, avoiding his eyes. He watched her gathering instruments and supplies from his emergency bag and heading for the other casualties.

Dante felt the tug of oblivion, was tempted to just close his eyes and surrender to it. He couldn’t. He’d saved one of the lives he’d been allowed. He still had another.

Gulnar. That was the only name that filled his awareness now, the only face he saw. Hundreds of people, all lives worth saving. But he had to choose one. He chose her. He had to.

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch. “It’s me.” He knew that. His body had thrilled to her touch. He’d know it anywhere now. She sank to her knees before him, exhaustion pinching her open face, hunching her strong shoulders. “I checked all the injured people and gave them antibiotics and tetanus boosters. Your blood seems to be of premium quality, too. They’re reviving. And they all thank you. One told me to tell you that no matter what happens to them from now on, in her book you’ve saved them.”

Dante’s insides clenched. No, he hadn’t. He wouldn’t. In his book, all he’d done was torture them with false hope, prolong their suffering.

She cocked her head at him. “What now?”

Dante’s focus relinquished his internal agony for Gulnar’s eyes. Could there be anything more beautiful? Was this why he’d decided on making her the lottery survival winner? Was he that basic?

No. She was more than a rarity of divine art. She was also a blinding manifestation of good. Few people had the capacity, the willingness to make a difference, to put themselves on the line for others. If he had to choose, it stood to reason he would choose the one most of use…

What was he thinking? How did he know that every other person here wasn’t as useful in his or her own way? Who was he to decide who would do more good, who was more needed, more valuable?

It was more than cruel. Beyond monstrous. To be forced to choose. But he had to…

“Dr. Dante? Are you all right?” Her solicitous stroke over his hand spread through him, the simple contact dousing him in unlikely, untimely sensations. Peace, pleasure. Arousal. It was just too funny to rediscover his libido now. But it wasn’t why he wanted to save her. It wasn’t!

He caught the hand covering his, stroked it back. “I’m all right. Are you?”

Answering contentment softened her face, tightened her hand on his. “I’m alive and conscious. So I’m all right.”

He nodded, groping for a way to disclose his grisly verdict.

He didn’t have the chance. A probing expression invaded her eyes. “I told you what I am. You told me who you are, sort of, but you didn’t tell me how you were allowed in here. The rebels have so far answered any approaches with a hail of gunfire and threats. It’s why I thought you were with them in the beginning.”

So she’d saved him the effort of stumbling through explanations, given him the shortcut to come clean after all. Answering her would still lead to confessing. “I have a…special deal with their leader.”

Those eyes widened on astonishment and what else—suspicion? No. Just curiosity. “How so?”

So she didn’t consider it even a possibility he was affiliated with the rebels! Good to know. “Two years ago, during an Azernian raid on his village, his wife and oldest child were almost fatally injured. I was roaming the area with another aid organization at the time and I happened to be in the right place in the right time. I saved their lives.”

Gulnar gave a slow, thoughtful nod.

“Have you ever heard of Molokai?” Dante asked.

“Ah! It’s almost common knowledge now that his group is the one that was responsible for Lorenzo’s abduction, and the jet hospital’s attempted hijacking.”

That was something Dante hadn’t known. More and more crimes, then. Dante gave the now seated militants a long look.

“When I heard about this attack and that he’d already announced he was responsible for it, I put a call out through his connections. He agreed to give me an interview, taking every precaution, of course. I demanded that he let me help the victims of this attack as I did his family.”

“And he just granted your request?”

“I am here, am I not?”

“You mean he actually has a sense of fairness to appeal to? A sense of honor?”

“You’d be surprised how ruled by posturing and macho nonsense those people are. He made the mistake of having his right-hand man, the only one who speaks English among his men, present when he saw me, and I made sure the man knew what Molokai owed me. I think the fact that his men knew was the only thing that made Molokai agree to settle the debt, giving a speech about how he refused to be in debt to a foreigner who has no sympathy for his cause. He granted me two lives in return for his wife’s and child’s.”

Gulnar’s stare widened. Her words, when they came, were slow, realization tinging them with horror. “But you saved many more than two lives. At least twelve people would have eventually died without your intervention and your supplies.”

She understood, but still needed him to spell it out. What the hell? He had to sooner or later. “They will all still die. He doesn’t intend to let anyone, including his people, walk out of here alive.”

He watched her eyes filling with terrible understanding. “And his people know that? That this is a suicide mission?”

“No, they don’t. His plan is to stretch this out, get the most screaming tension out of the situation, the most international media coverage. Eventually his people will realize that the cavalry charge isn’t coming—and that they will be left to die.”

She interrupted. “And once they’re desperate, it will get really ugly?”

“Probably. But this isn’t the damage he’s counting on. He mentioned something spectacular, alluded to how he controls the situation, and will detonate it when he deems it appropriate. I believe he has someone on the outside ready with a remote-control detonator.”

Gulnar looked at their captors, cross-referencing his new information with what she’d gathered on her own. “They’ve been saying that the security forces outside can’t help us—when the times comes we’ll all be destroyed. At the time I thought they meant that they intend to go down for their cause, taking everyone with them.”

“That’s what Molokai intends to say when no one is left to talk. He intends to claim that his valiant warriors have laid their lives down for their cause. But I’ve learned from long service in chronic conflict areas that so-called suicide mission volunteers are invariably both conned and doped. Look at their eyes. They are addicts without even realizing it.”

Gulnar’s eyes followed his line of vision. “I’ve always wondered about that. And they have been smoking and snorting stuff.”

“Drugs are spread throughout most rebel armies, touted as uppers and stamina boosters. The leaders enhance their men’s malleability and subjugation with mental manipulation. Vengeful against a faceless enemy they’ve been bred to hate and coveting a higher status within their outfit are mixed with the inescapable chemical dependence to make the perfect mindless killing machine. They have no clue they’re like thousands before them, just pawns who’ll be used to spread chaos, then be disposed of.”

He saw the certainty of doom sinking into her. None of the desperation, anger or horror were for herself. Her eyes didn’t fix on him with an entreaty to choose her as one of the lucky two he’d save.

Not even momentarily to clamor for a chance to survive? Someone in the bloom of youth and beauty? How could she not have a shred of fear, an unreasoning desire to cling to life? It was inconceivable!

But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she had someone here she would place far above her own life—without hesitation. A lover, perhaps.

His heart closed on a grating sensation. Disappointment? Bitterness? That Gulnar would die for another when Roxanne hadn’t even been able to bear discomfort on his behalf?

But it wasn’t bitterness. Roxanne, his family, everything and everyone in his past were long insubstantial, non-existent. None had a bearing on the present, on this moment. Gulnar filled those. A soul like he’d never encountered, one he had to preserve at any cost. He grasped her arm, urgency and a hundred other conflicting emotions boiling over inside him. “Gulnar, I want you to rise now, slowly, then we’ll walk out of here together.”

She pulled her arm back, slow, adamant. “I had a feeling you’d say that. Thank you, but, no, Dr. Dante. Save two of the injured.”