“Oh, like the vodka?” the Southeast Asian guy to his left asked. Yahontoff Vodka had dethroned Smirnoff’s a decade before as the bestselling vodka in the world.
“Yes,” Isaak said, fixing his icy blue gaze on the man who’d spoken. “Exactly like the vodka, except that we changed the spelling of our name when we moved the distillery to Nice after the Communists destroyed our buildings in Moscow.”
The Communist Revolution and the entire history of the Soviet Union were still sore spots for Isaak’s grandfather, who drank only White Russians because that’s what he was.
In many other contexts, Isaak’s grandfather would be considered a war criminal, which meant Isaak Yahontov was the grandson and heir of a war criminal.
Max didn’t like the way Isaak was looking at Dree. Isaak’s cold eyes looked like he might be a serial killer, even though Isaak had never so much as gotten into a fistfight in thirteen years of boarding school or indulged in anything more violent than light sarcasm.
And yet, Maxence felt as though he could not trust Isaak around Dree.
But Max had to run the meeting. “And Batsa?”
“I am Batsa Tamang,” the Southeast Asian-looking guy said. His hair was cut corporate-short. “I am the translator, and I did not go to boarding school. Who would do that to their kids? I am thirty-two and speak Nepali, Hindi, Tamil, and English. I was raised in Kathmandu until I was ten, and then my parents moved us to Iowa City, Iowa. My bachelor’s degree is in English Literature. I am a registered insurance agent for life, health, auto, boat, and farm. I have business cards if you would like to discuss your insurance needs. I have had my picture taken with George W. Bush, Barack Obama, John McCain, and Hillary Clinton when they were campaigning for the Iowa caucuses, like everyone else in the state. I have a wonderful wife whom I married in both a Catholic wedding with a full Mass and a three-day Hindu wedding, and so I am the most thoroughly married man in the world. My dear wife is the love and light of my life. I miss her so much right now. We have five children under eight years old. Three boys, two girls. I can also play the trumpet.”
Dree grinned at Batsa, who smiled back at her and laid five business cards on the coffee table between the couches.
That guy was trouble. Max could sense it. He was practically shoving his phone number at Dree by offering his business cards so freely, probably to send her a dick pic. Any man with so much testosterone that he’d fathered five kids by the time he was thirty-two wasn’t safe around a beautiful woman like Dree.
Max would have to watch him.
The last guy on the trip was sitting over on the other couch, his muscled arms crossed over his chest, watching the others. He wore a black Roman-collared shirt like Maxence that was only a few shades darker than his ebony skin, and one of his iron-gray eyebrows seemed perpetually raised. His accent was American and sardonic, and his voice was sonorous and deep. “My name is Father Booker Jackson, and I am a member of the order of the Society of Jesus, founded by Saint Ignatius of Loyola in 1534. I was born on the South Side of Chicago sixty-eight winters ago, and I speak with this deep, regal tone because I trained to be an opera singer before I found my true vocation as a Jesuit priest.”
Such a voice might attract Dree. Father Booker was a good-looking man, with high cheekbones, a serious gaze, and silvery, shining hair. If he made a play for Dree, she might go for him. Maxence had never met Father Booker before, but a stated vocation and call to the priesthood didn’t always make a man celibate.
Maxence knew that.
And just because Booker was the priest didn’t mean he was a saint, and just because he was sixty-eight didn’t mean he was dead.
Max would keep an eye on Father Booker as well.
Maxence looked up at Dree, sitting curled up in a chair by the window. “And Miss Andrea Catherine?”
Dree looked up at him, her blue eyes wary. “I’m Andrea Catherine Clark, but I go by Dree. I’m a nurse practitioner from the southwestern US. Nice to meet y’all.”
Isaak perked up, and he glanced at Max, over to Dree, and back to Max. “Wait, the girl is going with us? We get to take a girl this time?”
Maxence growled, “Andrea Catherine Clark is a highly skilled medical professional, and she will be accompanying us—”
Alfonso suddenly seemed far more interested in the proceedings. “We’ve never taken a person of the female persuasion on any of these trips before.”
Dree shriveled in her chair. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” Batsa told her, seeming to pat the air with his hands.
Isaak heaved a sigh and said, “Thank God.” He shot a guilty glance at Maxence. “I mean, thank the Lord our God and all that is holy, or whatever.”
Alfonso was grinning at Dree. “It will be very nice to have you along for the trip.”
Father Booker’s expression softened. “A woman is always welcome on our missions. The price of a good woman is far beyond rubies, and I find that missions that include women are more efficient and the scope more wide-ranging than missions that only include men.”
Maxence said, “If anyone has a problem with this, we can speak privately.”
Isaak leaned toward where Dree was sitting as if he were trying to whisper something privately to her. “These charity trips tend to be sausage fests. These guys are all assholes.”
Alfonso echoed the sentiment, “Assholes.”
Isaak continued, “I’m delighted you’re coming on the trip. Maybe these jerks won’t act like hyenas.”
Dree looked a little bit more hopeful, her blond eyebrows raised and a smile playing on her lips. “Is it really okay with all of you guys?”
The room filled with male laughter.
Maxence considered punching each one of the other guys in turn.
“Is it okay?” Isaak repeated. “It’s more than okay! It’s brilliant!”
Alfonso nodded enthusiastically.
Father Booker said, “I thank you for your dedication and your spirit.”
Batsa said, “It is very nice to have a woman along. I am supposed to buy a sari and Nepali prayer flags for my wife, and I would very much like your input.”
“I really don’t know that much about saris or fashion or anything,” Dree said.
Batsa continued, “When we are camping out, I will cook dahl and pakoras and anything else that you want. My mother taught me to cook very well because she thought I would never find a wife, because I had only an English literature degree. You will like my food.”
Dree looked up at Maxence with wide eyes, like she needed rescue.
Maxence said, “Dree has kindly consented to fill in the role of a medical professional because our assigned person dropped out at the last minute. Everyone needs to behave professionally and with great restraint.” He added with a growl from the depths of his black heart, “You assholes stay away from her.”
The other guys all laughed again, and from their easy laughter, Maxence surmised they thought he was joking.
Yes, he probably needed to allow them to think that.
Maxence joined in the laughter, even though he did not feel any particular mirth at the situation of these four men eyeballing Dree Clark.
After a moment, Maxence had had enough of the men attempting banter with Dree, and he pulled out his tablet and said, “There are a few things we need to go over before we leave tomorrow morning.”
Dree fished a pad of paper and a pen from her purse, clicked the ballpoint, and prepared to take notes. She looked up at him again with her gorgeous eyes, sparkling in the winter sunlight.
Maxence thought he would drown.
Instead, he sat down on the hearth in front of the fireplace and said, “The goal of this mission is to identify sites and best practices so we may build small neonatal intensive care units as micro-clinic units in the Jumla countryside. Essentially, there will be an incubator and some medical supplies. Over half of the premature babies in this area die before they can reach medic
al attention because the hospitals are so far away. Transportation is often unavailable, and the journey can take up to four days on foot. Small NICU’s that are much closer would enable some of these infants to survive.”
Alfonso also had out a computer tablet and was swiping with a stylus and thumbing notes into it. He announced, “In addition to being an engineer, I own a medical device company. I will be designing and my company will manufacture micro-NICU units for these miniature clinics. We will provide these units to the charity at substantially less than the cost to build them, though we are not able to donate them outright.”
Maxence said, “I have rented a helicopter to ferry us to the Jumla district of Karnali province tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. We will arrive in Chandannath soon after. Taking a bus would have required at least a full day, perhaps two. Once we arrive, we will proceed to the rental depot, where the charity has reserved three jeeps for us. We also have camping supplies for when we evaluate smaller communities, though we intend to stay in inns or hostels whenever possible.”
Maxence bit his lip for a moment. They had reserved six pup tents for sleeping, but many of the inns they’d planned to stay in had only two or three rooms, total.
Since these rural excursions had always been all-men, he’d assumed they could pair up and bunk together. With Dree along, she would need one room alone, and the five of them would need to share the other room or two.
At least some of the guys would probably end up sleeping in the tents more often than not. He would volunteer, of course, but he wasn’t sure which of the other guys would have the stamina to rough it for so long.
Max continued from where he sat on the brick step in front of the cold fireplace. “It is quite likely that we will build several micro-NICU pilot projects with supplies that will be helicoptered in. We will be in the field at least six weeks, perhaps as long as two months.”
Everyone was nodding, and the people who were taking notes scratched along as Max spoke.
Dree piped up and asked, “So, there really aren’t medical personnel in the smaller communities?”
Maxence shook his head. “Some of these people won’t have seen a doctor in years. In many of the small villages, no one owns a vehicle, not even a motorcycle. People live there the way they have for centuries, planting one crop per year of cold-tolerant rice, wheat, barley, or potatoes because the growing season is so short in the foothills of the Himalayas. Trucks come a few times a year to resupply a small store and buy excess crops.”
Dree nodded and wrote quickly on her notepad. “I’m assuming no Wi-Fi or internet service.”
Maxence nodded. “Maybe at some of the inns, but many of the towns do not have electricity or any infrastructure. When we go on these trips, sometimes I’m incommunicado for months.”
Alfonso lowered his tablet. “That hasn’t been the case on the trips that I’ve gone on with you.”
“You’ve gone mostly to South and Central America,” Maxence said. “Our missions there tend to be in the larger cities because local priests with a better knowledge of the area take the more rural missions. Nepal is mostly Hindu and some Buddhists. There are very few Catholic priests here. Therefore, when we want to do something in an area like this, we send groups like us who have no local knowledge, and then we hope for the best.”
“This sounds like quite a mission you’ve dragged us on.” Isaak grinned at Max and gestured to his cup of coffee on the low table. “You have anything stronger?”
Maxence shook his head. “Father Xavier doesn’t keep alcohol at the rectory.”
Isaak blew air through his lips in a raspberry and flipped his fingers at the ceiling. “First, you tell us no Wi-Fi, and then you tell us there’s no booze? Did you really ask the heir to a vodka fortune to accompany you on a dry trip?”
Maxence tried not to roll his eyes, and maybe it worked. Maybe it didn’t. “I said there wasn’t any alcohol in the rectory. There are plenty of bars in Kathmandu, and I’m sure there will be liquor at the inns where we will stay.”
Isaak smiled bigger. “Now you’re speaking my language.” His glance slid toward Dree, who was industriously taking notes on her paper tablet and didn’t notice.
Anger surged through Maxence, and he stood.
Isaak looked up at him, cold humor in his blue eyes. “Something you wanted to say?”
Maxence returned to his seat, brushing imaginary dust off his black pants as he did. “Are there any questions about the schedule or the accommodations?”
Everyone shook their heads, but Alfonso seemed to be eyeing Dree as he did.
Maxence said, “We leave tomorrow morning. Make sure you’re here at the rectory by six o’clock because Father Booker will offer Mass for us before we leave. I’ll be spending the rest of the day bribing officials for the requisite permits. Alfonso, Isaak, you’ll come with me.”
Maxence sat in the Minister of Immigration’s parlor and sipped the milky tea the man’s wife had provided. “Yes, Minister, but this mission through the charity was not planned months in advance. Mr. Alfonso de Borbón y Grecia, here,” Maxence indicated his long-time friend with a gentle hand gesture, “recently designed the innovative micro-NICU unit. It still needs some development, and Nepal is lucky that he and his company have decided to allow Nepal to participate in the development process.”
The minister, who was a tiny, skinny man, slurped his tea and gave the cup back to his wife, who hovered around the group. “The permits should have been acquired months ago. Perhaps even a year.”
“Mr. Borbón y Grecia had not even conceived of the micro-NICU unit several months ago. He only designed the most integral parts a few weeks ago, and Catholic Charities began looking for a site for the pilot project soon after.”
The minister shook his head, squeezing his mouth together into a recalcitrant, unimpressed dot. “The Nepali government does not allow permits to be expedited.”
Beside Max, Isaak leaned forward and placed his tea on the small table, clasping his hands between his knees and looking the small minister directly in his eyes. “It’s imperative to place some of these micro-NICU’s in a country where they are likely to be used, and it’s a great opportunity for Nepal to have access to such innovative medical equipment. Surely, there is some small fee we could pay to make sure we have the necessary permits to go into Jumla territory.”
The tiny minister bounded to his feet. His dusky skin turned an impressive shade of scarlet. “We do not do bribes here! If we did bribes here, hundreds of people would die on Mount Everest every year instead of the stupid few who do.”
Maxence smiled at the minister, allowing his breath to flow smoothly. He summoned his sincerity and considered the importance of their mission, and he said, “These micro-NICUs are a beautiful way to save children’s lives. It’s vital that we construct some as soon as possible because children are being born prematurely across Nepal, and many of them can’t get the medical help they need.” The importance of it, the sheer gravity of what he was saying, filled his voice, and his soul expanded to fill the room. “We need your help. You can help the premature babies of Nepal. Will you help us obtain these permits so that we can leave tomorrow morning?”
Isaak was watching Max warily, but Alfonso was watching the minister’s reaction.
Fifteen minutes later, the three men left the minister’s house with a handful of signed and stamped permits.
Chapter Four
Jumla
Dree
The helicopter blades pounded against the air.
Gravity forced Dree farther down into the seat’s cushion as the vehicle lifted away from the Earth. Hearing-protective headphones were clamped on the sides of her head.
A four-point seatbelt cinched around Dree’s waist and over her shoulders like a backpack, buckling where the four straps met over her pelvis. Her hands clenched into fists around the two woven straps by her shoulders.
She’d managed to finagle a center seat on one of the two couches of t
hree seats each that were facing each other and attached to the walls of the helicopter’s fuselage.
Flying was still scary for her after twenty-five years of never having done it until she’d endured two international plane flights in the last week, and this was her first helicopter ride. She wasn’t planning on grabbing anyone around the neck and screaming, but she wanted two big male bodies on either side of her so she would feel safer. Also, from the center seat, someone large was between her and the windshield in front and the porthole windows in the back, so she would feel less like she was going to topple out of the oversized mechanical dragonfly.
The chopper climbed in altitude and sped away from the airport, banking to the left. She shifted forward in her seat. Her body hung in the harness.
Dree did not loosen her grip on the straps, though her knuckles ached.
She wasn’t going to scream. She was not going to scream.
She ground her molars together, not screaming.
Alfonso, the Spanish engineer with dark blond hair and eyes of the clearest green Dree had ever seen, sat on one side of her and had turned his head away to look through the cockpit and out of the front windshield.
On her other side, Maxence was reading something on his phone and whispering to himself.
Max’s thigh pressed against the outside of hers. He was trying not to man-spread, but three rather large men occupied the seats facing them. Max’s long legs just didn’t have anywhere to go.
Batsa, Father Booker, and Isaak sat in the seats across from them, and all of them had rather long legs, too. There had been some careful, unspoken negotiations about whose leg could go where without touching each other too much, which Dree had found hilarious until the helicopter had lifted off and all her attention had been diverted to not screaming.
Father Booker had his hands folded in his lap and his eyes closed, leaning his head back against the seat, either resting or praying to keep the helicopter up in the sky.
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