Karl hurriedly stepped to his sea chest and rummaged about in it for a moment, finally drawing out a bottle of whiskey and a small shot glass.
He needed some steadying.
He tossed back two or three shots. Or was it four? He lost count after a while. But the tremor in his hand stopped, and the burning in his stomach seemed to take his mind off his panic. In a few more minutes, he capped the bottle and replaced it in the chest. But before he shut the lid, he paused as something else caught his eye.
A revolver.
The Smith and Wesson .38 caliber pistol that his father had given him before he entered the Army Medical Corps. He would never forget his father’s words upon presenting the gift:
“Who knows, maybe besides your lily-livered doctoring, you’ll actually get to kill a few Japs while you’re at it.”
Not the kind of words a son dreams of hearing from his father, but in Karl’s case he was happy to get any words at all from his critical parent.
Karl turned the weapon over in his hand. His eyes were so blurry he didn’t notice his hand had begun to tremble again. He had never used the pistol—and had prayed he never would! But suddenly Karl found himself tucking the gun inside his belt. His father would not allow Japs or arrogant Americans to push him around. Karl had always desperately wished he could be that kind of man, and maybe this was his opportunity. He wasn’t sure what he could do, with a single handgun, against a Japanese cruiser, but the feel of the revolver pressing against his side under his coat convinced him he was brave enough to face whatever came his way.
Not that he had any intention of leaving the safety of his cabin. It was important that he protect himself—for the benefit of the patients, of course. He was, after all, the only doctor.
He was startled by a pounding on his door. His stomach lurched and the blood drained from his face. He hesitated before moving. But the pounding persisted. Finally he lumbered to the door and opened it.
The German skipper, his first mate, and about half a dozen Japanese sailors, including two officers, greeted Vlasenko.
“Who’s this?” demanded the Japanese commander through his interpreter.
“Our physician,” said the skipper. “He’s the officer in charge, so I thought you ought to speak to him.” Then he explained to Karl, “This is Commander Otami of the Japanese cruiser Niitaka. They don’t believe we’re a Red Cross ship; said the Russians are not known to use hospital ships. I told him of the special circumstance, even showed him our papers signed by General Nogi himself.”
“They could be forged,” put in the commander.
“This is an outrage!” Karl blustered. “We were promised safe passage.”
“If you are what you claim to be, you will not be harmed,” assured Commander Otami. “Now, we will continue our search. Show us the way.” He gave Karl a pointed look.
Karl glanced at the skipper in hopes of being relieved of the leadership suddenly thrust upon him. But for the last five days, Karl had been telling the German skipper that, as chief physician on the vessel, he was the ranking officer. Vlasenko didn’t think a mere skipper ought to have the final say. But now his plan had backfired, and the skipper merely grinned at him, then shrugged, feining helplessness, and stepped aside.
Karl, swaying a bit on his feet, led the way to the main hold. If that place with wall-to-wall beds didn’t convince these idiots of the ship’s noble mission, then nothing would. The hard metal bulge pressing into his skin was comforting as he opened the hatch.
48
“Nurse, what’s happening?” a patient called to Mariana in alarm. “The engines are stopping.”
“It’s nothing to worry about, Private Karskij,” Mariana replied. She turned to the other patients. “Just stay calm. We may be boarded by the Japanese for a routine inspection. Our papers are in order, and there should be no problem.”
“They better leave us alone,” warned Karskij. “They got my arm and my leg. I’m not going to let them dirty Japs do no more harm to me or my comrades.”
“Please calm down, private. No one’s going to be harmed—”
At that moment the door swung open, and a pale, slightly wild-eyed Vlasenko entered, followed by his entourage of German and Japanese sailors.
The Japanese pushed past Vlasenko and began fanning out purposefully through the makeshift hospital ward.
“Be careful there!” huffed Vlasenko. “These are sick men. It’s obviously a hospital.”
Ignoring him, the Japanese commander turned on Daniel and Mariana. Since Mariana’s identity was apparent from her uniform, he asked Daniel, “Who are you?”
“I’m Dr. Trent, an American observer from the U.S. Surgeon General’s Office.”
The commander took in Daniel’s hastily donned white laboratory coat and the stethoscope hanging around his neck, and was about to turn away, convinced, when Karl blundered forward.
“He’s the man you want!” Karl cried. He stuck his hand under his coat and pulled out his hidden pistol, thrusting it in Daniel’s face. “I was just about to place him under house arrest when you came,” he told the commander.
“Doctor Vlasenko!” cried Mariana.
“The man’s gone crazy,” Daniel said, hoping to maintain his cover somehow. His accusation was believable, too, considering Vlasenko’s strung-out appearance and the definite odor of alcohol that seemed to permeate him.
“None of us knew a thing,” Vlasenko raved on. “He had documents—probably some defamatory clap-trap for the American press. He’s a correspondent.”
“Is this true?” asked the commander.
“First, would you make him put that gun down?” asked Daniel. “He might actually attempt to use it.”
One of the Japanese sailors had instinctively drawn his weapon and aimed it at Vlasenko the moment the Smith and Wesson had appeared. Commander Otami was about to order Vlasenko to turn over his gun when a new burst of activity made everyone forget all about Vlasenko.
Private Karskij had been growing more and more agitated as he listened to the proceedings. The Japanese had made him a cripple for life. Since his wounding and the double amputation that had followed, he had thought of only one thing—to get home, kiss his wife and hug his children one more time, and then end what was left of his life. But now it seemed as if the Japanese were about to rob him of that, too.
He wasn’t going to let that happen, not without taking a few Japs with him.
One of the enemy sailors had positioned himself near Karskij’s bed and was momentarily distracted at the surprising altercation with Vlasenko, and the revelation of the presence of a spy. Karskij had one good arm and it was strong. With it, he snatched away the sailor’s holstered side arm and cocked it before the hapless enemy sailor could respond. When, in the next instant, the sailor did make a move, the weapon in Karskij’s hand fired and the sailor toppled to the deck.
“All right!” Karskij screamed, quickly raising the side arm and taking aim at a new target. “Who wants to be the next Jap to die?”
Everything happened in a flash. Those standing were barely recovering from their stunned shock at this turn of events before Karskij swung around his weapon, this time with Commander Otami in his sights. Even the sailor who had drawn his gun on Vlasenko did not act fast enough.
Karskij’s agitation and distress impelled him to move faster than his mind could reason. He obviously didn’t care about the Japanese sailor’s weapon, or even Vlasenko’s weapon; all that mattered was that he took a few of the enemy with him into welcomed death.
But the time it took him to yell his threat was a moment too long. Mariana, who was closest, took advantage of that instant and lurched toward Karskij with the intention of disrupting his aim. She flung herself bodily against him, sending his arm upward. When the gun discharged, the bullet creased the bulkhead near the ceiling.
At first, no one understood where the second shot, coming in close succession to the misfire from Karskij’s weapon, had originated. Nor did Ma
riana immediately grasp the cause of the stunning blow to her body. She thought someone had pushed her, but with such force it made her head reel. She stood there a moment with a perplexed frown on her face.
Then she crumpled.
Daniel’s eyes had first been on Vlasenko’s Smith and Wesson, then his attention had shifted to Karskij. He hadn’t even noticed when the Japanese sailor had drawn his weapon. When Karskij hesitated, the sailor took aim and fired at nearly the same moment Mariana made her move. When the report of the second shot echoed in his ear, Daniel had first thought Vlasenko had tried to shoot him.
Daniel looked at Vlasenko, whose eyes had suddenly gone wide and glassy. The stark panic on the doctor’s face was proof enough he’d never have the nerve to fire a gun. When Mariana fell to the deck, Daniel ignored Vlasenko and his toothless threat. He rushed to Mariana.
“I . . . I think . . . I’ve been shot.” Mariana seemed surprised, as if there might be a possibility she could be wrong.
Daniel stripped off the laboratory coat he had stupidly thought would protect everyone from harm. He rolled it up and placed it lovingly under her head. As he bent over her, he saw the widening splotch of red in her left side. Then her eyes closed and her body went limp.
“No!” Daniel cried. “Mariana!”
The commander quickly shook away his own shock. Less than a minute had elapsed since Vlasenko had first drawn his weapon, causing the tragic chain reaction. The commander ordered one of his men to take Private Karskij in hand. Private Karskij’s weapon was confiscated and a rifle was pointed at his head, but the distraught private no longer seemed much of a threat. After realizing the tragic result of his mad revenge, he had fallen back in his bed, a glazed, haunted look on his face.
Then Otami turned on Vlasenko and snatched the gun from his hand. “If you are truly a physician, help these wounded—now!”
In the meantime, all the other Japanese had drawn their weapons, training them warily around the room.
Daniel was oblivious to it all. He didn’t care any longer about ships, documents, interviews! How petty and insignificant it all was. Nothing was important if Mariana was lost to him—
Then he felt a flutter of movement in the hand he had gripped in his own. Her eyes blinked.
“I . . . must have fainted.” Her words were barely audible.
“Thank God!” Tears spilled from Daniel’s eyes as they had not even done when his father had died.
Commander Otami, not entirely unmoved by the sight of the wounded nurse, and the overwrought doctor—or whatever he was!—kneeling at her side, took charge of the situation.
“I will take this entire ship into custody,” the commander ordered. “You are all under arrest. I will escort this ship to the nearest Japanese harbor—”
“No!” Vlasenko jumped up from where he was tending the wounded Japanese sailor, who had received only a flesh wound. “You can’t do this to me—us. You have to honor the Red Cross flag. We have papers. It’s inhumane. It’s illegal. It’s—” He apparently couldn’t think of any other arguments, finally ending in a desperate, “You can’t!”
“I have a wounded man.” The commander was not about to let anyone forget the fact that he had nearly lost a man in the unfortunate melee. “I have every reason to suspect this ship is engaged in espionage. You cannot expect me to let you simply sail away.”
“But we’ll be in Vladivostok tomorrow!” whined Vlasenko. Somehow he thought this should matter to the commander.
The last thing Daniel wanted to do just then was support Vlasenko. But with Mariana hurt, there was more reason than ever for getting to their destination. The wounded might receive care in Japan, but there would be too much uncertainty, too much delay. Shimonoseki was the nearest Japanese harbor, but it was at least a day farther away than Vladivostok. Even if Mariana did survive such a trip, would she then have to spend the duration of the war in a prison camp? Daniel could not accept that possibility.
He rose and faced the commander.
“Look here, Commander, you don’t need to go to those extremes.” Realizing he still had the stethoscope around his neck, he pulled it off and laid it aside, as if to give further credence to his next words. “Dr. Vlasenko is right. I am a spy. I’m carrying intelligence to Kuropatkin. No one on this ship had any knowledge of my activities until I was discovered shortly before you boarded. These people were carrying out a humane operation and should not be made to suffer for my stupidity. If you must arrest someone, then I should be the only one. Even Private Karskij there can’t be blamed for his behavior. Look at him. He’s lost an arm and a leg—can you hold it against him for going a little crazy when he saw you, his enemy?”
“How can I verify your words?”
The commander couldn’t really want the inconvenience of escorting the German vessel. And maybe Mariana’s attempt to save his life had touched him. Since the documents Daniel carried in no way revealed any Russian strategy, but rather information on the Japanese positions, Daniel saw no reason not to hand them over to the commander. He knew as he did so that he was also giving up all the concessions Stoessel had promised him, but after one glance at Mariana’s fallen form, he had no hesitation at all.
The commander read the papers with the help of his interpreter, then he shook his head. “This is it? This would not have turned the tide of the war, maybe only affected a few battles.” The Japanese officer stared at Daniel as his assistant interpreted his words. “But that is the nature of war, is it not? Risking so much for so little.”
The commander’s words burned like fire in Daniel’s gut. He had indeed risked much—too much—perhaps even Mariana’s life. And for what? A story. Words on paper that would ultimately line America’s trash cans. If Mariana lived—oh, God, please let her live!—how could she ever forgive him? How could he ever forgive himself?
“There has been enough grief over this incident,” Commander Otami said finally. “The ship is free to go to its destination. You—Trent, is it?—will come with me.”
Daniel nodded. He had expected no different. “May I have a moment with the nurse?”
The commander nodded when the request had been interpreted to him.
By now Vlasenko, who had thought it expedient to treat the wounded enemy first in order to cull the commander’s favor, was examining Mariana. Daniel knelt by her side opposite Vlasenko. He tried not to look at the pathetic doctor.
“Daniel,” she said weakly. He had to bend very close to hear her. “Please be careful . . . I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about, my love. You were wonderful, brave. I’m so proud of you. If only I could be as brave.”
“God be with you . . . and I love you so!” She reached for his hand and tried to grasp it, but she had no strength at all.
Daniel gave Vlasenko a beseeching look, wanting desperately to hear that Mariana’s wounds were not as serious as they appeared. The doctor could only shake his head hopelessly in response. Daniel, suddenly filled with fury toward the doctor, wrapped his fingers around Karl’s shirt front, pulled the doctor close, and said in a low but menacing tone, “She had better be alive the next time I see her, Vlasenko—or I’ll see to it you go up on charges of murder!”
“M-m-me?” stammered Vlasenko. “What did I do?”
“There wouldn’t have been any shooting, Vlasenko, if you hadn’t drawn that stupid gun.” This was probably not strictly the case, but Daniel wasn’t ready to exonerate Vlasenko for his part in it all. “And I swear, you won’t get off easily if anything happens to Mariana.”
Daniel bent down and kissed Mariana tenderly on the lips. “I will meet you again soon in the Summer Gardens, Mariana, and I shall bring the picnic lunch.”
“We will watch the lovely swans . . .”
“For hours and hours!”
Commander Otami was anxious to get on his way. “Come along, Mr. Trent.”
Daniel kissed Mariana one last time, started to rise, then paused and cast Vlasen
ko one last warning glance. Mariana must live. Daniel could not bear another grievous loss.
49
Cerkover padded up the steps that led to Cyril Vlasenko’s spacious office in the Ministry of the Interior building. He was in the habit of using the back way to the count’s office rather than the front elevator. Though Cerkover was Vlasenko’s official aide, it always paid to be cautious. The cunning and devious Count Vlasenko, who was continually spinning numberless plots and intrigues, would want it that way, at any rate.
Cerkover puffed heavily. At forty, he was no longer a young man and the years had not been kind to him. He reached the count’s door and paused, not only to catch his breath, but to admire his surroundings—the wide corridor, carpeted with a Persian runner, the massive door with its brass hardware, and the gold-embossed plaque that announced “Count Cyril Vlasenko, Under Secretary of the Interior.” The count’s henchman envied all this and aspired to possess it one day. That he was this close was a small miracle in itself, for less than ten years ago he had been nothing but a minor constable in a dirty Ukrainian village. He had made himself known to Vlasenko, then governor-general of the province, by being an informant and all-around bootlicker. He had been instrumental in turning the blame for some civil unrest upon the Jewish populous. This coup had brought Vlasenko to the attention of the Imperial government, and when Cyril had been promoted, he didn’t forget the constable who had helped make it all possible. For this, Cerkover was ever indebted to the count and would do anything for the man. He hoped Vlasenko’s gratitude would be evident in promotions closer and closer to the seat of power. So far, he hadn’t been disappointed.
Cerkover knew his mentor well enough to realize what he now carried to the man was one of the best coups of his career. He knew everything about Vlasenko’s bitter vendetta against the Fedorcenko family. He didn’t quite understand it—that is, he didn’t understand why it continued, considering the fact that the count had squeezed nearly all possible life from the family. But, for whatever reason, Vlasenko seemed to glory in any misfortune that fell upon that hapless family, and all the better if the count himself was the cause of the calamity.
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