Yes, Sheila, loud and clear.
Where are you, Rodney?
Sheila, I’m standing in a village called Sataru. It’s one of the northern suburbs of Tanami, a small but prosperous village filled with shops and other small businesses. The structure you see behind me is the gate that separates the new village of Sataru from the old village, which has stood for thousands of years. I’m reporting to you from the new village. As you can see, a solid phalanx of heavily armed soldiers is blocking the entrance to the old village of Sataru. They have strict orders not to allow anyone to pass, and I’m afraid that my press credentials are absolutely useless in this situation.
Apparently, it was in the old village of Sataru, just beyond this ancient gate, that a terrorist incident took place earlier this evening. While it may not be wise to speculate in the absence of hard facts, my sources inform me that what took place just beyond this gate could best be characterized as a massacre. Reliable sources tell me that at least a dozen terrorists opened fire, indiscriminately, with automatic weapons, in a crowded market.
Normally, in the late afternoon, which is when the massacre took place, the only people in the market would have been villagers, local people. But on this particular day, it seems, a guided tour of Olympians was visiting Old Sataru. There were dozens of athletes in the market, representing as many as half a dozen different nations, including the United States, Cuba, and Japan, when the deadly hail of terror began to rain down on them…
5.2.9: Tanami
“It is good to see you, my friend. It has been many years.”
“Too many,” Jago agrees. He kisses Dimitri Boronov on both cheeks, and the two men share a brief embrace.
“Please forgive my Russian,” Jago says, apologetically. “I was never very fluent, and now it has grown rusty from disuse. But as I doubt you speak any English, I suppose we will have to limit ourselves to Russian, yes?”
“Is it so distasteful for you?”
Jago smiles sardonically. “It is not pleasant, to be certain. But the years have dulled the memories. In English, we say, ‘Time heals all wounds.’ I do not know if my wounds have healed completely, but certainly the passage of time has rendered them less painful.”
“You look well, my friend,” Dimitri says. “The years have been kind to you.”
“Come, Dimitri,” Jago says, impatiently. “You did not arrange this meeting simply to compliment me on my appearance. I do not wish to be rude, but if you have information for me, you must tell me quickly, and I must be on my way. We can exchange pleasantries on another occasion, yes?”
Dimitri draws the collar of his coat higher and glances uneasily down the street, first one way, then the other. “You are quite correct, of course,” he says, warily. “It would be best for me to spend as little time with you as possible. If I am seen speaking with you, more than my career will be in danger.” He shakes his head and sighs.
Jago laughs. “I’m afraid that your paranoia has become excessive, even for a Russian. It is quite normal for coaches from different nations to speak with each other during the games, Dimitri. Even Russian coaches and American coaches. Even Russian coaches and Czech coaches who defected to the United States. There is no need for us to meet furtively on this deserted street as if we were gangsters or drug dealers. There was no need for you to send a secret messenger to track me down, like a spy, in the middle of the night. By the way, who was she? She failed to identify herself. And how did she find me?”
A foghorn moans from not too far away, reminding Jago that the site that Dimitri has chosen for this clandestine meeting is in the middle of a commercial block in the waterfront district. The shuttered doors and barred windows seem vaguely ominous in the steady mist that wafts in from the ocean. It’s a seasonably warm night, far too warm for the coat in which Dimitri hides himself, but the foghorn seems to have startled Dimitri, and he draws his head deeper into the folds of his collar. He retreats into a nearby doorway, warily motioning for Jago to follow.
“Her name,” Dimitri finally responds, “is Marta Konuszenka. She is one of my students. I know you will attribute this to my ‘paranoia’…” – he smiles grimly – “…but I trust no one but my students. No one. I do not know how she found you, my friend, I am only pleased that she did. I sent her and another of my students to look for you. I suppose they asked questions – discreetly, I hope – until they found someone who had seen you or knew of your whereabouts. News travels quickly among the athletes in this city, Jago, and news of the terrible tragedy that happened this evening has spread like wildfire. By the way, I believe that I may have seen you on television. A journalist was reporting from in front of a police station, and I think that I saw you in the background, stepping from an automobile and hurrying inside.”
“Yes, that may well have been me,” Jago confirms. “Although I did not notice the television cameras. Perhaps your student also saw me on the television, which would explain how she was able to locate me with such ease. At any rate, it was, indeed, at the police station that she contacted me. But please, Dimitri, I beg you to tell me why you sent for me.”
In spite of the casual way in which he dismissed Dimitri’s fears, Jago is more than a little nervous himself. When Marta had furtively approached him at the Home Guard headquarters, Jago’s first thought was that it was an elaborate ruse, that his old friend Dimitri Boronov was not really sending for him after all, that it was simply a ploy by the Russians to exact some measure of retribution for his defection from Czechoslovakia all those years ago. Or perhaps Marta was in league with the terrorists who kidnapped Jill and Sunshine. Either way, he decided, following Marta’s directions to the supposed rendezvous was risky.
But what if she were on the level? What if Dimitri Boronov really had sent her as an emissary? And what if Dimitri really did have some news about Jill and Sunshine? Yes, it was risky, but the urgency of the current situation demanded that risks be taken.
And once he saw that it was, indeed, Dimitri Boronov who stood waiting for him, conspicuously huddled in his protective overcoat, Jago had felt a great sense of relief. But a nagging fear still persists that he’s been set up, that somehow the Soviet authorities have emerged from the past and have persuaded Dimitri to help them snare Jago Danziger, the enemy of the state.
True, it seems unlikely that Dimitri Boronov could be persuaded to betray an old friend. But the authorities, Jago knows, can be very persuasive.
“This is extraordinarily difficult for me, my friend,” Dimitri says. “Several times, I decided not to send for you, that it would be foolhardy, that I would be placing myself in danger for no good reason. After all, I have no proof. I have only my suspicions, nothing more. And I could very easily be mistaken, in which case I would have taken an enormous risk for nothing. But finally, I realized that if the situation were reversed, you would take the risk for me. You were never one to shrink from danger, Jago. And so I…”
“Suspicions? Suspicions of what?” Jago has quickly grown impatient. Whatever happened to the bold, brash Dimitri Boronov I remember? he wonders. Dimitri has grown cautious, tentative, even frightened. But I must find out what he knows, and quickly. “Do you have information about who took the girls? Or where they are being held? Come, you must tell me.”
Dimitri looks at the ground and shakes his head. “No, my friend,” he says, softly. “I do not know who took them or where they are.” He looks up at Jago searchingly, then he averts his eyes and shakes his head again.
“But…” Jago prompts, feeling that Dimitri has paused in mid-thought and might not continue unassisted.
“You did not hear this from me, you understand,” Dimitri continues, in a conspiratorial whisper. “And I hope against hope that I am mistaken.”
With sudden resolve, Dimitri meets and holds Jago’s eyes. “But I believe that I do know who was responsible for this horrible act.”
5.2.10: Aqevina
“Jill,” Sunshine says. “I’ve got an idea. But I’m going to
need your help.”
“I really wanted it to be something special,” Jillian says. She’s gazing in Sunshine’s general direction, but the faraway look in her eyes makes Sunshine wonder if Jillian even sees her. “I wasn’t going to wait until I was married, or anything like that. I mean, I’m not that old-fashioned. But I did want it to be someone special. Somebody that I was really in love with.” She speaks softly, almost melodically. Her voice is distant and ethereal, as if perhaps she were relating a fairy tale to a group of wide-eyed children. “That’s not so wrong, is it?”
“Jill, come on, get a grip on yourself.” Sunshine grabs Jillian by the shoulders and looks into her eyes, but Jillian’s eyes are glazed, her vision far away.
“A girl should be able to choose the man she gives herself to,” Jillian says, the barest hint of indignation creeping into her voice. “It’s a rare gift. It’s something that a girl can give to only one man, just once in a lifetime. And it’s important that she choose that man carefully. Someone special. Someone worthy. Someone who…”
“Oh, Jill.” Sunshine sighs and hugs Jillian, who continues to recite her sing-song litany. “I guess I’m going to have to figure this out without you.”
As Sammy had warned, the shower is bitterly cold, but it feels good to wash the grime of the chase through Sataru off her tired body just the same. Once she gets used to it, the bracing cold is actually exhilarating, rejuvenating. In fact, after a few minutes, Sunshine has to force herself to turn off the water and step out of the shower stall.
After she dries herself, Sunshine inspects the contents of the huge closet and the several chests of drawers that line the walls of the room. What about this outfit? she wonders, holding a floor-length pale-blue silk evening gown in front of her and inspecting it in a full-length mirror. No, it’s too much. After all, this isn’t a formal rape. She giggles, then stops and shakes her head firmly. I’m getting giddy, she thinks. That won’t do. I’ve got to keep my wits about me. I’ve got to do this for Jill.
What about this red pantsuit? No, it’s too old-fashioned, and it’s not sexy enough. I’ve got to make sure he’s attracted to me. But I’ve never tried to dress to attract a man in my entire life. How do I start now?
“Jill,” Sunshine begs, “Please snap out of it, just for a minute. I really do need your help.”
But Jillian seems to have sunken even deeper into her private reverie. Her eyes are closed, and she’s slowly shaking her head as she mutters dark thoughts to herself.
Finally, Sunshine selects a pink sleeveless pullover shirt that sports a strutting peacock gaudily outlined in multicolored sequins. The shirt is at least a half size too small for her, her breasts jut out in a manner that strikes her as both comical and obscene at the same time. Well, I’m never going to look elegant, she thinks, as she critically appraises her reflection, so I guess I should go for blatant sex appeal. This is crass – but, hopefully, effective.
The matching pink sequined skirt is simply too small to wriggle into, so she opts instead for a pair of light-blue leather pants. They’re so tight that, when she fastens the snap, she can barely breathe. I just hope I don’t pass out, she thinks, and she giggles as she imagines Akaso’s reaction when she faints just as he’s beginning to become passionate. Stop it, she tells herself again. If I’m not careful, I’ll get hysterical. And then I won’t be able to help Jill at all.
And look at all of these shoes! How could one woman have possibly worn all of them? Let’s see – these spike heels are probably the sexiest, but I’ve never worn heels in my life, and I guess I shouldn’t press my luck. This pair is high enough, and the dark blue goes with the light blue pants. Or does it? Do they clash? Who knows. Oh, my, they’re tight. But I don’t guess I’ll have to wear them for too long. Now if only I can keep my balance in them without falling down and making a fool out of myself.
And what about makeup? I should put some on, shouldn’t I?
With rising dismay, Sunshine surveys the array of bottles and tubes that are spread out on a large table in front of the makeup mirror. How am I going to figure out what to do with all this stuff? Jill would know – but she’s not in any condition to give me any advice right now. And now that I think of it, I don’t guess I’ve ever seen her wear any makeup, anyway. Except on that TV show…
Wait a minute, I almost forgot, that guy – what was his name? Rudi? – he made me up for that TV show in Boston. She frowns as she tries to remember what Rudi had done. Why didn’t I pay more attention? she scolds herself. Let’s see, he started by brushing some powdery stuff all over my face, didn’t he? But what was it? It could have been this, or maybe this… If I pick the wrong stuff, I’ll probably look like I’m decked out for Halloween. And if I mess it up, I don’t even know if this stuff comes off…
I guess I better keep it simple. Maybe a little lipstick… but there are so many different shades! What should I do? Should I try to match the pink in the shirt? This one looks close… Oh no, that’s too heavy! Does this stuff wipe off? There, that’s better. Or is that still too much? Do I look like a prostitute?
Maybe that’s the way he wants me to look.
And maybe a little eye shadow. Should I use the pink? Or would that be too much of the same color? Maybe this blue, to go with the pants and the shoes? And what about some mascara? No, I don’t want to press my luck. Maybe some powder on my cheeks? Or would that be too garish? But in this low light, being subtle isn’t going to do me any good at all.
And just then, while Sunshine is still trying to decide whether she needs any finishing touches to complete her new image, she hears the unmistakable sounds of a key turning in a lock and a bolt sliding open. She hears light footsteps walk into the room, muffled by the thick carpeting, and advance to the bed where Jillian sits in her terrified stupor.
“Are you ready?” Sammy asks, not realizing that Jillian is in no condition to respond.
Leaning against the doorjamb that separates the bathroom from the bedroom, Sunshine strikes what she hopes is a seductive pose. She takes a deep breath. Facing in the opposite direction, Sammy hasn’t even seen her yet.
“Yes, I am,” Sunshine says, the uncertainty in her voice lending it a husky quality that she hopes will be interpreted as sexy rather than terrified. Sammy whirls around in surprise to face her. Although she’s shaking inside, she attempts what she hopes will pass for a relaxed smile in the dim light. “I’m ready.”
As ready, she thinks grimly, as I’ll ever be.
5.2.11: Aqevina
“Wow,” Sammy gasps.
“Holy cow,” he adds.
“Let’s go,” Sunshine says, and she starts to walk unsteadily toward the doorway through which Sammy entered the room.
“Wait a minute,” Sammy says. “No, this is wrong. You’re not the one Akaso wanted. He told me to bring her. The blonde. I told you that.”
Sunshine pouts. “You think I’m not good enough for Akaso? You think I’m not pretty enough for him?”
“Oh, gosh, no, that’s not what I meant at all. But he specifically told me…”
“Sammy, get real. Do you really think he’d want her instead of me? Look at her,” Sunshine says, disparagingly. “She’s like a scared rabbit. She’s so freaked out she doesn’t even know where she is.”
And indeed, Jillian appears to have only the foggiest realization of what’s going on around her. Disheveled and unkempt, she sits wide-eyed on the bed, her head cocked slightly to the side, like a dog trying to make some sense out of human conversation. She turns occasionally from side to side in what might be an attempt to follow the dialogue, but she shows no sign that she understands what’s happening.
Sammy looks at Jillian and appears to think about what Sunshine said. “Well,” he says, dubiously, “she does look a little wazzed out,” he admits. “But…”
“Sammy, think about it. If you were Akaso, who would you rather have right now, her or me?”
“But that’s not the point.” Sammy is confused. “I
mean, don’t get me wrong, you look a zillion times better than she does, you know? But it’s not up to me. Akaso said…”
“Let me confess something to you, Sammy.” Sunshine takes a deep breath. “I was an admirer of Akaso’s father for years. I think he was a great, great man. And I’ve wanted to meet Akaso for as long as I can remember. I think that what he’s doing, fighting for the freedom of your people, is a wonderful thing.”
It seems like such a transparently obvious lie to Sunshine, even as she says it, that she doubts that Sammy could possibly swallow it. But she plunges ahead.
“But Jill… well, she’s nothing but a rich, spoiled brat, Sammy. She probably thinks that Akaso is some kind of criminal. She doesn’t appreciate him like I do.”
Sammy looks doubtful. But he doesn’t seem to be rejecting her story out of hand.
“Look,” Sunshine continues, “I’ll bet Akaso would be really ticked off if you don’t take me to him. I mean, look at us. Which one of us do you think he would want? And I want to be with him. Jill doesn’t. What is it, Sammy? Don’t you think I can satisfy him?”
“Oh, gosh, no, that’s… I mean, yes, sure you could… I mean…” Sammy is distressed. “It’s got nothing to do with you, believe me. But it would be like I was disobeying orders, you know? He didn’t say he wanted you, he said he wanted her. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
“Akaso gives you orders? In your own house?”
“No, you don’t understand, it’s not like that…”
“Sammy, it’s not like Jill’s going to be leaving anytime real soon. If Akaso doesn’t approve of me, he can always send for her later. Or don’t you think he’s man enough to take us both in one night?”
“Oh, golly, no, I didn’t…”
“Oh, Sammy,” Sunshine says, sighing softly. She walks over to him and strokes his face. He flinches. “Can’t you just do me this one special favor? It would mean so much to me. And later, maybe me and you could get to know each other better, okay? Would you like that?”
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