by Gary Glass
They turned up river, and jogged along rutted cattle trails. The river, though not very wide, was already swollen with early spring melt-off — an impassable torrent. Thundering down through its rock channels, it filled the forest with its noise.
They kept on all day, pushing up the valley floor along the river. Marley was not nearly as fit as these young troops, but he knew if he didn’t keep up they’d shoot him. He forced himself forward, determined to run till he dropped. He invented mind games to keep himself going: imagined that he was going to run all the way home, that he was going to go back to Ally, back to the way things had been — that he had to keep running to get there.
More than once he stumbled and fell to his knees, and retched up what little was left in his stomach, fearing with each heave of his gut the next thing he’d feel would be a bullet.
But each time, after a few seconds, they’d yank him back to his feet, shove a bottle of water into his hand, and push him on up the trail again. He knew that they knew if he dehydrated, he’d die. They wanted him alive. Doctors were valuable.
Toward dark, much farther upstream, as the jungle was giving way to thinner alpine forest, they turned away from the river and headed up a broad slope, coming eventually to a steeper rock face cleft by cold and ice into long vertical seams. In the mouth of one of these rifts, a few guards sat in a group, drinking homebrew from canteens, rifles slung over their backs. They raised their arms when they saw them and the two groups greeted each other grandly.
Ducking through a narrow opening, they proceeded by touch into the darkness of the cave. Marley felt a hand seize on the back of his shirt, pulling him left and right as they went, keeping him from straying from the unseen path. After a couple of minutes, they saw a dim orange flare of light ahead — shifting shadows of movement and the hollow echoes of loud voices filled the cavern.
A minute later they arrived at their destination — a long open chamber filled with people dancing and singing, shouting and laughing, drinking and eating. Long strips of low-energy ribbon-lights lit the cavern, but the air was so thick with tobacco smoke that the air itself seemed to be smoldering with an amber glow. Recorded music blared from a player somewhere in the chamber — bouncing back and forth off the rock walls, the music smeared into a tuneless screech.
A shout went up as Marley’s group entered. The party surged toward them and engulfed them. They seized on Marley immediately. Stumbling from hand to hand, he was fondled and inspected — as if they were choosing a head of beef to have slaughtered. They spun him round, looked him in the eyes, pulled on his ears, grabbed his balls, and shouted in his face.
“Doctor? American doctor? OK! OK!”
One woman, drenched in sweat and sweet-smelling alcohol, squeezed his face in her hands and kissed him hungrily, earning roars of laughter.
And so by degrees he advanced up the whole length of the long gallery. At the back of the chamber he was shoved into a dark alcove.
Benford was there, barefoot, lying on her back on a thin mat on the wet floor.
He stumbled in and went to his knees beside her as she sat up.
“Carl! You made it! I’d about given you up.”
He collapsed onto the other mat. “We took the scenic route.”
Chapter 19
Early Friday morning.
Ally came up the stairs slowly, looking pale.
Karen was waiting for her on the top step. “What is it?” she said, her heart sinking.
Ally held out the small tablet she carried.
We regret to inform you…
Ally sat down beside her, seeming to feel her way down to the floor. She wasn’t crying. But she had been.
Karen tried to read the words on the tablet, but they seemed to hide their meanings from her. “What’s it mean?”
“Carl is missing.”
“But. How can that be? That’s got to be wrong. It must be a mistake.”
“It says the camp he was at was attacked and several people were taken prisoner.”
“He’s been captured?”
“They don’t know.”
“But he’s a civilian.”
Ally shook her head. What difference did that make? She took the tablet back and stared at the message. “It’s from the commander of forces, Indian Ocean,” she said. “He must be in Pakistan or India or something like that.”
Karen put her arm over Ally’s shoulder. “There’s something going on everywhere.”
“Yes.” She nodded, still staring at the message at the tablet. “Yes,” she repeated. Finally, she hid it under her hand and said softly, “I could use a drink.”
“Sure.”
Ally called her assistant manager and told her to hold down the fort on her own today, and she and Karen spent the whole day sitting on the step getting drunk, the little tablet on the floor between them, waiting for the next message.
Ally started telling stories on her husband, making Karen laugh. Karen laughed till her throat hurt. It was obvious Ally was crazy about him.
Then Ally said, “Carl has affairs.”
Karen stopped laughing.
“He does?”
“Yes.” Ally was definite about it.
“Does he know that you know?” Karen said. “About his affairs, I mean?”
“No.” Ally smiled to herself. “It’s only happened a couple of times.”
“With who?”
“Once with one of the secretaries they had. They’ve had dozens.”
“How did you know?”
“Oh, he’s an open book. It’s easy to read anybody who’s trying so hard to be inscrutable. For a while, I thought he was going to have one with you. Before I met you, of course.”
“With me!”
“Yes. He was at your place three or four nights a week.”
“He was talking to Roger.”
“Psychiatrists don’t make house calls.”
“He was working on his paper. He doesn’t even like me.”
“Yes, he does. Very much. He’s likes anybody that calls him on his shit. And you excel at that.”
Karen looked away, intensely uncomfortable.
“Anyway,” Ally said, “it wasn’t that. No offense, but the reason you got the special treatment was so Carl could make a name for himself.”
“I know that.”
“He’s ambitious, you know. Though he tries not to show it. He wants to do more than adjust dosages all his life. Funny thing is, I don’t think he knows what he’d rather do. He’s always been ambitious, but he didn’t know what he was ambitious for. We used to be ambitious for the same things — we thought.”
“And what was that?”
“Change the world, one cup of coffee at a time. It’s not so bad, you know, measuring out your life with coffee spoons. If it’s the right kind of coffee.”
“Dr. Marley!” Benford said. “Carl! Wake up!”
He groaned. He was lying in a fetal position. He felt cold and sick. Every muscle in his body seemed to be cramping.
“Wake up, Carl!” she hissed again. “Don’t sleep too much.”
“Why not?” he growled.
Waking this time, he had no trouble remembering where he was. He uncurled himself carefully, sat up slowly, and looked around. Someone had taken his boots while he slept. The little alcove where they were was very dim. A little light filtered in from the main chamber. It was just enough to see they both looked like hell — filthy, bedraggled.
“Estrada?” he said.
“They’ve got him doctoring their wounded.”
Marley could hear two men keeping up a nonstop chatter outside the entrance of the alcove. Otherwise it was quiet; the party seemed to have burned out. But the air was still so thick with hashish and tobacco smoke it made his eyes water.
“Guards?” he said.
“Yes. Two of them — usually.”
“What time is it?”
“Took our watches. My guess is three or four.”
“In t
he morning?”
“Yes.”
He had a bitter taste in his mouth. “Anything to eat or drink?”
“Not yet.”
“Any news?”
“No.”
He heard footsteps approaching. Two silhouettes appeared in the opening of the chamber. It was Estrada, barefoot, with an escort.
“I’m all in,” Estrada said, dropping to his hands and knees.
“Who will be next?” the escort said.
It sounded like an invitation to a beating. It was the interpreter they’d met in the temple courtyard, the one who’d backhanded Estrada.
“Everyone is stable,” Estrada said. “Just need someone to keep an eye on things.”
“I’ll take a turn,” Marley said, getting up stiffly, willing himself not to groan.
Already getting drowsy, Estrada gave him a brief report: “About twenty-five walking wounded. Eleven non-ambulatory. Keep your eye on the chest case. Don’t know why the bastard isn’t dead already.”
“All right.”
“Send someone if you need help,” Benford said.
The interpreter led him out. The two guards were sitting on stools tilted back against the cavern wall, rifles across their knees. They stopped talking briefly while they watched the prisoner pass by. The alcove where they were being held seemed to be the deepest occupied part of the chamber. He wondered how much deeper the cavern went.
He glanced down through the ghost-green chamber. There was little movement. The sound of snoring crept through the heavy air.
The floor was slick under his bare feet.
“I need my boots back,” he said.
His escort waved him forward. “No.” He was a small man, with an intelligent and fiery look in his eye.
The area set aside for an infirmary was close by. It was just a wide place partitioned from the main chamber by an enormous fallen block. The wounded lay scattered about on low cots.
“Your name?” said the interpreter.
“Marley. What’s your name?”
He looked surprised. “My name?” But then he smiled. “I am Vikas.”
Vikas showed him around, pointing out the box where their medical supplies were. There wasn’t much. Plenty of morphine though, and a lot of small stuff — items that could be carried easily, syringes and scalpels and sponges.
“We take much from you today,” Vikas said, with a triumphant grin.
Marley went round the room and looked everyone over, trying not to wake them. The cots were so low, he had to squat or sit on the floor to look at them closely. More strip-lights had been strung up in the surgery than elsewhere, but the amber pallor of the low-energy ribbons still made it difficult to visually assess the patients. He checked on the chest case straightaway. Estrada had managed to rig up a makeshift drain. It seemed to be working well enough. Vikas produced a flashlight from the supply bin and held it on the incision so Marley could see better. Most of the patients were resting pretty comfortably, considering. There wasn’t much for Marley to do. He was glad of that.
“Everybody is OK?” Vikas said.
“Yes, they’re doing all right.”
“Good.”
“I could use a latrine.”
“Toilet?”
“Yes.”
“OK.”
Vikas led him out of the surgery and down the length of the big chamber. Sleeping men and women lay scattered about like driftwood. He stopped about midway, and pointed Marley into a side passage.
“You go back there.”
He gave him the flashlight.
Marley picked his way back into the dark passage, and found where a couple of pit toilets had been excavated, each covered with two planks — one for each foot. He planted his bare feet on the slick planks with extreme caution. He was so stiff and sore his legs trembled when he squatted.
He got the job done without falling in and came back out, and Vikas led him down to the little stream that meandered down the floor of the chamber.
“Wash there.”
“How about some soap?”
“No soap.”
“I need soap for the surgery.”
“No soap.”
Marley knelt down and bathed his hands in the cold water.
“Why so many doctors?” Vikas said.
“What?”
“Why you so many doctors in your camp? We just one doctor. He died before week — last week.”
“Sorry.”
“Why Americans have so many doctors?”
“I think they only had one before. The rest of us were just there investigating.”
“Investigating?” He chewed on the word for a second. “Investigating what?”
Marley stood, flinging the water off his hands. “I’m not allowed to discuss that.”
Vikas eyed him critically.
Marley shrugged. “Sorry.”
Vikas echoed his shrug. “You want to see the others?” he said.
“Others?”
“Come on.”
Vikas led him back up to the cave-in that blocked off the infirmary. Around the other side of it there was another chamber, separated from the main gallery. It was very dim, but felt warmer than other parts of the cave. And not so stale and rank. There was a light sweet fragrance in the air.
It was a large bowl-shaped room, and all around the uneven ledges of the sloping walls two dozen men and women sat quietly or lay sleeping on rough mats.
When Marley and Vikas came in, one woman stood and faced them. Half smiling, she looked at Marley, her gaze going through him like a pane of glass.
Gone, Marley thought.
Vikas spoke behind him. “These are the holy ones,” he whispered, almost too quietly to hear.
Marley responded over his shoulder, still holding the woman’s distant gaze. “The what?”
“Holy ones,” Vikas said uncertainly. “My English not good. — You know? Like angels?”
“Angels?”
Vikas said something in his own language, then, “You know? Holy ones?”
“You mean like saints?”
“Yes!” Vikas said enthusiastically. “Saints!” He continued in a lower voice, wagging his head sadly: “These will not fight now. We have too many saints. No good for fighting. Who need saints in war? No good.”
“No, I don’t suppose so,” Marley said. He turned back to Vikas. “What are you going to do with them?”
Vikas frowned. “Wait for them to get better,” he said.
“Will they get better?”
Vikas shrugged and cast his eyes to heaven. “Maybe. God knows.”
“Have any of them got better yet?”
Vikas hesitated. “Maybe I say too much,” he said, and struck a defiant pose. “You don’t tell me anything too.”
The woman took a step closer.
“Ask her her name,” Marley said.
That surprised Vikas. “No no,” he said. “Don’t speak.”
“Just ask her how she is.”
“No!” he said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 20
At 0900 Vikas led Marley back to the detention area.
Different guards now occupied the stools outside the detention area. They looked hung over.
The camp was awake again and busy. Groups of men and women squatted around shallow bowls of gruel, throwing down hot tea, and mumbling softly to each other. The smell of food filled the air.
“Vikas, do you think we could get something to eat?”
“I will ask,” Vikas said. “Good bye, Dr. Marley.”
And he left him with the other prisoners in the darkness of the unlit alcove.
“Well, aren’t you two getting chummy,” Estrada said.
“Yes,” Marley said, feeling his way down to the floor. “It’s an old psychiatry trick. Treat people like human beings.”
“Yes, well, I think a human being slugged me back at the camp.”
Benford had been asleep, but woke the second Marley returned.
“Nice work,” she said.
“How’s that chest wound doing, doctor?” Estrada said.
“He’s still hanging in there.”
“Did you check the drain for patency?”
“Of course.”
“Who’s minding the store now?”
“No one. Vikas said he’s going to find his relief. Then they’ll come for one of us. Hopefully with some food.”
“Vikas is the interpreter?” Benford said.
“Yes,” Marley said.
“Sounds like you made some progress there.”
“Anything else going on?” Estrada said.
“Yes,” Marley said. He was trying to get comfortable. His backside ached from sitting on the box. “They have lots of IDDs.”
“They do?” Benford said.
“Yes. At least two dozen cases here in the cave. Many more elsewhere.”
“No shit?” Estrada said.
“Vikas told you all this?” Benford said skeptically.
“I saw them,” Marley said. “They’ve got them sequestered in a chamber beyond the surgery. They call them ‘saints.’ Or something like that in their own language. Something Vikas considered ‘saints’ to be a good translation for.”
“Saints?”
“Yes. He also tried ‘holy ones’ and ‘angels’. Bit of a different attitude than ‘bambies’ in the ‘zoo,’ eh?”
“Maybe he was just having you on,” Estrada said.
“I asked him why he called them that. He said because they’re like the old men in the caves that people go to see. The old wise men.”
“Yogis,” Benford said. “And he told you there were a lot more cases among their forces?”
“Yes,” Marley said. “I got the impression it’s a pretty big problem for them.”
Benford nodded thoughtfully. “That’s interesting.”
Marley stretched out on the mat beside her and closed his eyes. He felt his bones creaking, settling. “I guess that kills the neurological-agent theory,” he said, wearily.
“How much do they know about how it’s affecting our side?” Benford said.
“Well, they saw them in the temple.”
“Yes, but is that all they know?”
“I think they suspect.”
“Did you tell Vikas anything?”