Her ribs, shoulders, thighs, and calves were all screaming for more rest. The cut on her arm was worse. The medication Dr. Teterya gave her the night before had worn off, and the wound throbbed painfully with every beat of her heart.
It would have been great to just stay in bed, but besides the fact the guards would eventually rouse her, today was the big day. She would either make contact with El-Hashim, or lose that opportunity altogether. Sleep was not an option.
Down in the cafeteria, she found Frida eating breakfast by herself, so she sat with her. “Any more problems?”
Frida swallowed a spoonful of gruel. “I saw Kalyna last night right before dinner. She gave me…what do you call it? A dirty…”
“A dirty look?”
“A dirty look. Yes. But she leave me alone.” She smiled now. “Thank you.”
Alex retuned the smile, but didn’t say anything. She knew Kalyna would be back at her old games before long, especially after Alex left.
Before they finished eating, Rachel joined them. Alex wasn’t as surprised that the other two women had met, as she was by the fact Frida didn’t seem to like Rachel. Frida greeted Rachel’s questions with frowns and mumbled responses and seemed uncomfortable in her presence.
Rachel, however, didn’t seem to notice, and Alex didn’t have time to question Frida privately about it. Once they all got out to the yard, she excused herself and left them to deal with their own problems. She had no interest in playing moderator.
Her first task involved a leisurely trip to the door in the back wall. The purpose of this was to see if she could hear anything coming from the other side. She knew that El-Hashim and her friends were over there somewhere, but the only noise she heard was that generated by the prisoners on her side of the wall.
Stepping forward, she gave the door a closer look. Made of metal, it was thick, heavy, and formidable. Meaning it would be impossible to get through without an explosive charge — unless you were authorized, which Alex most definitely was not.
Turning now, she started walking, heading directly for the administration building, counting the steps as she went. Give or take a few feet, it was just shy of a hundred and fifty yards. Adding that to the approximate distance on each end, she came up with an estimate of five hundred to five hundred twenty-five feet — a number she filed away for later use.
Scanning the back wall again, she focused on the guard towers. The observation areas were enclosed by clear glass or Plexi, and she could easily see there were two men in each. Three towers along the back, six men.
Although she couldn’t see it from where she stood, she knew from the satellite photo that there was an additional outpost at the back of the isolation area. So potentially eight watchers could spot someone caught out in the open.
Another piece of info for her file.
She walked over to the exercise area, and pretended to watch a group of women kick a soccer ball as she mentally went over everything again.
And when the horn signaled the end of the outside hour, she was ready.
Her assignment that day was once again in the kitchen. When lunch started, she quickly ate her food before getting back to work, washing the pots and pans that had been used to prepare the meal. She was in the middle of cleaning out a particularly grimy kettle when someone tapped her shoulder.
“You go.” It was Oksana, the inmate who ran Building One’s kitchen.
Behind her were two guards.
Finally.
While Oksana had a rudimentary knowledge of English, the guards apparently did not. They communicated with Alex using points and nods as they guided her back to the administration building and up to the infirmary.
The nurse who had been helping Dr. Teterya the night before glanced up from her computer, then stood and walked over. The doctor had called her Irina.
“We work together,” the doctor had said the night before as they were finishing their discussion. “She starts her next shift tomorrow at noon. She’ll send for you when she gets here to do a follow-up.”
“That’s not something that should take very long,” Alex had said.
“Leave that to us.”
Irina talked to the guards for a moment, then motioned for Alex to follow her. Unlike the guard from the night before, these two simply left, apparently having other, more pressing duties.
Irina took Alex to the examining table farthest from the lobby, and pulled the curtain around.
“My English not good,” the nurse whispered. “Doctor come, look arm. Make like hurt, yes?”
“Sure,” Alex said, though she wouldn’t actually have to pretend.
It was several minutes before the older doctor — the one who had initially stitched Alex up — pulled back the curtain just wide enough to enter. Unlike the previous day, he looked pale and a little sweaty.
“Hello,” he said, his tone brusque.
He pulled a stool over to the table. As he sat down, he shot out a hand, grabbing the edge of the bed to steady himself, then paused for a moment, panting.
“Are you all right?” Alex asked.
He frowned at her. “Arm.”
She held it out.
As he examined the wound, she could hear low grunts and groans emanating from his throat, and knew that there was something definitely wrong with him. She winced as his fingers traced her stitches. When he got to the ones Dr. Teterya had redone, he paused, but went on without saying anything.
A moan this time, louder than the grunts that had preceded it.
“Wait,” the doctor said, suddenly rising to his feet. With three quick steps, he was gone.
Alex sat silently. Five minutes passed, then ten. Finally Irina appeared with another nurse and said, “You must…” She struggled for a moment before continuing. “Not go. Doctor come…soon.”
A smirk graced Alex’s lips. “Like I have a choice.”
Dr. Teterya had a hard time sleeping that morning, knowing that less than four hours after he laid his head down, he would need to be up again. Of course, the thing that was really keeping him awake was the prisoner Powell.
It had been less than a week ago when the doctor was approached outside his apartment building. The offer: money. Lots of money. Half upon agreement to help, and half upon completion. All he and Irina had to do was provide assistance to an inmate who hadn’t even been arrested yet. This assistance, the man had told the doctor, would come in the form of information, communications relay, and most importantly, escape — but not just the new inmate.
There would likely be another.
Teterya and Irina had, of course, done this before. Once. It had been out of necessity. Irina’s sister had been sick and quality medical assistance was far from cheap, so they’d helped a Hungarian woman escape, and made the needed cash.
As it turned out, the man making the new offer knew all about their previous assistance. And while he didn’t say it directly, it was clear that if the offer was refused, the authorities would become aware of their earlier indiscretion.
Dr. Teterya was given two hours to think about it.
He went directly to Irina’s home.
“How much?” Irina had asked.
He repeated the number to her, and knew exactly what she was thinking. The amount of money the man had offered was more than enough for them to quit their jobs at the prison and take the time they would need to find better employment in Sevastopol or even Kiev.
“The money is fantastic,” Irina asked, “but how are we supposed to get them out? Anton can’t fit two inside his truck. And more than one trip will be too much of a risk.”
But the doctor had an answer for that. There was one other way. It was trickier than hiding in the compartment of a truck, but he had discovered it when he first started working at the hospital, and knew it would work.