Without remorse - Tom Clancy [140]
'I think I have some broken ribs.'
Zacharias sat down in the chair, breathing slowly and in obvious pain. That worried the Russian. Such an injury could lead to pneumonia, and pneumonia could kill a man in this physical condition. The guards had been a little too enthusiastic in their assault on the man, and though it had been done at Grishanov's request, he hadn't wanted to do more than to inflict some pain. A dead prisoner would not tell him what he needed to know.
'I've spoken to Major Vinh, The little savage says he has no medicines to spare.' Grishanov shrugged. 'It might even be true. The pain, it is bad?'
'Every time I breathe,' Zacharias replied, and he was clearly speaking the truth. His skin was even paler than usual.
'I have only one thing for pain, Robin,' Kolya said apologetically, holding out his flask.
The American colonel shook his head, and even that appeared to hurt him. 'I can't.'
Grishanov spoke with the frustration of a man trying to reason with a friend. 'Then you are a fool, Robin. Pain serves no one, not you, not me, not your God. Please, let me help you a little. Please?'
Can't do it, Zacharias told himself. To do so was to break his covenant. His body was a temple, and he had to keep it pure of such things as this. But the temple was broken. He feared internal bleeding most of all. Would his body be able to heal itself? It should, and under anything approaching normal circumstances, it would do so easily, but he knew that his physical condition was dreadful, his back still injured, and now his ribs. Pain was a companion now, and pain would make it harder for him to resist questions, and so he had to measure his religion against his duty to resist. Things were less clear now. Easing the pain might make it easier to heal, and easier to stick to his duty. So what was the right thing? What ought to have been an easy question was clouded, and his eyes looked at the metal container. There was relief there. Not much, but some, and some relief was what he needed if he were to control himself.
Grishanov unscrewed the cap. 'Do you ski, Robin?'
Zacharias was surprised by the question. 'Yes, I learned when I was a kid.'
'Cross-country?'
The American shook his head. 'No, downhill.'
'The snow in the Wasatch Mountains, it is good for skiing?'
Robin smiled, remembering. 'Very good, Kolya. It's dry snow. Powdery, almost like very fine sand.'
'Ah, the best kind of all. Here.' He handed the flask over.
Just this once, Zacharias thought, just for the pain. He took a swallow. Push the pain back a few steps, just so I can keep myself together.
Grishanov watched him do it, saw his eyes water, hoping the man wouldn't cough and hurt himself more. It was good vodka, obtained from the embassy's storeroom in Hanoi, the one thing his country always had in good supply, and the one thing the embassy always had enough of. The best quality of paper vodka, Kolya's personal favorite, actually flavored with old paper, something this American was unlikely to note - and something he himself missed after the third or fourth drink, if the truth be known.
'You are a good skier, Robin?'
Zacharias felt the warmth in his belly as it spread out and allowed his body to relax. In that relaxation his pain lessened, and he felt a little stronger, and if this Russian wanted to talk skiing, well, that couldn't hurt much, could it?
'I ski the expert slopes,' Robin said with satisfaction. 'I started when I was a kid. I think I was five when Dad took me the first time.'
'Your father - also a pilot?'
The American shook his head. 'No, a lawyer.'
'My father is a professor of history at Moscow State University. We have a dacha, and in the winter when I was little, I could ski in the woods. I love the silence. All you can hear is the - how you say, swish? Swish of the skis in the snow. Nothing else. Like a blanket on the earth, no noise, just silence.'
'If you go up early, the mountains can be like that. You pick a day right after the snow ends, not much wind.'
Kolya smiled. 'Like flying, isn't it? Flying