Without remorse - Tom Clancy [196]
'Hope, Comrade General. I need hope.' Colonel Nikolay Yevgeniyeyush Grishanov gathered himself.
'Explain.'
'Some of these men know their situation. Probably all suspect it. They are well briefed on what happens to prisoners here, and they know that their status is unusual. Comrade General, the knowledge these men have is encyclopedic. Years of useful information.'
'You're building up to something.'
'We can't let them die,' Grishanov said, immediately qualifying himself to lessen the impact of what he was saying. 'Not all of them. Some we must have. Some will serve us, but I must have something to offer to them.'
'Bring them back?'
'After the hell they've lived here -'
'They're enemies, Colonel! They all trained to kill us! Save your sympathy for your own countrymen!' growled a man who'd fought in the snows outside Moscow.
Grishanov stood his ground, as the General had once done. 'They are men, not unlike us, Comrade General. They have knowledge that is useful, if only we have the intelligence to extract it. It is that simple. Is it too much to ask that we treat them with kindness, that we give something in return for learning how to save our country from possible destruction? We could torture them, as our "fraternal socialist allies" have done, and get nothing! Does that serve our country?' It came down to that, and the General knew it. He looked at the Colonel of Air Defense and his first expressed thought was the obvious one.
'You wish to risk my career along with yours? My father is not a Central Committeeman.' I could have used this man in my battalion...
'Your father was a soldier,' Grishanov pointed out. 'And like you, a good one.' It was a skillful play and both knew it, but what really mattered was the logic and significance of what Grishanov was proposing, an intelligence coup that would stagger the professional spies of KGB and GRU. There was only one possible reaction from a real soldier with a real sense of mission.
General-Lieutenant Yuri Konstantinovich Rokossovskiy pulled a bottle of vodka from his desk. It was the Starka label, dark, not clear, the best and most expensive. He poured two small glasses.
'I can't get you more men. Certainly I cannot get you a physician, not even one in uniform, Kolya. But, yes, I will try to get you some hope.'
The third convulsion since her arrival at Sandy's house was a minor one, but still troubling. Sarah had gotten her quieted down with as mild a shot of barbiturate as she dared. The blood work was back, and Doris was a veritable collection of problems. Two kinds of venereal disease, evidence of another systemic infection, and possibly a borderline diabetic. She was already attacking the first three problems with a strong dose of antibiotics. The fourth would be handled with diet and reevaluated later. For Sarah the signs of physical abuse were like something from a nightmare about another continent and another generation, and it was the mental aftermath of that that was the most disquieting of all, even as Doris Brown closed her eyes and lapsed into sleep.
'Doctor, I -'
'Sandy, will you please call me Sarah? We're in your house, remember?'
Nurse O'Toole managed an embarrassed smile. 'Okay, Sarah. I'm worried.'
'So am I. I'm worried about her physical condition, I'm worried about her psychological condition. I'm worried about her "friends" -'
'I'm worried about John,' Sandy said discordantly. Doris was under control. She could see that. Sarah Rosen was a gifted clinician, but something of a worrier, as many good physicians were.
Sarah headed out of the room. There was coffee downstairs. She could smell it and was heading for it. Sandy came with her. 'Yes, that, too. What a strange and interesting man.'
'I don't throw my newspapers away. Every week, same time, I bundle them together for the garbage collection - and I've been checking the back issues.'
Sarah poured two cups. She had very delicate movements. Sandy thought. 'I know what I think. Tell me what you think,' the pharmacologist said.
'I think he's killing people.' It caused