12Phyllis soared into the air, spine arched and arms extended. She landed on the sidewalk in front of the Swiss Embassy. I heard a thump and a crackling noise. The sound of every bone in her skeleton shattering.
The Swiss gate guard reached her first. He knelt, his hands on her neck, his face near her head.
I couldn’t remember how to tell a Pole to call 911. I couldn’t remember any Polish. “Ambulancja,” I screamed at the cop in the Milicja booth.
He reached for his radio-telephone as though he understood the invented word.
A woman appeared at the Swiss Embassy entrance. I yelled to her to call the doctor at the British embassy. I crouched beside Phyllis.
She lay face-down on the concrete. Her arms and legs splayed out.
Combat boots slapped against the concrete. Matt and another Marin
