Chapter 10-1
464 Words
10Yulia
“I told you, I’m fine.”
Ignoring the nurse’s squawking protests, I remove the IV needle from my wrist and stand up. I’m dizzy and my head is aching, but I need to get moving. Judging by the sunlight streaming in through the hospital window, it’s already morning or later. The exfiltration team likely left already, but on the off chance they didn’t, I need to get in touch with Obenko right away.
“Where’s my bag?” I ask the nurse, frantically scanning the room. “I need my bag.”
“What you need is to lie down.” The red-headed nurse steps in front of me, folding her arms in front of her massive chest. “You have an egg-sized lump on your head from bumping into that pole, and you’ve been out cold since you were brought in last night. The doctor said we’re to monitor you for the next twenty-four hours.”
I glare at her. My head feels like it’s splitting at the seams, but staying here means signing my death warrant. “Where is my bag?” I repeat. I’m uncomfortably aware that I’m wearing only a hospital gown, but I’ll worry about clothes—and the headache from hell—later.
The woman rolls her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. If I get you your bag, will you lie down and behave?”
“Yes,” I lie, and watch as she walks to a cabinet on the other side of the room. Opening the cabinet door, she takes out my Gucci handbag and comes back.
“Here you go.” She thrusts the bag into my hands. “Now lie down before you fall down.”
I do as she says, but only because I need to conserve my strength for the journey ahead. It’s been less than ten minutes since I woke up here, and I’m shaking from the strain of standing. I probably do need to be under medical observation, but there’s no time for that.
I have to get out of Moscow before it’s too late.
The nurse begins to change the sheets on an empty bed next to mine, and I take out my phone to call Obenko.
It rings and rings and rings...
Shit. He’s not picking up.
I try again. Come on, come on, pick up.
Nothing. No answer.
Growing desperate, I try his number for the third time.
“Yulia?”
Thank God. “Yes, it’s me. I’m in a hospital in Moscow. I almost got hit by a car—long story. But I’m leaving now and—”
“It’s too late, Yulia.” Obenko’s voice is quiet. “The Kremlin knows what happened, and Buschekov’s people are looking for you.”
An icy chill spreads through me. “So quickly?”
“One of Esguerra’s people is well connected in Moscow. He mobilized them as soon as he learned about the missile.”
“Shit.”
The nurse gives me a dirty look as she gathers the sheets into a big pile on the empty bed.
“I’m sorry,” Obenko says, and I know he means it. “The team leader had to pull his people out. It’s not safe for any of us in Russia right now.”
“Of course,” I say on autopilot. “He did the right thing.”
“Good luck, Yulia,” Obenko says, and I hear the click as he disconnects.
I’m on my own.
- Writer
