Clara Newhall's Guide to Saving an Unperson

Duality

Janice and a small barrage of Russian agents entered the lobby at the same time. 

"Doctor Shepherd, doing well, I hope?" Kruschev continued. "I was about to discuss the message I received this evening in regard to my assassin and his... shortcomings."

Newhall looked accusingly at Shepherd.

Shepherd looked blankly at Newhall.

Newhall turned back to Kruschev.

"...It told me strange things," he smirked, sensing the tension. "That the boy has been lying to me... filling his head with American garbage... calling himself by a name... and it all came from this facility. What do you think of that?"

"I think any report you may have heard is highly exaggerated," Newhall said coolly.

"I should not have let him keep that knife," he mused, holding the offending weapon. "He was far too attached to it. I had no idea whatever degenerate who had it before had written his name on it..."

He drew closer to the silent doctors. Newhall could feel Shepherd quivering next to her as he considered the knife. "I don't suppose you can prove any of this?" she asked.

"I don't suppose I need to. I abide by the rules about as much as you do. But would you really choose to deny my accusations?"

Clara took a deep breath. "He didn't lie to you. He's loyal to your organization. If he omitted information then that's all he did."

"I know he intended to get malaria. He explicitly declined to take precautions, because he wanted to come back here. I know you wanted it too, doctor. Why else would you have charged so low on our last visit? Is that why he mutilated his shoulder, as well?"

"No, of course not -"

"Is that so?" he interrupted.

"He tore up his shoulder because you shot him and he panicked! And might I add, SHOOTING someone is more of a betrayal than calling yourself by a NAME."

"So you admit to knowing? You admit to encouraging this?"

Newhall didn't answer, but stared at him defiantly.

"Very well," concluded Kruschev. "We will be taking our assassin and going now."

"You can't do that," she exclaimed. "All three of us are armed. There are -" she counted quickly. "Seven of you. You could take us out, but not quietly. We have neighbors, you know, who would be wondering what all the ruckus is even if it wasn't the middle of the night. They'll bring the police down on your heads before you can get out of here."

Kruschev chuckled without humor. "If you resisted, you know we would return. Where would you run? Would you call the authorities on our heads? That would be quite a war... but I'm afraid, with your legal status, every outcome is a loss for you."

Neither doctor had an answer for that one, nor did Bradley, who was standing by the door. So Kruschev inclined his head.

"Well, doctor? Will you protect the boy at the cost of yourself?"

A charged silence filled the lobby. The six Russians flanking him looked eager for violence. Shepherd was still shaking. Newhall didn't dare turn her back on the Russians to look at Bradley. Ten, twenty seconds passed. 

"No," she breathed.

Kruschev had won. He smirked hatefully and barked orders at his men. They all travelled down to the inpatient ward. Newhall followed them. Strangely, she couldn't feel any emotion. Her decision weighed on her not in pain but in numbness. It wasn't an uncommon medical phenomenon; the body pushed away the pain until the person was ready to feel it. Then it was monstrous.

Akim - no, not Akim, not anymore - was semi-conscious. He would have looked peaceful except for his furrowed brow and the beginning of a grimace on his mouth. Had he heard his Master's voice or was it the malaria? Did he think she had betrayed him?

Oh, wait.

She had.

The not-pain kept her rooted to her spot as four of the Russians located a stretcher and began moving the feverish man onto it. His only response was to shut his eyes tighter and flex his newly-freed wrists. Kruschev marched over and inspected him with a grunt.

"Master?" the nameless boy on the stretcher asked weakly.

"We shall see," he said coldly. The boy whimpered.

 Newhall felt her daze snap back into the present. She opened her mouth and words fell out. "Don't hurt him..." uttered a hushed voice she wasn't sure was hers.

Kruschev looked back at the boy. "How we fix this damage is none of your concern, doctor. What is your concern is the medicine we need. Get to it." Newhall did as she was told.

Five minutes later, the Russians were walking out the door carrying the stretcher. The Americans watched darkly, and all but Kruschev were gone.

Kruschev stepped back into the room. "You have complied splendidly. For that you have 24 hours to get your affairs in order before my agents pay you a final visit. Until then, farewell."