Dimitri Gerov, sadly suspecting that he was already considered the former president of Irkhetnia, and that American troops were probably swarming into the People's House at this moment, looked nervously out the window of the chopper. The trip he was making probably wouldn't have been possible without GPS navigation for the helicopter: the chopper had made sharp directional changes before and after passing within sight of any town or highway of any significance, so that any eyewitnesses would give a misleading account of its direction, and the destination was a place not previously seen by the pilot.

Gerov felt a light tap on his elbow, and the pilot then pointed ahead and leaned close to be heard. "Would that be it, Mr. President?"

Gerov nodded. The pilot nodded back, and began descending. He landed the chopper adjacent to a run-down wooden shack, stirring up a cloud of dust.

As the rotor blades slowed and the dust settled, the pilot asked, "Will you need any help here, Mr. President, or should I just return to base?"

From a briefcase that had been left for him under his seat, and which he had unlocked during the flight, Gerov removed a small handgun. The sound of its firing was nearly deafening in the enclosed space of the cockpit. As the pilot slumped forward, Gerov said quietly, "No, and no."

Yelena paced back and forth in her small room, wringing her hands. The television monitor on the wall had gone dead after Marya had been removed from the other room, and Yelena felt frantic to know what was being done to her daughter. She had remained motionless on her bed for a time, too upset to consider moving, but her lethargy had given way to an unwelcome energy that couldn't find a target. It seemed hours had gone by, though she wasn't confident in her present ability to judge time.

Trying to tear her mind away from speculation about what was being done to Marya at this moment left her considering her own future. She would be kept with the general prison population on those days between sessions torturing Marya, while Marya recovered, unconscious. She considered the prospect of what would happen to her there -- spending her days at hard labor, with the guards regularly raping her after the work was done.

The rapes, she was sure, would be rougher and more painful than those she had experienced so far. The men would no longer have a reason to pretend they had her permission. And they would probably rape her more often than the other inmates. Considering who she was.

Yelena discovered there was a limit to the height her terror could climb. It hit that plateau and remained.

Gerov breathed more easily after crossing the border. The car he was driving had been hidden in a small shed next to the wooden shack. In the shack there had been more supplies, supplementing those in the briefcase. It was regrettable about the pilot, he thought. But it was not the time to trust anyone. The pilot might have radioed his location after dropping him off. As it was now, the helicopter would still eventually be found, but much too late to threaten him.

The photo in his Polish passport, which he presented at the border, matched his appearance. He had shaved off his mustache. The hat he wore, one of those long-billed ones that shaded his face somewhat, covered a wig of shaggy hair that made him appear the factory worker he would claim to be if asked. Poland being a European Union member, no visa for entering Irkhetnia would be required of a Polish visitor, and no paperwork was involved in his return. He knew enough Polish to get by, and the border officials did not turn out to be overly inquisitive in any case. He was quickly waved through.

A highway sign informed him that it was four hundred kilometers to Warsaw. There, with a French passport, he would catch a plane that would take him sufficiently close to his eventual destination, an island off the French coast. An island he owned in its entirety, under a name different from the one on the French passport.

Money would never be a worry. The talents of Lieutenant Kardovski had seen to that. Kardovski had served as Gerov's accountant for the drug empire, funneling the proceeds untraceably into bank accounts overseas to which Gerov had access -- Gerov alone, now, since he had received coded confirmation during his helicopter flight that Kardovski was dead in a tragic accident. Soon, as a final step in securing the money, Gerov would transfer the funds to a French bank, in an account opened under the name he would be using. If Kardovski had carelessly left any written record of the account numbers, those accounts would soon be closed anyway. The original bank's privacy policies would prevent them telling anyone where the money had gone.

He regretted leaving the laptop in his desk, but decided it didn't matter. That was another part of his life he was leaving behind forever. It had served its purpose. Probably no one finding the laptop would understand the significance of anything on it, without knowing the context beforehand, but it couldn't endanger him now, in any case.

Gerov smiled. He believed he would actually enjoy his new life more than the old one. There would be no lack of women. Even ones he could torture. He found himself getting hard as he drove on.

Yelena yelped when the door suddenly opened. General Karozki said, "Come with me."

"What have you done with Marya?"

"Nothing, as yet. The doctor has been occupied, but he is ready now. I would like you to watch."

With no other option she could determine, Yelena followed him as he walked down the hall to the infirmary. She had to see Marya.

On entering the infirmary, Yelena sucked in an astonished breath. She could see Marya on her back on one slab, Doctor Tourachev standing immediately behind it. Between Yelena and Marya there was another slab, occupied by another unconscious, naked woman, whom Yelena had instantly recognized.

Irina Novocheva! she thought in amazement. But she has been dead nearly a year...

Of course, Yelena thought, nearly laughing despite her fear. She's dead in the same way Marya and I are dead. Very likely every inmate here is officially dead, some more publicly than others.

Yelena hurried around Novocheva's slab, stopping when the doctor held up one hand. "I am going to require you to remain at that distance. The procedure I am about to begin is easy, but I will still need concentration."

Beside the doctor was a tray containing several instruments, including, it appeared, a needle and a supply of course thread. She couldn't recognize the purpose of the other instruments, but she knew what the needle and thread were for.

I'll never hear my baby talk again, she thought in despair. They're going to make me watch him cement her jaw shut and sew up her lips. And I'll never see her beautiful eyes, so full of love, looking at me.

Tears flooded from Yelena's eyes. A much larger flood threatened to burst forth from her bladder. She clamped down hard, not wanting that humiliation on top of everything else.

At the side of the room behind her, two of the doctor's medical technicians currently on duty stood watching with their arms folded. The general remained by the door.

The doctor reached for an instrument on the tray. It appeared to be a device intended to hold Marya's mouth open while he worked.

Yelena was startled by an urgent-sounding knock on the outer door. The doctor, annoyed at the interruption, looked and saw that the door was unlocked. "I thought you would lock that," he snapped at the general.

Without invitation, the door opened. The general's aide, Captain Shevchenko, stood there looking puzzled, and addressed the general. "There are three helicopters approaching, sir."

The general frowned. "No deliveries or prisoner arrivals scheduled?"

"No sir, and they are not the type of choppers deliveries or prisoners arrive in. They don't have prison system markings. They're military. And they're quite large."

The general stared at him, his brow furrowed. He turned to the doctor. "I apologize for the interruption. I did hope to watch the procedure, but I'll need to look into this. I know you're eager to start, so just carry on." He left the room, the captain following on his heels.

The doctor sighed in exasperation. "At least I can prevent any more interruptions." He came around the slabs with the two prone women, headed for the door. His assistants had both moved to lock it as well, but held back as he walked past them.

The thought suddenly flashed through Yelena's mind: My daughter is in terrible danger, and just for the moment, suddenly no one is watching me. And whatever I do now, how can they possibly punish me? What could they do to me or to Marya to make our lives still worse?

There was a clipboard, holding papers full of scribblings, on the table holding Novocheva. As the doctor busied himself with the lock, Yelena rounded the table while picking up the clipboard, took two darting steps forward and swung the clipboard with all her strength at the back of the doctor's head.

The doctor collapsed, his head hitting the floor with a loud cracking sound that froze everyone in the room for a moment. Yelena then spun towards the two assistants, both still too shocked to move. She brandished the clipboard, backing away, putting Novocheva's table between herself and them, and snarled, "Stay back!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something useful: on a tray on the counter along the side of the room, there was a collection of scalpels. Much better, she thought. As the assistants came towards her, splitting up to round the table on opposite sides, she lunged for the tray and grabbed the largest of the scalpels.

She spun back to face them, scalpel in hand, holding it like a switchblade in an alley fight. "I said stay back!"

Both men froze, alarm on their faces, and took a step back. The thought ran through the back of her mind: Trained soldiers might be able to take me. But these two know nothing about deadly fights.

She took a step forward, and said through gritted teeth, "Get out."

When they hesitated, she advanced another step and screamed it. "Get out!!" Using the scalpel as a pointer, she indicated the unconscious doctor. "And take the garbage with you!"

The two men looked at each other. One shrugged and bent down towards the doctor. The other, keeping a close eye on Yelena, reached blindly behind him for the doorknob, fumbling to unlock it and at last opening it. Yelena took another step closer. With sudden urgency, both men bent over to pick up the doctor, and they backed out into the hallway carrying him, watching Yelena all the while.

Yelena rushed forward, slapped the door closed and locked it.

She looked around the room for something she could use to barricade the door. Nothing moveable was bulky enough, other than the slabs Novocheva and Marya were resting on. Even those wouldn't stop anyone for long.

She went to Marya's table and, since it was on wheels, she pushed it into the doctor's inner office.

The desk, she thought. Yes, that would work better. She locked the office door, pushed Marya's table alongside the desk, got behind the desk and, grunting with effort, inched it along the floor until it was up against the door.

There was a rack with several lab coats in the corner. I am so, so, so tired of showing my body to everyone, she thought. She shrugged into one of the coats and buttoned it, covering herself for the first time in months. She draped a second one over Marya.

She discovered she could wedge the coatrack between the desk and the opposite wall. It would be impossible for any number of men to push the desk out of the way of the door now. They would have to smash the door itself to splinters to get in.

Yelena began to wonder what to do next. She was trapped in the doctor's office with her unconscious daughter. She couldn't stay there forever, without food or water. As soon as the general finished dealing with whatever this unexpected problem was, he would turn to the problem of Yelena. Eventually, his men would succeed in breaking through the door. Yelena couldn't make herself imagine the mysterious helicopters could be of any help to her, not after every hope she had ever had had been smashed and ground underfoot. Probably Dimitri, she thought, arriving in style. Just like him to pay a surprise visit.

She did have the scalpel, but it would be of limited use against the number of men who would probably break in. Those medical technicians were probably already telling the general what had happened. She would probably not have to wait here long.

I will have to use the scalpel to kill myself, she thought, surprised at her calm acceptance of the idea.

But I can't leave Marya alone with them. I can't let them subject her to a lifetime of unspeakable agony. I will have to kill her first.

That idea did not find calm acceptance.

Tears burst from her eyes. She knew how much strength from within herself would be required. She hoped she would have enough.

But if I could just kill the general, she suddenly thought.

She didn't know why she hadn't thought of that first. She had no confidence she could make herself kill her daughter, but if an opportunity arose to rid the world of General Karozki, she would act without any regret.

He will probably not come to the door himself, she told herself. When they break in, it will just be a squad of men he assigned, while he stays in his office dealing with this other issue.

But he might come himself.

They would try to talk to her before breaking through the doctor's door. If she could determine that the general was at the door, she would open the door herself. She would look resigned and contrite. Until she stabbed him.

She bent to kiss Marya on the lips. The all-too-familiar tingling began between her legs. The urge, the need, came over her, to embrace Marya, to stroke her skin. She hadn't been able to so much as touch Marya since yesterday. She wanted to toss aside the coat covering Marya, to lay full length atop her until she woke up. And eventually she will wake up, Yelena thought, if they leave me alone long enough. We could make love one last time. I could feel her lips move against mine, her tongue rubbing mine, feel her fingers giving me pleasure between my legs...

Yelena squeezed her eyes tightly shut and pushed her fantasies away, furious with herself. I can't do that now. I can't do it ever again. She's not Hélène anymore. She doesn't want me the way I want her.

Yelena stood tensely over Marya, the scalpel poised to cut Marya's throat if necessary. If she could work up the courage. Her tears dropped onto the coat covering her daughter.

Captain Shevchenko relayed the message from the guards at the gate. "Men in formal dress uniforms getting out of the choppers, sir. About thirty of them. There is a general commanding them." He quirked a puzzled smile at General Karozki. "Not easy to imagine what they're planning to do here, dressed like that. A second layer of mystery, on top of them arriving to begin with."

Karozki shook his head. He hated departures from the prison's standard routine, and he'd never encountered one as baffling. "Whatever they're planning, they can't do it here without President Gerov's authorization. Keep the gate closed. Don't respond to them. Whatever they might say counts for nothing without confirmation from the president that they belong here." He tried again to signal the president directly. The lack of response was another puzzle. He must be out of his office for some reason, thought the general, though he usually leaves an away message when that happens.

He tried sending a signal to Ivan Polichev at the People's House. He blinked in surprise. No response from Ivan either.

The explanation came on him in an instant. There has been a coup. The president is not in power. The men outside are here to take over operation of the prison.

The general shook his head again. That makes no sense. Everything was all right this morning. If there has been a coup, it has occurred in the last few hours. And their first priority is to take over a women's prison in the remote mountains?

He tried reaching the president again.

General Perelenko watched as Major Vlatchko stepped carefully along the slippery crust of snow, returning from the gate. "No response, sir. Obviously the place is occupied." In the silence of the mountains, the humming of an electrical generator could easily be heard. "We don't have anything like the firepower needed to break in. And we're not in a position to set up a siege. They could easily outlast us."

Perelenko frowned. He felt sure putting in a personal appearance at the gate wouldn't help. It was doubtful his authority carried weight here. At least, he thought, we seem to have beaten Gerov here, if he intended to come here -- certainly there would have been another helicopter on the cleared landing area when they'd arrived, the one that had brought Gerov.

I really should get back to the capital, he told himself. I need to make that television broadcast. I could leave one of the choppers here for the present, with enough men to arrest Gerov if he does show up. If he's not here by the end of the day, I'll make plans for a more effective assault tomorrow.

He felt a tap on his elbow. "General, sir?" It was Veronika. He nodded to her, and she went on, "Somewhere around here, there would be a room at the edge of the mountain with a wall-to-wall glass window." She closed her eyes, remembering the horrors of that video she and the other nurses had watched. The one that had terrified Larisa so. "They send prisoners out from there to gather up pine straw." She shivered violently. "They send them out naked."

He gaped at her, then decided he shouldn't feel surprised. Everything he'd seen or heard today had verified every suspicion he'd ever had about Dimitri Gerov.

Veronika continued, "Anyway, if it's glass, you could probably break in there. Couldn't you?"

Perelenko thought about it. The glass would probably be thick and layered, for insulation against the cold, but it seemed doubtful it would be tempered to the point of being able to stand up against gunfire. No one could ever have anticipated an armed attack here.

"Where is it, from here?"

Veronika shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir, I just have no way to know. I was never actually there. I just saw it on video. Oh!! Wait! There's also a greenhouse! I don't know why I didn't think of it. I did go there." She closed her eyes, trying to remember the sequence of turns that had taken her there from the main gate, her hands vaguely pantomiming her progress down various corridors. Still with her eyes closed, she said, "It's not really very far." She opened her eyes and pointed to the left. "I think it would be around on the other side of that outcropping there. About... fifty, maybe sixty meters, along the edge of the mountain."

Perelenko turned back to the major. "Vlatchko, take two men with you, around that corner. See if you spot this greenhouse, but try not to be seen from there."

Vlatchko did not look thrilled -- beyond the helicopter landing area, the snow was about two feet deep -- but nodded and saluted. "Yes, sir."

Vlatchko returned, high-stepping through the snow with his men, about fifteen minutes later. "It's there. We could see prisoners..." He blinked at the memory of seeing the naked women in chains shuffling around inside the greenhouse, "And a few guards. We'll have to warn them all away from the glass, but there shouldn't be a problem getting in."

Perelenko nodded. "We'll take all the men. They're not doing any good at the gate." He turned to Veronika. "You come too. I assume you can show us how to get to the administrative offices from there."

She gulped. She wasn't exactly dressed for going out in this kind of weather. But none of the men were either. And at least, she told herself, I'm not naked. "Yes, sir. And the infirmary. That's most likely where Amanda Forrest would be, if they're preparing her to be another mannequin."

"Oh, sir?" Vlatchko looked uncomfortable. "I'd better tell all the men, before we go, what they should expect to see. It'll be... well, kind of distracting."

Perelenko nodded. "Do so. I'll make sure the men know distraction isn't an option." He stepped out of the chopper, Veronika behind him.

Yelena almost screamed when the deafening crash announced the demise of the infirmary door. Within seconds, she was sure, they would be pounding on the office door. She wondered how long her barricade would last. Perhaps only minutes, she told herself despairingly.

She bit her lip, trying to hold back sobs. She realized now, at the end of her brief interval of freedom, that killing the general, as satisfying as it would be, was an impossible dream. They would never let her get close to him. They had always been so wary of any aggressive move she might possibly make, and had always taken action to preempt it beforehand.

There was only a lifetime of misery and pain ahead of her, and pure endless agony for Marya. It was time now, while her barricade was effective. She must cut Marya's throat, and then her own. Along the side of the neck, near the front, she thought. Both sides. That's where the carotids are, I think. If I sever them, she'll bleed out too fast for them to save her. Yelena held the scalpel in a quavering hand over Marya, not even able to see her through the tears. Marya will never know, she told herself. They put her to sleep this morning. She will simply never wake up. Such a peaceful death for her would infuriate Dimitri. At least there is that, thought Yelena.

In the silence as she steeled herself, she heard an astonished voice through the door: "My God, it's Irina Novocheva!"

So deep was Yelena's concentration on preparing to mercy-kill her daughter that it took several seconds for a rational voice within herself to break through into her conscious mind: Who, the voice asked, could possibly not have known they would find Novocheva here? Surely every member of the staff knew she was an inmate.

As Yelena's mind began slowly working again, another thought came through. She had been so ready for the inner door to come crashing in on her that she hadn't been properly surprised to hear the outer door broken open. But it doesn't make sense, she told herself. They would just use a key. She had locked both doors instinctively, seeking out the feeling of safety a locked door could give her, but had realized soon after that it was pointless. Her barricade would hold them off for a time, but surely they wouldn't find the locks an obstacle.

She left Marya and crept towards the door, listening to the hushed conversation through it.

Vlatchko stood with his hands on his hips, biting his lip, looking at Novocheva. "Well, I don't know what this Amanda Forrest looks like, but I know for sure this isn't her. Do you know anywhere else she might be?"

Veronika looked helplessly at the nude woman stretched out on the slab. Clearly she was unconscious but alive -- it was easy to see the girl's chest rising and falling as she breathed. "I'm sorry. I only know a few places here. For most of the time we just went between here and the main office." She frowned in thought. Could Novocheva be the "mannequin" being sent to replace Anya, instead of the Forrest girl? That would explain what she was doing here in the infirmary.

There was one way to find out. Veronika put one hand on the unconscious girl's shoulder, and her other hand underneath her upper arm. She lifted -- grunting in a moment as she worked against the abnormal resistance, which already suggested the answer to her question -- and gradually managed to lift the girl's arm, rotating it at the shoulder. She let go. The arm remained upraised. "Okay. This girl is going to need to be evacuated to the People's House as soon as possible."

Vlatchko blinked. "Why there? Not a hospital?"

Veronika shook her head. "She needs to be cared for by people who are trained for her... condition. Other than the doctor here, there are only three medical professionals that I know of who would understand exactly what they're dealing with and have been trained to handle it. I'm one, and the other two are back at the People's House, where we've already got a facility with everything we'd need."

Vlatchko nodded, then looked up quickly in surprise at the sound of a quavery voice behind the closed door opposite the entrance. "C-could you tell me who you are, please?"

Vlatchko approached the door. "Major Yuri Vlatchko, Special Forces Team B."

"What are you doing here?"

"Securing the prison. The president has been deposed. We are acting under the authority of General Anatoly Perelenko to search for a missing American woman who may be on the premises."

After a prolonged silence, the woman asked, her voice a near-whisper now, "Who is your commanding officer on the scene? I need to speak to him."

"General Perelenko, ma'am."

"He's commanding a team in the field??"

Vlatchko turned to give his men a wide-eyed look, and turned back to the door. "It sounds like you know him, ma'am."

"I... Yes. I guess you could say that." It was Vlatchko's impression that she was now trying to hold back a wild laugh, and only half succeeding. "I'm Yelena Gerova."

Vlatchko's jaw dropped. He whirled to face his men, and said in the softest possible whisper, "Could she be joking?" He encountered only dumbfounded looks.

Veronika put her hand on his arm, her own eyes locked on the door in amazement. "Major, we knew Marya Gerova was here. We think she was killed here, not in an accident like they said. We should have figured out her mother was here too."

Vlatchko gave her a long look, and turned back to the door. "Madame Gerova, do you know where your daughter is?"

"She's in here with me. I've got the door barricaded. Please, could you go get General Perelenko? When I hear his voice I'll open the door."

Vlatchko gestured vaguely at one of the men behind him. "Popov, go find the general and tell him what's happening."

Perelenko stood behind two of his men, both facing the door marked "Gen. Vitaly Karozki, Commandant." Both the men stood with rifles aimed at the door. Two more men in similar poses faced the door on the other side.

Perelenko spoke firmly enough to be heard through the door without shouting. "General Karozki, you are under my authority now. I ask you again to open this door and relinquish command of this prison." Again, silence was the only response from behind the door.

Perelenko sighed in frustration. He was hesitant to have his men shoot their way through the door.

Perelenko and the rest of the men flinched at the sudden sound of a single gunshot from the other side of the door. As the men across from Perelenko looked up at him for instructions, a voice from inside cried out, "Shit!" Moments later, the same voice said, "You outside, don't shoot, please. I'm opening the door."

There was a rattling at the latch, and very slowly, the door opened partway. A colonel, his face ashen, stood looking out from the doorway. When he determined that the men he faced intended to hold their fire, he opened the door wider.

Perelenko quickly surveyed the room. On the right side of the room, a gray-haired man in a lab coat lay on his back on the floor, tended by two younger similarly-coated men kneeling on either side. The older man's head was cushioned by a rolled-up topcoat. There was a large stain of fresh blood on the topcoat. Beyond an open door to an inner office, a man in a uniform with a general's star lay, also on his back, his head surrounded by a pool of blood. On the floor beside him was a handgun, his right index finger curled around its trigger. Just outside the office, a captain was leaning back against the wall in a deep crouch, his face buried in his hands.

Perelenko looked at the colonel, and read the nameplate on his uniform. "Colonel... Timochev. Summarize what's happened in here. Is that Karozki in there?"

Timochev gulped and nodded. "Yes, sir. He... well, you can see what he did."

Perelenko gestured at the older man on the floor. "What about him? He shoot himself too?"

Timochev shook his head spastically. He started to reply, but one of the kneeling men said, "Doctor Tourachev has a head injury. Possible fracture. We need to get him to a hospital."

Perelenko said, "We're a long way from a hospital. What's wrong with your infirmary?"

The other kneeling man muttered, "That crazy Gerova bitch chased us out of it. She's holed up in there."

Perelenko blinked. Some relative of Gerov, perhaps? It wasn't impossible, he realized.

From the hallway, Corporal Popov entered the room and saluted. In a you're-not-going-to-believe-this tone, the corporal said, "General, sir, Madame Yelena Gerova is barricaded in the infirmary. She wants to talk to you."

Perelenko stared at him, shaking his head unconsciously. Not impossible at all, he decided. "Tell her I'll be there shortly. I need to establish some things here first."

Popov retreated down the hall, and Perelenko turned back to the colonel. "Timochev, I'm here to locate an American citizen, Amanda Forrest. I want you to show me where she is."

Timochev turned an even lighter shade, with a greenish tinge. He leaned back against a wall to keep from fainting. "Dead, sir. Executed a few months ago. Sir, she was a spy." Timochev went on defiantly, "She was tried and convicted legally. We acted completely within the law."

Perelenko set his jaw, and muttered, "Well, there are laws and there are laws." More firmly, he asked, "What is your position here?"

"Chief of staff, sir."

Perelenko nodded. "I'm going to require your cooperation, which may help mitigate any punishment resulting from your trial in international court for crimes against humanity." He paused while Timochev gulped audibly, and went on. "I want a census of the staff, all guards, all support personnel. I'll want you to account for every prisoner here, and show my men where they are. If any need medical attention..." He turned to the kneeling men. "Either or both of you have medical training?"

The one on the far side said, "Some, sir. At about the level of a nurse."

He nodded. "I've got a nurse here. I need to take her with me, but you'll take orders from her when she returns. Until then, you are to meet any medical needs of the inmates, and report on any whose problems are beyond your skills. Clear?" Both men nodded.

He turned back to Timochev. "Colonel, start getting together documentation. I'll return shortly." He turned and walked towards the door, heading for the infirmary. He stopped at the door and turned again. "And get the women some clothes!" He turned back into the corridor.

General Perelenko, sitting beside the pilot of the chopper, looked behind him and shook his head in amazement. Three people unconscious, in three completely different ways.

Doctor Tourachev, Nurse Veronika suspected, was in a coma. She had done what she could, more or less successfully, to stop the bleeding, but seemed skeptical of his chances. You could never tell with head injuries, but this looked bad.

The nurse was currently attending Irina Novocheva, whose existence still dumbfounded Perelenko. According to Veronika, Novocheva was in the same state as Preston and the tiny Irkhet girl, and might not even be unconscious at all -- Veronika said she had no way to tell. The nurse was now speaking softly and reassuringly to the immobilized athlete, just in case.

At the rear of the chopper, still more astonishing, Dimitri Gerov's wife and daughter sat quietly -- Yelena sat, that is, and Marya lay across the rearmost seat in a drugged stupor, her head resting on her mother's lap. They had managed to find the girl a guard's uniform in a small size; Yelena still wore only the lab coat, and probably nothing else.

He had left Major Vlatchko in charge at the prison, with the rest of his men, with orders to confiscate any weapons among the staff, to locate and secure the armory, to confine all prison staff to their quarters, and to find, bring to a central location, and distribute clothes to all inmates, while keeping a detailed written record of the conditions under which all of them were found, making particular note of any especially abusive treatment. Vlatchko had radioed back a few minutes ago that they would need help from a medical doctor to extricate a few of the prisoners from their current "mode of detention." Perelenko found it impossible to imagine the nature of that situation, but promised a medical team would return with the chopper as soon as possible.

Yelena, as Perelenko watched, slid out from under Marya's head, laying it gently on the seat, and came forward to crouch next to him. "Anatoly, thank you again for not radioing ahead about our existence. There are a lot of reasons I have for wanting to keep that under wraps as long as possible, some very obvious, some less so."

"You know I can't guarantee one of the men won't say something, even accidentally."

Yelena shrugged. "I only need a day or so. I'd like to make some arrangements now, if I could. Would you be able to connect me, from here, to General Vladimir Gherkov? I can give you his office phone, home phone, cell phone, whatever you need."

Perelenko's eyes widened, but he decided not to invade her privacy by asking any questions. Her privacy had been tattered and shredded enough. He looked at the pilot. "Do you need the radio in the next few minutes?"

Yelena smiled as she heard, in the headphones, the ringing of the phone at the other end of her call. He'll be a little surprised, I imagine, she thought.

The ringing stopped, and a voice said, "Yes?"

Suddenly she realized she was crying. She had believed she could never again speak to any of her friends. "Vladimir Ivanovich, it's me. Yelena."

She grinned through her tears. It was so easy to hear his loud gasp, even over the noise of the helicopter engines. It was at least twenty seconds before Vladimir responded, "Yelena? This isn't some joke?"

She sighed, still smiling. "I'm insulted, Vladimir. You never thought I was a joke before. But it's me, yes. You'll have to speak a little louder. I'm on a helicopter."

"Yelena, how... why... where have you been??"

"Vladimir, I promise, I absolutely promise I will tell you soon. Right now I need some help. I need the passport you had made for me, and I also need a new one, another French one, for Marya..."

"Marya is alive too??"

Yelena looked back to where Marya lay, more tears leaking from her eyes. "Yes, she is alive. She's fine, we're both okay. You will see to it about the passport? I can make it up to you later. On her passport, just make up a name for her. I'll trust your taste. Same last name as mine, of course. I'm sure there are any number of photographs of her you could use. And I'll need some clothes for myself and Marya. Say... three different outfits, that will be enough for now. Underwear as well." She told him the sizes. "Suitcases for travel. And a selection of blonde wigs, different styles. I'll pick one for each of us. And finally, two seats on a plane bound for Paris. In the names on the passports, of course. Obviously we'll be incognito. And I'll need about a thousand euros, to see me through until I can reach my own money."

"Yelena, you suddenly return to life, and right away you're going underground again?"

"Please believe me, Vladimir, it's best for all concerned. Marya is in a very delicate state right now... the truth is, I am too. The last thing we need is all the international media coming after us." Out of one nightmare straight into another, she thought. "Can you find a safe place for us to stay while you're getting everything ready?"

"That should be easy enough. Where can I meet you?"

"Hold on." She turned to Perelenko. "May I have the pilot tell General Gherkov where he's going to land?"

Perelenko thought it over, and nodded.

She handed the headphones to the pilot. Turning back to Perelenko, she asked if there had been any word about Dimitri.

Perelenko shook his head. "Nobody at all has seen him. No one who's communicating with me, anyway. He's definitely not in the People's House. My men have found his security units scattered in various places around the building. None of them seem to know where he could be." He sighed. "He had to have been on one of those helicopters. Nobody has seen where those went either. Judging by how quickly he brought off his escape, he obviously had a detailed exit plan worked out in advance. And if he really ran an international drug ring, he's sure to have plenty of money stashed away. He could be anywhere on Earth fairly quickly." Perelenko smiled. "I overheard you talking about fake passports. I imagine he has his own as well. So he could be anybody, as well as anywhere." He shook his head. "He'll go to ground somewhere safe. Somewhere he can stay unnoticed indefinitely. A hideaway where he can live in splendid retirement."

Yelena blinked in startlement, as a forgotten memory suddenly elbowed its way forward. Hideaway.

In the first weeks of their marriage, still living in Paris, happy lovebirds with a lifetime together to plan, Dimitri had showed her an article about islands off the French Mediterranean coast. Some of them owned by individual, fabulously wealthy recluses. "Can you imagine, Yelena dear? An island of our own! The perfect hideaway! Get away from it all, live in a beach house, servants making drinks for us as we sit on the porch and watch the sunset..."

She had laughed. "Dimitri, it sounds wonderful, but crazy. Where would we get that kind of money?"

He'd shaken his head. "Never mind that. That's off in the future. But if we could, would you do it with me?" He'd had an intense look in his eyes. She'd realized suddenly he wasn't joking. But she had given up the glamor of movie celebrity too recently to want to get that far from the excitement of the only life she knew. It seemed best to humor him. "You know I'd go anywhere with you, darling."

That had satisfied him. Since their combined personal finances were nowhere in the neighborhood of making his dream truly possible, the subject had never arisen again. By now, twenty years later, he might not even remember discussing it with her.

But that look in his eyes...

She looked at Perelenko. "Have someone check on privately-owned islands off the French coast. In the Mediterranean. See what's known about who owns them, see if any have changed hands recently... no, maybe not so recently. But find out anything you can."

Perelenko gave her a thoughtful look. "You know something? For sure?"

She shook her head. "Not for sure, no. Stay on any other leads you have, too. But add this to the list of things to check."

He nodded. "Thank you. Consider that done."

She patted his arm. "Thank you again, SO much, for everything. I need to go back to my daughter now."

He nodded again. She wound her way back among the other prone bodies, sat down and took Marya's head into her lap again.

Vlatchko pointed. "What's down that corridor?"

Shevchenko went pale. Again. The man had barely recovered from the day's earlier shocks. "It's... it's just the slaughterhouse. All our prisoners get meat in their food. At every meal. That's the only thing down there." He hesitated, as if deciding what to say next. "You're just looking for inmates now, right? No inmates live there. And we didn't get to the solitary confinement cells yet. We have three inmates there now. Back this way." He turned and walked away, gesturing for Vlatchko and his men to follow.

Vlatchko stood still, his brow furrowed. Timochev had ordered Shevchenko to show Vlatchko any of the venues where prisoners were kept, a job Shevchenko did not seem at all eager to do. He had been especially reluctant to show that place he'd said was called "The Farm." If Shevchenko was suddenly being more cooperative, there was obviously a reason. Vlatchko suspected the reason was right down this hall. He rounded the corner, his squad of three men trailing him. He heard Shevchenko's whispered "No" behind him.

There was a window in one wall of the corridor, looking into a room which must, as one would expect of a slaughterhouse, be very cold, judging from the edging of frost on the window. Vlatchko opened the unlocked door just beyond the window, noticing the rubber stripping around its edge for thermal insulation.

Then he stopped dead, shivering in the intense cold.

At the side of the room, six nude women, missing their heads, were hanging upside-down from hooks. Two were in the standard prisoner chains he had seen elsewhere, while four, whose bodies looked older and, it struck him, less physically attractive than the two in chains, were bound hand and foot by ropes.

The tables were empty, suggesting the working day for the butchers was over. Vlatchko saw that a nearby bin was full of human arms. Feminine ones.

Shevchenko had been telling the truth, Vlatchko thought. No inmates live here.

Behind him, one of his men said slowly, "Oh... my... God."

Without looking behind, Vlatchko said in a quiet voice, "Vetchnikov, Potulski, you stay in front of this door and guard it until relieved. No one is to enter it until General Perelenko decides which international authorities should see it."

"Yes, sir."

Marya's eyelids fluttered.

Yelena, for all her experience with the sexual need that had been conditioned by her prison experience, still wasn't prepared for her own reaction. She almost lost control before she managed, with a desperate effort, to fight off the compulsion to bend forward and kiss Marya passionately, to peel off Marya's clothes and her own, and make love with her there, in front of everyone. I can't do that anymore!! she had screamed at herself. Stop! That part of my life is ended!

Closing her eyes tightly and struggling to get her breath back, she opened her eyes just in time to see her daughter do the same. It was still several minutes before Marya seemed to focus, and then she immediately tried to sit up.

Yelena said softly, "Shhh, darling, lie still. You're safe. We're in a helicopter. We're free! We really are! General Perelenko found us. I'm still not completely sure how. But we're out! He's flying us home."

Marya shook her head frantically. "Dad will..."

Yelena shushed her again, stroking her hair. "Your father is no longer in power. For now, General Perelenko is. Nobody can put us back in that prison."

Marya subsided for a moment. "Mom... all that stuff we did... I..."

Yelena quieted her once more, and her tears started to flow again. I have to tell her, thought Yelena. She has to know. "Darling, let me tell you everything that happened when we first got there. What they made me do, and how they made me do it."

Marya was wide-eyed but silent as Yelena spoke.