Free Soul Full of Guns: Dave vs the Monsters by John Birmingham Page A

She was here, that was all that mattered. A daughter of the Rodina, serving her country. Just like Colonel Varatchevsky.
    Like Karin, the doctor spoke with an educated American accent. Refined, east coast. No trace of any foreign tongue contaminated her words but neither did they carry any information such as a regional inflection. She had learned English as a second language and she had learned it perfectly.
    “Do you have any injuries?” the doctor asked as Karin peeled off the hoodie and stepped out of her trackpants.
    “No,” she answered.
    The doctor, who was removing a stethoscope from her medical bag, stopped and looked at her.
    “Really? I understood you had been shot, lightly wounded.”
    She really looked at Karin now, frowning and casting a glance back at Vladimir, who stood by the door to the little room with his arms crossed and a line creasing his brow.
    “We were briefed that the colonel would be injured, but mobile.” He shrugged. “She is mobile.”
    “And not at all injured,” the doctor added.
    “Doctor, might I speak to you in private?” Karin asked. At this Vladimir’s frown grew darker and more serious.
    “This is not standard procedure, Colonel.”
    “I have women’s issues I must discuss with the doctor. I am sure if they are relevant to your mission she will brief you.”
    As she would, Karin knew. There would be no hiding anything from them, and she did not intend to. But she also thought it more likely she could explain what had happened, up to and including the inexplicable, if she had only to make her explanations to this one woman at first. She was a doctor, a scientist. She would see this through the lens of her particular training. At least initially.
    “Fine. Give us a few minutes if you will,” the doctor told Vladimir.
    He gave Karin a hard look, and then took his time to pointedly survey the small room, nodding when he had assured himself there was no way she could escape it. The only window was big enough to let a cat through, and that was all.
    He pulled the door behind him, but did not close it completely. She knew he would strain to hear what she said. Karin leaned forward, speaking in a low voice, but not conspiratorially.
    “What do you know of the circumstances of last night?” she said.
    The doctor’s expression changed to one of surprise, and then fright. She actually reared back, shaking her head.
    “I know nothing!” she said and then seemed to collect herself, throwing her hands up as though to forestall a reply by Karin.
    “Of course I know of the FBI raid…”
    (So she did not know it was a Clearance operation.)
    “…That you escaped. I know I am to assess your suitability for extraction. Specifically whether any wounds or injuries will restrict your ability to travel or make you more identifiable to the American security services.”
    She stared at Karin who now stood before her in underpants and a sports bra.
    “But you have no wounds or injuries. You appear to be in remarkable shape. So this ‘woman’s’ issue, it’s…”
    “Complicated,” Karin finished for her. “Doctor…?”
    She waited for the woman’s reply.
    “Oksana will do.”
    Another first name, probably invented too, but definitely not American, or Americanized. Like Karen Warat.
    Karin took in a deep breath and let it out as she said, “Okay. Oksana. I was wounded last night. Shotgun pellets grazed my shoulder. Here.” She indicated the flawless skin of her right shoulder. “I felt another pellet go into my leg. Here.”
    She lifted one foot and pointed at a similarly unmarked area of calf. The muscles flexed and stood out in strikingly geometric contours.
    “My skin was burned by some sort of organic acid and I cut my bare feet badly on broken glass.”
    She did not bother showing the doctor those injuries. How could she? There was no evidence of them.
    “I can tell you what happened, but not how or why. I need you to believe me, and for you to believe me I will have