Free The Last Hiccup by Christopher Meades Page B

Namestikov in spite of everything Sergei had put him through. Ever since grade school, Sergei had been a thorn in Alexander’s side, always competing with him and keeping every manner of tally in an imaginary contest of which Alexander wanted no part. Alexander understood why he did it. Sergei needed an antagonist whose success he could use as a benchmark for his own accomplishments. It was this adversarial relationship that drove Sergei to great heights both academically and professionally. Alexander, on the other hand, needed no external motivation and considered his rivalry with Sergei to exist mostly in Sergei’s own head. When he finished first in his class at Tomsk, he did so based on an inherent desire to push his intellectual capacity to new levels. He didn’t care that Sergei finished second (a distant second, Alexander might add). When his award-winning paper on phobias was published, Alexander dismissed Sergei’s moaning over the timing of its release. He wrote that paper for a personal sense of pride, not the satisfaction of besting someone else. Even when he bedded Asenka, it wasn’t to hurt Sergei. Alexander did so because fornicating with a beautiful, alluring woman was what a great man would do.
    Now, despite his sympathy for Sergei, Alexander had to do what was right in the case of young Vladimir. Though loath to admit it, Alexander had never been so mystified by an illness as he was by Vladimir’s incurable hiccups. Initially, he applied thoughtful analysis and deliberate consideration in his quest to find their root cause. Then days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. For the first time in his career, Alexander began grasping at straws. He unintentionally allowed a randomness to enter into his ever-changing assessment of the boy’s condition. Poor Vladimir was made to endure uncomfortable, often excruciating examinations, all in the hope they might inadvertently stumble upon a cure.
    One afternoon while sitting down on the toilet to rid himself of a bothersome batch of
zharkoye
, Alexander had an epiphany. Vladimir’s case was untreatable through modern medical procedures. In fact, the hiccups were not the primary point of contention in this patient. Something was wrong deep within the child — not in his body, but in his soul. There was nothing he or Sergei could do. Shortly thereafter, Alexander approached Sergei on the cobblestone path and made his best effort to explain his sudden realization. He remembered a disinterested Sergei staring absently at the snow. Sergei wouldn’t listen to him no matter what he said. Incensed by his colleague’s demeanor, Alexander worked behind Sergei’s back and set a plan in motion. Vladimir would be cured if it was the last thing Alexander did.
    Nearly nine days after Sergei’s fall from grace, Alexander’s plan led him to be sitting in a horse-drawn carriage, traveling up a bumpy dirt road on the side of a mountain in Northern Mongolia with Vladimir asleep in the coach beside him. Across from Alexander was a nurse’s aide and riding beside their driver in the icy air atop the carriage was Tarkov, an orderly Alexander had selected specifically for his oxen-like strength and dull wit. Were they to encounter any trouble that Alexander could not talk or buy his way out of, Tarkov would be relied upon to give their assailants a stern thrashing. A month earlier, when the initial arrangements of his plan were put into place, the strapping Siberian was the first piece in Alexander’s puzzle. Not only was Tarkov brave and strong, he was also foolhardy enough to demand no more than a single extra day’s wage as payment for the dangerous journey. Yes, cheap and stupid — that is how Alexander liked his henchmen.
    The nurse’s aide, on the other hand, had proved to be quite a more difficult bargain. When Alexander left the Isirk Ballroom, he was so concerned about what Sergei might do with young