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Before her lay the green expanse of the jungle, the railroad track carved through it and, center stage, a squat two-story gray concrete building with a ten-foot-high cyclone fence surrounding it. Along the top of the fence coiled concertina wire, with sharpened blades all along to discourage anyone breaking into the place. It was set off to the left side of the compound, near the hot spring pools. The whole area, Daria had read, was sitting on top of volcanic activity. The hot springs were divided into five long, rectangular swimming-pool-lengths filled with murky green, opaque water. Furthermore, they looked far from hot. More like tepid, going on cool. They didn’t look appealing to Daria at all, but she’d heard that many tourists swam in their lukewarm depths, thinking the water had healing properties. She’d never go into what looked like green slime to her. Not willingly.
“Healing Hands is a modest charity in South America,” Nik told her, gesturing toward the fenced-in orphanage. “Liz Standsworth, Senator Jacob Standworth’s daughter, runs it. She cares very much about third world countries. Up in the Highlands, she and her volunteer diggers are drilling wells for ten villages in this region… ones that have no clean water available to them. There’s a forty-percent infant mortality rate because the young children drink the dirty water that is filled with parasites, fecal matter, bacteria or dead animal debris that causes Hepatitis A. In the States, if you get Hepatitis A, you can get medication for it and are quarantined for six weeks. Out here, if a child drinks polluted water, he or she will die. There are no medications available. Liz does what she can, where she can. She’s got a lot going on in Peru, essentially in this area for right now. She hires women who are widows or volunteers from the U.S., and they run these orphanages in Peru. There is an American here, Megan Cantrell, who is the volunteer who manages this one orphanage. You’ll like her a lot. As a matter of fact, when I’m gone for this next month, I know Megan would love to have your help. Do you like young children?”
“I love babies and children.” Daria smiled a little, squeezing his hand. Nik was a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, no question. She could see the excitement in his eyes as they drew closer to the gray compound.
He shrugged. “Some women don’t for various reasons. I never assume, nor do I judge them.”
“I do love kids.”
“These children will love you.”
They walked down the well-trodden muddy path that led off the asphalt hill road toward the orphanage. Daria could see that the jungle growth continually encroaching around the compound was being held at bay, presumably by a lot of regularly-swung machetes. Everything grew at a swift and alarming rate around here due to the constant rain. She saw the concertina on top of the ten-foot-high fence. “Why the wire, Nik?”
Frowning, he said, “There is a handful of very poor, desperate drug-addicted Quechua Indians around here. They have resorted to stealing. Liz had to put up the fence with the razor wire. The orphanage was getting broken into all the time and the children were at risk by the constant robberies. She didn’t want anyone getting hurt.” He slowed his pace as they came to the main gate. There was a huge rusty padlock on it. Lowering his voice, he said, “Two years ago, Megan was jumped from behind, blindfolded and then raped by a band of men. I’m not so sure it wasn’t the other Russian team who is in this area. Word is, it was by the people who live here, but they are cautious about talking about it. No one can prove anything. They tied her up and Megan couldn’t identify any of them. It was a brutal attack upon her.”
“Oh, no,” Daria whispered, struck by the tragedy. “I wouldn’t think Quechua would do that. They’re a very peaceful people.”
“They are, and yet Korsak keeps telling us it was them, not the other Russian team who had come in for R&R. I didn’t believe him for a second. The other team near where we work are nothing but sick, predatory Russians. They sometimes visit Aguas Calientes, and the people who live here run and hide when they enter the village. They should,” he muttered, his mouth thinning.
“And Megan stayed on after that?” The worst thing Daria could think that could happen to any woman was rape. It was a violent assault upon her being, pure and simple, meant to disempower her, to control her and put her in her place. It sickened her and she touched her stomach, feeling regret over Megan’s plight.
“Yes.” His voice lowered as he opened the padlock with a key from his pocket. “Megan is a strong, good woman. She comes from a military family, the Trayhern’s, and she served in the Air Force, and was a transport pilot for six years. When it happened, one of the women came and found her unconscious on the floor in her small room where she sleeps. It took hours to get a helicopter in here from Cusco to pick her up.” He opened the padlock, which creaked in his hands. “A lesser woman would have left this green hell, but she didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because Megan is a woman who commits her passion to her work. She’s always loved children.” He turned to Daria; his eyes sad. “Now, she can’t have any because of the brutality of the gang rapes. She went through extensive surgery and nearly died on the table. She had to have a hysterectomy in order to save her life, it was that bad.”
“No,” Daria breathed. She pressed her hand against her mouth, fighting back tears for Megan.
Nik shook his head, pushing open the cranky gate that needed some oil and attention. “They cut her face, too, so don’t stare at Megan. She’s gone through hell and has redoubled her work efforts here at the orphanage. It’s her sanctuary of sorts, I think. I don’t know. She’s a complex, caring woman.”
“My heart aches for her,” Daria breathed. “Would Russians do that to a woman?”
He grimaced, shutting the gate but leaving the padlock open. “That’s why I know it was the other Russian team. Spetsnaz is handy with knives. We’re taught how to carve up a person to get them to tell us what we want to know. When I was able to get into Aguas Calientes after it happened, I took a farm train up to Cusco and visited her in the hospital. By the cut on her face, on her upper chest, I could tell it was Spetsnaz work. Quechua Indians don’t work with knives. It’s not a tool they use.”
Rubbing her brow, Daria stood near him, if nothing else but for the sense of protection he radiated. “I-I didn’t realize this…”
Grimly, Nik cupped her shoulders, giving her a small shake. “Listen to me. This is a very dangerous game we play. I’m surprised Alex didn’t tell you about this.”
“Jack, during the briefing, said the Russian teams were cruel. He didn’t go any further into explanation. Alex did say that Korsak and his team routinely raped women at each village. Sometimes… young girls…,” and she frowned.
“And if the woman doesn’t do what they want, they use a knife to control her. They will cut her, bleed her, until she gives in and stops fighting back. They have their methods.” He brushed some hair away from her taut brow. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m here. Korsak and his men will leave you alone. They know better than to tangle with me. I might be a medic, but I’m just as highly trained as they are, and I won’t take anything off them. Especially when it comes to you.”
She felt a chill. “Do you think they would come after me?”
“No. Not unless they suspected you, Daria. And we’re not giving them any reason to go in that direction.” He tried to smile, but failed. “Just treat Megan like you would anyone else. All right?”
“Of course,” Daria answered faintly, nausea rising in her throat over Megan’s horrific assault.
Nik patted her shoulder, his hand sliding down and coming to rest in the small of her back, guiding her down the concrete walk to a dark-green wooden door that said ‘Welcome’ on it.
Inside, Daria heard squalling babies, children laughing, and saw the back of a woman with long red hair, in a denim skirt to her ankles, brown leather sandals and a white peasant blouse, getting all of the kids to sit at a long wooden table for breakfast. Daria inhaled the scent of quinoa cereal, one of the few grains in the world that contains thirty-percent protein. Despite another two, older Quechua Indian women in colorful skirts and blouses, Daria still couldn’t tear her gaze away from the American woman who had her back to them.
Nik halted at the door and waited. Daria watched his expression and she saw affection for Megan in his eyes. When the woman turned, she had to stop herself from gasping. A long scar ran from the top of her right cheekbone and down that entire side of her face to her jawline and it made Daria want to cry. It was a faint scar, but there, forever. A mark of her courage to survive such a terrible assault, as far as Daria was concerned.
“Nik!” Megan called, throwing open her arms, rushing toward him.
Daria stood back, watching the tall, willowy woman grab Nik and hug the hell out of him. She had pale blue eyes that had suddenly sparkled with so much warmth and happiness once she’d spotted him. Daria couldn’t help but smile in response, watching the woman hug Nik until he blushed. He was a big man, and Megan probably weighed around a hundred and forty pounds, but there was such an encompassing joy vibrating in her alto voice for him that it diminished their size difference. He patted her shoulder and pulled back, grinning sheepishly.
