Combat Machines. Don Pendleton

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      The room on the other side was small, just large enough for her compact desk, wheeled, creaky office chair, and two others in front of the desk. A dusty, battered file cabinet sat in one corner, its top drawer open. A man sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, reading a file.

      “What do you think you are doing?” she asked as she swept around the desk and snatched the limp manila folder from his hand. “These files are private. You have no right to read them.”

      The seated man regarded her from behind wire-rimmed glasses. His light blue eyes appraised her, taking in everything from her simple dress to her drawn, pale face and the shadows under her eyes.

      He spread his hands in a vaguely penitent manner. “Please excuse my intrusion,” he said in passable Bosnian. “I did not know how long I would have to wait, and well, I am afraid that my eagerness got the better of me.” He smiled, his thin, bloodless lips curving up and somehow softening the otherwise severe planes of his face. His white-blond hair was cut short enough that she could see his scalp through it.

      “That is no excuse for barging in here and looking through whatever you wish.” She put the folder back in the cabinet and pushed the drawer closed, then walked around to stand behind her desk. “Now, why are you here, Dr. Utkin?”

      “Straight to the point. I like that.” He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “Why, to adopt some children, of course.”

      Andreja blinked. “Children?”

      “Yes, I’m looking for at least twelve if possible, assuming they meet my criteria. Of course, this is not the only orphanage in the country, but given the growing troubles near Sarajevo and Zenica, I felt this one might be the best place to start.”

      “Why would you wish to adopt twelve children?” Andreja asked as she sat, alarm bells sounding in her mind.

      Utkin peered at her for a moment, then nodded. “Ah, of course. You are thinking that because I am from Russia I am procuring children for some sort of medical experiments or something. It is nothing like that. The Ministry of Health has authorized a long-term program to raise children who otherwise might not have the opportunity to become productive members of society, and give them such advantages to become so, and study how they develop over the years.”

      Now Andreja frowned. “The Russian Ministry of Health wishes to adopt children from our country to raise in yours?”

      Utkin spread his hands again. “That is pretty much the idea.”

      “But why our children? Surely your country has orphans of its own that need homes?”

      A brief smile flitted across the doctor’s thin lips. “Your concern for my people is touching. While it is true that there are parentless children in our country, they often have mitigating circumstances that already impact their early development for good or ill. For the purposes of this extended study, we wish to find infants with absolutely no previous attachments to people or places. Blank slates, if you will pardon the expression. They will be very well cared for and have everything they need provided. They will receive a first-rate education, access to the best health care and a structured environment that will, hopefully, allow them to grow up to reach their full potential.”

      “And you believe that you are taking these children from a negative situation and placing them into a more positive situation in your own country?”

      He nodded. “Miss Tomić, I am aware of the circumstances under which the children in your facility were conceived. I know what kind of life they have to look forward to without intervention from somewhere—wards of the state, with mothers that reject them and unknown fathers. Shuttled from state facility to perhaps a foster home to another facility, never receiving the care and education they so desperately need—and which we are willing to provide.” He leaned forward and smiled, the expression lighting up his severe expression. “You need help here. We are willing to help. Please...let us help you.”

      It was that last part that finally removed Andreja’s resistance—the feeling that he truly cared about what would happen to these children. “Why don’t we take a walk into the ward, and you can have a look at the babies?”

      “I would like nothing more,” he replied as he rose to his feet.

      Andreja walked with him out of her office and across the foyer to the double doors. She gently pushed them open and peeked inside.

      Luka and Nenad were busy among the more than three dozen cribs, efficiently changing diapers. The rustling of their clothes and of the cloth diapers was the only sound in the room. None of the infants made a sound.

      Dr. Utkin nodded pleasantly to her assistants, then focused on the four rows of children, ranging in age from six to eighteen months. He began walking up and down the rows, leaning over to examine this child or that.

      A shell arced overhead with a scream, then detonated close enough to rattle the windows. Even then, not a single baby uttered a sound.

      “I have heard of this, da?” Utkin asked. “Since the children do not get comforted when they cry, they learn to not cry, as it does them no good.”

      “I’m afraid so,” Andreja replied.

      “It sounds cruel, but this actually works better for our program,” Utkin said, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked. “We will be examining their ability to form relationships later on in life, after having those needs withheld as infants. It is said that the brain develops differently under such adverse conditions, and we will find out if that is so, and how it manifests later on...”

      He turned to see the grim expression on Andreja’s face and reached out to touch her shoulder. “Of course, I did not mean that you and these young ladies are responsible for their development. You are doing all that you can, of course.”

      “Yes...it is not easy,” she replied. “We should continue your tour.”

      “Yes, of course.” Utkin walked up and down every aisle, looking at each child. At length, he came to the end of his inspection. “Are there any more?”

      “No, thank heaven.”

      “Very well. I have made my selections.” Utkin began walking up and down the aisles again, stopping briefly at a dozen cribs, each one just long enough for Andreja to note which one it was before he moved on to the next. In just a few minutes, the tall, lean scientist had chosen more than a quarter of her current children.

      “Very well. They can be ready for travel by this afternoon.” Andreja cleared her throat. “I assume that you have brought the necessary supplies? We cannot spare anything to send with you.”

      Utkin nodded. “I understand. We brought all that is necessary for their safe and healthy journey back to Russia. After all, they represent a substantial investment on the part of the motherland. It would be terrible if something happened to them before they arrived in their new home.”

      “Well, while Luka and Nenad are preparing the children, you and I can head back to my office and begin the paperwork for all this. Twelve sets. I’m afraid you’re going to be here awhile.”

      “That’s quite all right,” Utkin said with a smile. “I want to make sure everything goes smoothly for them from this point forward.”

      * * *

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