Double standards single.., p.1
Double Standards: (Single Minded Series: Book 2), page 1
DOUBLE STANDARDS
The Single Minded Series Book 2
CHARLES ELLIOT
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
The Series Continues
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Chapter One
An eerie silence hangs around the halls of John H Stroger Jr. Hospital of Cook County. The night is uneventful compared to others, with medical staff roaming the corridors in almost casual diligence. This same peace seems instilled in the facility’s maternity ward, lulling an overworked Abigail Jones to sleep at the reception desk, leaving her unaware of the tragedy unfolding from deeper within.
Doctor Kirill Petrov opens the door to one of the delivery rooms, where he had spent hours before spearheading a complicated birth that leaves a disquieting atmosphere in the room. He nods solemnly to the nurse waiting outside, eyes filled with the emotionless void of professionalism that keeps others in his field sane. The nurse walks in, holding the baby he had delivered swaddled in her arms. His hand lands on her shoulder the moment she crosses the threshold.
Her head whips up, obedient eyes meeting his before her expression conveys a silent understanding. She swallows hard, showing that her nerves are frayed more than he would have hoped. But he allows her through, holding faith in the conduct they have established among their team.
The mother of the stillborn child props herself up in her bed, hair clinging to her pallid, sweat-drenched features that are warped by the absolute disbelief of the moment.
“God, no… Why? Oh God, why?” Tired eyes burst into tears almost immediately, becoming ashen rivulets along her hollow cheeks as they further wash away the cheap, smoky eyeshadow she applied for the night.
The nurse steps forward, removing a corner of the blanket covering the newborn’s still features. She looks hesitant at first, simply looking at the small face in her hands.
A shadow hovers near her then, and the nurse feels Petrov’s icy glare stabbing through her last defenses. Her uncertainties waver, and she finally steps forward to hand the unmoving bundle to the stricken mother.
Petrov watches closely, hoping—for the nurse’s sake—that she can keep her act together.
The mother reaches out with trembling hands, exhausted muscles and emotion causing her to almost drop the child who is handed to her.
Petrov winces inwardly, remaining composed as the nurse jumps forward to avoid disaster. She tightens the wrapping around the child and stands close by the mother’s side as she reigns in enough of her emotion to bring the stillborn to her chest.
Grief convulses violently through her as she stares at the innocent face, a face she undoubtedly expects to lighten up at any moment or utter a cry to announce its needs to the world.
The other nurses in attendance watch closely, lined like some funeral guard on the sidelines with hands clasped in front of them.
Petrov respectfully allows a few moments longer for the tragic display before he clears his throat. “Miss Carter. Again, my condolences for your loss. Facing a loss such as this is never easy, especially reflecting on the opportunity taken away from witnessing one’s child live the life they planned to lead. I know this is upfront, and somewhat cold. But at this point, we must follow protocol with your permission. By law, your child must either be buried or cremated. As the child’s mother, you may choose to make the necessary arrangements yourself if you wish to hold a service. In such a case, we can arrange the funeral for you, as we have an in-house chaplain that can oversee—”
“Take her,” the mother interjects in a croaky voice, before nearly thrusting the bundle back into the nurse’s arms. Tears still well in her eyes, but her face contorts in an indifferent expression as a symptom of her denial. “You deal with medical waste don’t you?”
“Yes… we do. But Miss, the baby hardly counts as medical waste, as she was carried full-term. That’s why we still—”
“I DON’T CARE!” she screams, a tear falling from her eye, belying her apathy. “I don’t care,” she repeats in a raspy whisper. “Just deal with it. I don’t want to see her anymore. Just handle it. I can’t—” Emotion overwhelms her for a brief moment, but she swallows it back, turning to face the window.
“Right. Once again, we are sorry for your loss.” Petrov nods at the nurse, and she moves away from the mother, hastening out with the bundle closely clutched in her arms.
Petrov exits the room as well, with a final glance back at the mother. One of the other nurses prepares the documentation, legally securing the handover and indemnifying the hospital in dealing with any further emotional consequences of the mother.
He closes the door, and together both he and the nurse walk down the hall.
“Vashe vystupleniye tam Bylo… trevozhnym. Your performance in there was… concerning,” he remarks menacingly, casting a sideways glance at his unnerved companion.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” she stammers. “It won’t happen again.”
“See that it does not,” he answers. “Our success here hinges off of our convincing performance as much as it does our clandestine system.”
The echo of their clacking footfall is the only response to his comment. But he senses that his instruction was heard loud and clear.
Petrov makes a sharp turn, instructing her to follow, and they both enter into a dimly lit waiting room. Two people, a man and woman in civilian dress, await them with steely expressions. The door behind them is closed for more privacy.
“And?” the man asks. “We’ve been waiting for hours.” Though seemingly ready for any instruction Petrov would give him, his impatience is evident. The doctor cannot help but notice as the man clasps and unclasps his hands to manage the tension that coils through his body. His face is hard, with a low, sloping brow and a mouth pressed in a tight line. He isn’t particularly what Petrov had in mind, and he makes a mental note to inform his brigadiers to better select their undercover operatives for these types of missions.
Petrov clears his throat to deliver the report. “I performed a C-section under general anesthesia. The mother was made to understand that she was losing a lot of blood at the rate of delivery, and the baby wasn’t breaching. We claimed that a C-section was our only option to get the baby out.” It was all lies, of course. Yet, even lies need details to support their apparent claim to believability. Even if it means undertaking risky procedures to make it so.
“Christ! She was a young, healthy woman. You’ve just complicated her future deliveries from here on out!” the man exclaims.
“Watch your tone. You work for HIM!” the woman beside him mutters vehemently. Her remarks make his eyes widen, showing his apparent ignorance of the fact. He is clearly one of the new recruits.
Petrov doesn’t mind. He cares about the results, not the quality of a dispensable lackey.
“Healthy is a bit of an undue compliment to a hooker, don’t you believe? That woman’s vitals are healthy enough to make us certain that the child at least will display no glaring conditions worthy of concern.”
“Proshu proshcheniya za moye neuvazheniye. I’m sorry for my disrespect,” the man says hastily.
Petrov doesn’t give him a response, instead allowing the tension to eat at him as he continues his explanation. “The dose of the anesthetics was heavy. When the mother awoke, she was informed by one of the nurses that the baby was stillborn. We loaded a pre-recorded heartbeat on the electro
“What if the mother decides to sue for medical negligence?” the woman asks, not disrespectfully.
“The child has officially been released to the hospital,” Petrov answers bluntly. “Besides, she is a single mother from a disadvantaged socioeconomic background. She’ll have a tough time seeing it through on the monetary side of things. She doesn’t earn much and won’t want to incur the legal costs. And she has no means of providing for her daughter. What life could she hope to give her considering the life she herself leads?”
Women such as these are not uncommon targets for Petrov’s people. In fact, they form part of a schema of targets chosen because of their similar demographics and backgrounds that make the abduction of their children possible. Petrov admits that the woman was a bit easier to deal with than most, considering her desperation to be rid of the child toward the end.
The woman nods her approval.
The man, now composed in front of his superior, begins to deliver their side of things. “It’s been a busy night, boss. Three single mothers came in for emergency delivery, unaccompanied, at different hospitals under our surveillance. The doctors involved staged unsuccessful deliveries in two instances, even though the babies were healthy. But the third was a complicated delivery that actually did necessitate a C-section.” The man pauses, nervously looking at his Pakhan’s reaction after feeling that the last comment overstepped familiarity. He indirectly implied that Petrov’s action were immoral. But in the greater scheme of things, it hardly matters to keep oneself occupied with too many moral quandaries. “Suffice to say, the doctor didn’t want to draw further attention to the case. The baby in question had to be placed on respiratory support, as it was born prematurely.”
Petrov hears a soft moan, and then a thin, high-pitched murmur.
The nurse at his side uncovers the infant’s face, and sees her starting to stir. The dosage of the tranquilizing agent had been small, and the effects start to wear off quickly. The newborn becomes increasingly audible, her face twisting in small grimaces.
“Nam nuzhno speshit'! We need to hurry!” she seethes with urgency. “This one is a screamer! It was all I could do to quiet her down after she was born.”
Doctor Petrov turns back to the other two. “There is no time to waste. Once you exit the hospital, you’ll have one hour to reach your destination where the trade will occur.”
The tiny baby starts becoming more active, leaving the nurse who attends to her more frazzled. She is uncertain how to handle her.
“Radi boga! For God’s sake! Hand the girl to Daria,” Petrov tells the nurse in irritation. He is becoming vexed by her incompetence. “She is a trained midwife.”
Daria, the woman in question, steps forward on her own and takes the bundle from the nurse with a stern look. She cradles the girl, immediately starting to soothe her as she awakes from the drug.
Petrov idly notices that Daria made a fine effort to look the part of a woman just being released from hospital. She is a beautiful woman, but managed to make herself appear dreary, average, and tired to fit the part for the night.
The man jumps to attention, darting to the corner of the room from where he draws forth a wheelchair that Daria gets into to play her role as the crooning new mother. She drapes a blanket over her feet for added effect, and the woman rests the swaddled infant on her lap.
“Are we ready?”
All among them nod, and then they exit the room. The man, Olef, a recruit still green to the ways of their trafficking ring, pushes Daria out in the wheelchair. They pose as the proud parents of their newborn child, accompanied by Petrov and the agitated nurse as they are set to be released.
Petrov is about to address the nurse again when another physician unexpectedly comes around a corner and walks by them, smiling unmindfully at Petrov and his party. He is not in the know regarding their operations. Neither is he a problem. His ignorance, like that of so many others, saves him from having Petrov to deal with them by unsavory means.
When he’s at a safe distance, Petrov finally whispers his instructions to the nurse.
“A false record of the mother and her baby has been created. When we get to the reception desk, take over the administrative check-out and search for the name E. Adamson.”
“What about the record of the actual mother?” the nurse asks.
“That will be dealt with. Her name is set to be erased by tomorrow after the system refreshes. There will be no trace or record that the mother ever visited the hospital.”
The corridor ahead widens and then opens into a large open space surrounding the front desk coming into view. The party exchanges a final series of furtive glances. He waits until they come into earshot of the desk, before he kick starts their theatrical display.
“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Adamson. Congratulations again on your new baby girl. Should there be any problems, you know where to find me.”
Daria and Olef both smile, putting on their own charade of gratitude.
“She’s an absolute blessing,” Daria croons. “Thank you for bringing her into this world safely. Above that, you’ve patiently guided me through my entire pregnancy. Without you, it wouldn’t have been possible.” She dips her head, stroking the nose and forehead of the girl in her arms in a display of adoration. The girl, though quieter in Daria’s capable hands, is more active than Petrov would have hoped.
“And thank you for calling me in the nick of time a few days back. Otherwise I may have never made it to support my wife during the birth,” Olef adds, himself fully aware of how Daria is struggling to calm the child next to him. His voice is steady, but Petrov doesn’t fail to notice the drop of sweat that glistens down his temple. “Not to mention, you’ve been more than understanding in allowing me the spare minute or two outside of visiting hours.”
They finish off their small talk as they reach the desk, where two other nurses are stationed. Petrov recalls their faces, and thanks whatever favorable twist of fate places them there. One of them is a droopy and disinterested creature who has received more than one warning from one of his officials. The other he doesn’t recall. But from the looks of it, her weariness would make her oblivious to the cracks in their act.
“Ester,” he addresses the nurse by his side, “please get the release form ready for this couple. We’ve kept them here longer than is needed.”
Ester complies, genially slipping behind the desk and manning the computer. Evidently she had composed herself again. But her uncertainties with regard to their mission makes her incredibly volatile.
The other nurses at the station are endeared by the sight of the mother with her newborn. They move toward her then, asking whether they could have a small peak at the baby.
Dammit! Petrov thinks to himself. Perhaps they are more trouble than they’re worth.
Wanting to avoid trouble, the doctor clears his throat in preparation to address them. “I hate to interrupt, but I am also here to ask whether the two of you could head off to prepare two of my other patients within the ward. Now.”
“Yes, of course,” they say, almost in unison, obeying his request immediately.
When they are gone, he returns to the others. “Go now! We’ll finalize the rest.”
And so the two members of the trafficking ring steal back into the night, adding a third notch to the winning streak of the Bratva’s dark devices.
Chapter Two
“Yo! Is this going to take forever? I’m thirsty over here!”
