Cohen Code, the next novel in the action adventure, fast-paced Marc Wayne series is currently available for presale.
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Here is Chapter One for a sneak peek into the new novel, Cohen Code.
Chapter 1
Just after sunrise, the convoy rattled along the road.
Three white vans wound their way up the mountain, their tires grinding over loose stone, while pale headlights bounced against the morning fog. Medic Ioan Petrescu looked for glimpses of a settlement that played hide-and-seek with the winding road. A rooftop came into view, followed by the crown of an ancient tree. Stone houses clung to the slope in uneven rows. Smoke lifted from crooked chimneys.
The horizontal landscape certainly looked different from the birds eye panorama he knew as a flight medic. But after that last experience, he had traded his wings for boots on the ground. As soon as he applied, the agency assigned him to fill an empty space with today’s mobile clinic. He was part of a team bringing life-giving therapies to communities at risk.
Chickens scattered from the road as the vehicles wheeled into the village. A dog barked and several children scurried closer to the nearby house where a woman stood, drying her hands on her apron.
The vans stopped in the square. Several villagers watched from doorways and kitchen gardens. No one came forward.
Dr. Emil Urban opened the side door, stepped from the lead vehicle, and lifted both hands in greeting. He was a soft-faced man with silver at his temples and the practiced warmth of someone who knew how to calm frightened people.
“Good morning,” he called in careful Romani, then repeated the greeting in the regional dialect. “We are grateful for your welcome.”
From the van’s open door, Ioan observed a few women exchange glances. A boy peered from behind his grandmother’s skirt. Near the chapel steps, Elder Gavril Kohn stood with his cane planted before him, his expression carved by years of suspicion and mountain weather.
Following the doctor’s lead, Ioan smiled at the curious faces. Meeting the gaze of the Elder, Urban gave an honorary bow. The village’s leader and spiritual guide, Gavril Kohn was the key to today’s success.
Ioan signalled to the others in their group and the nurses unloaded folding tables, coolers, clipboards, and bright rolls of stickers. One nurse taped a paper sun to the side of the van. Another knelt to the level of the children who stared wide-eyed. She unrolled a strip of colorful stickers and indicated these were for them.
Ioan reached for a wicker picnic basket and fell into step beside Dr. Urban. The villagers watched as doctor and medic approached the leader with a gift.
“We’ve come to honor your home and your people.” Reaching into the basket, the doctor brought out a linen-wrapped loaf of bread, a small crock of salt, and a jar of honey.
The Elder shifted his gaze to the vans.
“You have no doubt heard of vaccinations that protect people from particular illnesses.” The doctor answered the unasked question. “We’ve brought this protection for your village.”
The Elder studied his face as the doctor described the symptoms of tuberculosis, polio, and smallpox.
Ioan watched the older man weigh the decision, or perhaps he prayed for discernment. Dr. Urban waved a hand toward the cemetery they had passed on the road. Just outside the settlement, a weathered gate stood at the entry. The graves all faced the same direction and small stones placed on the final resting places testified to the people who frequented the quiet place.
“A quick injection can prevent many of the sicknesses,” the doctor lowered his voice in respect of those who passed, “that steals lives too soon.”
The Elder swallowed hard and Ioan knew the doctor had made the inroad needed for this morning’s task. Leaning on his cane, Gavril Kohn came closer, and Ioan noted his clothing smelled of old timber, centuries of prayer, and beeswax from the candles he lit every Friday.
With thumbs swollen at the joints, the Elder broke off a piece of bread, dipped it into the salt, and put the salted morsel into his mouth. After carefully tasting the loaf, he nodded once, signaling the Elder accepted the gift. The givers were welcomed.
Villagers who had watched intently, relaxed and turned their attention to the visitors. Tentatively, the grandmother brought the young boy from behind her skirts and they moved toward the vans.
Others followed. Except for a villager pedaling a grindstone while sparks danced from the edge of an axe head.
The visitors were ready. Tables held clear totes filled with gifts. Color books and crayons for the children, and warm wool blankets. Another container held reading glasses in assorted strengths. Next to a container of work gloves were sewing kits, along with soap, toothpaste, and toothbrushes.
Ioan placed the picnic basket on the wooden table outside the chapel. Seeing the worn chairs around the table, he imagined the Elder leading prayers, settling disputes, blessing marriages, and preserving traditions passed down through generations.
Ioan introduced himself and motioned to the veined hands. “May I?’
Gavril allowed Ioan to examine one hand, then shifted his cane so the other hand could be palpated. Ioan felt the inflamed tendons. “I have something that will help.”
The doctor waved others to come along as Ioan invited the Elder to the temporary clinic. The medical team was ready. Two nurses were the first to meet each villager and perform triage. Based on the patient’s needs, they were given a card. By matching the color of the card to the color at the station, every person received appropriate care.
Ioan guided the Elder to the pharmacy. He showed the man how to apply cream to his swollen joints and offered a bottle of anti-inflammatory tablets with instructions for when and how to take the medicine.
“It is a good thing,” Gavril announced, loud enough for all to hear. “The clinic has come a long way. We will show hospitality.”
The villagers lined up. Infections were sanitized and given topical antibiotics, a few required stitches. Coughs were treated, cream was given for eye irritations, probiotics for stomach irritation, and many children received antiparasitic tablets. The final station allowed the villagers to take what they wanted from the clear totes.
Station by station, Ioan made certain the team had what they needed to quickly and efficiently care for the people. The doctor laughed with the children. The nurses reassured the mothers. Children gathered close enough to choose stickers but not close enough to be touched.
The Elder remained nearby, watchfully lending the weight of his approval.
Just before choosing their gifts, everyone was funneled to the vaccination station. But on the supply table, three boxes had already been opened. Briefed on the procedures, Ioan understood the medical personnel were supposed to break the vial seals in pairs, log each batch number, and match every vial to the registry sheet. The procedures were simple, routine, and designed to prevent mistakes.
But today, those procedures had already been bypassed. Certain vials had been separated from the rest and placed in a shallow tray marked only with a strip of blue tape.
Ioan frowned. “Who sorted these?”
The nurse beside him did not look up. “Instructions came with the registry.”
“From whom?”
The nurse shrugged. “From above.”
Ioan hated that answer. In medicine, from above could mean the ministry, the aid organization, a donor agency, or no one willing to put a name on a decision.
Before Ioan could ask more questions, an older woman handed him tea in a chipped cup. She beamed when Ioan accepted her tangible appreciation for the clinic’s care for her grandchild. With a word, she urged a little boy forward, the child who had ducked behind her skirts when the convoy arrived.
The boy climbed onto the chair in front of Ioan, brave until the moment the boy saw the needle. His eyes filled.
“Look,” Ioan peeled a sticker from the roll. “A fox. For courage.”
The boy took on the courage he offered with solemn dignity.
The morning continued. One by one, the villagers came forward. Children first. Their parents, and grandmothers with rolled sleeves and jangling gold bracelets. An old man crossed himself before offering his arm.
The doctor moved through them all, patient and kind.
By afternoon, the fog had burned away, leaving the mountains sharp and blue against the sky. Along the western ridge, however, dark clouds gathered, their edges rising above the peaks like a warning.
The doctor’s smile was replaced by urgency. At each station, he pressed the clinic workers to skip processes and pass the people to the vaccination station.
“There is an issue with procedures.” Ioan explained the separated vials.
“Not the time.” The doctor brushed past. “Get everyone through before that storm.”
“But–”
Dr. Urban spun to face Ioan. “How will you feel to leave this isolated place without protecting these families?”
Of course that’s what Ioan had come to do, but protocols were in place for everyone’s safety.
“Without protecting him?” The doctor pointed to the little boy proudly wearing the fox sticker on his chest. “And his friends?”
Without waiting for an answer, the doctor encouraged the Elder to direct everyone to quickly come through the final station. From the clear totes each person who received their vaccination could choose a pair of shoes and a package of vitamins.
The wind picked up and the sky darkened, sending the villagers hurrying back to their places of shelter. Racing against the coming rain, the clinic workers packed up their tables and chairs and prepared to leave. The Elder sent the boy with the sticker. His legs working like pistons, the boy ran to the chapel as quick as a fox, eager to carry out his task. Reaching the chapel, he soon sounded the bell, loud and with an uneven rhythm.
Though many residents had returned to the demands of their day, a group gathered and Gavril prayed a blessing for safe travels for the visitors. The elder thanked God for mercy, for medicine, for those who remembered forgotten people in forgotten places.
Ioan bowed his head but did not close his eyes. Listening intently, he heard the Elder end with a rote of practiced words. Though Ioan did not recognize the phrases, there was something familiar about the sound and presentation. Something just beyond his ability to place.
Elder Gavril shook the doctor’s hand with both of his. “You have done a good thing for our children.”
Dr. Urban placed his free hand over the Elder’s. “For all of you.”
The convoy pulled away as the village gathered in the road to wave. Children ran behind the vans until the incline stole their breath.
Ioan watched through the rear window as the last chimney disappeared below the ridge.
“Why aren’t we vaccinating the neighboring village?” A young nurse leaned close to Ioan. “The one past the ridge. We drove through it. Same size. Same needs.” The nurse lowered her voice. “Why only one?”
Before Ioan could answer, Dr. Urban appeared beside them. “They’re not on today’s registry.”
The young nurse flushed. “Of course.”
Dr. Urban retrieved his computer case and settled onto a bench seat.
“About the vials,” Ioan renewed their earlier conversasion.
“Maybe later.” The doctor powered up his laptop and put in earbuds. Ioan knew the doctor was required to make a report after leaving a clinic site.
Ioan stared out the window and thought about the jingle of bracelets as the grandmother handed Ioan an antique cup of weak tea. He recalled the elder’s clothing that smelled faintly of warm honey and dry hay, the fragrance of beeswax candles. And in his mind Ioan heard again the lyrical tone as the elder spoke a blessing that sounded strange and familiar at the same time. Ioan hummed the rhythm that played hide-and-seek with his memory.
On a graveling patch of the road, Dr. Urban must have had to raise his voice to be heard by the connection on his computer.
“Yes,” Ioan heard the doctor distinctly. “Everyone received the correct batch.”
After a pause, the doctor added, “Every last one.”
