Panthera Spelaea

My mind felt like it was underwater. Everything was fuzzy and dark. Dreams came and went as I tried to push myself to the surface; images of blood, screams, and water. I could hear something out there, rhythmic, like a beep. I used that to focus on, trying to clear the webs from my mind.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

My hearing improved, but with consciousness came the pain. Everything hurt down to my bones. I pushed to wake up at the same time I begged for the relief that came with sleep. Finally, I managed to get my eyes open, only to close them again against the bright light. I turned my head to the side, every inch sending pain through my body, before opening them again.

White. Everything was fuzzy and white. I blinked a few times, and my vision cleared enough to see the bed rail, the wall, and the IV stand.

I was in a hospital.

I tried to speak, but nothing came out. I concentrated, forcing my right hand to move. I heard metal rattle, and then my hand couldn’t go any farther. I tried my left hand, and it was the same. I took a glance and recognized the problem.

Handcuffs. They handcuffed my wrists to the hospital bed.

“он проснулся,” a woman’s voice said.

I tried to talk, but nothing came out. Then, finally, a nurse came into view, holding a cup with a straw. I took a drink, the warm water calming my aching throat. “Thank you,” I whispered.

I heard the door open to voices speaking in Russian, then the sound of footsteps as several people came into the room. I blinked my eyes again to clear my view but left my head where it was. It still hurt to move. One man, one of those barrel-chested Slavs with no neck and dressed in a suit with a badge on a chain around his neck, stayed by the door while two others approached in their lab coats. The last man in the room gave me a quick nod, then took his cheap suit to the wall on the other side of the door from the badge guy. “Welcome back,” he said in accented English. “I am Doctor Novoritsky, your doctor. Next to me is Doctor Kalenkov, our Chief of Neurology. Can you tell me your name?”

“John… John Cantwell,” I said softly. “Where?”

“Can you tell me what year it is?”

“2021.”

“Good.” He took out a penlight and checked my pupils, then did some basic checks for motor function and sensation, things like running a pen cap over the soles of my feet to check for a response. He kept telling me what he was doing and why but never answered the basic questions I had. I felt shooting pains and cramps every time he manipulated a limb. The man by the door was staring at me like I deflowered his underage daughter and looked to be enjoying the pain I was suffering. I wasn’t feeling the love in the room, and I didn’t know why. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a truck,” I said. “Where am I?”

“Moscow, the Central Clinical Hospital.”

Moscow? “What… why?”

“You were airlifted to a hospital in the Sakha Republic, suffering from hypothermia and in a coma. While they were successful in raising your core temperature, you didn’t respond to treatment. Your father pulled some strings to have you transferred here. You are lucky your father has good friends in Russia.”

Two hospitals? “How long was I out?”

“Six days,” he told me. “You have made good progress, Mr. Cantwell.” The neurologist left, and then Doctor Novoritsky turned to the man with the badge. “He appears to be lucid enough for a short interview, Investigator Kaprisov. I will have a nurse monitoring him from the station; if it starts to threaten his recovery, I will shut it down.”

“I understand,” Kaprisov said in a low, gravelly voice. He waited for the doctor to exit the room before he moved, pulling a chair noisily across the floor until it was next to my head. “I am Senior Investigator Viktor Kaprisov of the Central Investigation Department.”

“The what?”

“It is the Russian equivalent to your Federal Bureau of Investigation. The man by the door is a public defender. He is here to represent you.”

If Viktor was law enforcement, he was keeping the cuffs on me. I rattled the one on my left wrist. “What is this about?”

“It’s a precaution while we continue our investigation of the incident.”

“What incident?” Couldn’t he tell me what the hell was going on?

“The last time your comrades at Cave Three saw you, you were leaving with the Cave Lion specimen on the boat. Tell me what happened after you left.”

I’d seen enough legal dramas on television to know this was a bad idea. Something terrible happened, and the cuffs on my wrist told me I was their suspect. The fact that I was American was a bonus. “I’d like to speak to my lawyer first,” I said.

“Why? If you are innocent, surely there is no need to get the lawyers involved. I’m here to find out what happened on the river.”

They always said that. “And I’ll be happy to answer questions if advised to by my lawyer.”

“You sure about this?” He shook the handcuffs. “All you have to do is answer my questions, and this can go away.”

“Good idea. Go away, and let me speak to my lawyer in private.”

He sat back, fixing me with a stare. “Fine. I will be outside.”

He said something to my lawyer, then left. The lawyer came over by my side. “Здравствуйте, я Анатолий Беленков, ваш адвокат.”

I’d been in Russia for a few weeks, but it wasn’t like I knew the language. “You lost me after hello.” The conversation went downhill from there; he didn’t know English, and I didn’t know Russian. “Embassy,” I finally told him. “United States Embassy.” Maybe he understood, but I didn’t know. I laid my aching head back on the pillow. “Doctor, пожалуйста.” I’d picked up the words for ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ at least.

The lawyer left, and a minute later, Doctor Novoritsky came back in with the investigator on his heels. “My lawyer doesn’t speak English, and I don’t speak Russian. Please contact the United States Embassy about arranging proper counsel,” I told them both.

“I spoke to your father just now to inform him of your change in status. When I told him the CID was here to take your statement, he swore and said he’d be talking to the embassy right away.”

I nodded slightly; that was my Dad. Me dying on an expedition wouldn’t hurt his business, but his oldest son caught up in a criminal investigation would look bad for him. “I’ll wait for the cavalry to arrive,” I said as I closed my eyes again.

“This is a mistake, Mr. Cantwell,” Viktor said with a growl.

“I’m tired, Senior Investigator, and you’ve answered none of my questions, so I’ll wait to answer yours.” I heard them leave as my mind tried to figure out what the hell could have happened. What gave me the electric shock? Did the Cave Lion’s eyes glow red? And what caused the pain?

I’d sound like a crazy man if I said any of that, and I didn’t want to end up in a Russian asylum.