“I’m going to move my husband tomorrow,” she said. “There’s a medevac plane waiting at Vnukovo.” “Mrs. Kara-Murza,” the director said. “Your husband cannot be moved. If we moved him from one side of the room to the other, he probably wouldn’t make it. There’s no way he would survive a trip to the airport, let alone a flight.” “Then I’ll have a second opinion. There’s an Israeli doctor here from Tel Aviv. I want him to see Vladimir in the morning.” “Mrs. Kara-Murza,” the director repeated, even more condescendingly. “Why would you need a second opinion?”
