by Lee Stephen
Scott was always ready for good news. “Yes sir.”
Clarke swallowed a bite of bread and cracked a grin. “We’re getting a demolitionist…and a scout.”
Scott’s eyes lit up. “Are you serious?”
“That I am.”
“Unbelievable!” He wasn’t sure which was better. Demolitionists were just fun. Every now and then, the need for professionalism was outdone by the need to blow something up. But a scout? That was a total surprise. “We’re seriously getting a scout?”
Clarke smiled. “I was as thrilled as you are when I found out. The letter was in my mailbox this morning.”
Scouts were the prestige of EDEN. No other position trained harder, and no other position came with more respect. They were the EDEN equivalent of special forces. “What’s his name?”
Clarke swallowed another bite of bread. “You mean her name.”
Scott’s eyebrows lifted.
“Esther Brooking,” Clarke answered. “She’s a Type-2 scout.”
“What are Type-2 scouts?” It wasn’t a silly question. Few people knew exactly what scouts were.
“Tactical observation. Type-1 are tactical combat.”
Scott felt his heart sink a tiny bit. A Type-1 scout would have been fun. But a scout was a scout nonetheless.
“It gets better,” Clarke said.
“It gets better?”
Clarke grinned. “She’s British.”
Scott blurted out a laugh and leaned back. “You had to ruin it.”
“Bugger off.”
Scott smiled and considered Clarke’s news. A Type-2 scout. Tactical observation. Jayden would have someone new to partner with. Varvara wasn’t going to like that at all. “Who’s our demolitionist?”
“Maksim Frolov,” Clarke answered. “And that’s all I know.”
That was all that needed to be known. Demolitionists all fell under the same category. They made things explode. All other details were moot. “Esther Brooking and Maksim Frolov,” Scott repeated. He was already eager to spread the word.
“They’ll arrive at 2100 tonight,” Clarke said. “Let the unit sleep—they can meet them tomorrow morning. You will pick them up.”
“Not a problem, sir.” It made sense for Scott to meet them. Dostoevsky and Max weren’t exactly public relations specialists. And as for Clarke, if there was anything that could possibly be done by someone else, the captain usually found a way to make it happen. “What’s the forecast?”
Clarke smiled. “It’ll be raining stair rods. Nothing says ‘welcome to Novosibirsk‘ like miserable weather.”
Scott laughed. It had been the same for he and his friends. When they’d arrived at Novosibirsk from Richmond, frigid rain had met them. “Weather Mike knows what he’s doing.”
“That he does,” Clarke answered. “That he does.”
“I’ll take Galya with me tonight, if that’s not a problem with you.”
“As you wish. She’s an epsilon—she needs to do some of these things. You can let her run the morning session one day this week, if you’d like.”
“I might do that,” Scott said. Galina did well with workouts. She was as thorough a person as Scott had ever known. With that thought, he caught himself on the verge of a laugh. Galina was his subordinate. Somehow, that didn’t seem right.
“Well, that’s enough chinwag for now,” Clarke said as he rose from the table. “I’ve got two laps to run.”
“I’m one minute behind you, sir.”
Clarke laughed as he trotted out of the cafeteria. “You’ll be more than one minute behind me, lieutenant!”
Scott chuckled at Clarke’s taunt. It wouldn’t even be close. There were only two men who could push the former quarterback: Dostoevsky and Becan. Scott’s mind then focused on the commander. Where was Dostoevsky? It was unheard of for him to miss a morning session. It was unheard of for him to be late at all. Scott glanced up as his teammates started away.
“Remmy, yeh comin’ or wha’?”
“I’m coming,” Scott answered, as he waved his bread. “Few more bites.”
“Leave him alone,” Oleg said. “He is best lieutenant in Novosibirsk!” Becan scoffed as Oleg followed him outside.
Scott finished his bread, then proceeded to meet his comrades on the track. Just as he’d predicted, catching up with Clarke was no bother at all. He lapped him with little effort. Once laps were finished, Scott allowed David to lead workouts. Afterward, the operatives gathered together for their true breakfast. The drudgery of the initial wakeup was vanquished, and conversation was lighthearted and free. Scott told the crew about Esther and Maksim, and as expected, they met the news with cheer.
They returned to Room 14, where the rush of the showers began. Within an hour, the operatives were cleaned, dressed, and customarily scattered throughout the base. Morning session always ended that way. Later they would meet for lunch, and then they would find something to pass the time until dinner. That was how it worked, in the warm discomfort of their prison-cell home.
Only Jayden complained.
3
Monday, August 1, 0011 NE
EDEN Command
Judge Leonid Torokin hated receptions—even those held in his honor. But receptions for others? He hated them more. So naturally, his hate for this one ran deep.
“Good evening, comrade,” Judge Dmitri Grinkov said in Russian, a pseudo-sincere smile on his face.
“Good evening indeed,” replied Torokin. Grinkov was as close to a friend as Torokin had on the High Command. It didn’t hurt that Grinkov was the only other Russian.
Grinkov chuckled under his breath, sliding his thick hands into his suit pockets. “You sound pleased as always.”
The ambient sound of classical music reverberated from the walls of the ballroom, as a ten-piece orchestra performed from their stage along the back wall. Torokin watched them for a moment. The ensemble members were fortunate, Torokin thought. It was rare that citizens, whether they were musicians or caterers, were invited to EDEN Command. Even custodians needed high security clearance. The location of EDEN Command itself was unknown—even to the judges. All flights to the base were done blind.
He finally responded to Grinkov. “I hated my inauguration. I wished they would have just let me come in. No music, no celebration. None of it.”
Grinkov smiled. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“Don’t worry.” He shot a look to his counterpart. “I hated your inauguration, too.”
As the two judges stood side by side, the full capacity of EDEN Command bustled around them. Torokin’s eyes wandered over the room. It was all so unnecessary. The elegant lighting. The formal wear. The champagne. All of it. That was why he hated receptions. They brought out the fake in everyone.
“Look,” the larger Grinkov said, motioning to the other side of the room. “There is the man we are here to see. He is with Pauling—it must be him.”
Torokin followed Grinkov’s gaze across the room, through the weaving throng of attendants and guests. Sure enough, President Pauling was there, with the Canadian Judge Jason Rath predictably at his heels. And beside the two of them stood their guest. The man they were supposed to shower with praise. The late Darryl Kentwood’s successor.
Judge Benjamin Archer.
The first word that popped into Torokin’s head was pretty. It was a thought that he meant as insulting. Grinkov had another word in mind.
“Is he a judge, or a prince?”
He was right. Archer was tall and slender. He looked like a prince. His hair, champagne blond and a perfect complement to his countenance, was combed neatly. As Pauling introduced him to another judge, Archer stretched his lips in a smile. Even from a distance, his teeth sparkled white. He looked trained in appearance. Not in war.
Torokin hated him already.
“How old can he be?” Grinkov asked. “He looks young. Upper thirties?”
That sounded close. And Grinkov was right about something else, without actually saying it: A
rcher looked like one of the youngest judges there. Judge Shintaku was thirty-three, and after her was Richard Lena at thirty-six. Everyone else was well over forty. Torokin himself was forty-seven. But his body said otherwise. He was as perfectly built as a person could be, despite the relative smallness of his frame. He wasn’t a tower of muscles—he was lightning in a bottle. A bottle so hard it was scary. Standing next to the overweight Grinkov made Torokin look almost godlike.
Grinkov snagged an hors d’oeuvre from a passing server. He shoved it straight into his mouth. “He probably knows which fork to use first,” he said through a mouthful of food.
Even Torokin smiled at that one. “He probably does.”
They watched as Pauling led Archer through the room. As they drew nearer, Pauling’s eyes latched onto the two Russians. As soon as the president smiled, Grinkov hurriedly swallowed his food. “Here they come.”
Torokin assumed a tenser posture as they approached.
“Dmitri! Leonid!” said Pauling. “How are you this evening?”
Grinkov spoke in English for the first time. “Very good, Mr. President! Judge Torokin and I were just talking about how beautiful it looked in here. We are having a wonderful time.”
Torokin fought back a smirk.
“Yes, yes, they’ve done an outstanding job,” agreed Pauling. “There’s someone I’d like you two to meet.” He stepped to the side, and Archer took a step forward. The newcomer flashed a pearl-white smile. “I’d like you to meet Benjamin Archer, our newest judge.”
Archer extended his hand. “It is truly magnificent to meet the both of you.”
He was British. Yet another thing for Torokin to hate.
Grinkov shook Archer’s hand graciously.
“You’re shaking the hand of Judge Dmitri Grinkov,” Pauling explained to Archer. “One of the finest former colonels to ever come out of Leningrad. He’s been with us for over two years.”
“Dobry vecer,” said Grinkov.
“Dobry vecer, spasibo,” Archer answered.
Grinkov’s eyes widened. “You speak Russian?”
“Da,” Archer said with a grin. “Among several other languages.” He averted his attention to Torokin.
“And this,” Pauling said, “is Judge Leonid Torokin.”
As Archer extended his hand, he lifted his eyebrows. “The Leonid Torokin?”
“That’s correct,” affirmed Pauling. “Formerly of Vector Squad.”
Torokin took Archer’s hand and squeezed firmly. He was silently surprised at the new judge’s grip.
“It is truly an honor and a privilege to meet you, Judge Torokin. I’ve heard stories of Klaus Faerber and Vector Squad since my first day in EDEN. I admire you tremendously.”
Torokin nodded his head. “And you, Judge Archer. Welcome.” Archer had an intriguing gaze—Torokin noticed it right away. Beside the unique distinction of being amber in color, Archer’s eyes actually glinted of intelligence. It struck him as different immediately. It was ironically sad.
“You were vice-general of London base, were you not?” Grinkov asked.
“That’s correct, I was.”
“Then you already know a little bit about politics.”
Archer smiled. “Unfortunately, I do. I suppose it comes with the territory. Hopefully my contributions will be more tactical than political.”
“You are a tactician?” Torokin asked.
“I try to be multidimensional. I suppose I’m more of an organizer than anything else, but tactician? It’d be nice to think that as well.”
Torokin’s eyes shifted to Jason Rath, who stood behind Archer and the president. “And how did you find such a promising vice-general? He was your find if I remember, correct?”
The Canadian judge smiled. “Yes he was. I hear bits and pieces on occasion, and I heard his name mentioned several times. So I did my research. When the position came available, he seemed like a legitimate choice.” He looked at Pauling. “And I guess the president agreed, eh?”
Pauling nodded.
“Well,” said Torokin, turning back to Archer, “I look forward to working with you, then. If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask.”
“I certainly won’t,” Archer said, bowing his head. “Many thanks to you for your willingness to guide a novice.”
“You were a vice-general. You are not a novice.”
After a moment of polite closure, Pauling took a step to the side. “We’ve still got a few more judges to meet. Benjamin?”
He smiled. “Absolutely, Mr. President.”
Goodbyes were exchanged, and they walked away.
Torokin and Grinkov watched as Pauling led Archer and Rath to Judge Iwayama. After a moment, Grinkov spoke, again in Russian.
“He is smart.”
“He is capable,” added Torokin. “More so than I thought. I can see it in his eyes.”
Grinkov smiled. “So have you changed your mind about him?”
“No. I still don’t like him.”
“Rath speaks highly of him.”
“I don’t like Rath.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like Canadians.”
Grinkov laughed. “You don’t like Britons, you don’t like Canadians…you don’t like many things.”
“I like vodka,” Torokin said. “And young, beautiful women.”
“And I suppose since there are no young, beautiful women here, we will be drinking vodka tonight?”
Torokin watched as Archer was introduced to Iwayama. The older Japanese man bowed graciously. Judge Shintaku, standing submissively behind Iwayama, offered Archer the same courtesy. Tamiko. She was the closest thing to a young, beautiful woman that EDEN Command had, but even that wasn’t saying much. Her only competition was Carol June, the middle-aged American. Carol was actually an attractive older woman. She just also happened to be a witch. At least Tamiko had a decent personality.
Torokin just didn’t like Asians.
“Shall we invite Richard, then?” Grinkov asked. “He’s the closest thing we have to an alcoholic.”
“Yes,” Torokin said as he searched the room for Richard Lena. He spotted him assaulting the punch bowl. He liked Lena. Lena had an ‘attitude.’ He was a well-informed, American smart-aleck—at least in how he addressed people. He was quick to put foolishness in its place. “But I think he is getting a head start.”
“Are we skipping out on the dinner?”
“What will they do? Fire us?”
“I think it is best if we stay. At least for dinner. Everyone else will be here, and we do not want Archer to get a negative impression.”
Torokin hated social events, but Grinkov had a point. Whether he liked it or not, Archer was their new co-worker. Skipping dinner would do more harm than good. It was, once again, all political. “You are right.”
“I am always. Except when I am wrong.”
Torokin gave him a look.
Grinkov laughed. “Let’s go, then. Maybe they hired a new Russian server girl, young and beautiful. You do like Russians, right?”
“Some of them.”
Grinkov slapped his back. “Let us go.”
The rest of the reception was predictable. There was a formal banquet, complete with speeches by both Pauling and Archer. Even Rath, the man credited with finding the newcomer, had several words to say to the crowd. Lame attempts at humor were met with plastic laughs, and unnecessary toasts were raised in the name of Earth’s protection.
Torokin just went through the motions. He smiled when everyone smiled, and he sipped champagne when everyone sipped champagne. But his mind was on Darryl Kentwood.
He’d known Kentwood relatively well, considering they’d rarely spoken. Kentwood’s work ethic had been strong. His death was a loss to them all. And Benjamin Archer was supposed to replace that?
That was hardly an easy assignment.
In a way, Archer’s selection made him angry. It was true that the president appointed judges. But usually it was discusse
d beforehand. This time, Pauling had just taken Rath’s word for it, and Archer got the nod right away. Torokin wondered if it was English-speaking bias. Pauling was an American, Rath was a Canadian, and Archer was British. Heaven forbid another Russian got the chair. Or a German, of which there were none in the High Command. In fact, Uta Volbrecht had recently retired from Vector Squad. She would have been ideal for the job. But instead, they got an English monopoly. It was political. All political. And he was tired of it.
As his eyes wandered around the room, he took note of all the banquet’s participants. Everyone was there, or at least that was how it appeared. The other eleven judges were there, the EDEN Command staff members were there, even the individual secretaries were there.
But there was one person who he was sure wasn’t there. Kang Gao Jing—the director of Intelligence. The most secretive man in EDEN, both literally and figuratively. The judges were the only men who knew him, and even their relationships with him were obscure. He was the eyes and ears of EDEN. He didn’t exist.
Kang was fortunate. He could skip any banquet he wanted, and it wouldn’t matter at all. He could probably skip his own if he had one. Hardly anyone would recognize him anyway.
Before Torokin realized it, the men and women around him were rising to their feet, as a wave of post-banquet chatter washed over them. He leaned over to Grinkov and spoke. “Is it over?”
Grinkov smiled. “Were you not just here?”
“I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Yes, it’s over. Everyone is free to go.” His smile broadened. “And we are free to drink.”
Torokin allowed his gaze to shift to Archer. He was in a conversation with Judges Malcolm Blake and Carol June. It looked pleasant—exactly how all Archer’s conversations looked. “Have you spoken with Richard?”
“Yes, but he turned us down.”
Torokin shot him a look. “Are you serious?”
“He said he must call his family tonight. He has not talked to them for some time.”
“Family is so inconvenient.”
“I know.”