by Lee Stephen
Never before had 0715 seemed so early in the morning. On any regular day, it would have been a late start. But on a day when his entire job description—not to mention his scenery—was going to change, 0715 seemed like the crack of dawn. Sveta’s coming over at 0630. Looks like an 0550 wakeup for secret agent Scott Remington. Scott glanced at the clock. It was 2135. Bedtime was approaching quickly.
As Antipov made his departure, Esther, Auric, and Boris remained seated. Once they were alone, Scott sighed and propped his elbows on the table. “Does everyone get this so far?”
“What’s there not to get?” asked Esther sarcastically.
Scott glared despite his best effort not to.
Raising his hand, Boris asked, “So, are we using code names?”
“Code names? What do you mean?”
“You know, like code names. Names for people that are not their real names, that we can use to talk about them.” The technician smiled sheepishly. “I would like to nominate Venus as the code name for Captain Rockwell.”
Esther’s eyes rolled. “Are you serious?”
Rubbing his face with his hand, Scott groaned. “Boris...”
“What?” Boris asked. “It would be a good code name for her, no?”
“On that note,” said Esther, “might we be dismissed?”
Making eye contact with Auric briefly, Scott determined that there was nothing the German wished to bring up. “All right. Like Antipov said, everyone needs to rest tonight. Get to bed ASAP. Esther, hang around for a minute.”
About-facing sourly halfway to the door, Esther cocked a hand on her hips. Auric and Boris swapped a weary glance, then shuffled past her to make their exit. Moments later, Scott and Esther were alone.
“Listen,” Scott said, his tone as conciliatory as was possible. Despite the bad feelings he’d harbored toward her all day, the climax of his emotions had come and gone. Alone time and reflection had a way of doing that. Svetlana helped, too. “I’m just gonna be honest with you, Ess.”
“Esther.”
“What?”
She stayed fixed on him. “I am Esther to you.”
Defeated, he sighed. “Fine. Esther. Look—for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Grand. All is forgiven.”
“Come on, I’m being serious. This isn’t beyond our mutual under standing.”
Eyes narrowing, she asked, “How do you mean, exactly?”
Time for honesty again. “For as upset as I am with you, for your attitude this morning, for what you pulled with Nicole’s photo, I know you’re upset with me, too. And for what it’s worth, I’m genuinely sorry. I should have approached you in a better way last night.”
“Here’s the thing,” she said, pointing her finger at him as she approached. “You didn’t even give me a chance. You didn’t even try to look at me in any other way than your little battlefield toy, despite the obvious efforts I made time and time again to get close to you—to get to know you.”
“Ess—”
“Am I attractive, Scott?”
Great. Not where I wanted this to go.
“Is there any part of your jocular brain that looks at me and says, ‘wow, this is a sexy little vixen?’”
What was he supposed to say? She was beautiful, and yes, tonight she looked as sexy as any woman he’d ever seen. But he just didn’t view her that way. “Yes, you’re attractive, and yes, you’re very sexy.”
“Then why her over me? What does that half-sharp heifer have that I don’t? No need to answer, I already know. She has the amazing ability to inhale oxygen and exhale boredom.”
Sighing, Scott craned his neck to the floor.
“She can go zero to damsel in distress in 2.5 seconds. She makes you mustard sandwiches. Heaven help me, how’s a girl supposed to compete with mustard sandwiches?”
“Esther.”
Pointing down for emphasis, Esther said, “I spent the larger portion of my career here trying to get close to you. Gunning for you. It just hurts to make it all the way to the finish line only to find out that there was never a race to begin with.” She stepped back. “The grand irony is that now I’m risking my life to save that flat-chested bag. I will never believe in that. I will never believe that this risk was worth something. But there is something I believe.”
Scott had already given up on salvaging what he’d hoped would be a reconciliatory talk. “What do you believe?”
“I believe I made a terrible mistake when I fell for you. And it is a mistake I will never make again.”
Despite everything that told him her revelation was for the better, hearing her words stung. He’d rejected her based on the circumstances of attraction. She was rejecting him based on...him. Despite his lack of affectionate feelings toward her, it still hurt to hear the conviction behind her words.
“Goodbye in advance, Captain Remington. I was proud to serve with the Fourteenth.” Without another word, the scout stepped back, turned around, and walked for the door.
The Fourteenth was unlike any other unit in EDEN. It was run more like a posse of outlaws than a military squad. That was what made it so special. That was also what had caused this.
Goodbye, Delta Trooper Brooking. You will make London proud.
As the door closed behind her, the sound of her heels disappeared down the hall.
It was 2230 hours when Scott finally went to bed, his process of showering, teeth-brushing, and settling down dragging on longer than it usually did. Dostoevsky had been ostracized for what he’d done to the Fourteenth during his brief stint as captain. What had Scott done? Lost his most valuable operative. Allowed his personal feelings to place another in jeopardy. Committed a third of his team to a treasonous assignment. And the day wasn’t done.
Climbing under the covers was the most selfless thing he could think to accomplish.
* * *
THOOR WAS GATHERED around the table with his counsel when Antipov walked into the Throne Room. The group regarded the eidolon as he approached.
“They are prepared, general,” said Antipov. “We are go for infiltration.”
Saretok eyed Thoor. “You should not let Remington leave Novosibirsk, general. He will never return.”
“He will return, colonel,” Thoor said. “Of that, I have no doubts.”
“But how can we be certain? Who can hold him accountable while he is away?”
Thoor eyed Saretok coldly. “He will hold himself accountable. And if he doesn’t....” The general looked at Antipov.
Saretok opened his mouth to say something, but Antipov cut him off.
“The situation is under control, Grigori,” the eidolon said. “Rest assured. He will return.”
The two Nightmen eyed one another for a moment, before their focus returned to the general. Their meeting resumed.
* * *
BY THE TIME the lights went out in Room 14, it was well past midnight. Despite the best efforts of its operatives to quell the mix of anticipation and dread within them, peaceful slumber was a far cry from what was possible. Few words were spoken as the last of the Fourteenth slid under their covers. The final minutes of their last night together were as barren as the bunks of the missing would be the next day.
Only one meaningful transaction took place before the room was plunged into darkness. It was in the lounge. It was between Svetlana and Esther. In the span of a single lingering gaze, they conveyed feelings that no spoken words could have. Their war had ended. But neither woman was ready to admit defeat.
Esther never told Svetlana that the threat on her life was the reason Scott was going on the mission. Svetlana never told Esther that she knew about Scott’s rejection of her. It was the first time either woman had held their tongue when it came to such things. That it was the last time they’d likely see each other most certainly played a part. As Esther flicked off the light in the lounge, leaving Svetlana to the solitude of a single, small lamp, the scout climbed under her covers and closed her eyes with her comrades for
the last time.
No one in Room 14 heard Svetlana leave the lounge that night. They were asleep before the lamp ever went off.
16
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 14TH, 0012 NE
0617 HOURS
THE NEXT MORNING
IT WAS THE worst night of sleep that Scott could remember. It barely qualified as a night of “sleep” at all. Mere hours past an initial bout with slumber, Scott had found himself laying wide awake under his covers, desperately trying to think of anything other than the flight to Cairo that would usher in his day. He’d tried thinking about football. He’d tried thinking about dog training for Flopper. He’d even literally attempted to count sheep in his head, but when they started growing fangs and gnashing through the fence, he knew his thoughts were fast on their way to nonsense. At least until two o’clock. He remembered the two o’clock hour distinctly. That was when he started thinking about Nicole.
For the first time since his very first night with EDEN, back in Room 419 in Richmond, Nicole’s photograph wasn’t sitting next to his bed. He had packed it the previous day in his quest to get his duffle bag ready in advance. Truth be told, he’d wanted to experience a night without her smiling at him. It hadn’t gone well.
He loved Nicole more than any other woman on the face of the Earth. He belonged with her more than he belonged with any other woman. Yet she was gone. Esther’s challenge for him to put the photo away permanently had brought all those emotions back up to the surface. He could almost smell the fragrance Nicole always left behind on pillows and on his shirt, where she’d lay her cheek. He was supposed to have spent the rest of his life waking up to that scent.
In reminding Scott of those things, Esther had accomplished half of her original goal. She’d effectively removed Svetlana from her pedestal. Scott’s mind and heart shifted constantly when it came to the blond medic now: back-and-forth, back-and-forth, back-and-forth, from love, to loathing, from eagerness, to dread, from destined, to consolation prize. He didn’t know how he felt about her at all—and that might have said more to him than any solid emotion could have.
Scott hadn’t anticipated this mission turning into one of self-discovery—he’d gotten more of his fill of that from his transition to Nightman. But now here he was, on the verge of a covert operation to uncover what could be a major conspiracy, and all he could think about was, “if not Sveta, who?” If he could never feel about Svetlana the way he’d felt about Nicole, then would he ever find anyone else? He was a fulcrum—an elite officer in the world’s most intimidating army. And he was terrified of being alone.
As the clock steadily approached 0630, Scott prepared for Svetlana’s morning visit. She was as punctual a woman as any he’d known—worlds more punctual than Nicole. Svetlana was a professional. Serious about her job, serious about her reputation, serious about being serious. He already knew what to expect from her visit. She would be somber, remorseful. She’d hold onto him and just stand there while he held her, telling him to be strong and that she’d miss him so much. They wouldn’t kiss—they never did—but they’d hang on the cusp. Just like always. With her, it was always the same.
Knock, knock, knock.
Scott was sitting on his bedside when the knock came. It was recognizably the medic’s. Rising to his feet, he surrendered to a long pent-up breath while he stretched out his back. Get it over with, Scott. You’ve done things like this with her a hundred times. Rinse, repeat, then get out of Dodge. Walking to the door, he pulled it open.
Immediately, he was taken aback.
It was Svetlana, but not like he typically saw her. Not only were her shoulder-length locks pulled back into the tightest ponytail he’d ever seen, but she wasn’t wearing a drop of makeup. While Svetlana wasn’t nearly the makeup queen Varvara was, there was still a vastly noticeable difference between the girl he knew and the one who was standing before him now. Lips parting in the most embarrassed, self-depreciating smirk she’d ever given him, Svetlana released what could only be described as a sigh of surrender.
Then Scott looked in her hands. In one of them, she held a small paper sack. In the other was the largest, most loaded Black Russian Pie he’d ever seen. It clicked. Laughing candidly, he stared at her face. “You can’t be serious.”
“First of all,” she said, pushing the paper sack into his hand, “put this in your bag. Second of all...you had better enjoy this.”
“Sveta.”
Glancing both ways, she pushed him inside the room. “And we are not doing this in the hall, where everyone can see.”
With an amused look of stupor stuck to his face, Scott stepped aside as she closed the door behind her. “What the heck are you doing?”
Blowing up at hair that would have normally been falling over her forehead, she said, “Okay, so that is mustard.” She pointed at the sack, directing for Scott to pack it. “For my mustard sandwiches, as I know Esther calls them. But you know they are called Russian ham sandwiches. I am sure they have ham in Cairo, but Russian mustard, not so much. So take that with you—I know you like them.”
He didn’t like them. At all. He ate her sandwiches because he didn’t have the heart to tell her how disgusting they were.
“And this,” she said, lifting the pie slightly as her face turned red, “is obviously a pie.”
Hands on his hips, Scott shook his head. Okay, Sveta, you’ve genuinely surprised me, here. “I’m kind of at a loss.”
“So you said that if I really wanted to help you, I would go to the cafeteria and ask someone to, I believe the word was, plaster me with the biggest pie I could find, so that me and Esther would finally be even at something. For the record, this was the biggest one.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” he said. “That’s pretty big.”
She went on. “You also said that you would do the honors yourself, because it would be a relief. So here I am, at the start of this stressful mission for you, offering you relief.”
“You do realize I was being facetious, right?”
She held the pie out. “Take it.”
In the midst of the ridiculousness before him, Scott actually found himself impressed. Svetlana had caught him off guard. Svetlana—the woman who could inhale oxygen and exhale boredom—had done something completely out of left field. The woman who five minutes ago had been the most serious and self-conscious one he knew, was now handing him a pie with her name on it. “Can we just eat it?”
“Nyet!” There was tension in her voice. “Scott, take it, please. I did this so you could do this. I am serious.”
Scott had never actually pied someone in the face before, and the prospect of doing it now was more than a little tempting. He just couldn’t get over that the girl with the self-depreciating smirk before him was Svetlana. Chief medical officer. Queen Dullard of Soviet Russia. “You really don’t have to do this.”
“Please,” she said again. “I want to. I want you to. I insist.”
“Heh...Sveta...”
She held up her palm as if taking an oath. “I have thought about this. I really want to do it. I have made a commitment.”
“This is probably the worst commitment you’ve ever made.”
She snorted, then caught herself.
Holy cow, she actually snorted!
“Just take it,” she said. “It is not a big deal. Trust me. I promise. Really, take the pie.”
That she hadn’t taken advantage of the multiple outs he’d offered told him she was serious. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she answered immediately. “I am completely sure. I am like, so sure, it is crazy.”
“Well,” he said, a bit fastidiously, “all right.” Reaching out, he claimed the pie. The moment he had it, her freak-out began.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
Scott lost it, his chuckles winning out. “You really don’t want to do this, do you?”
“No, no,” she said quickly, fanning her face. “I really want to.”
; “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Yes, I am sure.”
“Positively sure?”
“Yes. Positively sure.” Blowing out a breath, she eased her face forward. “I am sure.”
As he stared at her in her bracing-for-it stance, Scott found himself amused. You know what, Scott? You’re about to fly to Egypt. You’re about to infiltrate EDEN. You’re about to have the most stressed-out life on the planet. Why not go out with canned laughter? Svetlana was being insistent. She was showing a side of herself that he’d never even fathomed, and you know what? It was a little bit fun. Why not, indeed? Eyeing her down like she was an opposing linebacker, he steadied the pie and cocked his hand back.
“No, no, no, wait, wait, wait!” Laughing hysterically, Svetlana pranced backward and held out her hands.
Scott lowered the pie. “Oh, come on! Now you got me wanting to do it!”
Sputtering out something in Russian, Svetlana bent forward on her knees. She looked up in hilarity. “I changed my mind.”
“You can’t change your mind!”
She was red like a beet; she pressed her hands to her forehead. More Russian sputtered out, then English again. “I really have to do this.” Scott didn’t know if it was a question or a statement. Just the same, she fanned herself furiously and stepped forward. “All right, all right,” she said. “Let’s go.” She blew out and leaned forward. “Do it.”
He gave her the warning. “I’m doing it.”
“Let’s do it.”
“Okay.” He eased his arm back.
“No, no, no, wait, wait, wait!” She leapt away from him again.
“Sveta, this is ridiculous!”
She laughed though pleading blue eyes. “Please don’t get it in my hair.”
“Don’t get it in your hair? What is this, the wussiest pie-in-the-face ever?”
Running a hand over her head, she stared at him with the most pathetic look of defeat and regret he’d ever seen. Then slowly, almost warily, a grin crept out. “You had better enjoy this.”