by Lee Stephen
As soon as the Pariah’s ramp was closed and Scott was sealed inside, he clicked on the cabin light and settled down into a chair. Inhaling a breath to take in that familiar rusted-metal smell, Scott ran his hand along one of the interior cabin’s cracked vinyl wall strips. Plopping down in a seat, Scott adjusted his comm for Antipov’s frequency. He pressed in the side button and sent a communication prompt Antipov’s way.
It didn’t take long to get a reply. “Remington,” Antipov said.
“Hey,” Scott said casually. “We’ve got some things to talk about.”
“Yes, we do.”
And away they went. “I talked to Lukin this morning—he was much more receptive than I thought he’d be. I guess I have you to thank for that.”
“Lukin will give you no trouble. He now understands the severity of the situation. He has also briefed me on Northern Forge’s status since your arrival and of the status of your crew.”
Scott took that as the polite way of saying, “Don’t waste my time talking about all that.” Before he said anything himself, Antipov spoke again.
“What is your current plan?”
“Well,” Scott said, “Esther is on her way to talk to our Ithini captive now, to see if we can find out if she knows anything about this conspiracy.”
Sounding dry but pleased, Antipov simply said, “Good.”
Here came the big one. “We’re also working on getting a recorded video message set up with Colonel Lilan.”
“A video message?”
“That’s right. We have him here, he’s willing to do it…if we can just get that message out, something with him stating that they’re alive and that EDEN is behind all of this, we’re thinking that could turn things around.”
Antipov huh-ed. “Brazen move.”
Hoping for a little more insight than that, Scott asked, “But do you think it’s a good move?”
“How will you deliver this message without being traced?”
Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re just going to record the message—no other voices, nothing in the background. We aren’t even going to broadcast it from here; we’re just going to record it and send it somewhere else. There shouldn’t be anything tying that video to our location.”
“Good,” said Antipov. “I think that’s a good plan. Let me know how everything goes.”
That was it? Let him know how everything goes? Why did Antipov sound so detached? “Will do. How are things on your end?”
There was a pause. That wasn’t good. “It has been a very busy night.”
It must have been, considering this was morning. “Is there anything going on?”
“Really?”
Yeah—that was a stupid question. “I mean, as it pertains to…us—”
“I need to go, Remington,” said Antipov, virtually cutting him off. “I am balancing many things at the moment. Record the message, then lay low. Things may become very active very soon.”
“Do you know something I don’t?”
Distanced from the comm, Scott could hear Antipov say in Russian, “Idiot, that was our exit. Take the next one.” So they were still driving to Chernobyl. Antipov’s voice addressed Scott once more. “Vector has designated a team with the specific task of hunting you down. This information has not been made public yet—they are keeping it quiet in the hopes of catching you off guard.”
If EDEN was keeping it quiet, how did Antipov know about it? Before Scott could ask, the eidolon went on.
“This poses a grave threat to you. You must be diligent in the event they locate Northern Forge. This team is highly dangerous.” Antipov hesitated. “…which brings me to another matter.”
Scott already knew what it was. The shift in Antipov’s tone gave it away. “Your daughter,” Scott said.
Once again, a pause. “So you found her.”
He was tempted to say something smart, as his introduction to Marina hadn’t exactly been friendly. But Scott held his tongue. “If something happens, we’ll take care of her.” This wasn’t the time to play games or leverage. That might have been a play out of General Thoor’s playbook, but it had no place in Scott’s.
“Thank you, Remington,” said Antipov simply.
“So, come on,” Scott said. “Pass some good news to me about the person I care about.” He was yet to hear an update on Svetlana. Even if he could send a message to Oleg’s comm on the same frequency he was speaking with Antipov, that would hold him over. He just wanted to hear Svetlana’s voice.
But what he was hearing now was silence.
Furrowing his brow, Scott rose painfully from his seat in the Pariah. “Antipov?”
A sigh. That was the eidola chief’s response. Scott’s heart began to race. “Are you sitting down?” Antipov asked him.
“No.” The quiver in Scott’s voice betrayed his panic. “What’s going on? Where is she?”
Another breath was drawn on the other side of the comm before Antipov finally replied. “Remington…there is something you need to know.”
* * *
Ten minutes later
“I vecking knew it!” Rearing back with his uninjured leg, Scott sent his foot slamming into the night stand of his room.
As the piece of furniture crashed into the wall and broke, David leapt in front of Scott and held out his hands. “Scott, Scott, calm down!”
“I don’t want to be calm!”
Before David could say anything else, the door to their quarters swung open. Becan and Jayden rushed inside, where they stared wide-eyed at Scott, who was having a full-blown meltdown. “We got your message!” Becan said to David. “Wha’ the devil is goin’ on?”
Scott was seething. Through his teeth, he snarled at David. “We should have gone after her. We should have never trusted someone else to do the job!”
“Svetlana’s missing,” David said to Becan, standing between Scott and the remaining pieces of furniture. “He just got word from Antipov. Oleg went missing shortly after Novosibirsk.”
“Missing?” Becan asked. “Missing as in, dead or captured?”
The elder operative frowned. “Missing as in, nobody knows.” As the two new arrivals stepped inside, Jayden locked the door behind them. Both of their gazes settled on Scott as David continued. “According to Antipov, contact was lost with Oleg before the convoy ever left for Chernobyl. By default, that means contact was lost with Svetlana, too. Antipov’s been trying to locate them with no success.”
“Here I am,” Scott said, “looking after his vecking daughter, and Svetlana is nowhere to be found!”
Jayden blinked. “His what?”
His frown deepening, David said, “I’ll explain that later, too.”
“Remmy,” Becan said, stepping in front of Scott as he stormed around the room. “Don’t start freakin’ ou’ over this—not yet. For all we know, Oleg could show up today, or tomorrow, or anytime. Sveta’s a smart bird! Even if somethin’ happened to Oleg, yeh know she can take care o’ herself just fine.”
“Antipov doesn’t know where she is,” said Scott, glaring at the Irishman. “Antipov knows everything! And he doesn’t know where she is.”
Becan put his hands in the air. “Tha’ doesn’t mean she won’t turn up. She’s somewhere, Remmy. She didn’t disappear into outer space.”
“Look,” said David firmly, putting a tactful finger in Scott’s face to hold his attention. “We need you to focus. Okay? You’re the guy who’s gotta hold this thing together.”
Hold it together? Not a chance. Not with Svetlana missing. How could he?
“What we need you to do is find your calm,” David said. “In the midst of this storm, find it. We need it. We’ve got big things going on, bigger than any one person—you know that.” He put his hands on Scott’s shoulders. “We’re all dealing with this stuff in one way or another.”
Scott’s eyes focused on David’s calming green ones. For a moment, his rage settled. The older operative continued.
“Nothing
has changed. Nothing about what Antipov said changes anything about what we’ve done or what we’re about to do. The only thing that’s changed is that you happen to know more now than you did twenty minutes ago.” He offered a poor smile. “We’re gonna get Svetlana back. I promise you, one way or another. Believe it.”
He wanted to, desperately.
“We’re all in this together, man,” said Jayden. “We’re gonna help you get through it just like we know you’d help us. And we’re gonna get her back, like Dave said.” He looked at the other two men. “Ain’t none of us going to settle for anything less.”
Despite the intense emotions he felt, Scott was calming down. The initial outburst was out of his system. He was angry—furious, but there was no one to blame for it, anyway. This wasn’t Antipov’s fault. He’d just been the messenger. Closing his eyes and rubbing his hands with his face, Scott drew in a deep breath and exhaled.
“Unit meeting, right?” David asked, lowering his head to look at Scott’s eyes when they reopened. “That’s the next thing on the plan. Let’s nail it. One thing after the next—that’s how we’ve gotta be until all this stuff is finished.”
Stuff was such a small word. They had so much to do. “The meeting,” Scott repeated almost mindlessly.
Nodding his head, David said, “The meeting. Let’s get it done.”
“Shall I rally the troops?” Becan asked.
Scott waved the offer off. “Not yet. I want some time alone.” When his friends offered him worried looks, he said, “I’ll be okay. I need to sort this all out in my head. That’s it.” Every word David said had been right. This changed nothing except what information Scott knew. None of this applied to their situation at Northern Forge. “I’ll get you guys in a couple hours. Then we’ll all meet.”
Quietly, the others acknowledged.
So this was how it would be. This was the pressure of the new normal—one stress after the next. He missed the serenity of Room 14 more than anything else.
After David, Becan, and Jayden offered him a pat on the shoulder and filed out of the room, Scott stood alone. He wandered to the bunk and sat down, propping his elbows on his knees. Making an irritated face, he glanced up at the ceiling in the spot where Valentin’s camera was hidden. “I hope you enjoyed that,” he said under his breath. Sighing, he stared blankly ahead.
For almost a full half hour, Scott sat at the edge of the bed, staring ahead as his mind negotiated terms with his heart. The latter had to yield to the former. He had no other choice. Shortly after that, Scott turned to the only other place he knew to fill his cup with peace: to God and prayer. Honest prayer, admitting his mistakes, his doubts, his confessions of love for Svetlana and his fear for her life. He unloaded it all. And in the midst of it, he found something that he’d scarcely found since his fall from grace at Novosibirsk. He found peace. Just a little bit…
…but enough.
They were going to get through this. As dire as their situation was, they were going to get through it. Together—as they had through every trial before. This would be no different.
A unit meeting loomed. A crucial one. This was their chance to find center, to collectively forge an action plan. To turn this thing around.
Rising from the bed, Scott hobbled about the room to mentally prepare.
12
Sunday, March 18th, 0012 NE
0337 hours
Cairo, Egypt
THERE WERE FEW places on Earth that Torokin had never visited. He’d never visited South America, nor Australia’s more sparsely-populated west coast. He’d never been to Italy, something he considered one of the greater injustices in his life. He’d never been to the American Midwest. And of course, he’d never been to Egypt.
Until now.
The Russian judge, along with his nephew, Sasha, and Minh Dang, one of Vector’s two pilots, had been airborne for almost six hours in their blacked-out transport before the stomach-turning rush of descent came upon them. Beneath them and steadily approaching—or at least they assumed, as they had no way of seeing out the windows—was the EDEN base of Cairo. Cairo was one of only two EDEN bases that Torokin had never set foot upon; the other was the brand new facility of Sydney, though he had been to the city it was named after. He’d have much rather been visiting it than the desert base in Egypt.
Cairo was not Torokin’s kind of base. It wasn’t a pillar of strength, as Scott Remington and his band of outlaws had proven. It wasn’t a source of mass production, such as Atlanta and Nagoya. It didn’t even have a notorious reputation, as Novosibirsk had prior to Thoor’s removal. Cairo was a research facility. It was a base run by nerds.
“Nerds” might have been a juvenile term, but it was the only word that came to mind when Torokin considered the Egyptian facility. It was full of scientists and engineers. Though it was true that good things did come as a result of the base staff’s hard work, the process for getting to those results completely bored him. He preferred his company combat-ready.
The three Vector passengers grabbed hold of the handrails as the transport clunked down on concrete. Moments later, the rear door lowered toward the ground. It was almost a quarter to four at Cairo, leaving Torokin and his comrades to be greeted by a surprisingly cool night wind. He could smell the desert sand in the air. It was a scent quite unlike anything he’d experienced.
They were there for one simple purpose: to pick up Lieutenant Logan Marshall and bring him to Berlin, where they would rendezvous with the handful of other Vectors who were to accompany them on their hunt for the Fourteenth. Despite his prejudices against Cairo, there was a part of Torokin that wished they’d have time to view the facility’s damage. But the time they did have was very much of the essence. They weren’t even supposed to get off the plane.
Logan was there waiting for them, as he was supposed to be. With a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and his assault rifle over the other, the Australian ex-mercenary looked every bit the dangerous man Rath had portrayed. He was well-built—nastily built, like a man who’d dished out his fair share of barroom beatings. Between his shaved head and five o’clock shadow were eyes that screamed, let’s get a move on. Torokin liked him immediately.
Dashing up the ramp, Logan grabbed hold of one of the handrails and dropped his duffle bag to the floor. He extended his newly-freed hand Torokin’s way. “Logan Marshall,” he said simply.
The lack of a proper salute was the first indication to Torokin that Logan was in mercenary mode. Accepting the improper greeting, Torokin shook the Australian’s hand. “Judge Leonid Torokin. Behind me are Minh Dang and Sasha Kireev, both of Vector. It is good to meet you.”
“Same to you, judge.”
Stepping away from his handrail, Torokin slapped the rear bay door button. Slowly, the ramp lifted to a close. “Ready to go!” he hollered at the pilot. The blacked-out transported lifted from the ground.
During the flight, Torokin, Logan, Sasha, and Minh went over every detail of Remington’s arrival at Cairo and his assignment to the Caracals. Logan was frank about Remington’s wooing Rockwell, the disdain in his voice apparent. Remington’s accomplices were also discussed, none so much as Esther Brooking, the EDEN scout who’d used the moniker Calliope Lee to infiltrate Cairo and free the Ceratopian. Logan portrayed Scott and Esther as a modern day Bonnie and Clyde, and the rest of their posse—Auric Broll, Jayden Timmons, and Boris Evteev—as lackeys following their orders. Torokin found it striking that throughout the conversation, at no point did Logan give the outlaws credit for anything other than being liars. For whatever they’d managed to pull off in stealing the specimens from Confinement, they hadn’t impressed the Australian at all. Torokin wasn’t sure if that said more about the outlaws or Logan.
In return for hearing about Remington’s team, Torokin made sure to enlighten Logan on the team he was about to inherit—the Vectors. Besides Minh and Sasha, there would be three other Vectors joining the effort: Marty Breaux, Pablo Quintana, and a late addition to
the group, Lisa Tiffin, one of the newer Vectors and the first woman to join its ranks since Uta Volbrecht, a demolitionist in Vector back in Torokin’s day.
Of the wide variety of characters who were in Vector, Marty was undoubtedly the most colorful. He was part of a dwindling demographic known as Cajuns, the first and only that Torokin had ever met. Beyond having the strangest speech pattern the Russian judge had ever encountered, Marty was a genuinely good man. He possessed the charm and elite ability that would have been ideal for leadership minus the simple fact that he had no ambition to lead. Marty was content just to do as he was told, which had a certain benefit itself. Beyond his vibrant, at times bizarre, personality, he was as ideal an ally as anyone could have asked for.
Now in his early thirties, Marty had been a relatively new Vector at the time when Torokin was still in the unit. The tanned-skinned, olive-eyed, self-proclaimed “bayou rat” specialized in fortification. He was one of the few men in all of EDEN who could be trusted to single-handedly protect critical personnel or facilities—he was a human choke point.
Second on the list of pickups was another operative who’d come into Vector Squad at roughly the same time as Marty: Pablo Quintana, referred to most simply as Smiley. There was good reason for the moniker. Pablo had one of the broadest, warmest, most enthusiastic grins anyone in Vector had ever seen. He was positivity exemplified, and everyone loved him.
Pablo’s official designation was that of a combat technician, but like most operatives in Vector, he was quite multifaceted. The spiky-haired Latino, in addition to the Vector prerequisite of being a combat elite, was also a full pilot. Though the brunt of the flying was taken care of by Minh Dang and Vector’s second pilot, Brock Thompson, Pablo was fully capable of taking the reins when a situation demanded it or when either Minh or Brock were on leave.