Enemy One (Epic Book 5)

by Lee Stephen

  There was no pause from Blake. With the traces of a grin emerging from the midst of his panting, he answered, “You’re not bloody going to believe this.”

  PART III

  23

  Tuesday, March 20th, 0012 NE

  1833 hours

  Norilsk, Russia

  “EXCELLENT WORK, Remington.”

  The words from Antipov didn’t bring much comfort—but they brought some. As Scott leaned back in his chair in the conference room alone, he raised his comm to his lips to give a response. “What exactly are we going to be able to do with this intel we brought back?” The extent of what he knew about whatever it was Boris had retrieved from Hami Station was that it had access codes that had something to do with satellites. He was yet to get an explanation in plain speak—not at the fault of Antipov or Boris. There simply hadn’t been time to give one in the rush of the operation.

  “What you have brought back are access codes to EDEN’s satellite network—that is, their global network, not simply the area in Krasnoyarsk Krai. With these codes, we will be able to track EDEN’s movement across the planet. This gives us a major strategical advantage, particularly when the world is searching for us.”

  That was all Scott needed to hear. In a game where avoidance was key, the benefit of such information was obvious. “I’m glad what we brought back is going to help.” It wasn’t exactly a break they’d caught—they’d certainly paid the price for this—but it was something good they hadn’t possessed before. In their current situation, that counted for a lot.

  “As am I,” Antipov said, “which brings us to our next order of business: Nagoya.” Scott’s ears perked. “I have spoken to my contacts in Japan, and they have arranged for transfer of salvage parts to a workshop in Tokyo. To EDEN, it will simply look like these parts are being inspected, by familiar contractors, even. There will be no reason for them to suspect otherwise.”

  “So we’re going to Tokyo, now?” Scott shook his head. By the time they were finished with this, they’d have traveled the whole world.

  Antipov hesitated. “Not exactly. A bullet train will be bringing the salvage parts. Your job will be to intercept that train en route, take the equipment, then return.”

  Now that raised an eyebrow. “We’re hijacking a train?” The term outlaw might have been appropriate for them, after all. This was a page out of the Wild West.

  “More or less, yes. But I must warn you—this train will be heavily protected. The salvage parts being brought to Tokyo are considered sensitive. Not even I can diminish that security level.” The whole while Antipov spoke, Scott’s frown grew deeper. “These will be highly-skilled individuals protecting this equipment. Though I hope it is not the case, be prepared to take casualties.” The eidola chief paused. “I know you have already suffered some close to you, and for that, I apologize. You are in a pitiable position.”

  To hear words like that from a man whose skill was telling people what they wanted to hear was depressing.

  Antipov went on. “I am sending you the timeline of the Tokyo-bound train now, as well as information on the car that the salvage parts will be in.”

  Scott nodded his head absently. “Sounds good.”

  “We have fought hard to come to the precipice of where we are now, Remington. At all costs, our mission must be fulfilled. Are you committed to fulfilling it?”

  “Yeah,” Scott said, thinking the question a bit strange. “Of course, I’m committed. I’ve been committed so far, haven’t I?”

  When Antipov answered, it almost sounded like he was smiling. “Yes, you have. You have exceeded every expectation set before you. Now do it once more.”

  Once more. One final time more. If this device was all it was cracked up to be, that Tokyo-bound train held the key to everything.

  “Good luck, my friend and comrade,” Antipov said. “I will be going radio dark as we set up in Chernobyl—I suggest you do the same. I am now entrusting this operation solely to you, for you are there, and I am not. Are you comfortable as operations commander?”

  He was. “You know it.”

  “Remember, Remington. That train holds our future. You must reach it, whatever the cost.” Drawing a breath, the eidola chief said, “Antipov out.” The channel closed.

  Leaning back in the chair, Scott blew out a breath as he ran his fingers through his hair. Operations commander. It was no surprise that Antipov had relayed and entrusted complete control of the operation to him. After all, as the eidola chief said himself, Antipov simply wasn’t there. Who else was going to lead this thing? Valentin?

  Scott’s comm chirped, indicating that Antipov’s transmission had come through. Putting his feet back on the floor and leaning forward, Scott scrutinized the information on the display.

  Tuesday, March 27th, 2214 local time.

  Car NP 469759 (red).

  This was really happening. There was something about seeing that information on the display—those words—that brought the entire situation home for Scott. They were going to hijack a bullet train in Japan. God, what in the world do You have me doing? Is this even Your doing at all? Things were so crazy now, it was hard to know what was what. And this wasn’t even touching on the Svetlana side of things. Where in the world was she?

  Survive this week. Intercept that train. Prove that Archer is a traitor, clear the Fourteenth’s name, then you’ll have all the time in the world to find Svetlana.

  At that thought, an unexpected one came to him. I wonder if Lilan’s video message ever got to the media? It felt strange not to have heard anything on it thus far. Antipov hadn’t even mentioned it in their final conversation. I wish I had thought to ask—I have so much going on. That message getting out was critical. He made a mental note to ask Valentin about it the next chance he got.

  Rising from his seat, Scott made his way toward the door. There was so much that had to be done in the upcoming week. There was so much that had to be done today. A meeting with the able operatives of the Fourteenth and Falcon Platoon was needed. They needed to know where they stood—where this operation stood. They needed to know that things were going to be okay.

  Convincing himself of that first would be a good place to start.

  * * *

  Clean.

  Never in her life had a feeling been so appreciated. Never before had it been so relished. For almost an hour after returning from Hami Station, Tiffany stood under the showerhead of one of Northern Forge’s bathrooms. Despite Catalina’s offer to act as lookout, Tiffany insisted—at least for that time being—that she be alone. As much as blood and sweat needed to be washed from her, so did the mental and emotional trauma she’d faced at not only the death of someone who’d been her saving grace after the Great Dismal Swamp, but at a parachute-less freefall that was affecting her more the more she thought about it. With the rush of adrenaline gone, the blond-haired Valley Girl was, quite simply, shaken. Though sixty minutes of warm water on her scalp wasn’t a cure-all, it was a therapeutic step in the right direction. It was a good place to start. What a shower couldn’t do for her, Tiffany knew Catalina would—and so that was where she went next. She needed her best friend.

  For the hour that followed, Tiffany sat on the bottom bunk in her room, her hair air-drying in a loose ponytail as she talked in an almost stream-of-consciousness manner. She talked about her father and the ramifications of his death in how it indirectly had saved Falcon Platoon’s life. She talked about flight patterns and tactical maneuvers, little to none of which Catalina could understand, though she acknowledged as if she did. She talked about Richmond, and Philadelphia Academy, and the day she decided to enlist.

  Despite the Valley Girl persona Tiffany exuded, she prided herself on being hard-working and diligent. They were character traits Catalina could attest to, as there was rarely a time at Philadelphia when Tiffany wasn’t doing something scholastically-oriented. She studied like no one else. She, indeed, worked hard. Neither of them could ever have imagined that it wo
uld pay off like this.

  And so inevitably, the conversation transitioned from the past to the present, in how it pertained to EDEN’s betrayal of Falcon Platoon, the events of Novosibirsk, Northern Forge, and Hami Station, and ultimately, the losses of Donald Bell and Travis Navarro. As for the former, everyone liked Donald. Despite the tension created by Tom in what were essentially segregated camps, Donald’s personality was so laid back and agreeable that it was impossible not to consider him a friend as much as a comrade. Donald never met a stranger, even if he said little. He was the big brother of Charlie Squad. That they would never hear his deep voice greeting them again was gut-wrenching.

  Then, there was Travis. Despite the bickering between them during their handcuffed time together, Tiffany liked Travis. Not romantically, per se, but as a person. As a harmless, affable sidekick of sorts who could give it almost as much as he took it. In the midst of the turmoil, Travis had been a dash of—as best it could be described—fun. But now, only turmoil remained.

  It was in the midst of that particular observation that Tiffany lowered her head and broke down, much as she had in the Pariah shortly after their return. The only difference between then and now was that, now, she had a best friend to hold her. Catalina was more than happy to play that part. Pushing herself forward slowly in her wheelchair, Catalina set her hand on Tiffany’s knee and simply was there.

  “I have to fix that ship.” The words could barely be made out between the blonde’s quiet heaves.

  Shaking her head in confusion, Catalina asked, “What?”

  “The Pariah. I have to fix it.”

  Catalina looked at Tiffany as if unsure of how to respond. “Tiff, that’s the last thing you need to be worried about.”

  “No,” Tiffany said adamantly, despite the tears. “It’s the thing I need to be worried about. That’s the Fourteenth’s ship. That’s Travis’s ship.” Taking a deep breath, she searched the area for something to wipe her nose with, to no avail. The Valley Girl used her sleeve. “No one else is going to look after it.”

  “Okay, so what?” Though Catalina tried to smile, it came out as forced as her question sounded incredulous. “That thing probably needs to be retired, or broken down for scraps—if the scraps are even good. I mean God, Tiff, it doesn’t have a canopy.” Concern crossed her face. “Trying to fix that ship isn’t going to bring Travis back.”

  Tiffany eyed her friend sternly, almost as if she was offended. “That ship is Travis. It was his reason. All he ever talked about while we were handcuffed together was that ship, and how happy he was that I’d brought it back, and how he’d been flying some other ship, but it wasn’t the same.” She wiped her eyes again. “That ship was to him like your favorite guitar is to you.”

  Though she made a face, Catalina understood the analogy. She still didn’t accept it. “Except my favorite guitar isn’t going to help me here, just like that ship isn’t going to help you—or anybody.”

  “Cat!”

  The Canadian raised her hands in defense. “All right, all right. We’ll fix the ship. Or, we’ll try, at least.”

  Tiffany shook her head and looked away. “I need to talk to Boris. He and Travis were really close.”

  “Tiff…”

  “What, Cat?”

  Frowning, Catalina said, “I think you just need to worry about yourself, right now. You’re worried about everyone else. These aren’t even your people.”

  Tiffany looked at Catalina in disbelief. Slowly, her eyes narrowed. “My people? What in the hell do you mean by that?”

  “Come on, Tiff, you know what I mean.”

  “Back at Richmond, you were all crazy about being in Remington’s old unit, and now here you are, in his unit now, able to help his comrades, and you don’t even care.”

  Catalina eyed Tiffany flatly. “I’m competitive. You know that. Remington was a challenge bar.”

  “The Fourteenth is more than a challenge bar to me.” Tiffany’s eyes reddened. “They became my friends, as much as Charlie Squad. I saw these guys living together, I lived with them. They’re just like us.”

  “You’re totally misunderstanding what I’m saying.”

  Pushing up from her bed, Tiffany stepped past her friend as Catalina wheeled around in her wheelchair to keep pace. “I’m gonna fix that ship, and I’m gonna help the Fourteenth. They need a pilot, and I am one.”

  Making a loud ugh sound, Catalina said, “Do you even care that Donald’s dead at all?”

  With her back still to Catalina, Tiffany froze. Slowly, she pivoted back around.

  “I’m sorry,” Catalina said quickly. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “How dare you…”

  Wheeling forward, Catalina reached out for her blond counterpart again. But Tiffany pulled her hand back. “Tiff, come on, you know I didn’t—”

  “I was Donald’s friend, all right?” Tears shimmered again, though this time they were of anger. “Yes, I care that he’s dead! Did you really just ask me that?”

  “Tiff…”

  Tiffany pointed to herself. “I just spent days handcuffed to a man who saved my life, and now that man is dead. I’m sorry, I’m a little affected right now!” Her voice grew louder with every word.

  “Okay,” said Catalina, “I think we both need some time to chill. Things are crazy, we’re both stressed.”

  “You don’t even know what stress is! Did you lose your dad? Did you just jump out of a freaking plane?”

  Jaw setting, Catalina looked away.

  “My life is a hell!”

  The Canadian erupted. “Everything isn’t about you!”

  At the comment, Tiffany blinked as if caught off guard. When her friend’s words finally sunk in, her expression fell heavy.

  “This is not our team!” said Catalina, eyes shimmering as she pointed toward the far wall as if indicating something very distant. “We left our team in the Great Dismal Swamp. I’m talking about Major Tacker, and Frank, and Leslie, and Mark.” At the mention of Mark Peters’ name, her voice broke. Through trembling lips, she said, “Do you think you’re the only one dealing with loss? You lost someone you’ve known for a couple days. I lost…” Catalina made a fist, placing it against her mouth as if trying to hold herself back. Her unfinished words hung in the air.

  “Cat…”

  “I lost someone who meant a hell of a lot more to me than Travis could ever have meant to you.”

  Tiffany closed her eyes and lowered her head.

  “Not once have you asked me how I was doing in all this, how I was dealing with things. It’s been the Tiffany Feathers Show. And now I have to sit here in a wheelchair because I may never walk again, listening to you talk about how awful things are for you?”

  “Cat, I—”

  Catalina pointed at the door. “Go!” The volume of her voice made Tiffany jump. “Go fix your damn ship. I’ll just hang out here in my stress-free life.” Rolling back in her wheelchair, Catalina turned away.

  Kneeling down on the floor, Tiffany covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean it.”

  “Just go.”

  For several seconds, Tiffany stayed crouched on the floor, hands slid over her mouth as she stared at Catalina from behind—though the Canadian never made an effort to look back. Tears still shimmering, Tiffany said weakly, “I’m having a hard time right now. I’m sorry. I love you.” Looking down as her expression twisted, Tiffany waved her hand in front of her face, as if to stave the tears away. Standing up silently and without words, she hurried for the door.

  “I love you, too,” Catalina said quietly.

  Tiffany paused at the precipice of the door, her hand on the knob just as she was about to pull. Glancing back, she saw that Catalina’s head was still facing the other direction. But her awareness was felt. Tiffany said no more words as she pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall, closing it behind her with a quiet click.

  She walked away alone.

&nbs
p; * * *

  Tom King stared down at the massive body bag before him. Though Tom’s dark eyes were glazed and reddened, his tears had long ceased falling, replaced by a silence that was as solemn as it was declarative. The soldier was angry. Angry at EDEN for betraying them. Angry for his cousin’s death. Donald deserved more than this. They all did.

  The Alien War had never been of interest to Tom, despite the obvious ramifications that it held for humanity. And though he’d enlisted with EDEN years earlier, spending two entire years feigning things such as obedience and dedication, his military career was one more intended to keep him out of trouble and provide him with some sort of path than to actually serve. It was also not his idea, but his grandmother’s—and one did not, at all costs, go against g-maw. The law had been laid down, and the next thing Tom knew, he was donning a flashy silver and blue armor with “King” etched into its nameplate. Life could have been worse.

  Tom knew he was selfish. From his perspective, there was only one person he’d ever met who was worth serving. Himself. He knew, to an extent, that he was a fake. To have made it this far, playing the right role for the right people was a necessary part of the game. But the game had always been just that—a game. Until now.

  Unlike the others around him who’d found themselves in the predicament of Northern Forge, Tom wasn’t concerned with what his family would think when word of Falcon Platoon’s aligning with the Fourteenth broke out. At worst, they’d shrug their shoulders and swap quips about how they weren’t surprised that he’d landed into trouble, or how they’d seen it coming a mile away. At best, they might find it in some deep, dark corner of their heart to care to the faintest degree. But Tom didn’t care. Not about them, or what they thought, or how this affected them. Tom cared about Tom—and this had affected Tom deeply.

  “Hey, man!”

  Looking behind him, Tom watched as Javon approached, trotting through the hangar to where the young soldier stood.