Enemy One (Epic Book 5) (62 page)

Neither Logan or Chiumbo said a word. They simply stepped aside, allowing Torokin to walk past Minh, Marty, Sasha, and Lisa. Arms crossed confidently, and with a look far more sinister than could be dubbed “Smiley,” Pablo was waiting at the far end of the transport, past the rest of the survivors who’d been picked up in China.

Torokin glanced back to the others behind and around him before he said, “You all look quite pleased for having just lost
Jīngshén-2
.”

“We may have lost
Jīngshén-2
,” said Logan, marching up behind him then motioning to Pablo with a head nod. “But we found something else.”

Taking the cue, Pablo stepped aside, allowing Torokin to see what was hidden on the seat behind him. Upon the revelation, Torokin’s initial reaction was a confused stare—but it didn’t take long for the shift to come. Eyes widening ever so faintly as he stared down at the object, Torokin lowered his chin as a dark stare of focus emerged on his face. Voice almost grave, the Russian judge asked, “Are they going to use that?”

Behind Torokin, the edge of Logan’s lips curved upward. “They already have, mate.” Pablo held up his hacking kit, leaving its digital screen in front of Torokin to view. As soon as the judge saw it, the arch of his brow lowered. “We’re going to get him,” said Logan with finality.

After a moment’s pause, Torokin took a single step back from Pablo, turned around, and walked out of the transport—past the miscellaneous survivors, past Minh, Marty, Sasha, and Lisa, and even past Chiumbo. At no point did his jaded stare meet anyone else’s—at no point did they do anything but stare through the ground. As the occupants of the troop bay watched him, he marched several paces, very slowly, out onto the airfield. Ever so faintly, his head angled to the side, until at long last, he turned back to face the operatives fully. Drawing in a breath and returning his gaze to even keel, he spoke. “My comrades…it is time to catch an outlaw.”

*
      
*
      
*

EDEN Command

ARCHER WAS IN the middle of shaving when the pounding came to his door. Abandoning his efforts, the British judge hurried to it, pulling it open to see Malcolm Blake on the other side. The bald, black Briton was almost out of breath. Looking bewilderedly at his counterpart, then glancing both directions down the hallway to see if anyone was present, Archer asked simply, “What is it?”

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.”

Tuesday, March 20
^th
, 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 would 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.”