Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-four


Thursday, April 5th, 0012 NE

1229 hours


Norilsk, Russia




“AND THAT’S WHAT happened.”

David’s words hung in the air like an unfinished sentence, despite the drop in his tone that indicated otherwise. Esther listened to it as she stood in David and Max’s room, one arm hanging downward as the other held it in place.

The instant the scout had set foot back in Northern Forge, she made it her mission to reunite with her comrades of old. While it’d been made clear to her and everyone else from the rescue that they could seek rest, Esther couldn’t bring herself to return to the room she had shared with Jayden. The last time she’d seen it, she’d been with him, the pair cradling each other like they were facing the end of the world together. How strange it all felt in retrospect now. Returning to that room was an obstacle she wasn’t quite ready for. Instead, she sought out the only two people at Northern Forge she knew would make her feel at home: David and Max—and of course, a merry little canine who knew nothing of conspiracies or grief, but who’d leapt on Esther when she’d entered the room like she was his favorite human on Earth. It was good to see Flopper, too.

It was also good to see David and Max out of the medical bay. David’s thigh, where he’d been shot at Hami Station, was on the mend. Though there was a pair of crutches leaning against the corner, he’d apparently been getting around fine without them. He jokingly called it, “the metabolism of youth.” Esther knew it was determination.

She was more surprised to see Max up and about. Against all odds, the lieutenant was on his way to what could actually be called a full recovery. It’d been three weeks since he’d been shot in the throat during EDEN’s attack on Novosibirsk. In that time, he’d battled both a tracheostomy and a collapsed lung. The tracheostomy tube had only just been removed several days prior, which was evident by the large, white bandage taped to the middle of his neck. In order for his throat to heal properly, Gavriil Shubin had placed him on a “words per day” limit, which even in Esther’s melancholy state she found hilarious. David assured her that while Max’s ability to complain was hindered, he was no less of a sourball, reserving most of his words for snippy remarks and profanity. It meant all that much more to Esther, then, when he offered part of his word allowance to her in the form of a simple, yet painfully sincere, “It’s good to see ya, kid.”

It'd taken almost an hour for Esther to get caught up on everything that’d taken place in the time she’d been away. David told her that they’d been informed of the true nature of the train hijack mission by Antipov, who seemed to have made it a priority to reach out to the beleaguered unit upon his arrival at Northern Forge. That saved her from the agony of having to tell them about it herself. As expected, the surviving members of the Fourteenth were furious upon learning of the news—though Antipov, as he had a way of doing, still managed to explain his actions in a way that almost made them seem noble. He spoke of a greater mission and a greater good, and he explained to them that in the operation to come against EDEN Command, he would make the retrieval of Scott, Tiffany, and the unknown survivor a priority.

Of all the revelations Esther heard from David, nothing was as shocking as hearing that Antipov possessed the very audio recording that they’d hijacked the train to steal. And it was that recording—at least for David, Max, and everyone else from the Fourteenth—that put Antipov’s otherwise nefarious actions into perspective. He was not a good guy. Not by any stretch. But when his acts were contrasted to the fate of the entire human species, how could he not be seen in a better light? That was enough, at least, to prevent Max from violating his six-week restraint on physical activity by punching the new general in the face.

And all of that—in David’s own words—was what had happened. His unfinished sentence now hung in the air, waiting for Esther to pick up whenever she felt ready. When her silence lingered, David took the reins again. “How are you doing?”

Esther’s emotions were as in check as they could possibly be—which was to say, barely in check at all. Yet, answer she did, as best as she was able. “I have to choose in my heart,” she said quietly, “whether I want Jayden or Becan to be dead.” Both men closed their eyes. “I am in the process of burying my husband in my heart.”

“Ess…” said David.

She shook her head. “It’s more complicated than it seems. More complicated than how it just affects me.” To the best of her knowledge, none of them knew about Becan’s little secret. None of them knew that he had a son.

“Listen,” David said. “It’s not wrong to want Jayden back. You’re his wife, he’s your husband.”

Max nodded, putting his few words to good use. “Don’t feel bad,” he said hoarsely.

“Like I said,” she said, fidgeting, “it’s more complicated than that.” Her eyes lifted to look at them, then they zeroed in on David. “Do you remember a girl named Natasha?”

Blinking, David canted his head. “Natasha?” He seemed to think on it.

“Back at Richmond.”

“Oh wait, her? Wow, I mean. Yeah, I remember a Natasha.” Shaking his head confusedly, he asked, “What’s she got to do with you and Jayden? How do you even know about her?”

Here it came. “Actually…she has more to do with Becan.”

“With Becan?”

“Who is Natasha?” asked Max.

Turning to him, David answered, “She was in our first unit. Before we got shipped here.”

Max nodded his head. “Ah.”

“Yeah, well,” Esther said, “she also just bore Becan’s child.”

The two men turned their heads to her, staring strangely, as if they didn’t comprehend what she’d just said. At long last, blinking unceremoniously as if he was snapping out of some daze, David asked, “What?”

“Becan got a girl named Natasha pregnant while he was at Richmond. So, as you can see—”

“Wait, what?” David asked, voice rising.

She rolled her eyes. “God, please don’t make me say it again.”

“Becan has a freakin’ kid?”

Next to David, Max threw his hands up. “Seriously?” he asked, prompting David to place a hand against his chest to calm him down. Max looked utterly perplexed. “You’re Jayden’s wife, Becan’s some kid’s dad…I mean what the hell’s going on, here?”

“Ease back, I got this,” David said.

“Becan made a mistake,” Esther said, “if you even want to call it that. He has a child, and I think that’s beautiful.” While she spoke, David pressed his palms against his face.

“You know what I think?” Max asked.

“Dude, watch your words,” said David.

“I think Becan’s a moron.”

Typical men, inserting their unrequested opinions. “Whatever you want to say about it, the fact remains that Becan has a child. A beautiful baby boy, who doesn’t know his father. But his father wants to know him, desperately.” She pointed at herself. “I grew up without a father. I know that pain, that hole that nobody else can fill. I wouldn’t wish that on any soul, let alone a baby’s. He deserves to have a daddy’s finger to wrap his little hand around.” She’d initially thought this would be the hard part, though her irritation with the two men, ironically, made it easier to get out. “So that’s what I’m faced with, thank you for asking. Do I want to lose my husband, or do I want a boy to lose his father?”

Yet again, a span of silence fell between them, until at long last, Max set his hands on his hips and said, “Well, veck.”

“Yeah, veck,” said Esther, nodding at him. “Bloody, sodding, veck.” Face still flushed, she exhaled and looked at them both. “So that’s how I’m doing.”

Running his hand through his hair, David said, “All right.” His eyes distanced, as if rationalizing with himself. Finally, he nodded. “All right. I get it.”

“I’m glad that you get it. Now promise me that you’re going to stop saying nasty things about Becan. He’s our friend.” When neither man spoke, her eyes narrowed. “Promise me…”

“I promise,” said David.

When Max stayed silent, she looked pointedly at him. “Word count,” he said.

“Oh enough with your sodding word count,” she said. “You really cared about that when you were calling Becan a moron.”

“Okay, okay. I promise, too.” When her stare held steadfastly, he said again, “I promise, all right?”

She nodded firmly. “You’d both better keep it.” The room fell quiet, the looks of frustration on David and Max transitioning into something more sympathetic. Leaning back against the wall, Esther asked, “So what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to feel? I have to decide in my heart whether or not I want to lose my husband.” As they half-frowned, she said, “How fitting for me that the right answer must be yes.”

David inhaled as if to gather his thoughts. “Esther,” he said, “there is no right answer. Not for the question as to how you should feel. I know we certainly aren’t qualified to answer it.”

“I would still pull for Jayden,” said Max. “If I were you.”

“And wish someone an upbringing like the one I had? Utterly fatherless? Despising the man who brought me into the world?”

Offering what seemed as good a smile as he could manage, Max said, “You turned out okay.”

“I think the key difference is,” David added, “is that it sounds like your father had a choice. I don’t know your whole situation, but to despise the man like you say you do…that indicates something. It wouldn’t be the same for Becan’s kid.” Seeming to refute his own train of thought, the New Yorker quickly shook his head. “I mean, what the hell, this ain’t even something we should be talking about. Who do we want dead, Becan or Jayden? I’m gonna borrow a British term and call that poppycock.”

Faintly, Esther smirked.

“I started this ride with those two boys. And Scott, too. Hell, that out of all three of them I seem to be in the best shape right now is just freakin’ dreadful. But I don’t want any of them to die. Not a one. If there’s a way for both of them—Becan and Jayden—to still be alive, then that’s what I’m gonna pull for.”

She knew better. “You know that’s not the case.”

“Yeah, well it might not be likely, but it’s what I’m hoping for. Some big mistake on the part of the recovery team. Maybe one of them’s still in Japan in some hospital—a John Doe, waiting to be identified but still hangin’ on.”

It was a wonderful fantasy, but it was a fantasy. Pressing her hand to her forehead, she winced. “So now that we’ve addressed what had to be addressed, can we please talk about something else? Anything else? I have literally been consumed by this.”

After a pause, David quickly nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, absolutely—of course.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound—”

“You don’t sound nothing but tired,” he interrupted gently. “As you ought to be after all you’ve been through.”

Tired. She did feel tired. Perhaps more than she felt anything else, at this stage. Sighing distantly, she ran her fingers through her hair and lifted her eyes to her male counterparts. “You know, I am quite knackered. If you guys don’t mind, I might just try to rest.”

“Whatever you want to do.”

“Would it, umm…be okay if I slept in here? Just this once. I don’t think I’m ready to go back to that room, yet. Not without Jay.”

Both men nodded. “Absolutely. You can use my bed,” David said, as he turned to the closet. “I’ve got some fresh sheets in there, let me change them for you.”

At that, she smiled. “It’s okay. I’m more of a mess than you are.” She was yet to bathe after the battle. She stunk like sweat and humidity. “I can just change the sheets when I wake up, if it’s all the same to you.”

Raising his finger, David said, “How’s about a better idea? You’re sitting in one of the only two rooms in Northern Forge with a bathroom built in. It’s one of the perks of being next to the medical bay. Clean yourself off, Max’ll make a run to your room to get you some clothes, and I’ll change the sheets for you. You hop out the shower, throw on some pj’s, then sack out under some fresh, clean sheets. How’s that work for ya?”

Words couldn’t express how much that worked for her. Nor how much it meant. It was just like David. “That sounds wonderful,” she said quietly, with a smile.

“Off you go, then.” David nodded his head toward the bathroom door. “Don’t make Max make it an order.”

Walking to the bathroom, Esther stopped at its precipice to turn back around. Regarding the two men, a conflicted smile emerged—one that while draped in genuine gratitude was also quite haunted. Echoes of Room-14 reverberated in her head. What a better time in everyone’s lives that had been. “Thank you, both,” she whispered to them. “I missed you so much.” Neither man spoke in response. They only smiled sadly—no doubt considerate of the mixed expression on her face—and dipped their heads in acknowledgment. Turning around, Esther slipped through the bathroom door and then closed it behind her.


The scout’s shower in Max and David’s room could not have contrasted more to that first miserable one she’d experienced in Nobu’s suite—a place that while barely a day removed already felt like a distant memory. Perhaps it was that the past week had given her a chance to attune to her own emotions. To reason out her situation and her feelings. To prepare herself to accept whatever reality she was about to be handed. Or perhaps it was simply because there were no armed Yakuza waiting for her on the other side of the door, rather the warmth of the best friends in life she’d ever had. She’d told them how much she’d missed them, but what she couldn’t express was how much she’d needed them. How much she loved them. Perhaps someday, she would find a way to repay the love they had for her. It was a love she didn’t deserve.

The shower was wonderful, and as Esther poked her towel-dried head out of the bathroom door, she indeed saw that a small stack of clothes from her room had been left on the floor outside it. But that was not all she noticed, for there was an aroma that found her nostrils the moment she’d peeked her head out—the unmistakably rich and layered texture of a steaming cup of borsch. Though not exactly a staple in Britain, Russians loved the stuff. She couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t an option in Novosibirsk’s cafeteria. Though she’d never been its most ardent fan, something about the smell of that rich, beety stew warmed her heart. Sure enough, there was a tray from the cafeteria sitting atop the dresser, out of reach of Flopper—though that didn’t stop the pooch from staring up at it as if at any moment, it might leap off the dresser top to the floor for him. After wrapping her towel tightly around herself, she walked across the room to inspect the tray. Parked next to the borsch was a small slice of pie with a note. She unfolded it in her fingers to read.

For your mouth, not your face!

Esther laughed—the faintest, hushed giggle. Just one. “Dave,” she said quietly. Sitting anxiously by her feet, Flopper stared up at her, his tail wagging as his brown eyes begged for a bite. That made her smile, too. “I bet you’d like to stick your face in this.” Stepping back and turning around, Esther made her way back into the bathroom to put on her clothes.

Five minutes later, she was sitting on David’s bed wearing a plain white T-shirt and pajama bottoms and eating her first spoonful of borsch. Closing her eyes with satisfaction, she allowed the sweet flavors to linger before taking another bite. It wasn’t long before she was completely devouring the dish, offering Flopper occasional sad smiles of sympathy as he sat loyally at the bedside, posture upright like a soldier. In the end, the canine’s patience was rewarded, as she left a good quarter-inch of the stew in the bowl for him to lap up.

The pie, however, was all hers.

It wasn’t much longer before Esther was tucked under the covers of David’s bed, the crisp freshness of clean sheets enveloping her as she snuggled up warmly beneath them. Her feet were further warmed by Flopper’s lying down over them atop the covers. It took virtually no effort for the scout to lull herself to sleep. Rest came to her quickly. The best she’d had in a week.

She’d take it while she could.



* * *



IT FIGURED. AS Natalie stood in the weight room doorway, watching Logan pump iron on the other side of the room, all she could think was, It figured. The Australian was oblivious to her, his back to her as he worked out alongside several other Nightmen, none of whom were talking to one another. We return from a battle, everyone else is resting, but here’s Logan, lifting weights and sweating raindrops. I don’t know if that’s impressive or psychopathic. She guessed it was a little bit of both. Eyes focused on him, she left the doorway to weave through the weight machines toward him. When she crossed in front of him, he set his weights down. Blowing out an exhausted breath, the mercenary wiped his brow and set his hands on his hips. “What’s up?”

She wasted no time. “What was the trade?”

Raising an eyebrow, he asked her, “What?”

“What was the trade? What was traded to the Ikeda-kai for our freedom?” When he sighed and shook his head, she said, “Don’t play stupid. I know there was one. You used the word, and I saw Youko and Saretok exchange something. We were a part of it, so I want to know what it was.”

Logan walked past her, reaching down to grab a towel from the floor. After wiping it on his face, he walked exhaustedly away from her, gesturing with a lazy wave for her to follow. Stepping to catch up with him, she followed him all the way into the halls. Only after no one else was around did he face her. “A bioweapon,” he said begrudgingly.

A bioweapon? The perplexed look on Natalie’s face prompted him to continue.

“A long time ago, I was charged with the delivery of a package. Apparently, some Russians paid a hefty price for someone in Japan to develop a biological weapon. Some sort of virus.” Natalie angled her head to listen. “The selling point about this thing was that it operated at an accelerated pace. You’re not looking at a week or two in the hospital—you’re literally dead in a couple of hours, provided it gets inserted into the bloodstream, which was the only way to spread it.” Another morbid laugh escaped. “Once it got in, though, the thing was unstoppable. A headache, then a fever, then you’re done. A great killing tool if you’re looking to not leave a trail. When word of this thing got out, every clan in Japan wanted to get their hands on it. It was my job to make sure it got to the Russians safely. And yeah, by Russians, I mean Nightmen.”

A fever? Cocking her head, Natalie asked, “How long ago was this?”

“Years. Many, many years. Before EDEN was even a thought in my head.”

Before Natalie was a thought in it, either. “What’s the name of this thing?”

The Australian chuckled. “N, H, something, a bunch of numbers. You know how they name these things. The Nightmen called it the Silent Fever.”

Natalie’s eyes widened, and she stared ahead, right through him. The synapses fired in her brain as the connection was made. Dostoevsky. Yuri Dostoevsky. During the flight back from Japan, when he was telling her the history of the Fourteenth, he told her about the Silent Fever. The Nightman plague of Novosibirsk.

The virus that killed Scott’s fiancée.

Gasping, Natalie covered her mouth. The sudden gesture prompted Logan to blink, and he cocked his head strangely. “You all right?”

Dostoevsky had explained the whole setup to her. It’d been his own suggestion. His “worst moment as a human being,” he’d said. He knew Nicole’s murder would prompt Scott to take the life of her killer. To pass the basic qualification for joining the Nightman ranks. And it had worked. Because Nicole was dead. Because of the Silent Fever. Slowly, her eyes shifted to him. “You brought the Silent Fever to the Nightmen?”

Scanning the area as if to look for a hidden camera, he looked at her again and said, “Yeah.”

It was all because of him. Her eyes trailed away. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

“Okay, what in the world is—”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Her eyes were still distant, her voice cold.

Shaking his head, he said, “I’m gonna be honest, I’m completely mystified as to what any of this has to do with you. When has the Silent Fever ever impacted your life?”

When? What a stupid, stupid question for Logan to ask. If only he knew. He was about to. “When Scott Remington was assigned to infiltrate the Caracals.” Her stare returned to him. “When we got used.”

He leaned away and shook his head. “You’re gonna have to explain that one a little better than—”

“Scott became a Nightman because a Nightman murdered his fiancée.” She paused. “With a virus.”

The chastising look on his face faded. His skin seemed to pale.

“That you delivered.”

Logan’s mouth opened. No words came out. For the first time in as long as Natalie could ever remember, the Australian was speechless. At long last, he found something to utter. “Now hold on a minute.”

“You dregg.”

Holding out his palm, he said, “That was a long time ago. How in the hell was I supposed to know that—”

“That a biological weapon in the hands of the Nightmen might hurt someone? Oh, I don’t know.” Her sarcasm was razor sharp. Slicing. “I thought it might have just crossed your mind.” He was responsible. For all of this—this whole mess they were in. He was responsible. Had it not been for Logan, Scott would still be EDEN’s Golden Lion. “You’re the reason Scott’s fiancée is dead.”

“Now that’s enough.” This time, it was Logan’s voice that hardened. “I’m not responsible for what anybody does other than me. You know what would have happened had I not delivered that package?” He pointed behind him, as if some visual aid was there. “Someone else would’ve. Don’t make me the scapegoat for a man’s poor fortune and choices.”

Her expression remained stoic. “You said it was no easy task—delivering it. Could anyone else have done it? Other than you?”

He hesitated.

She knew the answer. Looking away from him, she said, “I cannot believe this.”

“You know, you never had one problem with me until this braindead bloke came strolling along.”

“Don’t you even—”

“Don’t I even, what? Tell you the truth? This psychopath has had you running around on some fool’s errand, chasing insane sodding conspiracies—”

And that was all she could take. Voice erupting in the hallways, she shouted, “It was all true!” Flinching back, Logan’s own eyes widened at her volume. “Every bit of what Scott said was true. I just heard it myself! I heard the audio, I heard Benjamin Archer. I heard what he sacrificed himself to try and secure!” Heat emanated from her face. “This man lost everything he ever cared for. His parents, his fiancée, his faith—his reputation, his soul! And every time he loses, he crawls back through the mud to try and get right.”

“Yeah, and you know this from your lifelong experience with him, right?”

“I don’t need lifelong experience with Scott to know it. I know it when I talk to his teammates! I know it when they tell me who he is—I can see it in their faces.”

His jaw set, Logan shook his head. “You should have listened to me, Nattie. You should have listened when I told you to tuck tail and run. That’s not always cowardice. Sometimes it’s common bloody sense.” He threw his arms out. “And now look where we are. Look around. Look!” The redness on his face matched hers. “We’re bloody sunk, Nattie. You know what this is for us? It’s the end of the road.”

“You,” she said. “You, you, you, you, you—”

“What in the hell are you—”

“—you, you, you you, you, you, you—”

He slammed his fist sideways into the wall. “What the hell is your bloody problem?”

“That’s all I hear!” she shouted. “That’s all I hear when I talk to you! You, you, you, you, you, you, you—it’s all how everything affects you! Never a thought for the greater good, never a thought for the well-being of anyone other than you!” She jammed a finger into his chest. “Now that’s cowardice!”

Teeth grinding, he growled and drew in a breath. When he turned to look away, she stepped in front of his glare.

“You want to walk away? You want to tuck tail and run from me? I’m on this ride because I choose to be. And I am so sick—I am so sick—of trying to pull you in, physically, emotionally, in every possible way.”

“This is Remington’s bloody war!” the Australian erupted, sticking his face right into hers. “It never was ours! I want to survive,” he screamed, pointing at himself. “What do you want?”

That, she could answer. “I want to die having had a point.”

Logan inhaled and exhaled through his flared nostrils. “Well, you’re well on your way to that.”

I’m done. I’m done with him. I can’t deal with this anymore. She’d tried so hard to get Logan on board with what was happening. On board with what mattered. She realized now that would never happen. Taking a step back, she shook her head, turned around, and walked away from him up the hall. Predictably, he called out to her.

“Just come back and listen to what I have to say! That’s all I need, just one minute!”

His time was up.

“I’ve been with you since day-one in EDEN!” he said. “This guy kidnapped you. Why are you choosing him over me?”

Scott over him. He really thought that was it. But if that was the way he wanted to think about it—if that was the way his simple mind functioned—she’d be glad to stoop down to that level. Stopping her stride up the hall, Natalie allowed herself one final word. A nail in the coffin that Logan would understand. Emerald glare sizzling, she said, “Every single thing Scott told me turned out to be true. Everything from you was a lie.” Turning around, Natalie marched up the hall.

Logan watched until she was out of view. Face flushing bright red, the Australian curled his fists, swung one through the air as hard as he could, and shouted at the top of his lungs.

Natalie heard him, even from far down the hall. But this time, his disappointment was his to deal with. He’d accepted that responsibility when he’d accepted the job to deliver the Silent Fever to the Nightmen. He loved to say that actions bred consequences. He was reaping the consequences of his actions now. Whatever he chose to do, she wouldn’t stand in his way. Her hands were washed.


In the hours that passed between then and 1600, Natalie retired to the rooms where the rest of the escapees had been assigned. Predictably, they were all asleep—some in beds, others scattered on the floor. Though the temptation was strong to join them, she knew there were more important matters at hand. Slipping quietly into the bathroom and locking the door, Natalie enjoyed the steaming privacy of a nice, hot shower. A final cleansing of Atami from her skin. When she finished, she found a black, Nightman uniform in the closet waiting for her. There was something strangely appropriate about that—at least, in the immediate aftermath of her confrontation with Logan. The putting on of a new uniform was as symbolic as it was practical for where she was. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the fact that she didn’t mind it.

Eventually, 1600 hours rolled around, and as requested, she made the short trek to the Level-3 conference room for a debriefing. None of her comrades accompanied her, which indicated they were probably all still sleeping. She didn’t mind. After all they’d been through, they deserved it. She was more than confident she could handle things on her own.

The meeting, as it turned out, was only between Natalie, Antipov, Saretok, and Valentin. All in all, it consisted of little more than what she’d told Antipov already. She explained the original operation, what took place on a ground level, and how they’d spent their last week in Atami with the Ikeda-kai. It didn’t take long for her to realize that she was sick of talking about all of those things, and she quickly found herself struggling to make the recap sound remotely interesting. For what it was worth, it seemed to matter little to Saretok and Valentin. They both looked equally bored from the start. Barely ten minutes after she’d begun, the two Nightmen looked eager to wrap things up. She was happy to oblige.


At that point, with nothing else on the agenda, Natalie decided to finally turn in for some rest. It was early—scarcely evening at all—but she had a feeling that sleep would hit her hard. Even if it didn’t, there was nothing wrong with getting an early start to the next day.

After making her way out of the conference room, Natalie sought out the Falcons’ shared accommodations. Though they had all awoken by that point, they were more than happy to leave the room so she could find sleep. Turning off the lights and tucking herself into the covers, she closed her eyes and lost herself in a labyrinth of possibilities. Even with the hustle and bustle of Nightmen outside—a constant barrage of boot steps that never seemed to fade—she fell asleep within minutes.


OceanofPDF.com