by Lee Stephen
Before David could elaborate further, a man stepped through the lounge door. It was not someone they’d expected. It was the man they’d expected the least.
Dostoevsky.
As soon as they saw him, the operatives tensed. As soon as Dostoevsky saw them, he froze in front of the doorway.
Then Becan rose to his feet.
What took place next happened so fast that no one in the room could have stopped it. Without saying a word, Becan stormed toward Dostoevsky, reared up his hands, and shoved him dead in the chest. Dostoevsky was thrust back into the bunk room, where his back collided into a bedpost.
Inside the bunk room, Varvara and Oleg froze.
“Becan!” yelled David as he leapt from his chair.
“Yeh want someone for your Nightmen to pick on?” Becan asked as he tracked closer. “Pick on me, scab.”
“Becan, stop!”
Before Dostoevsky could move, the Irishman punched him square in the face. Dostoevsky toppled to the floor, just as David and Jayden grabbed Becan’s arms.
“Becan,” screamed Jayden, “chill out!” Becan offered moderate resistance as the two men restrained him, though after a moment, he calmed. His glare remained fixed on the Nightman, who was sprawled on his knees.
The commander raised his hand to his lip, where a dark streak of crimson smeared his skin. His eyes settled on Becan, but he didn’t attack. Instead, he cleared his throat, wiped his hand on his jersey, and rose to his feet. “Gentlemen…”
“Don’t play tha’ ‘gentlemen’ game with me, yeh bleedin’ dregg.”
“Becan,” David whispered, “stop it, now.”
“Do yeh see wha’ your lackeys did? Do yeh feel proud o’ them now? I bet tha’ new piece o’ Nightman dung feels draggin’ proud o’ himself.”
“Becan!” said Jayden, “we don’t even know if he had anything to do with it, man!”
The Irishman glared at Dostoevsky. “Why don’t yeh enlighten us? Why don’t yeh tell us here an’ now? Did you have anythin’ to do with Nicole’s murder?”
“Becan,” Varvara spoke tensely from her bed, “you must stop now. You do not know who you are fighting with!”
“Oh, I bloody know,” Becan said. “An’ I want him to answer me question.”
Dostoevsky looked at Becan. He wiped his lip again, then quietly exhaled a breath. “General Thoor chooses Nightmen…not me.”
“An’ does Thoor choose who they have to kill?”
After a moment of hesitation, Dostoevsky gave his answer again. “General Thoor chooses Nightmen. Not me.”
“Well I want yeh to deliver a message to General Thoor. You tell him tha’ next time he wants to claim someone, try me. I’ll give him plenty o’ killin’.”
“Becan, that’s enough,” said David.
“Yeah,” Becan said, “I know it is.” The Irishman’s glare lingered on Dostoevsky for a few moments, before he spit in the commander’s face, pushed past him, and walked out. He disappeared into the hall, slamming the door in his wake. The room was left silent.
Dostoevsky lowered his head, and wiped Becan’s spit from his brow. He straightened out the sides of his uniform.
“Please don’t relay that message,” said Jayden.
The commander almost laughed, but said nothing.
“Don’t relay that one,” David said, “but try this one.” Dostoevsky watched as David stepped closer. “Ask that new Nightman if it was worth it. Ask him if it was worth tearing a man apart, and ripping a unit to shreds. Then ask him if it was worth the cost of her life.” The room watched as David leaned closer. “If he says yes to any of those, do us all a favor and kill him. I’m sure that’s not a problem for you.”
David stared Dostoevsky down for several moments, then eased back, turned, and walked away. Dostoevsky watched as David stepped past him, crossed the bunk room, and left into the hall behind Becan.
Jayden and Travis swapped a glance as the unsettling silence of the room swelled again. Before the threat of new words could surface, they stepped back into the lounge. Varvara and Oleg looked away.
Which left Commander Yuri Dostoevsky—the Nightman fulcrum—standing by himself at the far end of the room. The look on his face was a strange one, though no one had bothered to notice it. He stood there for several moments, his posture restraining apprehension, before he wandered into the lounge, where he went to the counter to brew tea. The process was never finished, though, as he abandoned the lounge shortly after. He stepped out of the room amid silence.
No one told him goodbye.
* * *
Scott didn’t remember falling asleep. He didn’t remember walking back to his room. His mind had slipped away in the hangar. The only thing he remembered was Nicole.
He would have been talking to her right then. He would have been telling her that everything was all right, and that he loved her. Then she’d say she loved him, too. He heard her words in his mind as if they were real.
“Scott, thank God.” He could hear her say from his bedside. “Thank God you were okay in Khatanga.”
He would have smiled. “Of course I’m okay, baby. Another day at the office.”
“Right—an office that’s trying to kill you,” she’d answer back. Then she would smile, because he was safe.
It was an imagined fantasy. He was laying in bed, in the dark. There was no one else around. There was no girl thanking God for his life; there was no girl to ask him what happened. There was no girl at all.
Scott wasn’t the kind of person to cry. In fact, in the six years that he and Nicole had spent together, not once had she seen him in tears. It was Scott’s job to be the comforter. It was her job to let him be that.
In the midst of his emotional chaos, Khatanga had been a distraction. For the short time that made up the mission, he’d not once thought of Nicole. His mind had been locked in the moment. Gunfire. Leadership. War.
Prior to his graduation from Philadelphia, instructors had told he and his fellow classmates, ‘when you pull that trigger for the first time, you’ll never want to let go.’ Scott had never believed it. Not until now. Now, there was nothing else he wanted. The cold stock of an e-35. The feel of an M-19 handgun strapped to his side. The liberating sound of a bullet leaving a barrel. They became his gods after God let her die.
Destiny. He used to embrace it. Destiny brought him to EDEN, and EDEN brought him to Russia. Russia brought her to death. It was a cruel joke from a God who didn’t care. He wondered if her murderer was following destiny, too.
More than anything in the world, Scott wanted the Nightman who did it. For five minutes, he wanted the murderer to himself. The wretch who saw her beautiful face full of innocence, and crushed it like a butterfly under a shoe. He wanted that man, like he wanted nothing else. He wanted him more than Nicole—but for a different reason entirely.
The knock on Scott’s door was a hesitant one. After letting it go unanswered for several moments, then hearing it tap once again, he rose from his bed and coughed. “I’m coming.” His voice was deeper now. It was even different to him. It wasn’t fatigue, or even remorse. It was hollowness.
He unlocked the door and eased it open. It was Galina.
She lowered her gaze to his feet. “Lieutenant.” Her voice was different, too. It was submissive in a way it had never been before. Not submissive out of respect. Submissive out of fear. “I came to give you a report.”
Scott turned around, walking back into the darkened depths of his room. “Yeah?”
She politely cleared her throat. “The captain will stay in the infirmary for today. They want to monitor his condition. They are ‘playing it safe.’”
She always tried to use American terms with him. She usually used them correctly.
“Maksim is in much worse condition. Between his time in the infirmary and rehabilitation, he could be out of combat for many weeks. Do you want to know specifics?”
“That’s okay,” Scott said, laying down on his back. He wouldn
’t understand specifics anyway.
She nodded. “That is all that I wanted. I am sorry to disturb you, lieutenant.”
That was all she was going to do. Give him a report, then leave. Yesterday that would have been fine. Yesterday he would have wished her gone as soon as he’d opened the door. But that was yesterday. As she reached out to pull his door shut, Scott tilted his head in her way. “Galya.” As soon as he murmured her name, she stopped. “Please come here.”
For a moment she visibly hesitated, then she canted her head. “Yes, lieutenant.” She stepped inside and closed the door. The two teammates were enveloped by darkness.
“Please come see. For a minute.”
Scott could tell she was nervous. Even through her obedient affirmation, there was an uneasy tone to her voice. Nonetheless, she drew close to his bed. Scott could still see her. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness long before she had arrived. He knew what he wanted to do to her. He knew what he needed her for. It was the only innocent thought that he’d had.
As she stood by his bedside, he reached for her hand. Not to hold it romantically. To hold it out of necessity. To remember, for a fleeting moment, what it felt like. To see if it still felt the same.
The instant he touched her skin, the memories rushed upon him. Every memory of everything wonderful that he’d experienced with Nicole replayed fresh in his mind. It was as if she weren’t dead. He could imagine her squeezing his hand. He could imagine her clinging to his chest. The thoughts felt as if they were real.
But they weren’t. And Galina wasn’t Nicole. Scott leaned his head back, bit his lower lip, and struggled not to break down.
As soon as his sobs whimpered out, the tension in her body relaxed. She was at his side immediately, one hand clutching his, while the other moved to his shoulder. “Lieutenant, it is okay. It is okay to do this.”
“I don’t…” His words were lost even to him.
“Scott,” she whispered, her formalities fading away. “I am here. I will not go anywhere.”
He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think. He wanted to cling to her shirt. To bury his face in her chest. He wanted to curl up and die.
Both of her hands now clutched his. “We are all here. We are here for you, Scott. Every one of us.”
Nicole was the only girl he’d ever loved—the only love in his life. She was always the one who’d been there for him. Who would be there for him now? Who would listen to him when he needed someone to talk to? Who would comfort him when he was at his worst? He needed that now more than ever. He needed her now more than ever. But now she was gone.
It wasn’t fair. After all the good he had done, after he had been so faithful. How could God allow her to die? To let that murderer kill her? Let him suck the breath from her life?
His thoughts escaped from his lips. “I’m going to find him.”
Galina fell silent. Several moments passed before she spoke again. “Please, Scott, do not think like this now.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
She fought back tears of her own. “If you do this…you will never forget it. You will bring it with you through all of your life.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
Her grip tightened around his hand and she bowed her head forward. Moisture rimmed in her eyes. “We will get through this. Okay? We will do morning sessions, we will go on missions. We will get back to life.”
That was what she didn’t understand. Nicole had been his entire life. Those other things hadn’t. Six years of growth, six years of love. That couldn’t be forgotten. Not then. Not ever.
He’d slapped Esther. Ripped her emotions apart. He’d challenged Clarke. He’d shoved away Becan. Everything was being undone. Everything he had worked for, everything he’d accomplished. It was all burning away.
“I’m sorry for everything.” He wiped his eyes as he fought through the tears. “I know how I’ve been.”
“You have been like anyone else would be.” She moved her hand to his leg. “It is only two days, only two. Please, Scott, give it more time.”
“I know what I’ve been.”
“Would you like Varya and me to stay with you? We would be happy to.”
“No.”
“Please…”
Scott laughed sardonically. It was barely a laugh, but it was there. And it wasn’t out of amusement. “You don’t need to. I’m not going crazy. I just have to work this all out.”
“You will.” She squeezed his leg. “And we will work it out with you.” After he made no reply, she went on. “What can I get for you today? You can name anything. I will get it for you. Whatever would make you feel better.”
“A name.”
She blinked.
“His name.”
The smile Galina had forced fell away. She lowered her gaze to his sheets. “Scott…”
“That’s all that I want.”
“That is not what you want to do.”
“That’s all that I want. To know that name, to see that face.” The Nightman who had taken from him what he cherished most. Who had taken from him what he loved.
“You need to rest,” Galina said. “That is what you need more than anything. I will stay here.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“No. It is necessary. This is what medics are for.” She gave him a firm look; she would not be challenged. “This is not your choice. It is mine.” She eased from his bedside and stood. “You rest. I will prepare my things and put in a cot for sleeping.”
Scott shook his head. “Please don’t stay.” As much as he wished he could stop her, he couldn’t. She clearly distrusted him on his own. She wanted to stay, not out of compassion or medical obligation, but because she wanted to watch him. To make sure he didn’t leave.
“That is enough,” she said. “I will get my things, you will rest. I will be back soon. Within half hour. Do not go anywhere—this is order.” Before he could answer, she hurriedly stepped from the room.
Scott sat on his bedside in silence. When it came to things like this, she outranked him in every way. She was right when she said it wasn’t his decision. Not in matters like this.
But it didn’t matter. Her staying wouldn’t affect him. Not like she wanted it to. She could watch him. She could protect him. But she couldn’t stop him.
Someone was out there. Someone with a name, with Nicole’s blood stained on his soul. Someone had an appointment with the devil. No—not the devil. The appointment they had was much worse.
They had an appointment with Scott Remington.
It didn’t take David long to find Esther. She was exactly where Becan said she would be—sitting alone, outside on the concrete sidewalks of Novosibirsk. David knew the moment he saw her that she was changed. Her shoulders trembled. Her head was down. She hugged at her knees with all the anguish of a traumatized child. She was a shell of the girl she had been days before.
Though Esther didn’t know it, Max had taken a hit for her in the hours that passed. He’d reported to Novosibirsk Command that the cause of her errant transmission was not a mistake on her part, but a glitch in her comm—an oversight that fell against him. Max had escaped with a stern warning of diligence. Esther had escaped with her life. David was one of the few people who knew that.
Esther became aware of him as soon as he drew close. She turned her head instinctively to him, then quickly shied it away.
“Hey,” David said as he stopped beside her.
“Hey,” she quietly whispered back.
“Okay if I sit?”
For several moments she didn’t respond. When she finally did, it was barely a nod of the head.
David eased down at her side before she had a chance to change her mind. “Talk to me, kiddo.”
She glanced in his direction, though again she said nothing. Her eyes weren’t moist; it appeared as if she had stopped crying some time ago. But by no means did she look all right. Her gaze slid away again, blankly retr
eating to the landscape before her.
He hung his good arm over her shoulders. “You know, I’ve done some stupid things in my life…”
“I killed them.”
David fell silent.
Her shoulders tensed. She turned her head away, and her brown eyes distanced to the ground. For a moment, she didn’t even breathe.
When David finally answered, his tone was softer than hers. “I know you did, Esther. But you’re forgiven for that.”
She almost laughed. Her head lifted from the ground. “I know how to work a bloody comm. It’s so simple.” David fell quiet as she spoke. “I’d worked with one every day at Academy, doing things so much more difficult than what I was asked to do today. But today is what counted, and today is the day that I failed. I killed them.”
“Esther…”
“I wanted to perform so well. I’d trained for four years, I’d gone through so many exercises, all to arrive at this horrible failure.” She looked away. “If I were anyone else in this unit, I would hate me for what I’ve done.”
“Esther,” David sighed, “we don’t hate you.”
“Everything that happened is on me. Whatever happened to the Eighth, to Khatanga, is my fault. I don’t even know what happened there after we left.”
He squeezed her shoulders. “I don’t either. But I do know one thing…nobody brought their best to Khatanga. Nobody.”
“But at least they could work their sodding comms.”
Silence fell again as they sat side by side. There were few operatives walking the grounds around them; such sparseness was unusual for the middle of a weekday.
“I’m so scared,” she finally whispered. “I’m so scared to go back in that room.”
“What room?”
“Room 14.” She closed her eyes and lowered her head. “I know what they’ll all be thinking. About me. And the lieutenant…”
“Scott will be fine.”
“He was so excited to have me. Now he’s not.” She winced as she said the words. “He lost his fiancee, and he needed that mission. He needed it for himself, and I took that away. What am I supposed to say when I see him?”
