Enemy One (Epic Book 5) (27 page)

Sunday, March 18
^th
, 0012 NE

0944 hours

Norilsk, Russia

TO SAY THAT Scott’s first impression of Valentin hadn’t been positive was an understatement. The keeper was demonizing, hostile, and colossally arrogant. Those traits formed a brutal combination, but unfortunately, they had to be dealt with if Scott wanted to make any progress.

With no clear indication of what was where, Scott was forced to ask around to find out where Valentin’s quarters were. In doing so, he discovered that
Northern Forge
actually had a fifth floor, aptly named Level-5. Apparently, when the mountain base was first excavated by the NSU, a top-level suite had been reserved for the Soviet president. It was intended to be a place where he could not only find solace, but keep tabs on the entire operation of his emergency facility. Far be it for the Nightmen to leave a good room unused, the president’s suite became the keeper’s. Accessible by a fourth-level elevator that Scott hadn’t even known existed, it was the perfect hideaway for Valentin.

The elevator was at the end of the furthest hallway, far away from regular foot traffic. Scott looked for any kind of nearby speaker so that he could at least let Valentin know he was coming up to talk, but there was no such thing in sight. There was only a button to call the elevator down. With no other options or means to warn Valentin that he was coming, Scott pressed the button in.

Here’s hoping he’s had his morning coffee.

To a certain extent, Scott understood the keeper’s irritation with having Scott and the Fourteenth there. This was a massive wrench in
Northern Forge
’s gears. But at the same time, Valentin needed to understand that none of this was the Fourteenth’s fault. They never asked for this, they didn’t decide on their own to fly to
Northern Forge
. The man behind the curtain was Iosif Antipov, and even he couldn’t be blamed. He was just trying to get things done. Hopefully, a good night’s rest had softened Valentin enough to open him up to genuine discussion in a spirit of collaboration. Scott would soon know.

The elevator dinged as it reached Level-5, and its doors slowly pulled open. Ahead of Scott was a medium-sized hallway that was completely stark. At the far end of the hallway was a single, unmarked door. Minimalism at its most striking.
Here goes nothing.
Drawing a preparatory breath, Scott stepped out of the elevator and strode forward.

In his mind, Scott was rehearsing how he wanted this to go. If Valentin wanted to be the big man on campus, Scott had no problem with that. This was his base, after all. Flattery wasn’t the way to go, not only because Scott outright hated it, but also because Valentin was bound to recognize it for what it was. So Scott just needed to be honest and explain that the Fourteenth didn’t want to be there just as much as Valentin didn’t
want
them there. “How can my unit accomplish what needs to be accomplished without getting in your way?” That was what Scott needed to convey. He just needed to be ready for whatever Valentin might throw at him—figuratively
or
literally.

The one thing Scott
wasn’t
ready for…was music. From beyond the door that led into Valentin’s suite, the doleful wail of violin strings emanated, their distant vibrations reverberating down the hall. Angling his head, Scott stopped for a moment to listen.

It was the saddest, most beautiful music Scott had ever heard. Long, forlorn notes were drawn out then left hanging as if pausing on their way to the guillotine, only to be picked up again and carried along by heavy, lingering drones. It was the last thing he’d ever expected to hear while approaching the keeper’s suite. As Scott took a step forward again, a whirring sound prompted him to look to the corner of the wall ahead, where a small, mounted camera pivoted to face him.

Well, I guess he knows I’m coming.

A
click
came from the door indicating that it was unlocked. Scott supposed that was the closest thing he was going to get to an invitation to enter. Approaching the door, he reached out to quietly push it open.

With every inch the door swung, the polished tones of the violin grew richer. It was like listening to a recital. The suite that was revealed was far more spacious than any private quarters Scott had been in before. The walls, though made out of the same plaster material as the rest of
Northern Forge
, were painted in rich latte hues, and the décor was on par with the living room of a house. In the center of the room, a dark red and brown rug framed a wooden coffee table, and before it sat a brown leather sofa. Paintings and pictures were framed on the wall, illuminated by bronze table lamps that sat on the various end tables that were set about. Scott almost felt the need to look behind him to make sure he hadn’t slipped through a wormhole and into some other dimension. All the while Scott stepped forward, the violin music continued, its weeping transitions filling the room with a sad warmth that was unlike anything Scott had felt before. And so, farther inside the keeper’s suite he walked, lured in by the sound despite the fact that Valentin himself was nowhere to be seen.

Scott was halfway into the room when a series of pictures on the wall caught his attention, enough so that he stopped his onward progression completely to lean closer and look. They were pictures of Valentin—and a family. Almost blinking in surprise, Scott scrutinized the photos in closer detail. One was a wedding photograph, showing a younger Valentin wearing a tuxedo and standing next to a black-haired woman in a white wedding dress. In another, a slightly newer capture showed the pair standing side-by-side and smiling widely in front of a wooden fence with mountains in the background, their arms around one another’s waists as three small children—two girls and a boy—grinned cheekily before them. In yet another, a sleeping and shirtless Valentin cradled the also-sleeping boy, who couldn’t have been older than two, against his chest. The photos were so utterly normal. They were heartbreaking.

At the far end of the row of pictures, separated from the rest, was a single photograph in an ordinary frame depicting Valentin in a pre-EDEN military uniform. The kind of uniform it was, though, was utterly shocking.

Valentin had been a military chaplain.

“No way,” Scott said to himself. There was no mistaking what the photograph plainly showed. The keeper had once been a religious minister.

What happened to this man?

Turning from the pictures, Scott surveyed the rest of the room until he locked onto something directly across from him. Recessed into the right-side wall was a gargantuan monitor broken up into dozens of smaller grids, each grid displaying a color-faded but different image. Stepping closer, Scott squinted to get a better look. There was the hangar, with both the
Pariah
and the Superwolf perched within. There was the small cafeteria, its sparse crowd eating and conversing in silence. There was the forge, the living quarters, the hall Scott had taken to Valentin’s suite, where Scott had seen the camera pivot to face him. Every inch of
Northern Forge
, from the conference room to the medical bay, was covered. Then, Scott froze.

Their rooms. Their rooms were on the monitors. He could see Flopper lying in the corner of one, Jayden and Becan chatting soundlessly in another. He could see his own room, where he’d thrown his covers off upon waking and left them hanging halfway off the bottom bunk.

Through the warm hues of latte paint and the soothing sound of horsehair, Scott was struck with a chill. Every conversation the Fourteenth was having, every place they ventured…Valentin was watching.
Northern Forge
and everything in it was at the keeper’s fingertips, mounted conveniently in front of a leather sofa and a coffee table for his viewing pleasure. Total awareness.

Scott’s mind raced to keep track of what
wasn’t
on the display.
We’re safe inside the Pariah
. He knew there were no cameras mounted in there. That was probably the safest place for the Fourteenth to converse. Virtually everywhere else was at risk.

Scott looked away from the wall of monitors, his focus shifting toward the direction of the violin music. Though the somber melody continued, it seemed to be winding down, as long, drawn-out chords were released in a slow progression. They were coming from what Scott could only presume was Valentin’s bedroom, which was at the far end of the living room, its wooden door propped open. He had been under the assumption the whole while that Valentin was aware of his presence, but the fact that the keeper hadn’t come out to greet him was starting to cast a shadow of doubt. Walking cautiously toward the door, Scott angled his head enough to peer inside.

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, his shirtless back to the door and supported by an absolutely perfect posture, was Valentin. Cradled in the keeper’s arms was a violin. He wasn’t listening to violin music…he was
playing
it. In that instant, every preconceived idea he’d had about the keeper went out the window. This entire experience was the opposite of what he’d expected, in every way. It was surreal.

In the middle of Valentin’s back and plainly visible without a shirt to hide it were lash-like scars. They ran from one end of the keeper’s back to the other, as if he’d endured some sort of public punishment. Everything in the scene, and everything Scott had seen in the living room, painted the portrait of a tortured man. In the far corner of the room, set atop a display pedestal, was a set of fulcrum armor, its dark horns spiking toward the ceiling only feet away from Valentin’s bed.

We’re all tortured
, Scott thought. None of the Nightmen were immune. Some only knew how to hide it better than most.

Valentin’s solo concluded on a single, long note, at which point the keeper drew in a deep breath. His back still to Scott, but without looking back, he said, “I will be with you shortly.”

Scott wasn’t sure how to reply—for a time, he hadn’t even been sure that Valentin knew he was there in the first place—so he simply nodded his head. Taking a step back, Scott pivoted to the living room to wait.

In the minute that it took for Valentin to appear, Scott tuned his ears completely to the sounds of the bedroom, where he could distinctly hear the violin being placed into a case and a shirt being pulled down over the keeper’s head. When the keeper emerged from his bedroom, he was wearing a long-sleeved white pullover.

“That sounded amazing,” said Scott out of a mix of obligation and genuine appreciation. “Is that something you wrote?”

Valentin eyed Scott flatly. “That is Bach.” The statement was laced with condescension, the implication being that Scott, were he cultured, would have known who the composer was. “
Chaconne in D Minor
,” the keeper went on. “It is one of the greatest musical pieces ever composed.”

Right.

Lowering himself onto the sofa, Valentin motioned for Scott to do the same in one of the living room chairs, to which Scott obliged. Crossing his legs, the keeper said, “We have much to talk about.” The tone of the statement was almost as if it had been Valentin who’d invited Scott up instead of Scott intruding on his own initiative.

“Yes, we do,” Scott said.

“Antipov has explained to me your situation. You will have our full support.”

Though Valentin sounded less than thrilled, it was nonetheless a relief to know that the eidola chief had Scott’s back. Valentin might not like the idea of playing host to the Fourteenth, but he’d do it. “Look, we don’t want to intrude on anything you have going on here. We’re here because Antipov told us to come.”

“I know,” the keeper said simply. “So what do you need?”

Right down to brass tacks. “One of the guys we have with us is Colonel Brent Lilan, he’s a survivor from—”

“I know about Lilan,” Valentin said. “I know about the Falcons, and the hostage, Natalie Rockwell. There is nothing you need to brief me on. Simply tell me what you need.”

Fair enough. “We want to put Lilan in the media and show the world that EDEN lied about his death. We can do this with a recorded video message. That could turn things in our favor.” Or if nothing else, get the world off their backs, even if for a second. “Best-case scenario, the media investigates and finds out what Archer is up to—do you know about the whole Archer thing, too?”

“Yes.”

“If the right people look in the right places, they might find out what’s going on. That’s best-case, right there.”

Inhaling deeply, Valentin shifted his propped-up leg. “And what is worst-case?”

“I don’t know,” Scott answered honestly. “I think worst-case is still better than our current situation.”

“Worst-case is that
Northern Forge
is discovered,” Valentin said. “Transmissions can be traced.”

That was easily preventable. “We don’t have to broadcast Lilan’s message from
Northern Forge
. We set a room up like a studio, we shoot it with a camera, then we ship the file to someone. It could even be someone in another city, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we get it out there. Once it’s out there, it’s EDEN’s problem.”

The keeper nodded his head a single time. “What else do you need?”

So I guess…you’re okay with all that?
Scott moved onto the next thing. “We’re trying to find out what exactly this conspiracy is. Our Ceratopian knows, but he’s not in any shape to talk. Esther Brooking, one of my operatives, is going to talk to Ju`bajai, the Ithini in the medical bay, in the hopes that maybe
she
knows what this is all about.”

“That is not something you need from me.” Valentin’s tone was one of total disinterest. “So what do you need?”

Scott didn’t know how to respond. Though he wasn’t sure why, this was a curtness he hadn’t quite expected, perhaps because it was so outright uncaring. There was nothing inside Valentin that was the least bit concerned for the Fourteenth or their mission. Valentin’s priority was getting Scott what he needed—literally—so he could get the Fourteenth out of his hair. Did this man not realize that the Nightmen were on the verge of collapse?