Enemy One (Epic Book 5) (30 page)

As it turned out, Axen was a member of the Fourteenth of
Novosibirsk
who’d been sent to the hospital by none other than Commander Vincent Hill of Vector Squad himself, officially making Axen the first outlaw taken into custody—though Axen’s condition made that but a marginal victory. He had apparently been critically injured in the attack, having been shot through the neck. It wasn’t even a sure thing that he’d survive. The captain, Brunner, however, had already been met and detained. If nothing else, they could at least squeeze whatever information out of her that they could as they awaited the recovery of Axen—if he recovered at all.

The first person of interest, however, was the reason Rath was at
Novosibirsk
now. Apparently, a man’s name turned up in two strangely conflicting places at the same time: under an outdated roster of the Fourteenth as an EDEN operative and on the list of Nightman prisoners taken into custody. The man’s name was Oleg Strakhov. Unlike Axen, Strakhov could be spoken to
now
. It made Rath’s first choice of stops an easy one.

At long last, as Rath approached
Novosibirsk
’s main building, the officer assigned to meet him became visible. Raising a hand of greeting, the man smiled as the Canadian judge approached. “Welcome, judge,” the Russian man said. “I hope your flight was a pleasant one.”

“I don’t know if it was pleasant or not,” Rath answered. “I couldn’t see out the window. Take me to Strakhov, please.”

His face falling somewhat, the officer bowed his head in acknowledgment. “This way, judge,” he said, motioning alongside the building toward the center of
Novosibirsk
’s grounds, where Confinement was located. When Rath looked at him quizzically, the officer explained, “Many of the prisoners are being held in the underbelly of the base, in the remains of Fort Zhukov. But when we heard that this was a person of interest, we moved him to the base’s Research Center and into a cell in Confinement. It is the most secure area on site at present.”

“I see.”

“If you please,” said the officer, “follow me.” With no further questions or strange looks, Rath did as requested. Skirting the outside of the main building, the two men made their way toward the Research Center.

Though Rath had been given the potentially high-yield task of investigating outlaw contacts in Novosibirsk, he was by no means the only agent from EDEN Command being shipped out across the planet in search of information. Jaya Saxena was en route to
Sydney
to speak with Pelican Squad, a unit with ties both to the Fourteenth and to Captain Natalie Rockwell. Numerous officials had been sent to other locations, such as
Richmond
and Krasnoyarsk, to do poking about of their own. The outlaws’ families were also being rounded up, none so high profile as Mark Remington, who was already working personally with Judge June to bring Remington in. The objective was to leave no stone—or potential source of information—unturned. The global sweep of news-gathering was in full effect.

But no potential source of information was as promising as Oleg Strakhov. It was clear that his involvement with the Nightmen, at least for a time, was of a covert nature. EDEN Command was well aware of the eidola, Thoor’s army of EDEN infiltrators. Every indication seemed to suggest that Oleg was among them. If the nature of the eidola hinted at willingness to be subversive, then perhaps, with Thoor dead and the Nightmen scattered, Oleg could be convinced to betray his prior allegiances in favor of Archer’s. That was the hope.

Relative to what Rath had seen on the main grounds of
Novosibirsk
, the Research Center seemed to have escaped the attack in relatively good condition. Though there were signs of battle damage to be seen, none of it compared to the devastation the Canadian judge had seen outside. As soon as the officer leading the way reached the doors to Confinement, he stepped aside to let Rath enter.

“Is there anyone else in there now?” Rath asked.

The officer nodded. “There are several guards and some alien specimens in some of the cells.”

Hands clasped behind his back, Rath said, “I’d like the guards removed, please. I’d like to speak with Mr. Strakhov undisturbed.”

“Of course, judge.”

“And I’d like his cell left open.”

At that comment, the officer blinked. Angling his head uncertainly at the Canadian, he simply asked, “Are you sure, judge?”

“Yes, quite sure, please.”

For several long moments, the officer simply stared, until at long last, he drew a breath and shook his head. “As you wish, Judge Rath. I will instruct them to leave the prisoner’s cell open.”

“Thank you, greatly.”

Slipping into the room ahead of Rath, the officer wrangled up the guards at post, ushering them into the halls of the Research Center while Rath waited. Within seconds, the room was cleared of all humans but Oleg. “The captive’s cell has been left open, judge. If you permit, the guards will remain at their post in the halls. Just in case.”

As Rath removed his gloves from his hands, finger by finger, he stated calmly, “That’s fine with me. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Stepping into Confinement, Rath left the officer and his guards behind. The door sealed shut behind him.

It became clear as soon as Rath was inside that whatever wrath the Research Center had managed to escape, Confinement itself had not. There was damage everywhere, items and blood strewn about, despite the time that had passed since EDEN’s invasion. It actually gave the Canadian a moment of pause. Stepping cautiously into the room’s depths, he surveyed the cells about the room. At the far side of the room, a pair of Ceratopian warriors watched Rath in silence, their slow but steady breathing the only indication that either of them were anything but mannequins. Rath’s gaze continued to sweep the room, until he came upon the cell he was after—one directly across from the pair of Ceratopians.

Inside, on the edge of a metal, wall-mounted cot, sat Oleg Strakhov.

It was evident immediately that Oleg had taken his fair share of a beating during the attack, as indicated by the swollen bruise that disfigured the left side of his face. He’d been hit hard there. The whole while Rath approached, Oleg’s cold but curious eyes stayed glued to him, watching the judge as he stepped carefully over the wreck that was the floor of the room, until he came to the precipice of Oleg’s cell. Grabbing the back of a small fold-out chair that was leaning against the wall, Rath simply carried it inside the cell, stood directly across from Oleg, then folded the chair out. The look Oleg gave him seemed to beg the question, “are you crazy?” Yet the bearded captive said nothing.

Lowering himself into the chair with total calmness and just out of arm’s reach of Oleg, Rath cleared his throat and simply said, “Well.”

Oleg, with his elbows propped on his knees and his hands clasped together, simply stared.

“So, you’re a smart man, Mr. Strakhov,” said Rath in his thick Canadian accent, “which means I’m pretty sure I don’t need to tell you who I am. But for the sake of common formality, I am Judge Jason Rath of EDEN High Command.”

Sitting upright ever so slowly, Oleg’s gaze narrowed. Still, he said nothing.

“I need to know everything that you know about Scott Remington.” The moment Rath said Scott’s name, Oleg’s eyes narrowed further. Rath pointed to the subtle movement. “Now, there’s what I’m looking for. That’s what I want to see. You’re a man who can help me. That’s good for me, and that’s very good for you.”

“Why is that good for me?” asked Oleg, his voice low.

Leaning forward in similar fashion as Oleg, the Canadian answered, “Because you’re sitting in a cell two feet away from one of the most powerful men on the planet. So tell me, Mr. Strakhov, was Scott Remington a friend of yours?” The moment the question was asked, Oleg leaned his head back and spat out a laugh. Rath raised an eyebrow. “Or mortal enemy, perhaps?”

Shaking his head, Oleg answered, “Why do you need to know about Scott Remington?”

Faintly, Rath smiled. “I like a man who asks questions. That shows you’re a thinker.”

“Please do not insult my intelligence,” said Oleg. “I may be in a cell, but it is you who needs help.”

This time, it was Rath’s eyes that narrowed. The negotiation was on.

Leaning back on his cot until his back leaned against the wall, Oleg said, “I know everything there is to know about Remington. I know where he’s from. I know who he loves. I know what he likes to eat for breakfast.”

“Lincoln, Nicole Dupree, and it doesn’t matter,” Rath said, unimpressed. “Tell me something I can’t learn by reading a printout.”

Oleg chuckled, then looked away. Drawing in a deliberate breath through his nostrils, he shook his head. “He is not from Lincoln. His love is not Nicole Dupree. But I will give you the breakfast.”

Lifting his chin faintly, Rath waited and listened. When Oleg didn’t speak further, he said, “I’m waiting, Mr. Strakhov.”

“And you will be waiting for a very long time, if you think I would be foolish enough to just give you this information.” He faced the judge again. “So it is I, Mr. Rath, who is waiting on
you
. What do I get for this?”

Rath made no outward indications concerning Oleg’s words. He simply looked directly at the captive across from him, whose unwavering gaze was as steadfast and stubborn as his. But the judge’s jaw had set.

At long last, Oleg let a hushed laugh slip. “I can sit here all day—”

“And I assure you,” the judge said, nearly cutting him off, “that you will sit there all day, every day, for the rest of your life, thinking about whether or not you should have cooperated with someone who had the power to get you out of that cell when you had the chance. So, by all means, continue sitting and waiting, or start talking,” he said, looking impatiently at his watch, “because I’ve got more people to talk to, and you’re running out of time.”

For a second consecutive time, the two sat in a stalemate—at least, until the Canadian judge moved. In the very same second that Rath rose from his chair to turn away, Oleg spoke. “Remington spent his childhood in Lincoln, yes, but that is not what made him—and I believe it is
that
that you are most interested in.”

Eyeing the captive coldly, Rath lowered back down.

Oleg continued. “Remington is a fallen saint, overcome with guilt, yet unable to shake his own nature. He has killer instinct. He is aggressive, prone to violence in the wake of his emotions. This is how we took advantage of him.”

“What do you mean, took advantage of him?”

“Why did you ask everyone else to leave the room?”

Rath shook his head. “That question’s not your concern.”

“Does it have anything to do with Archer’s secret alliance with the Golathoch?” The moment the question was asked, Rath went totally still. It was impossible for the abruptness to go unnoticed. Indicatively, Oleg allowed himself to smile. “Now, there’s what I’m looking for,” he said, mockingly repeating Rath’s own words to him a mere minute earlier. “That’s what I want to see. You’re a man who can help me.”

Glancing back to the Confinement’s door, then shaking his head, Rath said, “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Oleg’s tone grew serious. “Do not mistake me for a simple conman, Jason Rath. I am a far more experienced politician than you.” He leaned forward. “I want to know
why
.”

“Why what, exactly?”

“Why ally with the Golathoch? What is in it for you? What is it that you know that the rest of us don’t?” Oleg’s posture eased as he leaned back again. “Remington was sent to
Cairo
to retrieve a Golathoch that was trying to relay a message to Earth. ‘The Archer betrays you.’ I doubt he was talking about bows and arrows.” When Rath reacted subtly to the quote, Oleg blinked. The captive’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “You have heard that phrase before.” When Rath opened his mouth to reply, Oleg raised a finger and said sharply, “Before you say anything, remember who you are speaking with. And tell me the truth.”

Another stalemate ensued, though this time the ball was in Rath’s court. After almost ten seconds of dead silence, the Canadian drew in a long breath. “Are you willing to assist us with information about Remington, or not?”

His gaze penetrating the older man across from him, Oleg said, “Everything has its price.”

Outside, in the hallway, the official who’d led Rath inside was standing post semi-casually with the two guards. When the door opened next to them, all three men jumped to attention. The official blinked as Rath stepped out. “Judge Rath,” the Russian said, “did you hear from Strakhov what you needed to hear?”

The judge straightened his garments. “Yes, actually—at least, as much as I needed to. I’m going to need this prisoner taken back to Command with me. He knows more than we thought he did.”

The officer looked surprised. “As you wish, judge.”

“Has he said anything out of the ordinary to you? To any of you?”

After the three men looked at each other blankly, the officer answered, “Not to my knowledge. Was there something we were supposed to have—”

“No, no.” Rath shook his head casually. “He’s just somewhat of a strange one. I was merely curious.” Faintly, he smiled. “Do whatever you need to do to arrange his transfer. Thank you men for your hard work. Make sure you put your names on the transfer documents—all three of you. I want to make sure you all get recognition for your efforts, both with Mr. Strakhov and for arranging our meeting today.”

“Thank you, Judge Rath,” the officer said, offering a small smile, “but that is really not necessary.”

Rath returned the smile with half a one. “I insist. We don’t want anyone’s hard work to go unnoticed.”

Bowing his head appreciatively, the officer simply said, “That is very kind of you.”

“If you’ll excuse me, now, I must leave. Good day, gentlemen.” A hurried salute was exchanged, then Rath made his way down the hall.

Back inside Confinement, Oleg Strakhov leaned against the glass cell. Crossing his arms, he stared at the Ceratopians on the other side of the room. Both of the colossal aliens were looking at him. Sniffing in a deep breath through his nostrils, the ex-eidolon exhaled then rolled his head around atop his neck.