Enemy One (Epic Book 5) (95 page)

Snap.

At the sound of a breaking stick, the sniper froze. Jerking her head up from the scope, she lowered the sniper rifle and looked behind her. Movement. Nearby movement from the bottom of the train that’d circumvented her from further ahead. She set her sniper rifle down on the roof.

Not only was Vector battle armor of greater structural integrity, it was also outfitted with technological enhancements that set them far above the armor of standard EDEN operatives. Pulling out her lawmaker pistol—the high-performance counterpart to the X-111 chaos rifle—the sniper lowered her visor and engaged its
penetrator
function, allowing her visor to slice through layers of physical objects to detect life forms behind them. Adjusting its strength output to let it see through the train, she could clearly see the heat signature of a lone person stalking alongside the train, ever closer to her position. With the way this outlaw was silently stalking along, there was no question in Lisa’s mind which one this had to be.

Esther Brooking. Her former fellow scout in
Philadelphia
Academy.

Creeping stealthily backward, to the opposite side of the train from which Esther was approaching her, Lisa set her hands on the car’s upper rim and dropped down over the edge.

With every step Esther took alongside the train, her pistol raised and ready, the scout-turned-valkyrie paused as her senses worked overtime. That the Vector sniper was there somewhere was a certainty. Ju`bajai wouldn’t have made such an uncannily specific mistake like that. All Esther had to do was find her.

Much as had been the case in Krasnoyarsk, the rain over the peninsula was both torrential and incessant. If there was any plus in the comfort department now as opposed to then, it was that Esther had the luxury of wearing head-to-toe tactical gear, which though not wholly protective, still kept her far drier than a skin-clinging maxi dress.

Another step, another pause. Furrowing her brow, Esther angled her head to listen to her surroundings. Beyond the distant rattling of weapons fire, there was only the splatter of rain against mud. Lifting her back foot out of the mire, she took another step forward.

The shuffle of boot against ground came from behind her. Esther spun around to face it. She was a half-second too late. By the time she saw the sniper behind her, Lisa’s pistol was already raised.

“Drop it,” the Essex native ordered.

Smirking with disdain, Esther said, “You’d like to see that, wouldn’t you?”

“Drop it, Esther.”

Esther’s brow furrowed. Squinting with suspicion, she leaned her head forward to see her adversary better. “I know you…”

Behind her tinted visor, Lisa’s eye twitched. Angling her head slightly, she spoke into her comm. “Vector Command—Esther Brooking is in custody.”

“I most certainly am not.”

“Be quiet.”

Making a series of
tsk
sounds, Esther said, “Such a clever little ambush this was—to make someone believe they’re chasing something only to pull the rug from under their feet. In one calculating little move, the predator’s plans derail like a train.”

With a ponytail-swinging head tilt, Lisa said, “We were quite prepared for you.”

“You?” Sucking in, Esther shook her head. “Oh, no, no, no, my dear girl. I was talking about
us
.”

A shot rang out through the storm. Lisa leapt with a start and withdrew her hand as something struck her outstretched pistol. It fell to the ground in shattered pieces. Her green eyes widened like a deer’s eyes in headlights; the Vector sniper whipped her head around to locate the unseen attacker. Standing forty meters away and with his own sniper rifle raised, Jayden hovered the weapon’s crosshairs over Lisa’s torso. Hesitantly, Lisa looked back at Esther.

“Ditch your helmet.” Esther’s pistol was raised again, aimed straight at the Vector sniper’s head.

Lisa didn’t move. “Why?”

“Because I’m not going to let you comm your little purple friends, and I’m most certainly not going to let them track your location through it.” The valkyrie cocked her hips. “You remember that whole ‘custody’ thing? Yeah, you’re in ours.”

Stuck in the middle and with little choice but to comply, Lisa slid her helmet off. Lowering her head as if shamed and suddenly vulnerable, she tossed it unceremoniously in the mud. Through dripping lashes, she stared up at Esther.

Once more, Esther’s brown eyes were squinting. Inhaling slowly with recollection, she lifted her chin. “I knew I knew you,” she said with a mixture of irritation and disbelief. “How could I forget that little mink’s nose and those elf ears?”

Though Lisa stayed silent, her face slowly flushed red.

“Lisa Tiffin.” As much in awe as in anything else, Esther shook her head. “How in the hell did a dropout like you get into Vector?”

“I am
not
going with you,” Lisa said with quiet determination.

Crack!

The butt of Jayden’s handgun crashed against the back of Lisa’s head, the Texan having crept up behind her while her focus was on Esther. Lisa collapsed sidelong into the mud, where her body lay still.

“My husband disagrees,” Esther said before looking at Jayden. “All right, pick her up quick. We need to move before we lose the rest of the team.”

Grunting as he hoisted Lisa over his shoulder, Jayden said, “You know how they say people are heavier when they’re soakin’ wet? It’s true.”

“You know, for a hunk, you’re kind of a wimp.”

“Shut up.”

*
      
*
      
*

Natalie stayed low to the ground the whole time she ran. Senses as ever-present as possible in the downpour, she kept a constant eye toward the weapons exchange between EDEN’s forces and the rest of her team, which was growing more distant with every step she made. The wrecked train car was not terribly far ahead—if she could just manage to loop around the backside of EDEN’s forces, she might actually be able to claw her way to it to find Scott. If she could
just
manage.

The hit came out of nowhere. In one second, Natalie was running at full speed, far away from the active combat. In the next, something slammed into her blindside, knocking her off her feet so hard, it sent her head spinning.

Falling sideways with an agonizing crunch, Natalie groaned as she was grabbed by the collar and hurled through the air like a rag doll. Falling for the second time in what felt like as many seconds, the Caracal captain landed on the wet ground with a hard, muddy splatter. Sliding and whipping the hair from her face, she skedaddled backward and to her feet, hands raising in defense as she searched frantically for her attacker.

He wasn’t hiding.

Standing before her, not a weapon in his hand, was Oleg Strakhov. The bearded former Nightman reached out with his hand, beckoning her forward like a fighter on the other end of a cage.

Wiping mud from her lips and snarling, Natalie didn’t hesitate. The Caracal captain charged toward Oleg, swinging at him with a jab, then pulling her elbow back for a combination strike. Oleg dodged them with ease. Blocking a third attack with his forearm, the Russian delivered a hard kick into her shin, buckling Natalie over with a painful howl. Following through with a lightning-quick roundhouse to the side of her head, Oleg sent the chestnut-haired captain spinning to the ground. Natalie landed back-first in the mud, crying out as the force of the impact sent a sharp pain up her spine. Grimacing, she scooted backward to try and stand again.

From his belt, Oleg pulled out a knife. He flipped it up in the air then caught it and licked the blade. “At
Novosibirsk
, I was known for this. Knocking people like you back down to size.”

Her glare burning, Natalie staggered to her feet, blowing hard to jettison the pain. Oleg lunged for her, his blade slicing through the raindrops as he went for her midsection. Jumping back just enough to avoid it, Natalie reached for the Russian’s knife-wielding arm, only to have her feet swept out from under her by another hard kick. For a second time, she landed on her back. Eyes opening widely as Oleg thrust his blade down, she rolled sideways to narrowly avoid it. Fueled by pure adrenaline, she propelled herself back up to her feet—but too late to avoid a hit. Oleg’s blade whipped through the air across her left arm, cutting cleanly through her tactical gear and slicing her bicep. Clutching her arm and screaming, Natalie sent her right hand up just in time to block a strike that would have hit her in the neck. Reversing her block, Oleg gripped her right arm, slung it over his shoulder, and literally threw her around his body and back-first into a tree. Then…

Smack!

A haymaker was sent crashing into Natalie’s cheek—her lip burst as she stumbled sideways like a drunkard. A second was sent, then a third, one after the other on the same side of her face like a boxer pummeling his opponent in the corner. With a final fervent slug, Natalie was spun then dropped, falling face-first into the mire with her arms outstretched.

Straining to lift her head out of the mud, Natalie coughed, blood and pieces of a tooth flying out of her busted lips. Eyes caked and closed, she struggled to stand. Curling his fingers around her chestnut ponytail, Oleg lifted her head and readied his knife.

Like a blur, something emerged from just beyond the outcropping of trees near them. Running at full speed, the newcomer charged into Oleg headlong, sending both the fallen eidolon and his new adversary sliding across the mud as Natalie’s head was released. Sucking in a breath, Natalie wiped the mud from her face and turned to look.

Leaping from atop Oleg and springing to his feet, Becan whipped his head Natalie’s way. “Get ou’ of here! I’ve got this one.”

“McCrae,” Oleg snarled as Becan moved between him and the fallen captain. “Bold move for a coward.”

“Says the man hittin’ a woman while she’s down.”

Flipping his knife from one hand to the other, Oleg said, “I have a score to settle with you.”

“You an’ me, both.”

Footsteps emerged behind the Irishman. Glancing back to regard them, Becan watched as Natalie lumbered up next to him. Wiping back her hair with both hands, she blew out an exhausted breath and gave Becan a look. With simmering emerald eyes, the embattled captain said, “Let’s take out this trash.”

Raising an impressed eyebrow behind his faceplate, Becan returned his focus to Oleg.

A smirk spread across the Russian’s face. “Two on one? Too bad there was no second person to help Remington. He might have actually put up a fight before Vector captured him.”

Becan’s body went rigid. Even in his armor, it was noticeable.

“I’m sorry,” said Oleg, “did you not get that message?”

Dashing forward, Becan propelled himself and his fist forward, diving through the air with blinding speed and sending his knuckles crashing for Oleg’s face. Side-stepping as he swatted Becan’s hand, Oleg’s counter-attack was thwarted by Natalie, who slid forward in the mud like a baseball player at the Russian’s feet. In the same second that Oleg leapt aside to dodge, the Irishman was upon him, sending a flurry of attacks toward him—punching, kicking, spinning, jumping. He was a veritable whirlwind.

With each attack Becan made, Oleg was pushed further and further back, though the Nightman blocked with deftness. At long last, Oleg went on the offensive. Grabbing one of Becan’s outstretched legs in mid-kick, Oleg was about to give it a twist when the Irishman came off his feet, sending his other foot soaring through the air toward Oleg’s face. The Russian charged forward, cutting the attack short and pile-driving Becan into the mud. The Irishman grunted as his back hit the ground hard.

Before Oleg had a chance to strike again, Natalie came up behind him, sliding into him and wrapping her right arm around his throat to pull him backward. Oleg thrust his elbow back, striking Natalie in the forehead—the moment her grip on him was weakened, he spun and swept her legs from beneath her, spinning back in Becan’s direction before the Irishman could press another attack of his own. With his hand gripping his knife firmly, Oleg slashed it viciously through the air. When Becan instinctively raised his arms to block the strikes, Oleg made his move. Kicking at Becan’s feet, he wrapped his legs around them, twisted his body, and sent the Irishman falling forward. The moment Becan fell, Oleg was on his back, grabbing Becan’s helmet and wrenching it off. With unarmored flesh before him, Oleg raised his knife in the air to make the kill.

Rat-tat-click-click-click-click.

Howling as a bullet skimmed his arm, Oleg instinctively dropped his knife and scampered backward. Several meters in front of him, Natalie threw down her depleted chaos rifle and reached for her pistol. Face twisting with fury, Oleg leapt to his feet and dove for her, colliding into her just as she was about to fire. Natalie was slammed then pinned to the ground, Oleg’s hands on hers as he fought to pry the pistol from her grasp. Bashing her in the face with his forehead, he ripped the gun from her hand when she wrenched back in pain.

No effort was wasted on Natalie—Oleg went straight for the Irishman. Still atop the Caracal captain, he turned with hand outstretched and pulled the trigger, just as Becan was moving in on him. The barrel flashed, and blood erupted from the side of Becan’s temple. The Irishman twisted and fell in the other direction.

“Veck!”
Becan yelled as his hands covered his face. He tried to desperately scramble away.

Fingernails dug into Oleg’s face. As Natalie screamed at the top of her lungs in fury, Oleg snarled and struck at her with the butt of his pistol. Raising her now-freed right hand, she grabbed Oleg’s before he could continue to beat her. Slamming her knee into the Russian’s midsection, Natalie then butted his face with the crown of her forehead; he buckled from the blow. In the split second before Oleg’s grip on the pistol failed, he flung the weapon to the wayside.

But the gun was not what she was going for. Extending her reach into the mud beside them, she clutched her fingers around Oleg’s abandoned knife. Without a second’s hesitation, she sent it slamming into the side of Oleg’s waist. When the Russian reared back and howled, she lifted her head from the muck and shoved him away.