The Glorious Becoming (38 page)

Stepping into his room, she scanned it from end to end. “Been getting a feel for the place?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of hard not to,” Scott answered. “Everything here is amazing.” Opening his fridge, he set the bottle of champagne inside, right next to Svetlana’s jar of mustard. The temptation was too much. Smirking, he grabbed the jar and tossed it her way. She flinched and snatched it from mid-air. “A gift for a gift—that’s the best I can do.”

Eyeing the jar conspicuously, she gave him a look. “What is this?”

“That is bona-fide Russian mustard.”

A grin snaked from the corners of her mouth. “Russian mustard, huh?”

“That’s correct.”

“So let me make sure I’m understanding this,” she said. “I give you pre-zero
blanc de noir
...and you give me mustard. And not just mustard, mind you,” she said as she inspected it, “but apparently
used
mustard. Am I getting this so far?”

He laughed, sincerely. “Yeah, you’re getting it so far.”

Cocking her head mirthfully, she asked, “Dost mine eyes deceive me, or was this the only thing in your fridge?”

“Your eyes did not deceive.”

“So you fly all the way to
Cairo
, you’re starting your life over, and all you bring is mustard? No booze, no jellies? Just this?”

It was sad, but true. “Believe it or not, that was a gift. Sort of a goingaway gift, of sorts.”

She smiled mirthfully. “Oh, was it now? So not only is this used mustard, it’s also
re-gifted
mustard?” Her amused expression remained. “You know how to impress a girl.”

Scott laughed out loud. It was impossible not to. “What am I supposed to say? It is what it is.”

“This had better be some good mustard, commander.” Dropping the jar in her purse, she smiled wryly. “So I’m already learning things about my new XO. First and foremost, that he’s cheap.” She winked and motioned for the door. “Let’s find out what other mysteries await.”

It wasn’t exactly flirting, but it still brought back memories of his dates with Nicole. He glanced at her photo, situated on his nightstand.

Natalie followed his gaze. “Wife?”

“Fiancée.”

She smiled. “We should all be so lucky. How’s she feel about you coming to
Cairo
?”

“She died last year.”

Whatever lightheartedness had been there evaporated with those four words. Natalie’s smile melted away. She looked lost for words. “I’m...I’m so sorry.”

Scott wasn’t sure how to feel about what he’d just confessed. It had just slipped out as the natural answer to her question. Would it have served his purposes better to leave that detail unknown? He couldn’t imagine lying about Nicole. Her memory deserved better.

Natalie pushed her hair back. She couldn’t even look at him.

“Captain,” Scott said, looking at Natalie until she turned to him again. She was pleading through her eyes for forgiveness. He wanted her to know she had it. “Let’s go have a good time.” He feigned the warmest smile he could. “That’s what tonight’s about, right?”

It took her a moment, but a smile found her as well. It was forced, but still there. “Yes,” she answered with purpose. “Yes, it is.” Stepping aside, she motioned for the door. “Ready to do this?”

“Lead the way, ma’am.”

Despite the informal intention of their night, Scott and Natalie’s trek to the garage was filled with conversation similar to theirs during Scott’s arrival. Natalie highlighted points of interest in the Anthill and asked Scott’s opinion whenever they passed something noteworthy. The beauty of the Anthill was a constant topic, and it was obvious to Scott that she was proud of the base to which she’d been assigned. Her smile never ceased, even as she pointed out the most mundane of details. This was all new to her, and it showed.

It wasn’t until they’d arrived in the garage that it dawned on Scott just how good it was to hear an American woman’s voice. The last one he’d ever heard was Nicole’s. Everyone else had been Russian, British, or some other nationality. He enjoyed hearing Natalie talk.

Natalie climbed into the driver’s seat of a closed-top jeep, the obvious choice for a woman who didn’t want her hair whipping in the wind. “So the name of this place is
Sabola
,” she said as they pulled out. “Don’t ask me what it means. Everyone talks about it, though. I have to confess, the food here’s a lot better than I thought it’d be.” She smiled at him. “I’m a steak and potatoes girl. Foreign cuisine’s always scared me.”

Scott could relate. “I would kill for a steak. I’m from the Midwest, so I’m used to quality beef coming in from every direction. The food in Russia? Ugh. Awful.”

She eyed him curiously. “Where at in the Midwest?”

“Lincoln.”

“Lincoln,
Nebraska
?”

“Yeah, Nebraska, why?”

Her expression fell stunned. “Get out! I’m from Broken Bow!”

That wasn’t far from Lincoln! “You’re from Broken Bow? Are you serious?” How did he miss this detail when reading her profile? Because he’d only looked at her history post-Academy. He’d never bothered to see where she was actually
from
.

“Custer County, born and raised,” she said, laughing warmly. “How about that, eh? Talk about a small world.”

The ride to the restaurant took twenty minutes, but it might as well have been two for the way time flew by. He and Natalie talked about everything from familiar state highways to local news anchors. It was surreal to talk to someone who knew the same things he’d grown up around himself. It was completely exciting.

Nicole flashed through his mind constantly, though not for who she’d been. It was just in the way that Natalie reminded him of her. Her personality was Nicole-like. Her mannerisms were Nicole-like. Both their names even started with
N
. Prior to the evening starting, Scott’s hope was simply to survive it, and if possible, gain some ground for their mission. But now it was different. Now he was just having fun.

Why is Natalie here?

It was a question posed on an existential level. A question posed to God. Why, of all the people in the literal world, had a woman from Custer County appeared in Egypt, on his mission, as his direct superior? Why was she so much like Nicole? Was there a reason? Did coincidence exist at all? They were deep, fleeting questions, emerging then subsiding amid conversations about high schools and local rock bands. He could relate to her upbringing on almost every level. It was astounding.

He had a mission. He couldn’t forget that. But for a moment—the briefest of moments—he wanted to. Just the same, he was where he was for a reason, and it had nothing to do with coincidence, or unit-building, or Nebraska. He was there to find the truth. To save Svetlana’s life. He refused to forget that now. Eyes forward, he focused on his and Natalie’s night ahead—and the city that was there to greet them.

It surprised Scott how westernized Cairo seemed. The fantastic image he had in his head of sandy streets, stone buildings, and dusty merchants couldn’t have been further from reality. Cairo could have passed for any city in the United States. He wasn’t sure if that relieved or disappointed him. Within minutes of entering downtown Cairo, they located Sabola.

The restaurant had an eclectic appearance, much like something one would have expected to find in Chicago or New Orleans. It also didn’t look particularly cheap—an observation that, by the look of it, caught Natalie off guard as much as it did him. It wasn’t until they stepped inside, however, that the true scope of the restaurant came to light.

The place was
fancy
. Chandeliers hung across an arched, gold-colored ceiling. Each table was ordained with decorative linens. The walls were adorned with art. Though Natalie’s wardrobe could pass for the occasion, Scott was completely underdressed. “Okay,” Natalie said discreetly, “not what I was expecting.”

A tuxedo-clad greeter approached them. “Good evening.”

Her focus was averted from the atmosphere to the man. “Uhh... Caracals, party of two?” As soon as the greeter turned away to lead them, Natalie gave Scott a look that said
yikes
. Scott knew why, and he found it humorous. This was about a dozen levels above whatever she’d prepared for. They might end up washing dishes.

They were led to a section on the far side of the restaurant. The whole place was packed; the table they were heading toward was one of the only empty ones in the building. And as for the table itself? Red rose petals were strewn atop its linens. At its center was a single red candle. As Scott and Natalie bit their lips, the greeter promptly lit it.

“The waiter will be with you soon,” said the greeter, smiling warmly. “Enjoy your evening.” Polite nods were exchanged; the man left.

For several seconds after they’d taken their seats, Scott stared at the candle between them. A million witty remarks floated around in his mind. He settled on simplicity. “It’s nice,” he said, smirking.

Covering her forehead, her face turned bright red. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, this is...” her statement lost its way as an embarrassed laugh escaped. “This is not the vibe I was going for.”

The waiter approached. “Welcome to Sabola! What is the occasion? Anniversary?”

“Business,” Natalie said immediately, eyeing the waiter. “We’re meeting for business. I’m his boss.”

“Oh!” the waiter said, turning his attention to the candle. Awkward silence struck. After several full seconds of blatant uncertainty, the waiter leaned forward and blew the candle out.

Scott lost it—he couldn’t help it. Forcing back a cackle, he claimed a menu. Their drink orders were taken, then the waiter left.

“Okay,” she said, eyeing him as she finally allowed a grin to reemerge. “Just say it.”

“Watching him blow out that candle was one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen in my life.”

She propped her chin against her palm. The sparkle in her eyes was there again. Her smile stretched ear to ear. “The day anyone else hears of this, you will clean the latrines. Understand?”

“I bet you say that to all your XOs.”

Her mouth fell, the retort seemingly not what she’d expected. She seemed to like it. She nodded her head, amused. “Okay,
commander
. Now shut up and pick your order.”

Within a minute, their waiter had returned. Scott ordered something called
ful medames
, based purely off its prominence in the menu placement. Natalie, on the other hand, chose rice-stuffed pigeon. Neither exuded confidence in their decisions. As soon as the waiter was gone, their conversation resumed.

“So let’s forget for a moment that we’re where we are,” she said, her expression shifting seriously. “I want to hear a little bit about your career. I know you from your brief stint at
Richmond
, and I know about the Battle of Chicago. But there’s not a whole lot on you since you went to
Novosibirsk
.”

That hardly surprised him. Nor did the sudden shift in tone. “
Novosibirsk
is an interesting place. I think it’s easy to fall off the radar there.”

“Who are these ‘Nightmen’ everyone keeps talking about?”

Even though he’d been prepared for that question, it still felt like a gut-check. She was sitting face-to-face with a Nightman and she didn’t even know it.
Look her in the eyes. Sell it.
“The Nightmen belong to General Thoor—they’re part of a Russian military sect that had supposedly disbanded years ago. Their popping up again is relatively new to the rest of the world, but they’ve been the status quo at The Machine for a while.”

She raised an eyebrow. “The Machine?”

“Sorry—
Novosibirsk
. ‘The Machine’ is just what everybody calls it. I guess kind of like the Anthill.” Opting for just the right amount of honesty, he continued. “Part of becoming a Nightman is committing murder. I don’t know how the process works, but apparently, if you want to become a Nightman, they assign you somebody to kill. It rarely seems to be a person stationed at the base.” That was actually true. Most kills came from surrounding cities and villages, not
Novosibirsk
itself. People like Nicole, Steklov, and Joe Janson were exceptions.

His words seemed to startle her. “Does EDEN know about this?”

“I don’t know. We don’t get a lot of direct contact from EDEN, even though we’re technically an EDEN base. In fact, a lot of EDEN units have been pulling out—the Nightman ratio is heavily slanted.” Upon a sudden realization, he dismissively laughed. “I’m sorry, I keep using the word
we
when I talk about that place. Old habits die hard.” It was a natural mistake. Not the kind that would blow his cover.

She leaned back, folding her arms. “So have you worked with any Nightmen?”

“Of course. Most of my commanding officers have been Nightmen, and there’ve been others in the unit. It’d be impossible to be there and not work with them.”

“There must be a lot of tension between them and us—EDEN, I mean.”

He nodded. “I’d be lying if I said it was a comfortable place to work. It’s an EDEN base, but EDEN doesn’t control it. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” she said, echoing him. “Something tells me you know all about complicated. A one-eyed sniper. A lieutenant with half a face, a scout. What kind of unit did you run with?”

How could he possibly explain a unit like the Fourteenth? It was unlike any other unit he knew. Leaning back himself, he released a slow sigh. “The Fourteenth is versatile. I think that’s what makes it special. You’ve got your distance and recon specialists, like Timmons and Brooking. We had demolitionists, heavy hitters. Breaching specialists, elite Nightman warriors. We were a unit that could do anything.”

“I’m fascinated by the prospect of having a scout,” she said. “What can she do?”

Perfect. Natalie had taken the conversation to Esther on her own. He could slip in his request for Esther’s open schedule seamlessly. “When we got Brooking, everything opened up. It took us a while to learn how to use her, but I’ve got to tell you, she revolutionized how we operated. Recon, infiltration, support for operatives like Timmons, even solo rescue efforts. She’s done it all.” Time to segue to her schedule. “Standardized training with the rest of the unit wasn’t working for her. When we finally turned her loose, let her set her own schedule, that’s when she exploded on the battlefield. If I could make a suggestion, ma’am, I would allow her to train on her own here.”