Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis Page 7

  “What was that?” Markova asked.

  “Nothing. I’m just a little nervous.”

  “We will be there soon.”

  “And I’m sure it will turn out to be a real posh place,” Marlin said. She resisted the urge to snap at him again. “I hope the money’s worth it, though I never figured you for a mercenary.”

  As he usually did, Marlin disappeared before she could respond, which left her no choice but to guiltily contemplate what he had said. I’m not doing this strictly for the money, she told herself. She was also doing it to escape Rampart City and her failures as the Scarlet Knight. In time Marlin and the Order would understand she wouldn’t come back and pick someone else. Or not. The Order’s purpose had been to check the Black Dragoon and now the black armor was destroyed. Perhaps there never would be another Scarlet Knight. It’s not my problem anymore, she reminded herself.

  The helicopter didn’t take any gunfire throughout its three-hour trip. The gunners remained at their positions even after the chopper set down on a crude landing pad made of wooden pallets. Only once the pilot came back to give them the all clear signal did one gunner move aside to let Emma and Markova off.

  A man waited for them next to the helipad, his cigarette worn down to little more than a nub. From the grit on his tanned skin and in his dark hair, Emma knew he was one of the workers. “You’re the scientist?” he asked in English. He bit out the last word like a curse.

  “Yes. Dr. Emma Earl. And you are?”

  “Oleg.” He said nothing more than that to her. To Markova he grumbled in Russian, “This is no more than a child. I’m not going to be her papa.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Emma said in Russian.

  “In America, yes, but this is Russia.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Why don’t you show our guest to the camp so she can unpack her things?” Markova said, her voice icier than the wind that blew across the helipad now that the chopper’s rotors had stopped. “Then we can discuss your concerns.”

  “Follow me. But don’t get lost.” Oleg stomped ahead of Emma, down a small hill. At the base of the hill, she saw a field dotted with huge machines. These machines would drill into the ground to search for pockets of oil and natural gas.

  “I see the work’s already started,” Emma said.

  “We couldn’t wait around for you,” Oleg said. They passed a maintenance crew as they examined one of the drills. “Do you know anything about oil drilling?”

  “Not firsthand, no.”

  “Dr. Earl is only here to survey the soil. She’s not going to be doing any drilling.”

  “Good. I have no time for training a beginner.”

  “If we have time I would love to watch your crews work.”

  “This is not a spectator sport.”

  “I understand. I just thought while I’m here I could at least get some secondhand knowledge.”

  Oleg grumbled something inaudible as the drill came to life. Emma stopped to watch as the massive drill plunged into the ground and churned up the soil. Before she could see anything else, Oleg took her arm, to yank her away. “It is too dangerous for you to stand there. We must go.”

  They walked for what must have been miles until they finally reached a circular encampment of tents. Emma thought back to her graduate work in Montana, when she had stayed at a camp similar to this. Back then her colleagues had thought of her as a helpless child too, but she had proven them wrong when she uncovered a meteor fragment in her first day and effortlessly determined its point of origin.

  Oleg ducked into one of the tents, which from the desk and papers Emma took to be his mobile office. He located a pack of cigarettes to pull one out. “Are you old enough to smoke?”

  “Yes, but I don’t. It’s bad for your health.”

  Oleg only laughed at this. “I’m not worried about my health. There are too many things here that can kill me.”

  “Let us get to the point of the matter,” Markova said.

  “If you wish. You’ll be working here. My men will bring you samples to study.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to pick the samples myself.”

  “I don’t need some foolish girl running around my work area getting herself killed.”

  “I won’t.” She held Oleg’s stern gaze; she knew she couldn’t lose this battle of wills now or else he’d treat her like a child for the next three months.

  “Enough. Dr. Earl is in charge of the survey,” Markova said. “Unless you would like to make other arrangements with Mr. Bykov.”

  Only the slight paleness around Oleg’s mouth indicated his fear about this prospect. “Very well. It’s your life.”

  “And you’ll be sure to protect it. Mr. Bykov wants her returned unharmed.”

  “Accidents happen. There is nothing I can do.”

  “If anything happens to Dr. Earl, Mr. Bykov will be very disappointed.”

  Oleg took the cigarette out of his mouth to violently crush it against his palm. “I will do my best. You can tell Mr. Bykov that.” He turned to Emma. “I will have a car meet us here in one hour. You have that long to decide where to begin your survey.”

  “I’ll be ready,” Emma said.

  ***

  For the rest of the afternoon she picked at the soil approximately ten kilometers from the encampment. From what she could tell in the field, there was nothing remarkable about the dirt and rocks of the terrain. She ran more tests back in the tent to confirm this. That didn’t mean there weren’t pockets of oil and natural gas underground.

  Oleg had remained by her side throughout the day; he took his promise to Markova seriously. He left her briefly as she studied the samples in her tent and returned with a tray of food from the mobile kitchen. “You should stay away from the men as much as possible. Many of them have not seen a woman in months,” he said.

  “Thank you for the warning, but I can take care of myself.”

  “Tomorrow you will be ready for deeper analysis?”

  “I think so. I’d like to go back to where we were today and see what’s beneath the first layer of soil. Is that going to be a problem?”

  “Of course not. I will arrange for the equipment.” Oleg stood up to go. “Goodnight, Dr. Earl. If you need the lavatory I would suggest using a vessel in here. Out in the dark is no place for an American woman.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” She stared at the bowl Oleg had left her to use as a makeshift chamber pot. It came as no surprise to her when Marlin appeared through the tent wall. “Don’t start with me.”

  “I didn’t say anything. I think it’s wonderful what you’re doing.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Fine. Pleasant dreams. I just hope a bear doesn’t wander in here.”

  Emma threw herself onto the military cot Oleg had provided for her. The cot was little softer than the ground—and not much cleaner either. There was no point to turn away from Marlin, but she did it anyway.

  From outside the tent came the sound of men arguing. From the grunts and groans she heard, some of these arguments had turned violent. This was accompanied by the sound of someone being sick. It was a far cry from when Aunt Gladys had taken Emma and Becky camping when Emma was nine years old.

  Back then Aunt Gladys had thought the fresh air of the outdoors, far away from the city, would help Emma to get over the loss of her parents. They had ventured to a state park a hundred miles away, where Emma had lain in her Rainbow Brite sleeping bag to stare up at the stars. There had only been the sound of insects, an occasional owl, and Becky’s snoring, which was like the growl of some predator.

  “They’re so beautiful,” Emma said of the stars. “Are Mom and Dad up there?”

  “Of course, honey,” Aunt Gladys said. She took a hand out of her sleeping bag to pat Emma’s shoulder. “They’re always going to be there, watching over you.”

  “Will I be up there someday?”

  “If you’re a good girl.” Aunt
Gladys’s teeth were visible in the darkness when she smiled. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

  There were no stars visible in this tent and no sounds of insects, owls, or even Becky. And there was certainly no Aunt Gladys to comfort her. She was alone here, Markova the closest she had to a friend. Alone with thousands of burly, sex-starved men—it was like she was locked up with Don Vendetta’s crew. Only now she didn’t have the scarlet armor to help protect her.

  A whistle drowned out the men as they continued to argue and puke. Emma had already rolled off her cot before she felt the explosion. Another explosive device—an artillery shell or mortar—landed closer to her tent, close enough to scatter the samples on the desk.

  She crawled to the front of the tent and peeked through the flaps. Instead of arguing and throwing up, the men now screamed and shouted in confusion. What’s going on here? she wondered. They were under attack, but by whom? One of Bykov’s competitors?

  She didn’t need long to find out as footsteps stomped towards her tent. Emma rolled to one side to wait for the attackers. If she were lucky, they would only peek inside, see no one there, and move on. She wasn’t that lucky.

  The flaps parted and a head did peek inside. Emma hoped they would leave, but the intruder ducked inside. Emma wasted no time to stick out a leg to trip the attacker, who pitched forward. A woman’s voice cried out as she banged some body part against the desk. “Markova?” Emma asked. “Is it you?”

  “You! What are you doing here?” The woman’s voice sounded familiar to Emma, but she couldn’t place it until the woman turned on her flashlight and held it beneath her chin as if she were about to tell a ghost story. And in a way she was a ghost: she was the buyer from the docks only two days ago, though it felt like another lifetime.

  “I’m doing a geological survey. What are you doing here?” Then Emma noted the AK-47 in the woman’s hands just like the kind she had bought from Sylvia. “You’re raiding this place? Why?”

  “That is none of your affair, but I would suggest you leave quickly unless you want to die here.” For emphasis the woman leveled her machine gun at Emma’s chest.

  “You can try to pull the trigger, but it won’t work.”

  “We’ll see about that.” The woman tried the trigger, but as Emma figured, it didn’t work. Sylvia’s magic prevented the weapons from being used in an unjust manner—which included the murder of an innocent bystander.

  This gave her the opening she needed to lunge forward, knock the woman to the ground, and pin her in one fluid motion. “Now, what is going on here?”

  The woman told her. Afterwards, Emma let the woman up. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Then you understand what we are doing.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Before the woman could say anything else, they heard the whop-whop sound of helicopters. Someone must have gotten word out to Bykov’s security forces. Emma thought of the helicopter she had rode in on with its machine guns on either side. This was clearly what Bykov had tried to protect against.

  “I think you’d better go.”

  “I will return. I hope you will not be here next time. It would be a shame to kill such a pretty young girl.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Emma said, but the woman was already gone.

  ***

  Behind the initial surge of security forces clad in body armor came Markova. She wore a pistol at her hip, but left it there. “Are you all right, Dr. Earl?” she asked.

  “I’m fine. I don’t think everyone else fared so well.” Sylvia’s weapons could not kill anyone unjustly, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t wound someone. No fewer than twenty of the men had been injured by bits of shrapnel from the mortar rounds. Though not a medical doctor, Emma had helped clean and bind those wounds as best she could. “You want to tell me what’s going on here?”

  “I told you that my employer has rivals who wish to stop what we are doing here.”

  “Do those ‘rivals’ include residents of a nearby republic your employer has tried to destabilize?”

  “I am not sure what you mean, Dr. Earl.”

  “I mean that Mr. Bykov has been funding rebel groups inside Grakistan to destabilize the legitimate government there. They came here tonight to take the fight to him, figuring if they stopped this dig—or at least postponed it for a while—your employer would take the hint and stop interfering with them.”

  “I know nothing about this,” Markova said, but the way she looked down at her feet indicated this came as no surprise to her.

  “You’re lying.”

  “Please, Dr. Earl, let me explain.”

  “I think it would be better if Mr. Bykov explained, don’t you?”

  “I cannot arrange that. Mr. Bykov is very busy right now.”

  “Then he’ll have to make time.” Emma threw the few personal items she had taken out of her bag back into it. She tossed the bag over her shoulder. “I want to go back there as soon as we can. Either that or I’ll go back to America and let the newspapers know. I don’t think Mr. Bykov would like that kind of publicity.”

  Markova touched the gun at her hip. “I could have you arrested. It would not be difficult to make you disappear. As Mr. Neversky said, accidents happen.”

  “You wouldn’t do that.” Emma wasn’t entirely certain of this, but she felt fairly confident as she looked into Markova’s eyes. The woman was a secretary and a negotiator, not a killer. “I just want to talk to Mr. Bykov.”

  “Very well. I will arrange it.”

  Oleg had survived the raid uninjured. He couldn’t contain his joy at the news Emma was about to leave the encampment to return to Bykov’s palace. “Good. I told you this was no place for an American.”

  “Yes, I suppose not.” Emma felt the urge to punch Oleg in his smug face, but she easily resisted it. There was no point to get killed before she had a chance to speak to Bykov to find out what he knew. If he knew as much as she thought he did, then he likely would have her killed—and unlike Markova he would do it with little hesitation.

  ***

  The ride back to Bykov’s compound went by in silence. Not even Marlin showed up to gloat that Emma had left the encampment and likely would return to Rampart City. At the moment she would have welcomed the ghost’s presence so he could warn her of any threats.

  For her part, Markova looked gloomily at the deck, a look of defeat evident on her face. The only conversation came from the two gunners, who periodically signaled to each other with their hands to indicate no immediate threats. But Emma knew threats awaited her at Bykov’s house. What would he do when she confronted him? As Markova had indicated, it would be easy enough for Bykov to arrange for an “accident” to befall her. He would report this accident to the American embassy and eventually Emma’s body—what remained of it—would be shipped back to Rampart City for the witches to mourn her.

  What would Becky think? Would she mourn Emma’s death or celebrate it? Emma didn’t know anymore. For over twenty years they had been best friends, even when thousands of miles had separated them. Now they lived in the same city and Becky refused to see her or speak to her unless there was no other choice. As much as Emma wanted to think Becky would regret this behavior should Emma come back in a wooden box, she couldn’t be certain.

  The helicopter set down on the roof of Bykov’s palace. The gunners were quicker to let them out this time; the pilot had already indicated that the area was secure. No one waited to greet them this time. The sun had not risen yet, so Bykov was likely still in bed. No matter, she would wait for him, however long it took.

  Markova led her across the roof to the access door. A staircase wound down into the house, near a little-used wing used for Bykov’s guests. Emma paid little attention to the paintings or other decorations this time; she focused instead on any sign of a trap.

  She half expected Bykov to have a platoon of thugs in the dining room, but the room was empty. Markova waved Emma to the seat she had occupied fo
r dinner her first night in Russia. “I will wake the cook to bring you some breakfast.”

  “No thank you. I’d just like to see Mr. Bykov.”

  “You do not need to worry, Dr. Earl. No harm will come to you.”

  “I’m not hungry.” It was a lie, but Markova gave in. She nodded slightly before she hurried out of the room, presumably to wake her employer. Emma remembered Marlin’s warning about bugs and wondered how many Bykov had planted in the dining room.

  “There are cameras in the chandeliers,” Marlin whispered into her ear.

  “That’s not surprising.”

  “It doesn’t look as if he’s going to throw you in the dungeon—yet. You ought to call for the armor and steal that helicopter.”

  “I’m not doing that.” She didn’t look at Marlin as she added, “I don’t know how to fly a helicopter anyway.”

  “I’m sure you could learn. You’re a clever bugger.”

  “Thanks.”

  When the doors opened five minutes later, Bykov looked as if he had been up for hours already. His suit was neatly pressed and hair combed; even his tie was straight. He smiled insincerely as he crossed the dining room towards Emma. “Katarina told me about the excitement you had last night. My apologies. If I knew such a thing would happen I would never have allowed you to go.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “Would you like anything for breakfast? The cook has prepared eggs—”

  “I’m not hungry.” She looked Bykov in the eye and as she suspected, she could tell he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. If she had the Sword of Justice she knew it would glow like one of the chandeliers. “I want to know if you’re sponsoring illegal raids of a neighboring country.”

  “I am not sure I understand.”

  Emma repeated what the woman had told her, that Bykov had paid mercenaries to harass the government of Grakistan. “If the government falls, it would be easy enough for you to swoop in to purchase large tracts of property that I’m sure are as rich as where you’re already drilling.”

  “Even richer, if the reports are correct,” Bykov said.

  “So it is true?”

  “It could be. I have many people working for me. It’s possible some of them have arranged such a scheme.”