Matthew Palmer - Enemy of the Good

“Someday we’re going to build a statue to those two boys,” she said.

Kate saw three soldiers cut down by fire from the Scythians posted along the top of the makeshift walls. And she saw one Scythian, a boy really, fall to the ground with the back of his head leaking blood and gore. But with the attacking force cut in half, the Scythians had the advantage. Even to Kate’s untrained eye, one thing was apparent. Boldu was winning.

Surrounded and cut off, groups of Kyrgyz army soldiers began surrendering.

“Kate, this is almost over here,” Val said. “Let’s get up on the walls so we can get some—”

Valentina did not get a chance to finish the sentence.

Kate turned to see Val lying crumpled on the ground. Colonel Ball was standing over her body wearing a Kyrgyz army uniform. He was holding his pistol by the barrel, indicating that he had struck Val with the butt rather than shot her. There was a look of madness in his eyes that Kate could not dismiss as a trick of the firelight.

Ball reversed the weapon and pointed it at Kate’s chest.

“Goddamn you. You’ve ruined it. You’ve ruined everything.”

“It’s over, Brass. Eraliev is done. There’ll be a new government soon. Then you and Crandle can restart your precious base negotiations. Now put that gun away and let me take care of my friend.”

“It’s too late for that. This isn’t about the base talks anymore. This is about survival. Mine, that is. It’s time for me to disappear. Someplace warm and sunny.”

“How does killing me help you?”

“It doesn’t. This isn’t business, Kate. It’s personal.”

Brass raised the pistol, pointing it straight at Kate’s head.

Then he screamed and clawed at his face as a large gray-and-white bird raked furrows into his flesh with its sharp talons. Kate saw that the bird had leather jesses tied to its legs. This was Tashtanbek’s goshawk.

Brass tried to pull the bird off his face, but the hawk flew off before he could get a grip on its neck. He turned back to Kate, blood oozing from where his left eye had been.

“I’m gonna find that fucking bird after I kill you and break both its wings.”

He raised the pistol and Kate knew that gesture would be fatal.

“Don’t do it, Ball. He’s watching you.”

“Who?”

It was the last thing he would ever say.

A hole appeared in the middle of his chest, the sound of the shot arriving half a second later. Brass fell backward and the gun clattered across the concrete.

Kate looked at the lifeless body of the defense attaché and was surprised and abashed to realize that she felt nothing. Certainly not remorse.

It should be plenty warm in hell, Brass.

Kate turned to see Tashtanbek standing on the observation platform, the ancient rifle he carried around with him resting in his arms. A wisp of smoke drifted from the muzzle.

She waved a quick thank-you and rushed to help Val, who was already beginning to stir. With Kate’s assistance, she was able to sit up.

“Val, are you okay?”

The response was incoherent and Kate suspected her friend was concussed.

She pulled Val to her feet and walked her to one of the yurts, where a doctor and two nurses had set up an aid station. There were a dozen serious casualties in the tent, but Kate grabbed one of the nurses and begged her to take a look at Val.

“She’ll be all right,” the nurse said after a quick examination. “She can sit, but don’t let her lie down. She might vomit and aspirate.”

By the time Kate located a stool, Val was starting to come around.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, although her words were still a little slurry and her gaze unfocused. “Go. Go find him.”

Kate kissed her on the cheek and ran to see if Ruslan was still alive.

Outside the gate she pushed her way through the crowd. The demonstrators had taken over the Presidential Palace and she saw Ruslan riding his enormous stallion through the gardens, urging the crowd forward. It was like a weight being lifted. He was all right. And the fighting was over.

She wanted to run to Ruslan and join him in his moment of triumph, but there was something else she had to do.

Kate grabbed one of the Scythians by the arm.

“Where’s Nogoev?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the triumphant shouts of the exultant Boldu supporters.

The Scythian pointed toward the fountain where Kate could see Nogoev standing on top of one of the planters and addressing a group of his soldiers. She pushed through the crowds to reach him.

“Daniar, I need five Scythians and a truck. And I need them now.”

Nogoev studied her for a moment and then nodded his assent.

“Ilhom,” he said to one of the Scythians. “Take your squad. Steal a truck. Help Ms. Hollister with whatever she needs.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where are you going, Kate?” he asked.

“I’m going back to prison.”

The Scythians found her a truck, a Kyrgyz army transport with a canvas cover.

“Please tell me that you didn’t kill anyone to get this,” Kate said.

“The keys were in it,” Ilhom said unconvincingly.

As the Scythians mounted up, Kate spotted Patime Akhun in the crowd with a group of Women in Black who had been some of the first Bishkekers to join the protests.

“Patime,” Kate shouted, catching her attention. “Get in the truck.”

Patime and four of her dark-clad colleagues walked over to the truck.

“It’s good to see you here, Kate,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going to get your son. Do you want to come along?”

Patime grinned and got on the truck.

The gates of Prison Number One were closed and locked but unguarded. It seemed as though the Special Police had their instructions for the night. Go home. Kayrat uluu had bet on regime change and it looked like his bet was going to pay off.

The heavy army truck made short work of the gates, crashing through them in a crunch of metal and a shower of broken bricks. There were guards on duty at Building D, but they were not at all interested in martyring themselves for a spent regime. With the largest of the Scythians offering suitable encouragement, two of the guards admitted to having master keys to the cells. Kate gave one of the keys to Ilhom.

“Help Patime find her son,” she ordered. “Find the Scythian who was wounded when we freed Ruslan. He may still be in the infirmary. And release all of the other prisoners in this building as well.”

“All of the prisoners?” Ilhom asked. “No exceptions?”

“This is Building D. There are no muggers or rapists here. These are all political prisoners and nothing any of these poor bastards did is a crime. Not anymore.”

Kate took a second key and ran to find her aunt.

She paused for a moment at the door to Zamira’s cell, both to catch her breath and to prepare herself. It had been more than twelve years since Azattyk had been betrayed. Twelve years since her aunt had fallen hard into the black hole of Prison Number One.

What might the years in prison have done to her? The torture she no doubt endured early on and the long stretches of solitary confinement that followed? Kate had spent a day and a half alone in a dark cell of the Pit and it had rattled her more than she cared to admit. What if it had been a week? Or a month? Or a year? How long could she have endured that before going insane?

She worried that her aunt would no longer be the strong, vibrant woman she remembered from her childhood. Healing the damage they had done to her would take time.

The key turned easily in the lock.