Soldier
Page 81
And that was exactly what we had to make happen.
“Well,” Riley said, and the undertone of satisfied glee in his voice made me wince. “I’d say we have a pretty damning case against the Patriarch, wouldn’t you agree, St. George? If the Order doesn’t flip their shit when they find out, we’re all screwed. Only question is, how are we going to get it to them? I doubt they’re going to let us stroll up and knock on their front door.”
“I might be able to send it to them electronically,” Wes offered.
“No.” I shook my head. “Within the Order, the Patriarch’s word is absolute. And anything that comes in from the outside is subject to immediate suspicion. The Order knows Talon and how they work. We can’t take the chance that they might destroy the evidence, or that someone might warn the Patriarch. We have to make sure this is known to all of St. George. And that means we’re going to need someone on the inside.” I paused, knowing Riley wouldn’t like this, then added, “We have to meet with the Order, face-to-face, and show them the evidence ourselves. It’s the only way to be sure they understand it.”
“And how are we supposed to do that, exactly?” Riley demanded. “St. George isn’t going to listen to us, much less agree to a meeting where they’re not slaughtering everyone there. A group of dragons and the guy on their most-wanted hit list right now? We could be offering them the Ark of the Covenant, and they’d still pump us full of holes the second they see us. Unless you’ve got a completely insane trick up your sleeve, I don’t see how we’re going to get any of them to stop murdering us long enough to pay attention.”
I sighed. I could think of one person in St. George who might be willing to listen. It would be a gamble; he hated me now, thinking I’d turned on him and the Order to side with the dragons. The fight outside the laboratory certainly hadn’t helped. He saw me as the enemy, and I was fairly certain that he would have killed me back there, sliced my throat open, if I’d let him. Even if he’d regretted it later, he was a soldier of St. George, and duty was everything to him. I wasn’t entirely certain I wouldn’t walk into an ambush and be shot dead before I even laid eyes on my former partner.
But I had few options, and this had to be done. Andrew had said there were those in the Order who were sympathetic to me, but Andrew was oceans away, too far to do anything. And he’d said flat out that he wouldn’t touch anything to do with the Patriarch. Tristan was the only one close enough to help. If he decided to help. I only hoped our past friendship, brotherhood and the times we’d saved each other’s lives would be enough for him to give me the benefit of the doubt and not shoot me in the head the first chance he got.
“I know someone,” I said, feeling a heavy weight settle on me for what I had to do. “It’ll be a risk, contacting him, but I don’t have a better choice. He’s the only one in St. George who might agree to a meeting.”
“Might?” Riley echoed, crossing his arms. “What you’re really saying is, he might agree to a meeting, but he also might tell everyone in St. George so they can be lying in ambush when we show up.”
“Not we,” I said. “Me. He’ll never agree to it otherwise. I have to meet Tristan alone.”
SEBASTIAN
Three years ago.
“Garret Xavier Sebastian, I’d like you to meet your squad mate, Tristan St. Anthony. St. Anthony, say hello to your new partner.”
I observed the soldier who stood at the foot of the bed, keeping the practiced blank expression on my face as he looked me up and down. I could see the skepticism in his eyes, in the single raised brow he arched in my direction, and stared coolly back, one hand on the strap of my bag. I was fourteen years old, fresh out of boot and had graduated basic training one week ago. At eighteen, Tristan St. Anthony was lean and tall, with short black hair and cynical blue eyes. He had been on several strikes and was making a name for himself in the ranks, but four months ago, tragedy struck when his last partner was caught in a line of dragonfire and killed. St. Anthony had had to wait until they found him a new partner to get back in the field. I imagined he’d been impatient to return to the war, but from his reaction, I was obviously not what he’d been expecting.
“I expect you to show him the ropes, St. Anthony,” Lieutenant Martin said to Tristan, the hint of a smile on his weathered face. “Show him what we stand for. Can you do that?” St. Anthony gave a brisk “Yes, sir!” and Martin clapped me on the shoulder.
“Well,” Riley said, and the undertone of satisfied glee in his voice made me wince. “I’d say we have a pretty damning case against the Patriarch, wouldn’t you agree, St. George? If the Order doesn’t flip their shit when they find out, we’re all screwed. Only question is, how are we going to get it to them? I doubt they’re going to let us stroll up and knock on their front door.”
“I might be able to send it to them electronically,” Wes offered.
“No.” I shook my head. “Within the Order, the Patriarch’s word is absolute. And anything that comes in from the outside is subject to immediate suspicion. The Order knows Talon and how they work. We can’t take the chance that they might destroy the evidence, or that someone might warn the Patriarch. We have to make sure this is known to all of St. George. And that means we’re going to need someone on the inside.” I paused, knowing Riley wouldn’t like this, then added, “We have to meet with the Order, face-to-face, and show them the evidence ourselves. It’s the only way to be sure they understand it.”
“And how are we supposed to do that, exactly?” Riley demanded. “St. George isn’t going to listen to us, much less agree to a meeting where they’re not slaughtering everyone there. A group of dragons and the guy on their most-wanted hit list right now? We could be offering them the Ark of the Covenant, and they’d still pump us full of holes the second they see us. Unless you’ve got a completely insane trick up your sleeve, I don’t see how we’re going to get any of them to stop murdering us long enough to pay attention.”
I sighed. I could think of one person in St. George who might be willing to listen. It would be a gamble; he hated me now, thinking I’d turned on him and the Order to side with the dragons. The fight outside the laboratory certainly hadn’t helped. He saw me as the enemy, and I was fairly certain that he would have killed me back there, sliced my throat open, if I’d let him. Even if he’d regretted it later, he was a soldier of St. George, and duty was everything to him. I wasn’t entirely certain I wouldn’t walk into an ambush and be shot dead before I even laid eyes on my former partner.
But I had few options, and this had to be done. Andrew had said there were those in the Order who were sympathetic to me, but Andrew was oceans away, too far to do anything. And he’d said flat out that he wouldn’t touch anything to do with the Patriarch. Tristan was the only one close enough to help. If he decided to help. I only hoped our past friendship, brotherhood and the times we’d saved each other’s lives would be enough for him to give me the benefit of the doubt and not shoot me in the head the first chance he got.
“I know someone,” I said, feeling a heavy weight settle on me for what I had to do. “It’ll be a risk, contacting him, but I don’t have a better choice. He’s the only one in St. George who might agree to a meeting.”
“Might?” Riley echoed, crossing his arms. “What you’re really saying is, he might agree to a meeting, but he also might tell everyone in St. George so they can be lying in ambush when we show up.”
“Not we,” I said. “Me. He’ll never agree to it otherwise. I have to meet Tristan alone.”
SEBASTIAN
Three years ago.
“Garret Xavier Sebastian, I’d like you to meet your squad mate, Tristan St. Anthony. St. Anthony, say hello to your new partner.”
I observed the soldier who stood at the foot of the bed, keeping the practiced blank expression on my face as he looked me up and down. I could see the skepticism in his eyes, in the single raised brow he arched in my direction, and stared coolly back, one hand on the strap of my bag. I was fourteen years old, fresh out of boot and had graduated basic training one week ago. At eighteen, Tristan St. Anthony was lean and tall, with short black hair and cynical blue eyes. He had been on several strikes and was making a name for himself in the ranks, but four months ago, tragedy struck when his last partner was caught in a line of dragonfire and killed. St. Anthony had had to wait until they found him a new partner to get back in the field. I imagined he’d been impatient to return to the war, but from his reaction, I was obviously not what he’d been expecting.
“I expect you to show him the ropes, St. Anthony,” Lieutenant Martin said to Tristan, the hint of a smile on his weathered face. “Show him what we stand for. Can you do that?” St. Anthony gave a brisk “Yes, sir!” and Martin clapped me on the shoulder.
