Phantom Hunter: The Phantom Chronicles, Book 2

by T. C. Edge

  “An hour ago, one of our technicians caught wind of some surveillance footage taken from a high altitude WSA drone. As you know, the neutral zones are largely monitored by all nations to keep a lookout for incoming threats. It seems that we may have been handed a lucky break.”

  He tapped on an electronic tablet in his hand, and upon the large wall-screen another popup window appeared, showing a slightly blurred image of a jet-car, and a man in a black cloak standing beside it.

  Chloe leaned forward.

  “Mikel,” she gasped. “That’s Mikel…”

  “We believe so,” nodded Ragan. “The image was taken just outside of an abandoned town called Devil’s Pike in the southwest corner of South Dakota. The area is notoriously dangerous among the neutral zones for bandits and mercenary gangs. The Marauders are known to be one of the worst.”

  “And they operate from this abandoned town?” asked Nadia.

  “They’ve been known to conduct deals from there,” said Ragan. “Arms deals, human trafficking, things like that. Over at the CID, we had them under watch. Looks like they’ve been in on the hunt for the data too.”

  “So you think they’re the ones who hired Mikel?” asked Tanner, slightly doubtful. “What good is the data to a bunch of bandits and outlaws? They don’t have the technology, money, or means to do anything with it.”

  “You’re right, Tanner,” said Slattery, stepping from the side. “But we believe that they’re merely acting as middle men in a larger transaction. They may be looking to get the data cheap, then sell it on for a greater price.”

  “Or they might be muscle for a meet,” suggested Ragan. “Whoever the true buyer is, they might be needing outside security and a safe place to make the transfer. This town, Devil’s Pike,” he said, pointing to the screen, “has all the markings of a trade-off. It’s the Marauders’ MO to deal here, and by the looks of things, Mikel’s waiting.”

  “A hot tip indeed,” nodded Tanner, coming around. “You say it came down the wire from a WSA surveillance drone?”

  “Yeah, we only just intercepted it,” said Ragan. “Probably just standard security surveillance. It didn’t seem to flag up as important over there. Just lucky it crossed our path.”

  “So, the WSA aren’t in on it then?” queried Nadia.

  “Doesn’t appear so,” said Ragan. “Though we can’t be sure. It could be that they’re the true employer, and the deal is being done behind closed doors. No reason for it to be all over their systems. We can’t rule anyone out.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Tanner, standing. “We need to get out there right now, before the meet happens. Any idea of when it’ll take place?”

  Ragan and Slattery shared a look.

  “We’ve intercepted some chatter,” said Ragan. “Appears it’s to take place around sundown. The Marauders don’t deal during daylight. It’ll give us time to get there and get into position to strike.”

  “And do we have live images of the area?” asked Nadia.

  Slattery shook his head.

  “Unfortunately not. The airspace is hard to infiltrate, unless you’ve got the clout of the WSA or NDSA behind you. We don’t have the means, and have to rely on footage and imagery hacked from their systems. It’s not much to go on.”

  “And this image of Mikel…it could be a red herring,” said Nadia. “He might have already delivered the data elsewhere, and just be stopping in Devil’s Pike for whatever reason. Hell, he’s had plenty of time now to drop the package off, right?”

  “Could be, Nadia,” said Slattery, “but the pieces add up nicely on this one.”

  “And we’re sure he’s not just a member of the gang, returning home?” she went on.

  Ragan’s answer was absolute.

  “He isn’t,” he said firmly. “Mikel doesn’t get on well with others. He operates alone. This is the meet, I’m sure of it.” He glanced at Slattery. “With your approval, sir, we’ll get on our way.”

  Slattery nodded, looking around the group.

  “A small strike force,” he mused. “Make it happen, Agent Hunt. Bring the data home.”

  Ragan moved away from the screen, and the others stood and headed for the door. As they filed out, Slattery held Ragan back for a private comment.

  “This is your chance to redeem yourself,” he said quietly. “Don’t let me down again, soldier.”

  Ragan looked down into his narrow gaze, the much older man in dire need of rest. He wasn’t nano-augmented as Ragan was, and needed sleep in the same capacity as any regular man. He’d been getting little, clearly. And it was showing on his wrinkled face, in the heavy bags beneath his eyes.

  “I will, sir,” said Ragan, standing to his full height, several inches above the Colonel. “I’ll clear up the mess I made.”

  Slattery’s cracked lips broke into a slight smile, one that held a framing of victory. He was pleased to see Ragan’s contrition, his admission of guilt.

  “Good, soldier. See it done.”

  With that, Ragan spun, marched through the door, and joined the others outside.

  The following couple of hours hurried along at a furious pace, which might have been a good thing for Chloe’s nerves. It didn’t give her much chance to sit and stew, or truly consider just what she was getting herself into. She had become adept at evading capture, a skill that she, above all others, had mastered. With the help of Remus, of course.

  But, going into a combat situation?

  Well, that was another matter entirely. She wasn’t a soldier like the rest of them, all three of her companions experienced and highly trained. The number of missions they’d completed, both large scale strikes and covert ops, probably numbered in the hundreds between them. Despite their youthful years, they’d all seen action across the continent, both as part of the various special forces units and agencies they once served, and the Crimson Corps too as part of Project Dawn.

  Chloe’s existence had taken a different path. She’d killed and fought off highly trained people before, yes, but only via instinct and with the aid of Remus. Which was, she always reminded herself, considerable. Yet working alongside, and within, a team? Taking orders and operating to a script? Such things were alien concepts to her. And she really didn’t know how she might react.

  Thankfully, her strike team leader was quite aware of her predicament. As they all headed towards the weapons depot to suit up and gather their arms, Ragan took Chloe to one side and asked her, as he had many times, whether she was sure she ‘wanted in’.

  It was as though the question was a spotlight in a dark night, illuminating her path. As soon as he’d asked it, she knew exactly what she wanted, and her concerns were set to one side.

  “I want in,” she said immediately. “I feel connected to all this now, like it’s my responsibility. And I wanna see Mikel dead for what he’s done.”

  “Don’t we all,” growled Ragan, hand hovering towards the scar on his chest.

  Chloe saw his face darken with a memory, an intense desire to gain vengeance on the nano-vamp. There was plenty of that going around, and for Ragan, it was personal.

  “Anyway, I could also do with the combat experience,” went on Chloe, drawing Ragan’s eyes back to her. “I still want to get President Rashmore for what he did to my dad.”

  Now it was her turn to glower, to look off to the middle distance.

  “Chloe,” Ragan whispered. He seemed like he was about to refute her, before smiling gently. “Let’s just get the data back first, shall we?”

  “Fine,”she muttered, and he led her on.

  Their first stop was to gather their arms, and climb into their combat suits. Unfortunately, the Crimson Corps didn’t have access to the multi-function bodysuit that Ragan got from the CID. However, they did remain well enough funded to provide other forms of body armour and covert ops combat attire for their members, just like the ones worn by Tanner and Nadia during her ‘initiation’ the previous night.

  Pulling on the lightweight, blac
k suit, Chloe was given a quick run down of its functions and attributes by Nadia. It seemed that the body armour sewn right into the fabric was sufficiently strong to repel most firearms depending on range and direction.

  “Most slugs will bounce right off you when coming at an angle,” she explained. “They’ll hurt, no doubt about it, but shouldn’t get through. Straight shots are another matter, especially if the shooter’s close and carrying a heavy firearm. There are weak points too at the joints, so watch out for those. If you’re gonna get shot,” she smiled, “make sure you get hit right in the chest if you can. Sounds odd, but it’s where the armour’s strongest.”

  “Um…OK. That makes a load of sense.”

  “Though, best to avoid getting shot at all.”

  “Sure, always best,” smiled Chloe. “Avoiding gunfire is something I’m pretty experienced in.”

  “Then you’ll fit right in, honey. Anyhow, these mercs out in the neutral zones don’t usually have the best tech with ‘em. We should be fine.”

  Next up was Tanner, handing Chloe a rather large rifle that, in the Californian’s hands, looked appropriate, but in hers…well, rather less so. It dwarfed her, and felt awkward. Chloe was used to using her bracelet guns and, occasionally, smaller pistols. This bulky weapon would take some getting used to.

  “Don’t look so scared of it, gorgeous,” said Tanner. “She ain’t gonna bite. Here, fix it to your shoulder, aim down the barrel, get your finger on that trigger…”

  He moved in, helping her into position, getting very cosy.

  “I think Chloe knows how to hold and fire a weapon,” said Ragan, looking over.

  “Just giving her some personal tuition is all,” returned Tanner, lifting a winning smile. “Now, this thing’s got a great range and superb accuracy,” he went on, turning back to Chloe. “She’s a beaut, a real killer. You had much experience with a rifle like this?”

  “A little bit,” said Chloe, trying to get comfortable with the oversized gun. “I’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

  “I’m sure of it,” said Tanner.

  “Well, hopefully you won’t need to be using it,” came Ragan’s voice. He stepped over, and Chloe lowered the weapon from her shoulder. “We need your eyes and ears out there, Chloe, more than anything else. As long as Remus is OK with it, we’ll use him as a scout, and you’ll stay to the rear and offer cover. We have comms in our headgear to communicate. If things get hairy, you can guide us remotely and spot enemy positions. How does that sound? Remus up for that?”

  “Hey now,” said Tanner, holding up a hand. “This Remus…this your drone, right?” he asked, looking at Chloe. Remus was on her shoulder, scanning for a suitable pocket on her new combat suit in which to take refuge. “We really needing to be asking a drone’s permission?” he scoffed.

  “Yeah we do,” bit Chloe defensively. “And he’s much more than just a drone.”

  Tanner raised an eye.

  “Right, sure.”

  He looked over at Ragan, with eyes that questioned Chloe’s sanity.

  “No, she’s right,” said Ragan, quick to support her. “Remus has a mind of his own, I’ve seen it.”

  “Well, I’ll take your word for it,” said Tanner sarcastically, eyes glinting in their usual show of humour.

  Right now, Chloe wasn’t having it. His charming manner turned sour to her eye.

  She bristled, always so protective of Remus. Then, with a snarling glare at Tanner, she turned, rifle in hand, and moved off towards Nadia, who was gathering ammunition into a duffel bag across the small depot.

  “Jeez, sensitive much,” said Tanner, watching her go.

  “Wouldn’t you be?” asked Ragan. “She’s spent three years alone, with only Remus for company. What do you expect?”

  Tanner didn’t answer. He merely shrugged.

  “You know her dad was called Remus, right?” continued Ragan. “The drone is her only connection to the past, a past she’s lost and will never get back. It’s probably a deeper connection than you’ve ever known, Tanner.”

  “You think?” Tanner rounded on Ragan, nostrils flaring and lips curling. “Get off your high horse, Hunt. You’re leading this mission, but you’re not my superior. So spare me your bullshit lectures. I’m going to start up the jet…”

  He stormed off, a nerve clearly hit, and headed for the aircraft hanger. Tanner was something of an enigma, a classic problem child. Though Ragan didn’t know the full story, he’d always assumed that his fellow soldier’s behaviour towards women came from the troubled foundations of his past. He liked to charm them, but never got close. He never truly let them in.

  All Ragan really knew of his early years was that he was an orphan. That he’d been passed around from home to home, and moved into the military at a young age. Clearly, those early years had engendered an inability to get too close to anyone, a fear of rejection and loss that ran deep. He was, in certain ways, just like Chloe, who had developed the same aversion, though for very different reasons.

  Tanner had never found a home; Chloe had been chased out of hers. And yet here in the mountains, Ragan always thought, perhaps such lost souls could find their purpose, somewhere to truly belong.

  He looked at Chloe now, across the depot, opening up a pocket in her combat suit to allow Remus to settle inside. He felt for her as she did her little drone, protective of her, sensitive to comments that might belittle her. He wanted only to show her that here she could be safe, find something to focus on, something to believe.

  That here, with him, she could find some happiness.

  And, perhaps, so could he.

  9

  The fastest jet available to Project Dawn had been supplied by the organisation’s wealthiest patron. It was Benedict Oppenheimer who’d provided the funds to acquire it, which was saying something given the exorbitant price tag such an aircraft came with.

  Thankfully, Benedict was a multi-billionaire, a business mogul and wealthy landowner who, though officially a resident of the Northern Democratic States, really had influence that straddled the borders. After all, he’d lived many decades of his life when the United States remained a functioning entity in itself, long before the Second Civil War tore it apart. He was rich back then, and had only grown richer. Much of the cause’s funding came from him, with Martha Mitchell being their second wealthiest benefactor.

  The jet, therefore, was top of the range, and had since been further adapted by the engineers at the base for use in military operations. When any strike team needed to get somewhere fast, and do so under the radar, it was the jet supplied by Benedict that they used, aptly nicknamed ‘the falcon’, after the peregrine falcon, the fastest bird in the world.

  Beyond its speed, which could match just about anything else up there in the skies, it had cloaking tech that made it invisible to any watching eyes - not even the scanners of the NDSA or WSA could pick it up, unless it came into particularly close range - as well as a range of both offensive and defensive capabilities and weaponry.

  Suffice it to say, the falcon was a veritable godsend for the cause.

  Right now, it was rolling out of the aircraft hanger, sleek and sharp as a swordfish. It shone silver under the sunlight, brightening as the celestial shards came cutting in through the clouds above.

  In the cockpit, Tanner sat, waiting for the others to climb aboard, his expression a little more dour than normal and eyes trained through the window on Ragan.

  Nadia was first on, hauling the team’s ammo up the ramp. Ragan and Chloe followed behind, as several other soldiers and officials dotted around the square watched on as the jet got set to depart.

  As the two reached the ramp, a pleasant voice bounced towards them.

  They turned to find Martha Mitchell heading their way, her cheeks red in the cold, the blush nicely matching her usual dose of maroon lipstick.

  “I’m glad I caught you before you left,” she said, hurrying forwards. “I only just got word that this mission was happening.
That brute Slattery doesn’t tell us much unless it’s to be debated in the council.”

  “Sorry, Councillor Mitchell,” said Ragan. “It’s all been a bit of a rush, so we had to act quick. And…this is a military matter.”

  “Of course, dear boy. I know I have no mind for such things. I just wanted to see you off, and tell you good luck.”

  She took a grip of Chloe’s hands, and smiled warmly, enough to cast off some of the cold.

  “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Nervous?”

  Chloe shook her head.

  “I feel…OK.” She glanced at Ragan as she spoke.

  “Ah, of course you do. With a strapping soldier like Mr Hunt by your side, who wouldn’t!” She looked to Ragan. “And please, my boy, it infuriates me when you call me Councillor Mitchell. It’s Martha.” She shook her head and smiled, drawing a chuckle from Chloe’s throat.

  “Of course,” nodded Ragan, keeping his military poise. “As always, Martha, I tend to fall back on official titles when on military duty.”

  “Ah yes, as you tell me every time. And every time, I’ll remind you to abandon my ‘official’ title around here. But, I don’t want to keep you from the mission. I’m just here to say, again, the very best of luck.” She looked to Ragan, and her smile vanished like a stone in a murky pond. “And you…keep this lovely girl safe! Frankly, I don’t even know why she’s going. But…that’s not my business.”

  She left her eyes on Ragan for a time, a silent rebuke at bringing Chloe on the mission, as if she was being forced into it. As he was about to defend himself, Martha’s face flourished into another beaming smile.

  “Well, good luck then. I’ll look forward to seeing you all back here later on. I’ll have the champagne on ice. And who knows, perhaps we’ll even get old Slattery to break a smile.” She winked at Chloe, before stepping back and letting them go, standing off the side as the final two members of the strike team climbed aboard the jet.

  Chloe drew a breath as she entered into the hollowed out interior, set with seats at the front end for take off, landing, and turbulent conditions that might require a sturdy seat. At the rear, a mobile command station was set up, all high tech and allowing for briefings on the fly.