by T. C. Edge
Ragan nodded. He was of the same thinking.
“We could do that, you know,” he said. “When we find it, we could keep it. We could use it for good?”
Chloe’s eyes turned up to him, curled into a frown.
“My father was an idealist,” she said firmly. “He wanted that, maybe. I don’t. I want it gone for good. It’s ruined my life, Ragan.”
Her words boiled up out of her throat, unintentionally cold.
She looked away again.
“Maybe that sounds selfish, I don’t know,” she said. “But I don’t see any good coming from that data, there’s just too much evil in this world. One day, someone else will figure it out, but I can’t think about that. I want this data gone. I want this curse broken.”
Her words had frozen over again, and a part of her had too. Thoughts of her father were like a cold sea, rolling up against the baking sand. They partly warmed her when she thought of the man he was, the loving father he’d been to her, raising her alone. But they cooled her too, causing her to retract and withdraw, like someone hurrying into the ocean, only to find it freezing cold. She couldn’t get past the path he’d put her on. Part of her would never understand it, no matter his reasoning in trying to protect her.
She couldn’t reconcile the two sides, the freezing ocean and warming sands. The anger and the love. The person she was now, and the one she’d once been. The three years since her father’s death had rendered her changed beyond all return, beyond all recognition. Yes, she looked the same, mostly. But not inside. Inside, she was dark.
As it so often did, thinking of her father altered her mood. On dark days, she might remember the good, and feel lighter. When happy and buoyant - a rare thing indeed - she might think of the bad, and her mood would sour.
So it was now, her body deflating, her smile departing. Remus, too, came sweeping back from the trees, his playtime over. He didn’t land on Chloe’s shoulder, but went straight for her pocket, changing shape into an orb as he dropped inside.
And then, as Ragan watched on, thinking he may never figure the girl out, Chloe turned and moved back towards the fire.
The group ate the breakfast prepared by Tanner and Nadia, minds now turning back on Mikel. He’d been given about an hour so far to ponder and stew. Was that enough? Should they go seek his thoughts?
“Bit more time,” said Tanner, speaking through a mouthful of fried bacon. “Let the freak sweat it out a bit longer. I mean, he’s just a stupid nano-vamp. It’ll take him a while to work through it all in that pea-brain of his.”
Chloe wondered if, in fact, it was Tanner who had the stunted brain and mental capacity. He must know, as she did, that nano-vamps were designed to be cunning and intelligent.
“Leave off with the ‘freak’ for a while, Cliff,” said Ragan, his voice intentionally low. “Whatever you think about his brain size, you know he’s got good hearing. We’re meant to be trying to get him onside, not insult him.”
“I’m amazed, as always, by your restraint, Hunt,” said Tanner, shaking his head. “After what the fre….the guy did to you. I’d wanna snip his balls off and feed them to him.” He looked to Nadia. “They do have balls, right?”
Nadia frowned.
“Why are you asking me?”
“Because you’ve been known to get around,” Tanner smirked. “Really, Nadia…nano-vamps?”
Nadia looked aghast. She was always so collected. This one had pushed her too far.
“Jesus, Tanner. Do you have any limits at all?” she exclaimed. She then chose Chloe to look at, as though Ragan knew Tanner was playing, but Chloe might not. “He’s just being an asshole, as usual,” she explained. “I do not sleep with nano-vamps.”
She made a disgusted face, as if to reiterate her point. Chloe, however, was happy for the interaction, serving to draw her thoughts further from her father. She was always happy, in fact, to watch Tanner tease Nadia, and Nadia retort with her sharp tongue. Her own dialogue with Remus hadn’t been quite so interesting over the years.
“Yeah, I know,” said Chloe. “Of course you wouldn’t. And they wouldn’t either. Not that you’re not, you know, attractive. Just…sorry, I’m rambling. I’m not great at this.”
“You’re fine. Better than you realise,” smiled Nadia. “And no, you’re right. A nano-vamp only wants one thing from us, and we know what that is. Even someone as beautiful as you wouldn’t stoke that particular engine.”
Chloe blushed, smiling shyly, and dropped her eyes.
“They don’t have that engine at all,” said Tanner. He shook his head pityingly. “What a way to live, huh,” Then he reached over and nudged Ragan. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Hunt? How is celibacy, by the way?”
Now it was Ragan’s turn to go crimson, such talk never making him comfortable. It was baffling to Chloe. The guy looked like he’d been designed in a lab to make girls swoon, yet he was always so shy when topics like this came up.
He turned away, trying to find a response, but apparently unable to. Tanner was enjoying the moment, a rare contest between the two that he would always win.
Chloe looked at Ragan’s face, the awkwardness, the discomfort. She didn’t like seeing him like that. She didn’t like seeing him taunted.
“I think Ragan’s had more important things to worry about,” she said, suddenly finding her words. “If he wanted to, I’ll bet he’d stoke any girl’s fire.”
“Is that so,” mused Tanner. “Including yours?”
Chloe looked at Ragan, head slightly low, but eyes working up to hers.
“Absolutely,” she said pointedly, the two linking eyes for a moment, smiles forming. “I’d say I’m a little more discerning in my choice of men, Clifton,” she added, turning to Tanner. “And not all guys prey on airheads like you do.”
Tanner smiled.
“What’s wrong with airheads?”
“Nothing,” Chloe laughed. “I’m sure you make a great pairing with them.”
Tanner’s smile dropped, his mirth seeming to fade.
Serves you damn right, Chloe thought, not regretting a word.
“That was excellent,” came Nadia’s voice, flowing with smooth waves of laughter. “She’s got your number, Cliff. No retort?”
Tanner shook his head. The smile returned, though it was a little more forced.
“Nah, that’s enough jousting for now. I don’t want her using that blue lightning on me if things get too heated.”
“In other words, your mind’s a blank,” said Nadia, translating. “It’s OK, you must be used to such defeats. I’ve given you plenty of practice of that myself.”
Tanner scowled. Nadia grinned wide. And Ragan, taking refuge from the conversation, breathed a sigh of relief.
They returned to their eating, munching under the sun. The bacon was accompanied by eggs, good portions of both. They ate, and chatted, and might just have been four friends on a camping trip. Getting away from their lives for a time, seeking the quiet solitude of the woods.
In a way, they were. Though brief, these little moments were needed to balance things out, spread the tension like butter over bread. If they didn’t laugh occasionally, and crack a few jokes, the pressure might just get too much. This was as good a way as any of staying productive, staying on point. And the likes of Tanner, with his easy and playful manner, was a necessary piece of the puzzle.
They lounged for as long as they felt they could, before their minds returned to the task at hand. When it did, the eyes of the group gathered on Chloe. They were calling for her to be the spokesperson once more.
She took on the responsibility happily, standing to her feet. The others began to rise too, preparing to gather in the jet and watch proceedings as they had before. Chloe shook her head, and steeled her eyes.
“No, let me do this alone. I don’t think it’ll do us any favours having Tanner in there.”
Tanner shrugged and nodded, and the three settled back down. Chloe took a breath and looked
towards the jet, still sitting at the edge of the woods in a clearing, the door to its left flank open and ramp extended.
She moved towards it, and inside, turning to the rear. Mikel sat in his chair, body still bound. He must be uncomfortable. He must be wishing for freedom by now?
Chloe stepped towards him, analysing his face. He was still looking somewhat pensive, almost melancholic. His head was tilted, hanging slightly to one side, eyes staring aimlessly at some point on the briefing table ahead.
“Mikel,” Chloe whispered, stepping forward.
His eyes changed, coming to. It was almost like he hadn’t noticed her enter.
“Ah, Miss Phantom,” he hissed quietly. Though, it wasn’t quite as snake-like as normal. His voice didn’t sound as repellent. It was a tool he used depending on the situation. It could cause a man to shudder, or put them under a spell. It could be raspy and cruel, or smooth and seductive. Right now, it was somewhere in between. Just the breathy voice of someone coming out of a reverie, escaping a place of deep thought.
“I wanted to ask you, Mikel,” Chloe said, taking a seat before him. “Have you thought about what I said? Will you…help us? Will you help yourself?”
She stopped, not wanting to lather it on too thick. She feared she had the first time around, but it had seemed to work. Would it now?
“What Hunt said,” Mikel began. “Did he mean it?”
“About the money? About the bargain?”
Mikel nodded, his eyes more gentle than normal.
“He meant every word,” said Chloe, shielding her hatred for the man. It wasn’t as hard as she thought. He was surprisingly hard to hate at this point, vulnerable as he appeared.
“And can I trust him? If I take you to the data, how will I know I’ll be freed? How do I know you won’t just kill me after?”
Chloe expected the question. She realised the only way to answer was to be honest.
“You can’t,” she said. Mikel looked up, surprised. “You can’t know for sure. You just have to trust us. Trust me, Mikel. I said to you before that this is so much bigger than us all. I stand by that. And those three soldiers out there…they have their honour, and I have mine. If we shake hands, and strike a bargain, we will honour it. I promise.”
Did she believe what she was saying? Would she be willing to follow it through, after everything the man had done? Would the others?
She cast the questions aside. She had to believe. Truly believe. Otherwise Mikel would see straight through her.
Her eyes locked on his, and she didn’t turn away. She let him peer into her soul, and search for any deception. She didn’t like it, didn’t enjoy it. But she endured it.
Because she had to.
And eventually, Mikel drew back, and his eyes blinked and turned away.
His lips broke open, and he spoke once more.
“OK,” he whispered quietly, as if he’d had enough of all the games. “I will take you to the data.”
50
Martha Mitchell sat in the rear of her hover-jet in a comfortable leather seat. The interior of the jet was plush, cream, spacious enough for a dozen people to sit comfortably, and came with all the usual trimmings you’d expect from such an aircraft.
Right now, she was taking particular advantage of the bar, a generous glass of brandy served up to her by her bodyguard, Rick. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and never imbibed this early. But right now, she needed it. She needed to settle her nerves.
Up front, Kurt was piloting the aircraft, though might just as easily have put it on autopilot if he wished. Rick had moved to join him, sitting in the co-pilot’s chair. Both men were intuitive enough to know when their boss needed space, so had left her alone, ready to be beckoned if needed.
Martha took a gulp of her brandy, going over all that had happened for the umpteenth time. She placed the glass down upon the little side-table attached to her chair. Eyes settled on a small comms device. She picked it up, absentmindedly twirling it between her fingers.
She reached to her ear, hand hovering.
Should I call, she thought?
She shook her head, hand drifting away. Her thoughts tumbled on, and her hand found itself returning to her ear several more times, so close to slipping the comms device in, so close to activating it.
She placed the device back down, took up her glass, and turned away from it. Another gulp helped sooth her. She was nearing the end of the glass already.
She could be forgiven for guzzling with such abandon, given how things had fallen apart so rapidly. Though she wasn’t completely certain of what had transpired down at Devil’s Pike, she’d managed to work out enough.
Mikel had failed. Ragan had taken him in, questioned him, and worked out who his employer was. The call had confirmed it. The mention of her name had confirmed it. Now, her great fear had come true - Ragan must have the data.
She hated the thought. It caused her to cringe, a spread of grief to take hold and flush through her body.
I’ve failed you, she thought. I’ve failed you, my darling…
She gulped her brandy, finishing the glass. Her desperate thoughts were temporarily doused, but not for long.
Martha was a logical woman, highly rational in her thought. She had a keen ability to manipulate and persuade, traits that appeared to have been passed down through her bloodline. Wealth and success, over many generations, didn’t come without them. Her ability to influence was one of the main reasons why she was recruited in the first place.
She never liked it, though. Never liked what she’d been forced to do. Betraying people wasn’t an easy thing to stomach. She had friends at Project Dawn, people she truly liked. Councillors Beecham and Gutenberg and Winterbottom she was fond of. Others around the base, engineers, technicians, officers, she liked.
But none more so than Ragan Hunt, and giving him up was hardest of all. She didn’t feign her liking for the young man. She didn’t have to pretend around him, as she did some others. She found him honest, loyal, and committed. And yet, she’d given him up to die.
Part of her, in some strange way, was happy that he’d bested Mikel. She tried to shy away from the idea of that horrible nano-vamp feasting on the young man, draining his blood, his life. She didn’t want him killed. She didn’t want Chloe killed. She didn’t want Tanner or Nadia killed either, if such a thing could be avoided.
That was the part of her that had a choice. That was the good in her, and she never considered herself anything but a good woman. Even her seeking of the data, her betrayal of Project Dawn, came from a place of goodness, of love. She cringed once more at the thought.
I’ve failed you…
She shook it away, and took up her glass. She’d forgotten it was empty.
“Rick,” she called out.
Rick appeared almost instantaneously, large black-suited frame flooding through the short passage from the cockpit.
“Yes, ma’am?”
She held out the glass.
“More brandy. And don’t stint this time.”
Rick fetched the glass, moved to the bar, and filled it near to the brim. If he’d stinted last time, he’d have to fill it to overflowing this time.
He handed it back, careful not to spill it.
She snatched it up and took a swig, looking relieved as the liquid burned her throat.
“Anything else, ma’am?” Rick asked, so tall he almost had to crouch within the jet’s interior.
She shook her head, but did make another query. It said it all, really. She was torn, so torn by it all. Her words and body language were not aligned.
“How long until landing?” she asked.
Rick faced her.
“Another couple of hours, ma’am, pending conditions. We’ll be into MSA airspace soon and the going should be smooth from there.”
“OK,” she said, disconsolately.
She hadn’t yet informed her bosses of her failure. Last they knew, she was ‘handling it’, and would have the data in ha
nd within a day or so. Now, she had to decide just how to tell them. It was a conversation she was so dreading, and one she had to make soon.
Rick didn’t depart immediately. He seemed to peruse his boss for a moment, eyes sympathetic.
“Is…something wrong, Mrs Mitchell?” he asked her. His voice was soft, surprisingly so for such a large man.
Martha bit her lip, blinked slowly, and then managed to raise a smile.
“It’s all fine, just fine,” she said.
“If…you’re sure,” said Rick. She wasn’t and he knew it, but it wasn’t his place to pry. He was a bodyguard, a hired shield and sword. He knew nothing of the truth of what Martha was up to. So few did.
“I’m sure,” she said, strengthening that smile.
Rick looked on a moment longer, and then departed.
Alone again, Martha returned to the darkness of her thoughts. She so longed to get home, return to her estates outside Chicago. The world was so full of war and toil, yet back home all was peaceful. The verdant gardens and flower beds. The trickling fountains and steams that criss-crossed the grounds. The stately rooms, the beautiful quarters.
And the people. Particularly one.
She imagined it all in her mind’s eye, thought of a better time. Before she’d turned her mind towards betrayal, playing such an ugly role in something that might cause so much distress for others. She’d been promised, of course, that the research of Remus Phantom would be used for good, that it wouldn’t alter the shape of the war, and the world, as so many feared, including herself.
She hadn’t believed those promises. People with power, she knew, only ever wanted more. And desire made a person easy to corrupt. Yet she played along anyway, because she had no choice. She was ruled not by her head, but her heart.
And now, she’d failed.
51
Colonel Slattery stood in the briefing room of the command centre, the walls lit with maps, data, intelligence.