by T. C. Edge
“Ah, hey gorgeous,” said Tanner, smiling down at her. “Any luck tracking Martha?”
Chloe glared at him from inside her hood. It was a look - if he could properly see it - to say, ‘shut up, and don’t talk about that stuff out here!’.
Tanner did seem to note the expression. Nadia was also looking at him with a reprimanding frown.
“Right,” murmured Tanner. “Private talk…” He looked over to the vendor. “Sorry, buddy, but duty calls. You’d have had a hard time cracking this nut anyway,” he said of Nadia. “Not really one for dressing up and wearing perfume.”
To protestations and promises of further discounts from the vendor, the three moved away from his stand, melting back into the rush of shoppers idly making their way down the street.
“You don’t need any of that stuff anyway,” Tanner said, looking at Nadia. “You smell nice enough as it is.” His delivery didn’t come with the usual bounce to his voice, that cheek he infused into much of what he said, particularly to Nadia. It actually sounded genuine.
“Wow…Cliff, was that a real compliment?” Nadia asked, displaying feigned awe.
“Well…” started Tanner.
“Don’t I feel proud,” said Nadia, showing Chloe a glowing smile. “A proper compliment from Clifton Tanner of all people. It has to be the highlight of my year.”
Tanner looked at Chloe, deadpan.
“You see what I have to deal with?” he said to her. “You probably wonder why I tease her so much. Maybe it’s because when I actually say something nice, all I get is this sarcastic abuse.”
Chloe laughed, and they continued on. She imagined that Tanner probably deserved it, and that his relentless teasing had come first. No doubt Nadia had grown wary of nice words, thinking them a trap, a set up for another bout of ridicule. She’d learned to get there first. Good for her.
Still, there was definitely something between them, a sexual tension of sorts. That was obvious enough from Tanner’s side - he was like a kid in the playground, teasing the girl he liked - but Chloe had seen enough from Nadia to know she wasn’t entirely immune to his charms.
When they reached the parlour again, Chloe found the bouncers still in discussion - probably about her - blocking the entrance to any rambling customer who wanted to go inside. On seeing Chloe, they moved immediately out of the way, bowing with a strange, almost humorous reverence. The group moved inside, heading through the parlour and towards the back.
“You know what we should do,” said Tanner, passing by the empty stations where the tattoos were administered. The others looked at him. “We should get matching tattoos!”
The girls looked at each other, then moved on.
“No?” came Tanner’s voice behind them. “I thought it was a good idea.”
Chloe didn’t turn, but the remark seemed to be directed at the artists, who probably showed no interest, as usual.
When they reached Dax’s office on the basement floor, they found Ragan and the hacker still at work, sifting through the many possible addresses. Both men looked up as the door opened and the three piled in.
Chloe did the introductions.
“Dax, this is Clifton Tanner, and Nadia Grey. Members of the Crimson Corps.”
“Former,” said Tanner, stepping in to shake Dax’s hand. “Nice place you got here,” he added, looking around.
“Thanks,” said Dax. “So you’re Chloe’s new friends. You sound like you’re from around here,” he said to Tanner.
“Yep, LA born and raised,” said Tanner.
“And you?” said Dax, looking to Nadia.
“Texas,” she said. “Little town not far from Houston.” Her southern twang sounded particularly smooth when speaking of where she came from. She stepped in and shook his hand. “Nice to meet ya. So how’s the search comin’ on?”
“Slow, and steady,” said Ragan. “We’ve found over a dozen addresses owned by Martha and her family, just been trying to narrow it down.”
“Right…” said Tanner. “So, not good.”
Ragan shook his head.
“There’s one that fits the criteria, but it’s still a bit of a gamble to go there.”
“Criteria?” asked Nadia. “Did we decide on a criteria?”
“No, it’s mine,” said Ragan. “Built from conversations I’ve had with Martha in the past. As far as I can gauge, her primary place of residence is a large estate in the northern suburbs of Chicago, near enough to Lake Michigan to make it visible from the grounds. She’s spoken to me about it before. There’s only one address here that fits the bill.”
“Hard to trust anything Martha’s said though,” said Tanner. “She might have been doing that to throw you off, just in case she was ever found out?”
Ragan nodded.
“It’s definitely possible. But right now nothing else is flagging up. So, what do you think?”
The group considered it, though all were quite aware that time wasn’t on their side. It was never on their side.
“Well, far as I see it, there’s no harm in taking a look,” said Nadia. “Chances of Martha being there? Limited. Chances of the data being there.” She shook her head. “Nada. But, it’s not like we’ve got anything else to go on right now, right? If we’ve completely honest here, I think we’ve missed the boat. We had our shot with Mikel, and we screwed it up. I don’t wanna sound too pessimistic, but I’m thinking the data’s out of our reach. It’s that carrot on a stick that we’ll never catch. We might just get ourselves killed trying.”
“Might,” said Tanner. “That’s the word of the day, isn’t it? Might, maybe, could, would should. We’re dealing in uncertainties, that’s the problem. I’m with Nadia. Going to Chicago is a serious long shot, but we’ve got nothing else going on. So, what? We either sit back and wipe our hands of it, or we go take a look. You know what I’d choose.”
“OK, my turn,” said Chloe, drawing the eyes of the room, stepping forward a little to take centre stage. “I’m up and down. My mind’s going this way, then that. I’m happy to admit that, but at my core I’m not going to stop while there’s still a chance of winning this thing. So I say, let’s go.”
“Hell yeah,” grinned Tanner. “Looks like we’re all in agreement.”
It did. Though Ragan hadn’t really stated his position, it was clear enough by his expression that he was thinking along the same lines.
“What about you?” asked Tanner, looking at Dax. He’d stopped his hacking momentarily to observe the discussion, though probably didn’t expect to be brought into it.
“Me?”
“Yeah, seems to be like you’ve been filled in on what’s going on. So, be nice to get an outsider’s perspective on things.”
“You want my honest opinion?”
The group nodded.
“Well, from what I’ve heard, I think you’ve already failed. That data isn’t going to sit in someone’s home. It’s going to go straight to a lab to be decoded and analysed by a team of scientists. This Martha Mitchell is a middle man, and the disc has almost certainly passed through her hands already. I don’t mean to put a dampener on things, but…you did ask.”
“Yeah…I guess I did,” said Tanner. “All you’re doing is vocalising what we’re thinking anyway. No harm done. But also no harm in trying.”
“Except the fact that we might die in the attempt?” asked Chloe.
“Sure, there’s that. But when isn’t that the case? You live under threat of death for long enough, and it doesn’t really scare you anymore. It just becomes…normal. Anyway, unless Martha’s got a whole squad of Ravens protecting her home, it’s nothing we can’t handle.”
“But, shouldn’t you be thinking bigger?” asked Dax, now fully drawn into the debate. “I deal in facts, not speculation. This is very much the latter.”
“We’re aware of that,” said Ragan, “but it’s the best we’ve got. What would you suggest?”
“I’d suggest you give me more time to work,” said Dax. “W
ith a little luck, I might be able to unearth something more substantial.”
“Such as?” asked Nadia.
“Well, I don’t know. Perhaps evidence of who Martha Mitchell is working for. From what you’ve told me, it sounds like it’s probably the MSA. It takes time to bypass top level security systems, but I might be able to with a bit of time and, well, fortune.”
“We can’t really spare the time, unfortunately,” said Ragan. “And I don’t want to rely on luck either.”
“OK, well at least take this,” said Dax. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a comms unit, handing it to Ragan. “It’s like the one I gave Chloe, and has a secure line to me. If I find anything of interest, I’ll update you.”
“OK, thank you, Dax,” said Ragan. He seemed to have a thought. “I’d also suggest that you monitor chatter over at the CID, if you can. After all, Mikel stole their jet, and left from their airspace. I suspect that they’ve lost his trail, given how we never encountered them when we had Mikel captive, but it’s still worth listening in. Aside from Project Dawn, only the NDSA are aware that the data has been extracted from Chloe. That knowledge will be kept tight at the CID, and they may have intel we could use.”
“And you haven’t considered getting in touch with them?” asked Dax. “It seems that things have escalated beyond your control here, Mr Hunt. You may find the CID a willing ally in finding this data.”
“Sure,” broke in Chloe, her voice bitter. “They’d want to find it to take it for themselves.” She snarled as a memory stirred, and looked away. A short silence fell.
“Well…” Dax said eventually. “I’ll do what I can here. Now I’d suggest you get going before it gets too dark. The peacekeepers have been a little more forceful at night recently, checking I.D.s on anyone suspicious. The search for Chloe is still top priority, so they’re particularly interested in anyone matching her proportions. You’d do best to avoid them, and unless you’re wishing to stay the night, that means leaving now.”
Ragan nodded, and took Dax’s hand.
“Thank you, Dax. You’ve been a great help.”
“I fear you may have come to me too late,” murmured the thoughtful hacker. “But good luck all the same.”
The men shook hands, and Ragan moved towards the door, Tanner and Nadia falling into step behind. Chloe delayed a moment and moved to Dax, drawing him into a hug.
“Thanks,” she whispered softly. “Sorry to just barge in like this.”
He drew a kindly smile, pushing up his spectacles.
“Chloe, you’re welcome here any time, my dear.” He looked to the door, where the others were waiting. “Now go on,” he said. “And happy hunting. Beats running, I’ll bet.”
She looked at her companions, not willing to move off without her.
“Sure does,” she said.
And with that, they headed back into the bustling streets, the light beginning to fade on a hectic, breathless day.
65
Martha sat in a slate grey room, the walls bland and empty of any sort of decoration. Ahead of her was a desk, manned by a secretary wearing a grey pant suit. Behind her, at the doors she’d entered through, were guards, also wearing grey; combat attire in this case. It seemed the entire facility was obsessed with the colour. Ironic, really. A dull, lifeless colour, in a place where life was so important.
Martha, however, didn’t abide by the dress code. Perhaps they should have sent a memo, she thought as she sat there in a chair - grey, of course, though of a different, lighter shade -wearing the same luxurious blue coat she’d adorned all day. A day which had been long, tense, a veritable rollercoaster of a ride, her emotions plunging to the depths, before soaring to the heavens. She hadn’t had a day of such emotional variability since Sarah was diagnosed.
Incurable, she thought, thinking of the word that she hated so dear.
That’s what the doctors had told her. That’s how they described the cancer eating away at her darling girl. For all the wondrous advances they’d made in science and medicine in recent decades, the nasty side of nature always seemed to have a way of fighting back. Cancer, in all but the rarest forms, had been all but cured, cancelled out, eliminated from human existence. Until, of course, it wasn’t. It fought back, unwilling to be defeated. And Sarah - beautiful, innocent, wonderful Sarah - had been one of its victims.
Martha sighed at the thought, clinging onto hope yet still fearful. She looked down to the data disc in her hands, containing such promise, such hope for her girl. It was the only thing that could save her, yet she remained wary. Until the research was decoded and arranged, she wasn’t going to let herself relax.
Now, however, things were out of her hands. Her part, her role, had been to help secure the data, something that required her to put aside her beliefs, her ethics, her morals, and just act. It had been hard, of course, to pretend for so long, to betray people she’d come to like and even care for. Yet hard as it was, she’d do it again. To save her daughter, she’d do anything.
The sound of footsteps grew in her ears as she sat there, waiting. It came from a long corridor at the top of the room, several sets of feet tapping on the ground. She stood on instinct, even before the figures emerged, stepping into the bland entrance hall, dressed in various shades of grey and white.
She took in the sight. Five people - two Ravens, two scientists, and a politician - approached, the latter at their head. She was a woman of similar age to Martha, tall and lithe, snugly fitted into a dark grey suit, lipstick of the same colour painted onto her lips. Her features were pointed and sharp, almost hawkish, eyes of a cold blue staring upon her as she came, her black hair shoulder length and neatly cut.
She stepped forwards, a smile cruising up onto her face, her voice - precise and smooth - floating easily across the forum.
“Martha, my darling Martha,” she said, quickening her pace, her heels clip-clopping louder as she got near. She reached Martha and drew her into an abbreviated hug, barely making body-to-body contact as she did. “How are you, my dear?”
“I’m well, very well, President Chase,” said Martha.
The woman - the President - waved off the title.
“Oh, Martha, don’t be ridiculous. I was Pamela when we were children - in fact, I was Pam most of the time! - so I’m Pamela now. Or Pam, if you wish. Frankly, my dear, you’ve earned the right to call me whatever you want.”
At that, she turned her eyes down to the disc in Martha’s hand. Her blue eyes turned eager, a look Martha knew well; she’d had the same glint in her eyes only that morning when Mikel handed it over.
Pamela Chase, President of the Mid-States of America, took a breath at the sight.
“This is it,” she whispered. “You…really have it.”
Martha smiled.
“This is it, Pamela. We did it.”
Pamela reached forward tentatively, and took the disc from Martha’s hand. She lifted it to the light, holding it up before her eyes, studying it closely. It was a strange effect that the disc had on people. There was nothing to look at really, not on the outside. It was what lay within that mattered.
For a few moments, Pamela indulged herself, before suddenly turning and ushering the two scientists forward. She held out the data as they came, and one, Doctor Harold Lang, a wizened old man who was chief of the project, took it carefully, as if dropping it would cause it to crack. That wasn’t true, of course. It would take a great deal of effort to destroy the metal casing, but Doctor Lang handled it with care nonetheless.
“Get this to your labs immediately,” Pamela said. “I want you working day and night on decoding it, Harold. What is your time estimate?”
“It’s hard to say until we take a look inside, Madam,” said Doctor Lang, his voice cracked by age and excessive smoking, a habit that Martha always found curious for men of science and medicine.
The stern look upon Pamela’s face, however, forced a few extra words from the eminent scientist.
“Um…soon, ve
ry soon,” he said. “I have the finest decoders in the world under my charge, Madam President. We will not stop until it’s done…”
“No, I’m sure of it,” mused Pamela coolly. “But don’t do yourself a disservice, Harold. It is you who will see this done quickly. Your mind is a wonder, truly. Perhaps even as sharp as the man whose secrets you shall uncover.”
“You honour me, Madam President,” said Harold, dipping his head. “To be compared to Professor Phantom is…”
“Is justified,” said Pamela. “Hopefully the coming hours and days will prove you his equal, Harold.” She put some emphasis on the word ‘hours’, which had Doctor Lang smiling awkwardly and nodding quickly.
“Well, I do hope so,” he said.
Pamela stiffened.
“I don’t like the word ‘hope’, Harold, as you know,” she said firmly. “Our nation has been too reliant on hope for far too long. ‘Let’s hope for the best,’ we say.” She shook her head, and looked at the disc gripped between Harold’s quivering old fingers. “Now, we don’t have to hope,” she said. “Now we forge our own destiny.” She drew a breath, as if seeming suddenly bored. “Now go, see it done,” she said with a flick of the wrist.
Harold bowed reverently, and moved off, the other, younger scientist joining his side. The two Ravens stayed, however, dressed in their dark grey suits that were difficult to differentiate from black. They were the President’s personal bodyguards, Martha knew, much like Kurt and Rick, who’d been personally assigned by the President to guarantee Martha’s safety.
Pamela turned back to Martha now, drawing a long breath and rebuilding a smile. She was, like Martha, practiced in the art of putting on a public face.
“So, would you like to see her?” Pamela asked, eyes glinting under the harsh lights above.
Martha lost her breath for a moment. She’d longed for this day, never letting herself truly believe it would happen. She felt nervous all of a sudden, her hope turning to something more…something real.
“Don’t look so worried, Martha,” said Pamela. “Our scientists have done a tremendous job. She’s absolutely perfect, I assure you.”