by T. C. Edge
Second door on the left, Ragan thought.
He stepped forward, Nadia just behind, creeping low. It was dim up here, though plenty of light was pouring from the gallery ahead of them, the atrium clearly well lit. They reached the door and stopped. Ragan altered the settings on his scanning lens to check into the room beyond.
He saw the woman, sat in a chair in the rear left corner. There was a large bed ahead of her, machinery to the left and right of it. It must be where the sick girl was being kept, he thought.
He glanced at Nadia again, and whispered quietly.
“Quick, but silent,” he said. “We take her before she can make a sound. She’ll be frightened, and will scream if she gets a chance.”
Nadia nodded her understanding. She didn’t really need to be told.
“Chloe,” Ragan whispered down comms, “keep Remus on watch. If the guards come, tell us.”
“On it,” said Chloe.
Ragan reached for the door handle, took a breath, and felt the adrenaline surge. It enlivened his nanites, pumping them full of renewed life. He loved that feeling. It made him feel invincible.
Slowly as he could, he began turning the handle, keeping an eye on the woman beyond as he did by using his lens’ X-Ray setting. She was trembling gently, shaking her head occasionally. Ragan noted the shape of a glass on a table beside her. She reached across and took it, lifting it to her lips. She had to turn slightly to the left - away from the door - to do it. The distraction was enough.
With a sudden movement, Ragan pressed abruptly down on the handle, opened the door, and poured inside. Nadia rushed in right behind him, shutting the door as quietly as she could as Ragan pounced on the poor woman sitting in her chair. She turned, but too late, eyes of the wildest terror and panic lighting within the gloom. Her mouth gaped, wet with whatever she was drinking - brandy, by the smell - and tears, ready to issue forth a terrible, blood-curdling scream.
She didn’t get a chance. Ragan was too quick, too fleet of foot, too precise with his movement. He reached her, springing forwards like a cat, one hand hurrying to cover her mouth, the other drawing her up from the chair into a standing position, twisting her around so her back was pressed against his chest. Her scream came out a muffled wail, body wriggling and trying to break free. It would be no use against him.
He turned his eyes up and saw Nadia hurrying forward from the door, now tightly shut, looking extremely intimidating in her black combat gear. Ragan could only imagine how horribly frightening this must be for the poor girl shackled to his grip, and clearly Nadia was aware too. As she drew near, she immediately reached up and pulled away her headgear, revealing the friendly face of a young woman, calming smile on her lips, no threat in her warm brown eyes.
The nurse seemed to calm a little at the sight, probably not expecting such a reveal. Nadia lifted a finger to her lips, and shook her head gently.
“It’s OK, it’s quite all right,” she whispered. “We are not here to hurt you, darling. We are no threat to you at all.” She was so earnest, so sincere, that the woman’s body stopped its writhing, leaving behind only a gentle tremble. Nadia smiled - she had one of those smiles that was almost impossible not to adore - and nodded gently.
“Good,” she whispered. “Now, we’re only here to talk, that’s all. Nothing else, I promise.”
She looked past the nurse, and nodded to Ragan. He slowly began to ease up his grip; just a tester to see how the young woman might react. If she started struggling again, they’d have to consider another method. If not, he might be able to release her entirely.
“Now, don’t be afraid of my colleague here,” Nadia went on. “He’s harmless, I assure you. The masks make us look scary, don’t they?” She smiled again. “Sorry about those. But look, he’s not as scary anymore, is he?”
Ragan took Nadia’s meaning, and released one hand from the woman to remove his helmet. He turned the nurse around gently, hand still to her mouth, and showed off his face. His smile was a little forced, and not quite so loveable, but he did his best.
“You see,” said Nadia lightly. “Just a young man. Nothing to worry about. Now, he’s going to let you go, but you have to promise not to shout or make a noise, OK? No one wants that. We know there are guards downstairs, and we don’t want to have to hurt anyone. You can help us with that. Do you understand?”
The nurse hesitated, then nodded gently. Her eyes remained wide, fearful, and yet not so stricken. Nadia looked to Ragan, and he withdrew his hand.
The nurse took a breath, several of them, panting. Ragan took a step back, moving to Nadia’s side, but remained close enough to leap in again should the girl start to cry out or rush for the door. She didn’t do either, but merely looked straight at Nadia, lips quivering.
“Who…who are you?” she whispered. She looked to her side. “I…I need to sit down. I’m…”
“It’s OK, you can sit,” said Nadia softly. The woman staggered for the chair she’d been in, falling into it, limbs tightly bunched, knees shaking. Her glass of brandy sat on the carpeted floor by her feet, dropped during the struggle. Ragan knew she’d drop it, but didn’t consider it a problem. A glass of that weight hitting a carpeted floor would hardly make a sound. “Would you like some more?” asked Nadia, seeing it. “To help sooth your nerves?”
The nurse nodded silently, and Nadia moved in, acting bartender. She took up the glass, filled it from the bottle on the table, and handed it over. The nurse took a long gulp, and then breathed out loudly.
“So, you were asking who we were?” said Nadia gently, pulling up another chair from the side of the room. Good idea, thought Ragan. Better to be on her level, not standing above her. That would be too intimidating. This was more friendly, open. “Well, we’re associates of your mistress here,” said Nadia. “Martha Mitchell.”
Ragan stiffened a little, and studied the nurse’s reaction. She just stared at Nadia blankly for a moment, before a little, nervous frown dropped over her eyes.
“You…know Madam Mitchell?” she croaked.
Ragan sighed silently with relief. That was one box ticked - this definitely was Martha’s main residence.
“We do,” nodded Nadia cheerfully. “We have worked with her for several years.”
“Worked with her?” asked the nurse. “I don’t…understand. Why would you come here like this?”
“Because of necessity, unfortunately,” said Nadia, shaking her head. “What is your name, sweetheart?”
“It’s…Cynthia.”
“Ah, Cynthia. A beautiful name, it suits you nicely.” Nadia frowned, leaning forward just a little, turning her voice concerned. “But…you seem upset. You’ve been crying, Cynthia, before we came in here.” She glanced to the bed. “Is it because of poor…” she trailed off, sniffing, as if upset herself.
“You know Sarah?” asked Cynthia weakly.
Nadia looked up.
Good girl, Ragan thought, smiling.
“Yes, Sarah,” said Nadia. “So young.” She sniffed again, and shook her head. “Best to be with her mother right now.”
Cynthia nodded.
“Martha…loves her so much. She’s been so worried. We all have.”
“Of course, of course,” said Nadia, working the girl around nicely. She’d quickly become her friend, side-stepping the bigger issue of just who they were like a pro. Ragan would never have been able to do this. Few, in fact, could.
Cynthia’s eyes began watering again, squeezing out a few tears. Then she frowned and looked up again.
“So, who are you?” she asked again. There was a little more assertiveness in her now, her voice not so brittle. “I don’t get it. We have lots of security here. You’re obviously not working with them. I…I think you should go…”
Her voice was beginning to rise, her body starting to tremble. Nadia leaned in, though not in a threatening way, her smooth voice a soothing whisper.
“We’ll go soon,” she said. “I promise. We just need to ask a few m
ore questions.”
“About what?” asked Cynthia, frown ever deepening. “You don’t work for Madam Mitchell at all, do you. You wouldn’t come in like this if you did…”
“You’re right, you’re absolutely right,” said Nadia. “We don’t work for her, I never said that. We have worked with her, alongside her. But something changed recently, Cynthia, and that’s why we’re here.”
“I don’t know anything,” said the nurse softly, dropping her head. “Madam Mitchell is a businesswoman, that’s all I know. But you’re…I don’t know, military? I can’t say anything. I don’t know anything.”
She was becoming defensive now, tensing up. Nadia’s spell was wearing off, the sense of security she’d drawn the girl into beginning to fade.
Nadia glanced up at Ragan, standing back, arms folded. Probably not the least threatening pose he could adopt. They shared a brief look, Nadia clearly reading the look in Ragan’s eye. It was a look that said, ‘Take a risk, we’re losing her…’
Nadia looked back to the quivering girl, hunched in her seat, cradling her brandy glass like it was a newborn child. She leaned in once more, hands out in a calming posture, voice soft and gentle so as not to alarm her.
“I think there are things about Martha that you do not know, Cynthia,” she said, her eyes comforting and yet concerned. “She is involved in some very dangerous things, things that could cause a lot of pain for a lot of people. Now, Sarah has been taken to her, is that correct?”
Cynthia hesitated.
“I don’t know. I think so,” she whispered. Then her face scrunched up and she began shaking her head. “I really don’t know anything. I really don’t. I just take care of Sarah, that’s all. I don’t even know what the procedure is. There’s nothing that can cure her cancer…nothing…”
She began crying again, uncontrollably, a mixture of grief and fear combining into violent sobs. Nadia moved quickly forward to help stifle the noise, placing an arm over her shoulder.
“There there, it’s OK. Shush now. It’s OK…”
Ragan stood by, watching, thinking. Cancer, he thought. Martha has a daughter called Sarah, who has incurable cancer.
He scratched his chin, eyes down, thoughts tumbling forward. Could it be that…
“Ragan.”
The utterance of his name interrupted his thoughts. He looked up again and found Nadia looked at him, doubt in her eyes. She mouthed something - what do we do now? - widening her eyes as she did to display her urgency. Ragan looked to Cynthia, sobbing wildly, grabbing at her brandy and taking a gulp.
She was too loud. She was being too loud…
A voice suddenly crackled into the room, tinny, coming from his side. He looked down to the helmet in his hand. It was coming from there. From the comms link…
Shit.
He lifted the helmet quickly, and could hear Chloe’s voice hurrying down the line.
“Do you copy, Ragan! Nadia! Do you copy!” she was saying.
Ragan quickly fixed his helmet back on, Nadia looking up anxiously from the side.
“Yes…yes I copy,” whispered Ragan harshly. “What’s going on?”
“Guards!” said Chloe. “Guards are coming up the stairs!”
Ragan looked to Nadia.
“Time to go,” he grunted.
70
Chloe watched as the two guards came up the stairs, ordering Remus to stay utterly still and silent as he floated above them in the hallway. The men moved together, one behind the other, their posture careful as they advanced. While their rifles weren’t raised to shoulders, they were held tight to their sides, pointing to the floor and ready to spring to action if required.
They’d heard something a few moments ago - frantic words, wild sobbing, whispering voices; all muted by distance but still just about audible. It was the last that drew them from their positions in the lobby, ready to investigate.
They reached the landing and headed down the corridor, eyes on the room so recently vacated by the sick little girl. There was silence there now, no sounds coming from inside. They moved tentatively, though didn’t seem to be too worried. Chloe watched on, knowing they probably should be.
She had just shouted down the line, over and over, that someone was coming. It took a few moments for Ragan to answer.
“Guards!” she’d shouted. “Guards are coming up the stairs!”
To her side, out beyond the compound, Tanner - who’d spent the last few minutes in silent reflection - looked over with sharpened eyes.
“What’s going on?” he asked briskly, springing to his feet, fetching his rifle.
Chloe waved him away, much to his annoyance. Instead, he picked up his own helmet and put it on, gaining access to the hurried conversation going on down the comms link.
“Time to go,” Ragan was whispering, clearly to Nadia. “We’ve got guards incoming.”
Chloe, eyes shut, continued to watch the guards come from Remus’ vantage, hovering silently behind them. They were at the door now, knocking lightly.
“Nurse Hartley, are you in there? Is everything all right, Cynthia?” one of them asked.
There was no immediate answer. Then, a few sobs, and a trembling voice.
“I’m…quite all right,” came the soft, weepy voice through the door.
The guards frowned, looking at each other. Chloe zoomed right in to study their faces.
They don’t believe her, she thought.
Then she spoke it.
“Ragan,” she said down the line. “They don’t believe her. They’re going to come in.” She had a thought. “Shall I zap them with Remus?”
Ragan’s reply was a tight whisper.
“Can you do so without killing them?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Chloe confidently. In truth, it wasn’t quite so simple as that. The effects of sending an electrical charge through someone’s body tended to differ from person to person.
“OK, do it,” Ragan whispered. “We want to get out of here without any casualties.”
Chloe nodded, and began charging Remus’ current. It was often good for disabling a single foe, or distracting a whole bunch. Occasionally, when the need was great, he could take out two or more.
It took a moment only for Remus to begin to fizz and buzz, and a good thing too, because he was starting to make some noise. Though cloaked, the little flashes of electricity now zipping around his orb-like shape were perfectly visible, and the snaps and crackles they made were perfectly audible too.
He moved closer, just as the men turned, confused by the sudden buzzing sound. Their eyes flew open with surprise by what they saw - a barely visible, shimmering orb floating right ahead of them, little flicking lights of silver and blue surrounding it.
“What the…” one managed to whisper, but no more.
Remus unleashed his fury, surprising the men even more. As the tendrils of lightning went reaching out, their eyes widened to an unnatural degree, drawn open by both shock and pain. Their bodies began to tense, tremble, and fix into place, wrapped up by the electrical current hugging them so dear. For a moment they just stood there like statues, before tumbling to the floor with two loud thuds, one after the other.
As soon as the second sounded, the door opened, and Ragan and Nadia came hurrying out, stepping over the men with barely a look and moving down the corridor. They didn’t get far before they were accosted by a loud, ear-piercing scream - from another one of the rooms, an old maid had appeared, taking in the sight of the convulsing guards on the floor, and the black clad intruders rushing towards her. Her wail of shock and alarm spread right through the house, and out into the grounds, reaching as far as Chloe and Tanner, hunkered down beyond the perimeter wall.
Chloe opened her eyes out there and looked at Tanner. Then both of them looked over to the gate, where the four guards - who’d been casually sitting around and playing cards within the small office by the entrance - suddenly came hurrying out into the moonlight, rifles gripped tight, eyes dartin
g towards the mansion down the track.
“OK,” Tanner sighed wearily. “Guess I’d better get to work.”
Chloe watched on as he stood, rifle to shoulder, and began moving off in a crouched stance in the direction of the gate. Three guards had already rushed off and out of sight, leaving only one to man the exit.
Poor guy, Chloe thought, as Tanner crept towards him.
Knowing the man from the Spectre Squad would be just fine on his own, she shut her eyes again and returned to Remus, her mind taking a split second to link to his perception. When it did, she found that he’d moved - he sometimes did that when she withdrew from him, especially if he sensed danger - and was now following behind as Ragan and Nadia worked down through the corridor and headed for the main stairs.
She wondered briefly why they were going that way, rather than leaving the way they’d come in, and then realised the pretence was up. That old maid had stepped out right in front of them, and they were perceptive enough to realise that her scream will have been heard all over the estate. Better to get to those two guards stationed out front first, they were probably thinking.
She had no real fear as she monitored their progress from Remus’ view, the drone following behind and a little above. Least not for them. This all felt very familiar - the three of them out there, engaged in battle; her a little way off, using Remus as lookout, all alone. Completely alone…
A sudden thrashing pressed at her chest, and she found herself drawing back from Remus, and returning to her true sight. She blinked, her focus taking a second to return, the darkness of the thicket of trees around her suddenly so foreboding. She glanced to the gate, and noticed that the remaining guard was on the ground, unconscious or dead she couldn’t tell. Tanner was gone, nowhere to be seen, likely rushing down the track towards the mansion.