by T. C. Edge
“Well, I’m not in the mood for my own bullshit right now,” said Tanner, “and that’s saying something. Any facility built for this sort of purpose will be secure as hell.” He stopped his pacing, moved towards the table, and looked Ragan in the eye. “We can’t do this alone, Ragan,” he said with a rare sincerity. “We need help.”
“But from who?” came Nadia’s voice, rolling into the room. “We try to contact Project Dawn and Quinn will probably come after us again. I don’t know if we can trust those guys anymore.”
“I wasn’t speaking about them,” said Tanner. He looked at Ragan again. Pointedly.
Ragan knew what he was suggesting. He’d had the same thought himself. Plan B, as he called it, though Plan Z would be more appropriate. A last resort, but perhaps their only option now.
“Soooo…what are we saying here, exactly?” asked Chloe, eyes scanning the two men.
“He’s talking about the CID,” said Ragan. “They’re the only other ones who know the data’s been extracted and stolen by Mikel. They’d have much better intel than what Slattery and his team can dig up, and though I’m impressed by Dax’s hacking skills, there are some things he cannot do. Trust me, I worked with the CID for a long time, and I know their capabilities.”
Chloe huffed, shaking her head, folding her arms.
“You want help from the people who made this mess in the first place?” she growled, looking dangerous. “It’s all President Rashmore’s fault that this has happened. That bastard killed my dad…”
“I’m not talking about Rashmore. I’m talking about the CID,” said Ragan. “I have people there who I can…trust.”
“Trust! After what you did?” Chloe shook her head, spitting out a breath. “I don’t think so. They’d just try to take the data for themselves. They’d never destroy it, so why bring them in?”
“Because Tanner’s right. We can’t do this alone. If I speak with Commander Wexley, I might be able to convince him.” He took a quick breath. “Look, I don’t have all the answers here, but this is an option we need to consider. The fact is, it seems as though the MSA government has your father’s research now, and they’re not going to wait around with it. They’ll immediately upload in onto secure servers, inaccessible from outside of whatever facility they’ve taken it to. That little disc we’ve been chasing around for days - it’s redundant now. The data will be at a secure location, so there’s no way for anyone else to get at it, without a proper military incursion…”
He drew a long breath, shut his eyes slowly, and worked to calm his voice.
“Look, what I’m saying is that things have changed,” he went on, being as clear as he could. “Before, this data was in your nanites, Chloe, up for grabs to whoever managed to catch you first. That’s not the case anymore. The game is over, and the MSA, of all people, have won it. They will have the data stored in a place where no one can get to it except via a direct strike. And it’s almost certain that they’ll have a failsafe in place as well.”
“What sort of failsafe?” asked Nadia, stroking her chin.
“The sort that prevents anyone else from getting their hands on it. Ever.”
“Self-destruction,” said Tanner.
“Exactly,” said Ragan eagerly, as if happy to have someone on his page. “A self-destruction sequence that will see the data wiped out for good if anyone tries to download it from their systems. That’s what the CID had in place. The plan was to extract the research from Chloe, take it to our purpose-built facility, and upload it into our closed-system. If anyone tried to get at it, it would trigger the system to erase all top secret files. It was our way of ensuring the likes of the WSA, or anyone else, couldn’t get the data if we were compromised. The MSA are sure to have the same sort to failsafe in place. It’s just prudent thinking.”
“So,” said Chloe softly. “The NDSA…New York…they can’t get the data. Ever?”
“I don’t think so, no,” said Ragan. “I don’t think anyone can. The MSA would sooner destroy it than let anyone else get their hands on it. Right now, I’m thinking we’re the only people in the world who know they have it.”
Chloe began to nod slowly, eyes down, thinking. The others were doing the same, considering the implications of what Ragan had said. It was, in actual fact, good news. It meant, as Ragan saw it, that people could come together against a common threat. Find the facility, destroy it, and the data would be lost forever. To everyone.
“OK,” Chloe finally whispered. “If that’s all true, then maybe we should contact them. I just hate the idea of President Rashmore getting his hands on it. I’m being too personal, I know I am. My opinion is…tainted.”
“Your opinion is valid,” retorted Ragan softly, stepping towards her, laying strong fingers on her arm. “We all have a right to speak our minds, Chloe. And I won’t contact the CID unless we all agree to it. And even then, it’s a long shot. They might have no intel to help us. They might not even believe me. But personally, I think it’s worth a try. Otherwise, I’m out of ideas.” He looked to the others. “So, what do you think?”
He was greeted by a round of nodding heads, a sight which brought a deep sigh of relief.
“So how will you get in touch?” asked Nadia. “If we agree to it, that is.”
“I still have my comms earpiece from the CID. I’ll be able to contact Commander Wexley directly.”
“And will they be able to track it?”
“I wouldn’t put it past them. But we’re mobile in this thing, so even if they got a match on our location, we’d be gone before they got to us. If they’re smart, they’ll listen to what I have to say. We’re not their enemy. We’re all friends now in this fight.”
Just as Ragan finished speaking, an alarm began to beep from the cockpit. Chloe looked up, eyes bulging, body tensing. Ragan instinctively reached out to her arm once more, pressing lightly to calm her.
Tanner rushed off to the cockpit, Nadia in pursuit.
“What’s going on?” asked Chloe, looking up at Ragan. “Is it another jet? Are we being shot at again?”
She seemed terrified by the prospect of Tanner’s turbulent flying. Ragan assured her that wouldn’t be necessary.
“It’s just the power alarm,” he said. “It means we’re running low and need to find somewhere to stop and recharge.”
Chloe breathed a sigh of relief, as Tanner poked his nose back around from the passage ahead.
“We’re running on fumes here, Ragan,” he said. “It’s this constant cloaking, it’s draining us. We need to set her down somewhere pretty quickly and give her a few hours rest.”
Ragan grimaced. This was the last thing they needed right now, another damn delay.
“Right, get heading south,” Ragan said. “I’ll come up there in a minute, and we can discuss the best place to land.”
Tanner moved off without question. Always a sign that he had his mind on the job.
“So you gonna make the call then?” Chloe asked.
Ragan turned to her, shaking his head.
“Can’t, not yet,” he said. “Too risky contacting anyone with our batteries drained. No good if we needed to make a getaway.” He sighed again. “We’ve got no option but to rest a few hours, wait until we’ve recharged enough juice to make us combat effective again. Not ideal, but you know, this just seems to be the way of things right now.”
Chloe huffed.
“Not much going our way, is there?”
Ragan made to speak, but bit his lip. He was about to say something cheesy again, unleash one of his pathetic lines. He stumbled over a word or two, before settling on a nod and smile and simple, “Yeah, not much.”
Chloe smiled back, a look in her eyes that suggested she wanted to hear something cheesy. Or, was that just Ragan’s imagination? He truly couldn’t tell.
“Well, I’d better get to the cockpit,” said Ragan. He made to move off, but felt his hand held, slender fingers taking a firm grip. He spun around, and Chloe drew him right towards her into a
kiss.
It wasn’t the same as the previous one they’d shared. Not as passionate, not as fiery. It wasn’t such a release, a culmination of all those little looks and quiet words. No, this was just normal, natural. A kiss that felt right, that fitted so well. Soft, warm, and brief.
He pulled back, some of that stress in him draining smoothly away.
“At least one thing’s going right,” Chloe said, grinning. “If nothing else, that’s enough for me.”
Then, with hands still held, they moved up the plane. Together.
72
The higher floors - though still subaquatic - of the Lake Michigan research facility spoke of a place that never stopped. Up here, not far beneath the surface of the tranquil waters, were long corridors flanked by rooms for living, eating, washing, and even relaxing.
The staff here weren’t permitted to go off-site, and thus it was as much a prison as a secret centre for advanced science and weapons development. Some who came here did so willingly, paid handsomely for their service and promised that, one day soon, they’d be released.
Others, however, were brought here against their will, forced to work, to serve, to innovate. Not all of the brightest minds that Pamela Chase required to fulfil her demands wished to leave their homes and families. Those were taken regardless, snatched away in the dead of night, leaving behind broken families, grief-stricken and confused. Many had fallen foul of that treatment.
Only a small few were authorised to come and go from the facility - paranoid as the President was over its discovery - and that very much depended upon their standing, influence, and importance elsewhere. Martha, of course, was one who needed to be given that freedom, though now that she’d fulfilled her purpose, she couldn’t quite help but think that such allowances might be revoked, temporarily at least.
Right now, she was within one of the offices on the upper floors, the most finely decorated of them all. This one was President Chase’s personal workspace, fitted with a thick glass wall behind her ostentatious desk that allowed for an unhindered view out into the lake. Right now, light was streaming down from the rising sun, giving the waters a glimmering, dancing quality. It was quite beautiful, really, but a little disconcerting too.
“Oh Martha, would you stop staring at the wall with that frown. I’ve told you several times now, it’s not going to cave in. The glass is far too thick and the pressure this close to the surface is hardly an issue. Now, take a seat, and tell me what’s troubling you.”
Martha had only just entered the office, having spent the last couple of hours down with Sarah. Her daughter had been brought to the base overnight to get prepped for her procedure, and that was plenty to make Martha extremely nervous. She’d just heard, however, something rather worrying. The frown on her face had nothing to do with the glass wall - of the threat of it caving in - at all.
She sat down before Pamela, the President herself relaxing in a grand leather chair. She looked positively buoyant despite the fact she’d been up all night, a self-satisfied expression painted across her face. At a time like this, she’d told Martha, she wasn’t going to be sleeping a wink. Given the fact that speedy progress had been made in decoding the data - quicker even than Doctor Harold Lang, chief decoder, had anticipated - she was brimming with excitement over her imminent triumph.
She inspected Martha as she sat, prim and proper, attempting to lift a smile.
“Oh Martha, you’d think you’d be in a better mood than this. We have your beautiful daughter on site, safe and sound, and we’re all but ready to see her lovely, bubbly personality sent over to a nice, fresh body. Life, surely, can’t get much better right now?”
Martha nodded, smiling artificially. She was tired, tired of it all. Yes, Sarah was here, but somehow this all felt wrong to her. She was struggling, despite the fact that she’d wanted it more than anything for some time now, to grow excited by the prospect of what was to come.
Plus, there was the news she’d just heard from the mansion.
“OK then, not particularly loquacious this morning?” said Pamela breezily, her body wrapped up in a dark grey pant suit, a match for the general aesthetic of the facility. “I suggest you get some sleep, my dear. You’ll want to be fully rested for when little Sarah wakes up in her brand new body.”
She smiled, flicking her hair, as if distracted by something. Then she refocused on Martha once more.
“Ah, of course. So, what did you need to tell me?”
She leaned back, waiting for Martha to speak. Martha cleared her throat, which felt raw from all this overly clean, sterilised air.
“I have just heard from some of my staff,” Martha began, slightly nervously, though maintaining her usual poise.
“At your estate?”
“Yes, Pamela. It seems they ran into some trouble a little time ago, not long after Sarah was collected by the medical transport to be brought here.”
Pamela’s eyes narrowed.
“Go on,” she murmured, her mirth slowly fading.
“Well, according to my guards, three assailants entered the grounds, two of them by way of a balcony door on the second floor of the west wing, and a third via the front gate.”
“Assailants?” The tone was hollow, almost dead.
Martha nodded.
“We’re speaking about this Ragan Hunt, aren’t we,” went on Pamela, cold blue eyes flat and empty. “Him and his little band of rogues,” she added with some contempt.
“I believe so,” said Martha.
“You believe?”
“Well…I know so,” Martha corrected herself. “It seems as though the two who entered via the balcony interrogated one of Sarah’s nurses, Cynthia. They took off their helmets to show good faith, apparently. Cynthia’s descriptions match those of Ragan Hunt and Nadia Grey.”
Pamela’s breathing was just starting to intensify, the motion of her chest, rising and falling, speeding up. When she spoke next, her voice was a dangerous growl.
“Tell me, Martha, that you have not spoken of the location of this facility to anyone.”
It was an order. There was only one answer Martha could give. Thankfully, it was the truth.
“I haven’t,” she said. “I would never do that. I’ve never once uttered a word about this place. The only people who know of it are my bodyguards, assigned by you. And they would never speak of it either, as you know.”
Pamela didn’t question that. The Ravens were her men. They would never betray her, or anyone she assigned them to protect and, perhaps, watch over.
“Then tell me, why exactly would Hunt come to your property, Martha?” Pamela asked firmly. “And how, exactly, did they manage to sneak in and bypass your security? And, for that matter, how on earth did they discover where you lived!” She shook her head violently, eyes quivering angrily.
Martha looked down. Pamela was so different to how she once was. How did such a shy girl become this?
“I have no answers, I’m afraid, Pamela,” she said. “Project Dawn never knew of my address. It’s possible that Ragan or another member of the team has contacts who can procure information for them. I’m sure my addresses are listed somewhere…” She drew a breath. “As for getting through my security, it wouldn’t be hard for such a group. Chloe has a remarkable little drone who has some wondrous capabilities. He was probably of much help.”
“He?” Pamela laughed. “Are we anthropomorphising drones now, Martha? Ridiculous. Remus Phantom may have been a genius, but the way he managed this entire affair is absurd.” She flicked her wrist dismissively. “To hide these great secrets in his own daughter…what an awful father he was. Wonderful scientist, terrible human being.”
Martha chose not to correct the President. It was possible she didn’t know the true story of Remus Phantom as Martha did. Or, perhaps she did, and was being purposefully disdainful and asinine. Martha suspected that querying such a thing would be…a mistake, right now.
Instead, she just nodded her agreement, and said,
“Terrible father, yes Pamela.”
Pamela reached up to her hair and ruffled it a little. She tended to do that when she was thinking.
“So, Hunt found out where you lived, and came after you,” she mused out loud, trying to piece the puzzle together. “I suspect they hoped to find you there, maybe even the data disc. And…well, they had to settle for this nurse. This is very troubling, Martha. Very…disappointing.”
“I can only apologise, Madam President,” said Martha, thinking it best to defer to her title. “However, there is no one among my staff who knows anything of my dealings, nor is there any paperwork of any kind that could possibly lead them here. Ragan Hunt is very…tenacious, and determined. However, on this count he can’t possibly know of your involvement, or what we’re doing here. All he knows, or seems to know, is that I arranged for Mikel to steal the data. Beyond that, I don’t see how he can possibly know my inte…”
“Oh don’t be so naive, Martha,” said Pamela, cutting her off with a wave of annoyance. “If this boy is as smart as you’re making out, then of course he knows that you’re working for this government. We have ties going back years, easily discovered if you know where to look. I’m certain Mr Hunt has concluded my involvement in this, and that of the MSA too.”
“But there’s little he can do without aid,” countered Martha.
“Without aid? What are you talking about. He has the strength of the Crimson Corps at his back. They’re plenty to cause us a world of trouble if they discover any more than they already know…”
“I’m not sure about that,” cut in Martha. Pamela gave her a fierce look, unhappy for the interruption. “I don’t mean to be impertinent, but I get the impression that Ragan and his team are working alone.”
Pamela drew back, pursing her lips. She looked interested by the idea.
“And what makes you say that?” she queried.
“Something that happened when Mikel retrieved the data from where he’d stashed it,” Martha explained. “He mentioned to me that they were attacked by a unit of soldiers wearing the very same combat gear that the Crimson Corps use on assignment…”