by T. C. Edge
“Attacked,” shrugged Pamela. “So the Crimson Corps sent more men to help take care of Mikel, then,” she said, as if it was all so obvious.
“No, not Mikel,” Martha said. “As soon as he saw the soldiers coming, he escaped. However, as he was flying away, he saw that the soldiers were attacking Ragan and his team, firing at them. He didn’t get much of a look, granted, but saw enough. He also overheard a few bits and pieces while being held captive by the team. Suffice it to say, Ragan went dark as soon as he’d taken Mikel, and I believe that Colonel Slattery thought he’d been betrayed.”
The truth seemed to be dawning on Pamela. She looked away, pensive, and began nodding.
“So you think that they’ve gone entirely rogue, then? No support from the Crimson Corps?”
“That’s what I suspect, yes. Very strongly, in fact.”
“Good,” said Pamela, her smile starting to reform. “That will make things a little easier in hunting him down.” She fixed Martha with a stare. “We need this Ragan Hunt eliminated, Martha. Him and his entire team are getting a little too close for comfort. I don’t want anyone snooping around and causing problems. If they find anything concrete, they may turn to other, more powerful allies. We’re not ready to deal with that level of attention quite yet.”
Martha was quiet as she listened. She’d been secretly pleased to hear that Ragan and the others had managed to survive thus far. Killing them wasn’t ever a part of her intention here. Then again, she thought numbly, my actions will lead to so much more horror…
She turned from the thought, hating her part in this. Was it all worth it? Was getting her daughter back - and not even the real Sarah, really - enough to justify the death that would follow? Is this going to be my legacy? she wondered. Playing a part in this…unnatural evil?
“So,” came Pamela’s voice, drawing Martha’s eye again, “what is to be done about all this. Is there any way for us to track Hunt and his associates down?”
Martha hesitated.
“Um…no, there isn’t,” she said. “They’re using the falcon. It’s undetectable.”
“You’re…certain of this?”
“Quite certain.”
“Then how, I wonder,” said Pamela, face turning increasingly hawkish, “did this other unit of Crimson Corps soldiers manage to find them? You say Hunt is rogue, yes? Then how was he tracked before?”
Martha shook her head.
“I have no answer to that, Madam President,” she said. “Perhaps they made contact, made a mistake. I’m not entirely sure.”
Pamela frowned irritably, and shook her head.
“Don’t start calling me Madam President all of a sudden,” she said. “I know what you’re doing, Martha. Just stick with Pamela for goodness sake. All this going back and forward spins me about.”
She stood from her chair, seemingly needing to move about a bit. Turning, she looked out of the glass wall into the shallow turquoise waters of the lake. A shoal of fish passed by, moving swiftly and in a tight formation. Pamela breathed in and out several times, before turning back around again, nodding.
“If we can’t find them ourselves,” she said, coming to some conclusion, “then we need to draw them out.” She flattened her gaze, looking straight at her old friend. “We need bait,” she said. “Something that will make them bite.”
Martha felt a sudden spike of anxiety. It must have shown upon her face.
“Oh, not you, Martha,” said Pamela, chuckling sardonically. “After all you’ve done, you think I’d just give you up. I owe you a debt of gratitude I’ll never be able to repay. And besides, you’re a dear friend. No no, I’m thinking of this Mikel creature of yours. I find nano-vamps to be utterly ghastly. He might yet serve us.”
“S- Serve us?” queried Martha, voice cautious and unsure. “How so?”
“Well, from what I’ve heard, this Hunt and his team rather dislike…Mikel,” she said, finding it hard to say the vamp’s name. “If we can somehow leak his location, perhaps they’ll all go running after him? And besides, they may well want to question him again, see if he knows anything about you, or me, or…whatever,” she said, waving her hand impatiently again. “I think it’s a tremendous plan,” she finished, narrow features puffing conceitedly.
“Yes, yes it is,” said Martha. “I did make a promise to Mikel, though.”
“A promise,” laughed Pamela. “Nonsense. He’s a bloodthirsty wretch, just like the rest of his sort. There are no promises to be made between humans and creatures like that. He has served his purpose. Now, perhaps, he can serve another.”
For some reason, this wasn’t sitting well with Martha. She had no liking for Mikel, of course, but she had made a promise to him. Despite recent events and betrayals, she considered herself a woman of her word, even with the likes of a savage nano-vamp. It was another block to be added to this tower of wickedness she was building. She felt good about none of it. Even the imminent rebirth of her darling Sarah wasn’t quelling her self-loathing.
Still, there was little she could do. Not if President Pamela Chase wanted it.
“So, where is this nano-vamp right now?” asked Pamela. “You told me you have a direct line to him, to bring him in when the time comes?”
“I do, yes. We have linked comms earpieces, which I used to arrange the theft of the data. Um….as of right now, I believe Mikel is somewhere around Cincinnati.”
“Cincinnati! What on earth is he doing in that ruin? There’s very serious fighting going on there right now, New York and LA knocking the stuffing out of one another as always.”
“Well, that’s sort of why he’s there, Pamela,” said Martha, trying to keep things nice and smooth. “He was at his wit’s end with his, um, affliction, shall we say. I told him it would take a little time to decode the data, and in the meantime he mentioned how he desperately needed to…to feed.”
Pamela made a disgusted face, her nose wrinkling up as if she’d just taken a whiff of a decomposing corpse.
“Spare me any further details, Martha. I’m not sure my stomach can take it.”
“Well, anyway,” went on Martha, trying to stop from rolling her eyes at Pamela’s often insufferable pomposity, “I told him about the fighting in Cincinnati, which isn’t too far. I’m aware that there are some Panthers there, whose nanites Mikel is particularly fond of. In summation, he needed a distraction, and a way of satisfying himself, and I was happy enough to oblige. So…”
“So he’s in Cincinnati,” said Pamela, hurrying things along with her own brand of disrespect. “That works well for us…”
Martha waited patiently for Pamela to continue, allowing the President a few moments of indulgence of this ‘wonderful’ idea of hers.
“So, it’s a plan then,” she said, smiling proudly. “You contact this brute of yours, find out precisely where he is right now, and we’ll leak that information across security networks. You can be quite sure that Hunt will pick up on it, and go right after Mikel in order to interrogate him. They may even believe that the loathsome creature still has the data disc in his possession.”
Martha nodded. It wasn’t a bad plan, she had to admit, though hardly the genius one Pamela was making it out to be.
“With any luck,” Pamela went on, “your old colleague, Jeremiah Slattery, will also pick up on the information, go after Mikel as well, and find Hunt and his motley crew in attendance. Didn’t you also say there are members of the Panther Squad in the area?”
“Yes,” said Martha. “That’s why Mikel’s there - to feed.”
Pamela’s facial features grouped in disgust once more.
“Charming,” she said, shuddering. “Well then, it’s perfect. The CID will be after Hunt as well, no doubt, and Mikel too, seeing as he stole the data from under their foolish noses. The more men we have bearing down on Hunt, the better. We’ll be able to wipe plenty of them out in one fell swoop, and keep them busy for a time as well. Hopefully, this Mikel creature will also perish in all the con
fusion.”
“And if he doesn’t? If he discovers that we’ve betrayed him? He’ll come after us, Pamela.”
Pamela huffed loudly, dismissively.
“That base little monster is no concern of mine,” she said. “He doesn’t know the location of this facility, and before long our synthetics will be fully combat-ready. The likes of nano-vamps and nano-enhanced will be a thing of the past.”
She drew a breath, seeing the slight doubt in Martha’s eyes.
“However,” she breathed, conceding, “I…suppose Mikel has earned some reward for his efforts. Hmmmm,” she murmured, considering things. “How about this - if Mikel manages to survive, then we’ll bring him here and give him what he asked for. He won’t have any clue that it was us who leaked his position, so there’s nothing to fear, my dear. So don’t look so concerned.” She shook her head. “Heavens, Martha, you’d think someone had died the way your face is so muddled up. But it’s quite the opposite.” She sighed sympathetically, softening her voice. “I know you’re worried about Sarah, and that’s entirely understandable. But believe me, the clone is perfect, and she’ll be exactly how she was before. Remus Phantom’s data will complete all the wonderful work our scientists have done. Sarah will be healthy and happy again.”
Martha drew up a smile at the thought. A genuine smile, almost. This was the moment she’d longed for, the thing that had driven her for so long. But somehow it just felt…hollow.
“Now come, my dearest friend,” went on Pamela, standing from her seat. “Let’s see this mess cleaned up, shall we?”
Martha stood up wearily, as Pamela came around the side of her magnificent desk and took her arm. She led her towards the door, opening it up and moving out into the corridor.
It was early still, the sun creeping higher on another frantic day. A day that would set with a crimson sun, Martha knew. A deep red glow upon the earth. The colour of blood, seeping into the dirt.
73
Colonel Slattery awoke.
His eyes crept open, slits cracking, taking in unpleasant, bright shards of light. A humming sounded in his ears, that of machinery. A smell of antiseptic wafted up his nose. More sounds came; voices, blurred and distant, speaking hurriedly. He managed to draw his eyelids open a little more, and took in the shape of the room.
Medical bay.
A flurry of memories came to him, joined by a sharp, tight clenching in his chest. He tried to reach across with his arm, but found himself too weak. A louder beeping began to blare, followed by the sound of a door opening. The muted voices beyond grew suddenly clearer. A set of footsteps rushed into the room.
“Colonel Slattery, stay calm, sir. Lie still.”
He recognised the voice of Doctor Lawrence Jenkins, the chief medic on site. The man was approaching middle age, but ruggedly handsome. He came forward with caring brown eyes, and rested a hand quickly on Slattery’s shoulder, calming him.
“What…what happened?” Slattery coughed, voice hoarse.
He didn’t really need to ask. He was fairly sure he already knew.
“You had a heart attack,” said Doctor Jenkins, half consoling, but half rebuking in tone. “You pushed yourself too hard, and this is the result. Jeremiah, a man of your age and stress levels cannot afford to keep on going like you do. I’ve been told you were up for two days and nights in a row, drinking whisky, smoking cigars, trying to do everything yourself.” He shook his head. “What were you thinking?”
Slattery grimaced. He didn’t need this right now.
“How am I, Lawrence?” he asked. Was that fear in his voice? Jeremiah Slattery didn’t know fear. He’d never heeded his own mortality.
“You had a heart attack, Jeremiah,” said Doctor Jenkins, deadpan. “How do you think you are?”
Slattery shifted his position again with some difficulty, and Jenkins stepped in to help him into more of a sitting position. Posture was important to a military man like Colonel Slattery. Lying down, so feeble, so…vulnerable. He hated it.
Jenkins took a breath, plumping a pillow behind Slattery’s head and neck.
“You should be fine, Jeremiah,” he said. “You got lucky this time, but we’re going to have to make some changes to your lifestyle if you want to live to see old age.”
“Old age,” grunted Slattery. “I’m old enough.”
“Not old enough to die,” countered Jenkins. “You’ve got plenty of years in the tank yet if you’re sensible and don’t run yourself into the ground.”
Slattery met Jenkins’ eyes with a flat, unimpressed look.
“Lawrence, you know what we do here. You know how important the work is. And you know how critical recent events have been. I had no choice but to ‘run myself into the ground’.”
Jenkins shook his head lightly and sighed.
“Spoken like a true military commander,” he said. “And a man with a great weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Responsibility, I might add, Jeremiah, that you refuse to share. I know what you’re like - heaven knows I’ve known plenty of men like you - but you don’t need to run this entire show on your own.”
“With all due respect, Lawrence,” said Slattery through gritted teeth, “you don’t have the insight to comment on my operations, or manner of running things. I respect your opinion on medical matters, but that’s where I draw the line. Now when can I get out of this bed and get back to work?”
Doctor Jenkins didn’t react to the curt words. He wasn’t in the chain of command like others were, and down here in sickbay, he was the lead authority.
“I wouldn’t advise it for a good few days at least,” he said, turning more formal.
“That won’t do. I need to get back to work.” Slattery then seemed to realise that he had no idea just what day it was, or what he’d missed. He narrowed his eyes, ignoring the striking pain in his chest, and centred his eyes on Jenkins again.
“What’s been happening?” he asked forcefully. “I…” He looked up to the door. “Get Jason in here immediately.” Jenkins didn’t react straight away. It was a mistake. “I said now!” bellowed Slattery, almost enough to induce a second heart attack. He took a few deep breaths, grimacing. “Please, Lawrence. Go fetch him,” he wheezed.
Doctor Jenkins studied Slattery for a moment, as if willing to deny the request. Then he nodded and moved off, disappearing quickly from the room.
Alone, Slattery shifted his position higher, again with much effort. He grabbed a glass of water from the little side table next to his bed and gulped it down. His mind swirled with its most recent memories before he’d collapsed - the chase with the falcon, Quinn being outmanoeuvred by Tanner, the red dot that indicated the falcon’s position suddenly disappearing.
They got away, he thought, his mind catching up. They found the damn tracker, and they got away…
And then, unable to cope with the stress and relentless fatigue, he’d collapsed. At least his timing was good, he mused, almost with a flutter of humour. It was as though his body had taken him as far as it could, and only gave up once the chase was over.
But now what? Was it still over? Had Quinn managed to continue the hunt?
As he pondered the questions - a futile exercise in speculation - the door opened up once more. Doctor Jenkins came in, followed quickly by Jason. Jenkins nodded to the younger man and said pointedly, “Don’t get him too overexcited,” before withdrawing to leave the two military men alone.
Slattery studied Jason as he entered. He was wearing a small smile, his eyes relieved. He hurried forwards a few steps, though stopped short of being overly dramatic and gushing at seeing his boss awake. Jason wasn’t the type, and he’d know full well that Slattery wanted to get right down to business.
“Colonel Slattery, sir, it’s good to see you awake,” he said, nodding respectfully. That was the extent of his sentimentality. Good, thought Slattery.
“Yes, Jason, thank you,” said Slattery. “A little too much pressure on the heart. Apparently I work too hard.” He ma
naged a wry smile.
“You’re a fine commander, sir,” said Jason. “And passionate about your work.”
“Quite,” said Slattery. “Now tell me, son. How is everything? When did I collapse?”
“Yesterday morning, sir, about twenty four hours ago, just after the falcon went missing on our maps.”
“Twenty four hours,” mused Slattery, thinking. It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. He feared he’d been in a coma or something, unconscious for days or even weeks. A day he could work with. He looked directly at Jason. “Fill me in, son.”
“Of course, sir,” Jason said. “Um, things have been going…well, they’ve stalled, sir. After losing sight of the falcon, Captain Quinn returned to base. He’s been in the command centre, sir, coordinating the hunt.” Slattery’s countenance darkened. He hated the idea of anyone but him running the show up here. “However, sir, we’ve just come across something that might be interesting.”
“Hunt,” said Slattery immediately. “You’ve found him?”
“No, sir. Not as yet. However, we’ve just received intelligence that Mikel is in Cincinnati.”
Slattery frowned.
“Cincinnati is a war zone,” he said. “Why is Mikel there?”
“We don’t know, sir.”
“And what’s the source of this intelligence?”
“Chatter from soldiers on the ground in Cincinnati, sir, about a nano-vamp being spotted in the area. Mikel’s name has been flagging across several security networks, given his notoriety. The NDSA are particularly keen on finding him, for obvious reasons.”
“Yes, of course.”
Slattery was thinking. It remained a bit of a struggle after what he’d been through. Clearly, he’d been drugged to help with the stress and pain. It wasn’t making it easy to work through everything that was going on.
“Sir,” prompted Jason. “Captain Quinn is preparing the eagle right now. He’s planning on heading to Cincinnati and getting to Mikel before anyone else does. He may have answers that could help us unravel just what’s been going on. As of right now, we’re still not entirely sure who has the data, or where it’s been taken. Mikel may yet be able to untangle this mess, sir.”