by T. C. Edge
He stopped, and watched his commander for a reaction.
Slattery nodded. Slowly. His eyes were staring right at his sheets, his ageing frame beneath. He felt weak, tired. Still…so damn tired.
“Shall I tell Captain Quinn you OK the mission, sir?” asked Jason again. His prodding was growing increasingly forceful. “We can’t delay on this.”
A horrible realisation came to Slattery at that moment. He was weary, bed-ridden, slow to make decisions and direct matters. He had his pride, yes, and his passion to lead, but he also knew he was man enough to admit it when he’d lost his touch. The Crimson Corps needed swift, direct action right now. They couldn’t afford for him to slow them. It was time to hand over the reins. Temporarily, Slattery promised himself. Just until I recover.
Eventually, he spoke.
“Captain Quinn doesn’t need my approval, Lieutenant,” he said. “He’s running this mission now.”
“Sir…”
“Tell him to assume control until I’m recovered, soldier. I trust him to make the right judgement. Quinn is more than capable.”
Jason hesitated.
“Yes…sir,” he said. “Of course.”
He began moving towards the door.
“Oh, and Jason.”
Jason turned.
“Yes, Colonel?”
“Keep me appraised, son. I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”
Jason smiled, saluted, and marched through the door.
74
Ragan moved off into the rocky ground, eyes keen, scanning. The morning had crept along quietly, annoyingly so. Why was it that time seemed to go so slow when you were so desperate for it to speed up? It had a real cruel side, time. Lazily strolling along when you needed it to make haste, and galloping gleefully forward when all you wanted was for it to slow down and relax.
Ragan had never been a particularly patient man, but this was pushing it. As a child, he’d been eager to reach adulthood. When he joined the NDSA military, he set his mind on joining the Panthers and didn’t let up. When he got involved in the chase for Chloe, it consumed him. That wait was particularly difficult, of course, but well worth waiting for…
He marched on, speeding over jagged earth, until he’d put about fifty metres between himself and the falcon. It waited behind him, hidden as best as it could be within an old crumbled town, recharging. It had enough power now to be effective again should they need to make a speedy getaway.
Now it was time to see if Commander Wexley would bite.
He drew the earpiece from his pocket, going over what he was planning to say a final time. He had it all figured out; as he’d said to the others, the logical thing for the CID to do right now would be to work with Ragan and his team. To his advantage, Richard Wexley was a rational man, as all high ranking soldiers tended to be. The problems might begin to arise when trying to get permission to act from President Rashmore. Yes, Wexley might see it Ragan’s way, but even if he did, he wasn’t about to subvert his own President and act without his authorisation, particularly when they were discussing the destruction of Remus Phantom’s research to stop it being used by a nation as ‘weak’ as the MSA. Convincing Rashmore of that threat…well, that might not be so easy, seeing as it was Rashmore himself who’d long commissioned Professor Phantom to develop the science.
Still, he couldn’t delay any longer. Taking another calming breath, he began pressing the earpiece to his ear, eyes glancing around once more at the desolate town behind him, and the war-torn, pockmarked landscape that surrounded it.
As he did so, however, he felt, and heard, a faint buzz in another pocket. He shuddered a second, so sudden was the sound, and turned his eyes down to the source. Curiously, he reached in and picked out a second earpiece; the one given to him by Dax. It was flashing red.
Brows furrowing, and interest spiking, he placed the earpiece to his ear and activated it.
“Yes, Dax,” he said, voice curious. “Have you discovered something?”
His hope bloomed momentarily. Could Dax have found out something about this supposed secret facility?
“Just something I think you should know,” said Dax in a businesslike manner that Ragan had quickly come to expect from the man. “I’ve been monitoring chatter across security networks. Seems that your old friend Mikel has been spotted.”
Ragan’s eyes narrowed.
“Where?” he growled.
“Cincinnati,” said Dax, without delay.
“Cincinnati,” repeated Ragan, fingers stroking his stubbly chin. “It’s a war zone there. One of the worst on the continent.”
“The worst, I’d say, and probably why he was spotted,” said Dax. “Lots of eyes. Lots of drones and surveillance from both the NDSA and WSA militaries. Any idea why he might be there?”
Ragan thought about it a moment. It wasn’t actually that surprising, given Mikel’s proclivities.
“He’s drawn to conflict like a moth to flame,” Ragan grunted. “War zones are like playpens to nano-vamps. I’d imagine there are plenty of Panthers there. He has a particular fondness for them, does Mikel. After his time with us, I suspect he’s desperate for a bit of a feeding. It’s actually perfectly logical for him to go there.”
“Well, just thought I’d pass on the information. Thought it might be of interest to you.”
“And you were right,” said Ragan. “I’m hoping you’ve got a more specific location than just ‘Cincinnati’? North, south of the river? Eastside, westside?”
“The situation is…fluid,” said Dax. “He was last spotted southeast from what I’ve managed to discover. As you say, he’s more interested in Panthers than any other nano-enhanced, and the eastern side of the city is where the NDSA forces are. He won’t be moving from there, least not until he’s satisfied his needs. I can keep an eye on things, update you if anything else is heard. I imagine the CID will be fully aware of his presence there, and will be making finding him a priority. Mikel is right at the top of their most wanted list. You remain a hot topic too, of course.”
“Thanks for the reminder, Dax,” said Ragan sarcastically. “Keep us posted if you can.”
He shut off the line, placing the comms device back into his pocket. His eyes turned once more towards the barren, scarred landscape, mental cogs cranking.
This was a new development that he didn’t see coming. In Ragan’s experience, that could be both good and bad. An opportunity, perhaps, but also a significant risk. So much of what they knew right now - or thought they knew - was speculative, based off of limited evidence and conjecture. Would Mikel be able to help clear things up?
Ragan paced, and found himself scoffing at the idea. No, Mikel wouldn’t help them, whether he knew anything or not. The group had decided, beyond all reasonable doubt, that Mikel had now passed the data onto Martha, who was most likely working with the MSA government given what they’d discovered. If there was a secret facility, then it was highly unlikely that Mikel would be aware of it. After all, he hadn’t even known that Martha was his employer until Ragan worked it out for himself, nor did he know what the contents of the disc were until Chloe told him. The idea of a wildcard like Mikel being given the location of a secret facility was fanciful at best.
No, going after Mikel would not be in their best interests now. Cincinnati was far too dangerous, a bloody war zone currently seeing the fiercest fighting on the entire continent. Were the group to go there, they’d be at risk of getting caught or worse, and that wasn’t going to serve anyone.
He shook his head of the idea, and then considered his next move, and the original reason for him wandering out here to seek some privacy - call Commander Wexley or not.
He thought about it for a few moments, wondering if anything had changed. For some reason, the update from Dax had thrown him. Actually, no, Ragan knew the reason full well; any time Mikel was mentioned, it got right into his head and under his skin. There was something about a man - a creature - who’d murdered your best friend, who’d
stabbed you in the heart, who’d stolen the data disc from right under your nose, not once but twice, and who’d almost killed the girl you loved…
He stopped short at the thought. Loved.
Did I just think that? he wondered. Do I really feel that way?
The idea drew a thoughtful smile, such a strange expression to adopt out there on those desolate plains. It was enough, too, to dampen his ire and thoughts of revenge against Mikel, replacing them with something else entirely; something quite the opposite.
He indulged the feeling for a second, and then turned away from it. His feelings for Chloe were, perhaps, stronger than he even imagined. Only through his subconscious mental ramblings did he suddenly realise just how strong they were.
But that wasn’t the point right now. He shook away all such thoughts - thoughts of Mikel, and the hatred that came with them; thoughts of Chloe, and the affection that they drew - and turned his mind back to logic and reason alone.
And in doing so, he realised that nothing had changed by what Dax told him. They had decided, as a group, that Ragan should contact the CID. Knowing that Mikel was in Cincinnati - which wasn’t far from where they were now - wasn’t going to alter that course.
He sucked in another breath, calming his nerves, and then thrust the earpiece into place, activating it without hesitation for fear of further delay. He heard the dialling tone sound, a low-pitched, slow beep. One after another the droning beeps came, before suddenly shutting off, replaced by the faint sound of activity, of a busy environment, a constant din in the background. Ragan knew instinctively what it was - the main command centre at the CID.
“Commander Wexley,” he said, maintaining a neutral tone. “Are you on the line, sir?”
Ragan heard a breath, short and raspy. There was no mistaking it - it was a grunt of utter displeasure.
“Sir,” came a voice; simmering, but maintaining a required level of calm. “You’ve got a nerve calling me that, Hunt.”
“You…you remain my superior officer, sir,” said Ragan. “Whatever’s gone on, I observe proper protocol.”
Ragan knew, before he’d even completed the sentence, that his choice of wording was poor.
“Proper protocol, you say,” murmured Wexley. “You fail to observe protocol at every goddamn turn, Hunt. Don’t speak to me about protocol…”
“I…I apologise for what happened, Commander,” said Ragan, refusing to tiptoe around the man, or the issue. “I did only what I felt was right.”
“Betraying me, the agency, your President, and your nation? You felt all that to be right?” barked Wexley.
Ragan had expected this rebuke, yet hoped that what his old commander, and his colleagues at the CID, really knew was limited. After all, the last time they’d seen him, he was waking Chloe and rushing her out of the lab, chasing down Mikel as he did. To Wexley, Mikel had been the one to steal the data. Ragan’s true intentions in destroying it, his role with Project Dawn, didn’t need to be voiced.
“I’m afraid so, sir,” said Ragan, defiant. “I couldn’t stand by and allow Chloe to be imprisoned for what her father did to her. It wasn’t right, sir. I’m not afraid to admit that I feel something for the girl. I had to do it…”
“You had to,” said Wexley, huffing. “And where does that leave us all now? We have no idea where the data disc has been taken, though our analysts consider it highly likely that the Western States are behind this, given Mikel is one of their ghastly creations. That will mean the complete subjugation of our nation, and the Southern Republic and Mid-States too. The WSA will be quick to finalise this godforsaken conflict, and may not stop there either. You have doomed us all, Hunt, with your stupidity…”
“I acted only to save an innocent girl, Commander,” said Ragan, playing his role, holding back the full truth.
“How chivalrous and noble of you, Hunt,” growled Wexley. He grunted to himself, and Ragan could hear him pacing, footsteps tapping. “I should have known something was wrong with you by the way you were acting. It was so damn clear, your affection for the Phantom girl. I wondered if that’s all it was when you took her from the CID. I hoped that it was just your youthful sentimentality driving you. But I never expected you to waste time in helping her rather than chasing down Mikel!” He sucked in a gasping breath. It sounded raspy from excessive smoking, something Wexley fell to when stressed.
“Sir, Mikel would have been gone by the time I got to him anyway.”
“And yet you and Chloe still attacked a contingent of Panthers! You attacked them on the roof, Hunt! You attacked your own brothers!”
“Yes, sir, I had no choice,” lied Ragan. “They were going to recapture Chloe, and slow down my chase. I needed to go straight after Mikel, not waste time dealing with red tape.”
“Red tape! You’ve been out of contact for days, Hunt. How am I to know what you’ve been doing, or what your true intentions have been. For all I know, you’ve been working as a double agent.”
“That…isn’t true, sir,” said Ragan, feeling a heavy stab of guilt. “I was foolish, perhaps, to feel such affection for Chloe. But my time has been taken in hunting Mikel without distraction. I have made progress, sir, great progress. I know who has the data…”
He heard the noise down the line quieten, Commander Wexley no doubt moving somewhere a little more private. When he next spoke, his voice had calmed, turning to a tight whisper.
“I’m listening, Hunt,” he said. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
A tiny smile hovered up Ragan’s face. He had a reputation for doing his own thing as part of the CID, and Wexley had always given him a long leash. During his hunt for Chloe, he’d gone a couple of days without contact prior to bringing her to New York. That precedent had been set, and the past few days of radio silence weren’t as indicting as they might have been with someone else. Still, he was pushing it. Really pushing it…
Ragan had to be careful now. He braced himself for a full interrogation as he prepared his next statement.
“It’s the MSA, sir,” he said. “I believe the government of President Chase is behind this theft.”
There was a silence on the line for a moment. Then something Ragan didn’t expect. No laughter, no derision. Just another question, delivered calmly.
“And what makes you say that?” asked Wexley, voice growing intrigued.
“The evidence supports it strongly, sir. I was able to apprehend Mikel several days ago. I managed to…”
“Sorry,” cut in Wexley. “Mikel, as far as I’ve been told, has been spotted in Cincinnati. I have a unit of Panthers on his trail right now. How exactly did you track and capture him? And why on earth didn’t you call it in?”
“That isn’t important right now, Commander,” said Ragan, brushing past it as quickly as he could. “What matters is, I took Mikel in, but he managed to escape. Before he did, however, I figured out who his employer was. A woman named Martha Mitchell, sir. A childhood friend of President Pamela Chase, and member of one of Chicago’s most influential families.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of the Mitchells,” said Wexley. “And…how did you discover all of this? Are you expecting me to just believe you after what you’ve done?”
“I don’t think you have a choice, sir,” said Ragan, imbuing a haste to his words, a severity that couldn’t be ignored. “I shall fully debrief you later, but right now we need to act fast. As for how I discovered Mrs Mitchell’s involvement - Mikel had a comms device on him, sir, that he was using to communicate with his employer and arrange transfer of the data. I discovered it on his person when I captured him, and I used it to imitate Mikel’s voice in a bid to find out who he was working for. I…I recognised the person on the other end of the line.”
“So Martha Mitchell is known to you? How?”
Ragan hesitated. He’d expected this question as well. Thankfully, working as an agent for the CID, he had a wealth of knowledge of influential people from all the nations. A lot of what he’d compiled never
needed to be explained. He had some leeway…he hoped.
“Hunt,” came Wexley’s voice again, prompting a response.
“I know little about her,” Ragan said suddenly. “But enough, sir. She is well known in certain circles, and you know I have my contacts…”
“Of course,” murmured Wexley.
A short silence followed, the sort held between two people considering one another. Ragan chose not to speak, thinking it best to allow Wexley the time to contemplate what he’d said, to consider his loyalty. He knew his old commander well. He knew he was taking this seriously, though remained suspicious of Ragan. If Ragan overspoke and ended up rambling, Wexley would take it as a sign of his dishonesty, as a method of covering his lies.
Eventually, when Wexley did speak again, his voice had taken on a rather more dubious tone.
“There’s a problem with what you’ve told me, Hunt,” he said, “and I think you know exactly what it is.”
Ragan nodded to himself as he stood there, a breeze hurrying across the plains and drawing a cloud of dust in its wake. He shielded his eyes, delaying a second in his answer. There were many problems one could unearth from what he’d said. Yet the most prominent was clear enough to see, and it was the very issue Ragan wanted to focus on.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “The MSA aren’t known to have any development program for synthetic soldiers. Nor are they thought to have any sufficiently in-depth research into consciousness-transference.”
“Precisely,” said Wexley. “Our most recent inspection teams concluded that the MSA had no such capabilities. Professor Phantom’s research would be useless to them.”
“I considered the same thing, Commander,” said Ragan. “But my gut says otherwise.”
“And why is that?”
“It’s Mrs Mitchell’s daughter, sir,” said Ragan, becoming suddenly aware of the time, his voice hurrying along as a consequence. “She’s very sick; incurable cancer. I questioned one of the girl’s nurses, and the woman told me as much. Yet I witnessed Martha’s daughter being taken from her estate in the dead of night, and out towards Lake Michigan. According to the nurse, she’s to go through a procedure of some kind, one the woman hadn’t been fully apprised of. I think that the procedure…”