Phantom Legacy: The Phantom Chronicles, Book 3

by T. C. Edge

“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 b
een fully apprised of. I think that the procedure…”

  “Is to transfer her consciousness into a synthetic host,” came Wexley’s voice, doubtful. “Your mind is running away with you, Hunt. Do you really think the MSA could develop this science under our noses? And those of the WSA inspection teams as well?”

  “Yes sir, I do. Oversight has become increasingly lax in recent years, given the heightened state of conflict between the WSA and NDSA. LA and New York have not been paying attention, Commander Wexley. It’s hubris, sir. We ignore the downtrodden, and they rise up to defeat us. I assure you that the MSA have developed this capability. As you say, there would be no sense in them trying to retrieve the data unless they could use it. I’ve been chasing up on this for days now, sir, and I’m completely convinced of it.” He drew a breath, calming himself. “Commander, you once put great faith in me, and I broke that trust. However, there is no reason for me to lie about this. I am not trying to deceive you. I am merely letting you know that the MSA are about to make a significant breakthrough, and we have to act before it’s too late.”

  Ragan stopped, his words cutting off, drifting off on the wind and joining the dust and detritus floating by. He looked back to the falcon, to see that the others had gathered outside, looking over to him with questioning eyes. This was it, right now, the crux of it. He needed Wexley to believe him. The whole goddamned world needed it.

  “I will concede,” began Wexley after a time, “that you do have a point over our relaxed oversight. We haven’t been quite so diligent of late in observing and scrutinising the MSA. Other concerns have become of far greater import.”

  Ragan listened silently, refusing to interrupt. Wexley went quiet for a few more moments, as if trying to siphon through his options, work out whether or not his old agent was being truthful.

  “However, after recent events, it’s very hard for me to take you at your word,” he went on. Ragan felt his heart sink. “For all I know, this could all be part of some grand ploy of yours, a distraction of some kind, some sort of game you’re playing that I cannot yet perceive.” He drew a breath. “Do you have any actual evidence to support your claim?”

  Evidence, Ragan thought, shaking his head.

  “I…I don’t need evidence, sir,” he replied with conviction. “I have spent the last few days gathering information, trying to make up for what I did. I need you to take it seriously, sir. We need to begin scanning immediately for possible research sites across the MSA, with a particular focus around Lake Michigan. We need to…”

  “To do nothing,” cut in Wexley, abruptly shutting Ragan down. “You’re telling me to divert important resources and manpower towards searching for something that probably isn’t there. Your actions of late have made you untrustworthy. For God’s sake, man, you haven’t been in contact for days, and the last we saw of you, you were helping Chloe Phantom, the most wanted person on the continent, break free of the CID! And taking out a host of Panthers at the same time! How can you possibly expect me to trust you?”

  “Because of what we’ve discovered, sir!” breathed Ragan, exasperated. “I’m not lying to you…”

  “We?” murmured Wexley.

  Shit, Ragan thought.

  “Ah, I see,” continued Wexley. “So she remains with you, does she? You’re still protecting Miss Phantom. It’s no surprise, I suppose, after the lengths you went to to save her. You’re operating alongside a fugitive, Hunt. And you’re becoming one yourself…”

  A silence fell down the line. How could Ragan make him believe? Everything he’d said was fanciful, if within the realms of credibility. Ragan acted like this occasionally. He had to make him understand.

  Ragan looked again at his companions, waiting patiently. At Chloe, standing beside the falcon, with Remus on her shoulder, hands clasped nervously together. She smiled at him supportively, and he felt some stress fade. He loved that smile. He loved it…

  He loved her.

  And then he said it.

  “I love her,” he whispered. His smile grew as he spoke the words. He repeated them again, louder. “I love her, sir.”

  “What?” grunted Wexley, incredulous. “You…love who? Miss Phantom?”

  Ragan knew it was the right thing to say. It wasn’t a lie. Not this.

  “Yes, sir,” he whispered. “I couldn’t help what I did. I couldn’t let her be taken in, punished, even killed for something she had no control over. I’ve chased her, sir, for a long time. I had to save her. I had to…”

  He could all but see Wexley’s expression. The discomfort on his face at hearing Ragan’s words. But all men, no matter who they were or what they’d been through, could understand what it felt like to love. Could understand the things you’d do for it. The mad things. The crazy things. The mistakes, perhaps, that it would force you to make.

  “I…can only apologise, sir, for everything that’s happened,” Ragan went on tentatively. “I couldn’t get in touch after what I did. I tried my best to get Mikel, to find the data, to make things right. He got away, sir. He bested me again, I’m ashamed to admit. But what I’m telling you is the truth. The MSA have it now. It is out of our reach, Commander. We have no choice now but to find out where they’ve stored it, and destroy the facility. If we don’t, they may just unleash hell upon these lands.”

  He stopped, letting his words settle down the line. The din of the command centre seemed quieter than ever, just a distant blur of noise. He waited patiently, hoping, praying, looking over at Chloe, her white teeth shining under the yellow sun.

  “I can’t say, Ragan,” said Wexley eventually, “that I understand how you can speak of love for a girl you don’t know. But…I do know that we’re all different. And I know what your profile says about you. You have a sensitive side, son. You’re not the hardened soldier you appear.”

  “No, sir,” whispered Ragan, eyes still locked on Chloe.

  “But none of it absolves you of your crimes. Your actions have been erratic, and severely detrimental to our nation. But…you have also served us well, and with distinction, for many years.”

  Ragan stayed quiet. He let Wexley continue.

  “I am at a loss of what to do here,” the commander went on, breathing out. “I want to trust you, Ragan, but you have little support here now.”

  “Trust your instincts, sir,” said Ragan. “What do they tell you?”

  “My instincts clearly need retuning,” murmured Wexley, a light tone of humour infecting his voice. “I never once thought that you’d betray this agency…”

  Betray. Ragan hated the word, cringed at hearing it. He could lie to his old commander all he wanted, pretend that his intention was only to save Chloe, and not take the data for himself, to destroy it once and for all. But he knew the truth. He had betrayed them. He had his reasons, important reasons, yes. But still, the word struck hard, sinking in deep.

  “I wish it hadn’t come to that,” Ragan said eventually, softly. “But what’s done is done, sir. I’m passing on important intel that you must believe.”

  “Hmmmmm, perhaps you’re right,” said Wexley. “My job here is to assess intelligence and act accordingly. However, the source of the intelligence must first be questioned, and proven valid, before anything else is done. You have yet to convince me, Ragan.”

  “Then how?” Ragan asked, growing in impatience. “How am I to prove my loyalty to you, to the CID?”

  Ragan paced around, feet scratching over the craggy tundra. His friends still watched on, silent, Remus now fluttering about, like a child wishing for attention. Ragan managed a smile at the sight. Perhaps that was why the little drone was doing it, he wondered. Perhaps he could sense his stress…

  “You want to prove yourself, do you Ragan?” asked Wexley firmly. “Then bring me proof of what you’ve said.”

  “How? I have no access to intelligence without you,” lied Ragan. He did, he had Dax, but wasn’t willing to mention that now.

  “Then bring me a witness,” grunted Wexley. �
��You say Mikel was working for this Martha Mitchell and the MSA. He can corroborate your story. Bring him in, and we’ll take this seriously. I won’t be able to convince anyone of a strike against the MSA on your word alone.”

  “But sir, he’s…elusive,” said Ragan, backtracking. “If your Panthers can’t find him, why should I?”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way,” said Wexley. “This vamp has a particular liking for you. Get yourself to Cincinnati, and he’ll find you, I’m sure of it.”

  “And the Panthers? How can I know you won’t try to lure me into a trap, Commander? I need your word that you’ll let me work on this alone, without interference.”

  “You have my word, Hunt,” grumbled Wexley. “And it’s worth a whole lot more than yours. Now get this done, and then we’ll talk. Until then, you’re on your own.”

  Before Ragan could speak again, the line cut off, leaving a silence hanging in the air. He looked up to the group, now growing increasingly restless. He drew the earpiece from his ear, and shook his head.

  He’d screwed that up entirely.

  They weren’t going to like this.

  19

  Chloe stood at the briefing table, Remus on her shoulder, a holographic map of Cincinnati lit up before them. She’d never been to the city before, which wasn’t much of a surprise. For some time, it had been a place beset by tragedy, one of the major points of conflict between the great militaries of the NDSA and WSA. With the latter ever creeping on and trying to assert their authority in the east, the city had fallen to rubble and ruin, a burnt out shell of a place. No different, then, to so many others.

  A few minutes ago, Ragan had marched back into the falcon, head shaking, eyes half covered in a frown. He’d gone on to quickly update the group on his conversation with his old commander at the CID, Richard Wexley, which was, apparently, preceded by a bit of interesting news from Dax.

  Mikel had been spotted, and now, once again, they needed to take him in.

  Tanner was bemused by it all, his smile one of utter stupefaction at this latest turn.