by T. C. Edge
Rick looked on a moment longer, and then departed.
Alone again, Martha returned to the darkness of her thoughts. She so longed to get home, return to her estates outside Chicago. The world was so full of war and toil, yet back home all was peaceful. The verdant gardens and flower beds. The trickling fountains and steams that criss-crossed the grounds. The stately rooms, the beautiful quarters.
And the people. Particularly one.
She imagined it all in her mind’s eye, thought of a better time. Before she’d turned her mind towards betrayal, playing such an ugly role in something that might cause so much distress for others. She’d been promised, of course, that the research of Remus Phantom would be used for good, that it wouldn’t alter the shape of the war, and the world, as so many feared, including herself.
She hadn’t believed those promises. People with power, she knew, only ever wanted more. And desire made a person easy to corrupt. Yet she played along anyway, because she had no choice. She was ruled not by her head, but her heart.
And now, she’d failed.
21
Colonel Slattery stood in the briefing room of the command centre, the walls lit with maps, data, intelligence.
Alongside him, Benedict Oppenheimer gazed forward, the two men looking up at a particular image. It was of the wildlands to the north, a place of little renown or interest to anyone these days, about a hundred miles from the town of Devil’s Pike in South Dakota. The image was a map, and upon that map, a little red dot was blinking.
Moments ago, Slattery had marched into the room with Oppenheimer behind. The latter had been hastily roused from his sleep over in his chambers, the Councilman rather surprised to have been so rudely interrupted from pleasant dreams of a place far from here.
He was old, the oldest man on the base, and had little tolerance for people so early in the morning. His wealth made him arrogant and impatient with people. Even someone with the clout and authority of Colonel Slattery wasn’t immune to his ire.
On this occasion, however, he quickly overcame his displeasure at being woken under the force of Slattery’s posture, voice, and that eager look in his eye. The Colonel had quickly filled the older man in on what had been going on, a matter of great interest for Oppenheimer. After all, he was as committed as anyone to having the data destroyed. He considered the unchecked progress of science, and the development of what he termed ‘non-humans’, to be a betrayal of humanity. He was also a God-fearing man, and believed no one should have power over life and death beyond the Almighty.
Dressing quickly, and impeccably as always in a fine white suit that complemented his white locks and brows, he followed Slattery to the command centre as speedily as his old legs would take him. On the way, he queried just how the Colonel had discovered the secret tracer he’d had placed in the falcon.
Slattery had explained on the walk, but made quite certain that Oppenheimer feel no ill-will towards Brian for his role. The white-haired man grumbled - he valued loyalty and secrecy very highly - but conceded that, given the circumstances, he’d let this one pass.
Now, they’d just entered the briefing room together, speedily lighting the wall ahead with a map of the region around Devil’s Pike. Jason was with them, inputting the tracking code Oppenheimer gave him for the falcon. All watched with intense anticipation as two straight lines - one vertical, the other horizontal - worked their way up and down the map, scanning.
Moments later, they’d stopped, criss-crossing at a particular point. Now far from Devil’s Pike, that red dot started blinking.
“X marks the spot,” said Slattery, staring keenly at the little light. His fatigue was now entirely gone. The hunt was back on.
“That’s where my jet is, out there in the wildlands?” asked Slattery, his voice deep, precise. “What on earth is Hunt thinking?”
“He’s thinking about stealing the data, Benedict,” said Slattery.
“Are you sure about that?” Oppenheimer seemed bemused. “Hunt has only ever been loyal to the cause. And what of the rest of his team?”
Slattery wasn’t sure, but he had to keep his mind upon the worst case scenario. His military training told him never to jump to conclusions, and consider all options. He had done so, and everything pointed towards Ragan’s guilt.
“And what about Martha,” went on Oppenheimer when he got no answer. “You think she’s in on this too?”
“I don’t know, Benedict.” Slattery’s voice almost snapped. He didn’t care for these questions from a civilian right now, no matter how influential and wealthy. “The evidence is pointing towards collusion. They may have been working together from the start to retrieve the data from Chloe, and take it from under our noses.”
“But for who?”
Slattery didn’t answer.
He moved down the table, ordering for Jason to activate an immediate comms line to the golden eagle. Jason quickly patched them through, and Captain Quinn’s voice flooded down the line.
“Colonel Slattery, sir.”
“Quinn,” raced Slattery’s voice. “How close are you to Devil’s Pike?”
“Making good progress sir, airspace is clean and conditions are good. Should be there shortly.”
“I need you to change course immediately, Captain,” said Slattery.
“Sir?”
“We have a location for the falcon. It’s situated about a hundred miles northwest of Devil’s Pike in an isolated patch of forest. You need to land nearby without detection and make your approach on foot. We believe Hunt is there with his team, and possibly Mikel.”
“How did you come by their location?” asked Quinn, surprised.
“There’s a tracer in the falcon I wasn’t aware of,” said Slattery. “It’s accurate to the millimetre. We have their exact location, Captain. I’ll have Jason patch through the coordinates.”
“And you’re sure that Hunt is there?”
“No, but it’s likely. He wouldn’t so easily abandon the jet, and that region of forest smacks of someone looking to stay out of sight. I want you to disable them, Quinn. No killing unless necessary. Bring Hunt back to me, and the data with him.”
“Yes, sir,” grunted Quinn, voice resolute. “I’ll clear up this mess for you.”
The line cut off, and Jason set about patching through the coordinates electronically.
Slattery began pacing, side to side. He needed to move, bursting suddenly with a nervous energy. Oppenheimer watched him, intrigued. He’d known Colonel Slattery for some time, but had never seen him truly in his element. The Colonel was notorious for keeping the council from his operations here at the command centre as much he could. Oppenheimer, given his distaste for such things, never chose to try to subvert that authority or poke his nose in where it wasn’t wanted.
He’d rarely even been here to the command centre, in fact. And he’d never seen Slattery looking so haggard, tired, and yet nervously energetic at the same time.
He was quite the picture.
Stamping, Slattery’s mind spread forward impatiently. Things had taken a sudden, and telling turn, one that Hunt would likely fail to see coming. Now, for the first time, Slattery felt like he was getting ahead.
He smiled gleefully, thrilled by the conflict. Once, perhaps, he’d have been in the thick of it, fighting as he had with distinction on the front line. He used to love it, live for it. He was born for war, as so many claimed they were in these dark and dangerous times.
It was convenient, he always thought, how so many were born for war, just when war became so prominent. What if all these folk, born for war as they claimed, had lived in another time, a more peaceful time? What would they do with themselves then? It seemed that the world called upon the right people when they were needed, unearthing heroes and warriors to fight. And certainly, in this desolate, broken world, Slattery considered himself one.
Now his place was here, however, commanding from afar, and not out there on the battlefield. It wasn’t quite the same, but
neither was he. He glanced at his rudimentary bionic hand, smiling. It was always a reminder of a time when he’d march to battle with his troops, even as his rank grew lofty enough for a desk job away from all the fighting.
No, not Jeremiah Slattery. He chose to stay in the field as long as he could, and he’d suffered for it, losing half his arm. But really, he lost much more than that. He lost his place in the world for a time, he lost his will to fight. Until, one day, a new light bloomed. He was discovered by Project Dawn, then nothing like it was now. He helped found it, build it, develop the Crimson Corps. And though commanding from this base wasn’t the same as being out there amongst it all, his calling was now much higher.
He had the fate of the world on his shoulders, as he saw it. Millions of people depended on him to get this job done, and generations might suffer if he didn’t. He didn’t care for the plaudits of his actions. He didn’t care for the glory. The gratitude and respect of his peers, here in the mountains, was plenty for him. And he would not stop until he’d repaid their faith.
The thought made him grimace. If only Chloe had been killed before Hunt and Martha helped her escape. How could I be so blind? he thought. How could I let her slip through my fingers?
He cast the self-rebuke aside. There was no place for it now, no point in dwelling on the past. He had a final chance, a final hope, and he would see this…
“Sir.”
The voice broke him from his meandering thoughts. He stopped pacing, craggy brows lifting, and turned towards Jason. The young man was looking up at the screen, at the blinking red dot. Slattery followed his eyes, and snarled at what he saw.
The goddamned light was moving…
22
The falcon lifted into the sky, hovering above the trees, its occupants all fastened in tight. For the strike team, that meant being held in by their seat harnesses. For Mikel, that meant the same as it had always meant; wrists bounds behind his back and ankles to chair legs. In order to ensure the loose chair didn’t go tumbling down the jet’s interior as the falcon took flight, it had been fastened to railings.
All in all, no one was trusting Mikel quite yet. His words, until they carried them towards something tangible and concrete, meant nothing.
Chloe sat in her seat, already used to the strange change in velocity as the falcon first lifted, hovering high, then pulsed off through the sky. Outside, it was blue, the sun climbing and warming the lands. There didn’t appear to be a cloud in sight; a positive omen for the day ahead.
And the group were feeling positive. Mostly. It seemed that their captive had come around, and given them what they wanted to hear. They had a location now, to which they were headed, and one that made some sense. It was past Devil’s Pike, over towards the southeast by some two hundred miles. Given Mikel had been travelling westwards from New York over on the eastern coast, it seemed likely that he’d have stopped off to hide the data somewhere in between there and Devil’s Pike.
After Mikel had given them the location, the group gathered quickly and excitedly around the briefing table, loaded up an interactive satellite map, and inserted the coordinates. The empty plains of old Nebraska came into view, mostly unclaimed now and part of the neutral zones. The location of the data looked to be a small grouping of buildings, perhaps a farm. There were grain stores, barns, a windmill. It looked like a relic of an older time.
It appeared to be a reasonable place for someone to stash something, with a thousand hiding spots across the several small structures in the area. As they perused the satellite imagery, Mikel merely looked on from his chair, a flat expression on his face. He wasn’t being his usual self, hissing and smirking. It gave them further hope that he was coming around, rational mind taking charge.
Their hope that the nano-vamp was telling the truth was further supported by a news article, the sort that no one ever wanted to read. As they looked upon the satellite image and interactive map of the region, several new windows opened up before them in holographic form. Each window relayed pertinent information about the region, sometimes including the latest news coming out of each area.
One article provided further evidence of Mikel’s recent presence in the area. Not far from the location he’d provided, a few dozen miles down an old highway, a series of gruesome murders had been committed in a little diner set in a lay-by. Nadia spotted it, scanning the text and looking at the macabre pictures. The others noticed her face curling up in horror, before turning dangerous as she looked over at Mikel.
“This was you, wasn’t it,” she growled.
Mikel didn’t answer. He merely looked away.
“What is it?” Ragan asked, curious.
Nadia had then blown up the hologram for all to see, displaying the pictures of the massacre at the diner. Nine innocent people, half with puncture wounds to their necks, bodies brutalised and mangled, the diner’s furnishings and floor coated in blood.
An equal feeling of disgust spread through the others. Tanner drew a sharp breath and started marching at Mikel, reaching to his sheath and drawing a knife.
Ragan had to step ahead of him, holding him back.
“Don’t, Cliff,” he growled quietly. “We’ve made a deal. We can’t go back on it.”
“A deal?” Tanner seethed, looking past Ragan. “A deal with that! That thing with no soul!”
“Yes,” said Ragan calmly. “You’ve seen enough death for a hundred lifetimes, Cliff. What’s another few dead bodies?”
Ragan hadn’t meant for the words to come out like that. He wasn’t intending to be callous, or heartless. He was just trying to put things in perspective.
“I know it’s horrible,” he went on, explaining. “But we have to finish the mission. OK? We have to, Cliff. And we have to honour our agreement.”
Tanner’s chest heaved angrily. He took a moment to compose himself, shutting his eyes, and then gently slid the knife back into its sheath.
He looked directly at Mikel.
“I’ll honour the agreement,” he said to him. “You lead us to the data, and we’ll let you go with the money. I’ll even give you a head start,” he growled. “But after that, all bets are off, vamp. I’m coming after you, you hear me. I’m coming after you!”
He turned and stormed off into the cockpit, unable to look at Mikel any longer. Ragan let out a breath, and looked at their captive.
“Why did you do it?” he asked, voice almost disappointed. He could understand Mikel hunting him, or Chloe, or any nano-enhanced. He couldn’t help that. He was designed for that. But these people? They were innocent. They were just…normal.
Mikel didn’t raise his usual smirk. His face remained quite placid.
“Habit,” he whispered. “You have no idea what it’s like being me. I…I didn’t ask to be like this. I didn’t choose it.”
Ragan looked at him curiously. Some small part of him almost felt pity for the creature. It was so strange, after what he’d done. All the innocent lives he’d taken. He reached for his chest instinctively, feeling the scar above his heart. That was the least of his reasons for hating Mikel. The two were mortal enemies, destined to fight. This scar was a part of their war. Murdering innocents was not.
“We’re taking off in a few minutes,” Ragan had said, looking to the girls watching on. “Get strapped in. I’ll fasten his chair.”
He’d moved forward, locked Mikel’s chair to the railings, and stood.
“The data better be where you say it is, Mikel,” he warned. “If it isn’t, I won’t hold Tanner back.”
Then he walked down towards the cockpit, and the falcon took flight.
He didn’t see the smile finally rise on Mikel’s face.
Now, the jet was pressing through the air, hurtling swiftly for the little set of buildings out in the Nebraskan wilderness. Ragan sat in the co-pilot’s seat, watching the world pass by. They were staying low, making cloaking easier. It also helped in spotting incoming trouble, should any drones or aircraft of the various nations be pat
rolling the area.
Tanner held the controls, knuckles white.
“Do you really trust him?” he growled without turning from the windshield.
Ragan looked over. Tanner’s tanned face was flushed red in anger still. He was a man of extremes, common for those who’d grown up as he had. His humour and behaviour towards women was a cover. Inside, he raged, Ragan knew. And sometimes that rage came out.
“Not as far as I can throw him,” answered Ragan. “You can never trust a nano-vamp.”
“So what’s all this about then? Why are we going on this wild goose chase? He might just be leading us astray.”
“He might,” admitted Ragan, “but what choice do we have? I don’t trust him, Cliff, but I’m not sure he’s got a great deal of choice either. Sometimes lack of choice trumps lack of trust. It’s a good deal he’s getting here. Freedom. Payment. And you know he’ll come after us again.”
“I hope he does. It’ll save me the damn trip.”
Ragan laughed lightly. It wasn’t mocking. It was supportive. He wanted all this to be over too. Once it was, he’d join Tanner in that hunt. He’d make Mikel pay for all he’d done.
“And what about us?” Tanner asked. “We don’t trust him. Does he trust us?”
“I doubt it,” said Ragan.
Tanner shook his head.
“So we’re basically like two people with guns at each other’s heads. Two people who hate each other and want the other dead. First one to lower their weapon…done for. It’s not a good way to make a deal.”
“Nope, but there are four of us and one of him. We hold the cards here. I’m not entirely sure it serves him to try to deceive us. Best we stay positive and assume he’s leading us the right way.”
“I don’t like making assumptions when so much is on the line.”
“Neither do I, but I’m confident anyway. We’ll keep a close eye on him the whole time, and will carefully scan the area before we arrive to ensure he hasn’t got any buddies lying in wait. Best we can do.”
