by T. C. Edge
Chloe gripped the armrests as the falcon shot off, lungs seeming to constrict. The motion lasted only a moment as the falcon got up to speed, nose up and seeking the heavens, leaving the rolling prairies behind.
Finally, Chloe let out a breath.
She turned to Nadia, eyes stark, still wondering what the hell had just happened. The southern girl raised a weak smile.
“Are you OK?” she asked, tone calm, warm, and just what Chloe needed.
Chloe nodded, and some of her stress filtered away. They no longer needed to shout over the din in their ears. The effects of the sensory grenade were wearing off.
“I’m fine,” Chloe croaked. “You?”
Chloe noted a red stain on Nadia’s arm as she spoke, her combat gear ripped and ragged.
“You’re hurt!” she said, leaning forward.
Nadia followed Chloe’s eyes, and saw the wound. It was as though she hadn’t even felt it.
“It’s fine,” she said, quickly inspecting it. “Just a graze. It’s nothing.”
“Are you sure?” Chloe asked, worried. She needn’t be. It did look like a graze only, and Nadia’s nanites would heal her up quick.
Nadia smiled at her concern, and nodded, though the light grimace on her face suggested she was in some pain.
The pressure in the cabin quickly equalised as the jet continued to surge. Remus came hovering in, still brimming and bustling, his form pulsing as if pumped up by the thrill of the battle. He stayed in his drone form for a moment, before calming and forming back into a bird. He settled on Chloe’s shoulder, wings folding, as if to say ‘job done’.
“You saved me again,” Chloe whispered, looking down at him, right there before her eyes.. “Without you I’d be dead.”
Remus moved closer to Chloe’s cheek, nuzzling. How many times was that now? How many times would I have been killed without him?
She shook her head at the thought of it, the adrenaline still surging through her blood. Her hands were still sparking with the occasional jolt of electricity. Nadia noticed, staring at the zaps of white and blue.
“What happened?” she asked, shaking her head, eyes distant. “You shot that lightning.” She looked at her combat gear, singed in places.
“I shot at Mikel,” Chloe said. “He…got away.”
Footsteps clanked on metal treads, and the two girls looked up to see Ragan marching from down the passage, Tanner behind. The jet must be on autopilot. They looked haggard, troubled. Ragan’s eyes were shaded and dark. It was the face of a man who’d failed.
The group looked at each other, lost and shellshocked. No one spoke for a while. It was clear what they were all thinking. By now, they were meant to have the data, be on their way back to base. By now, it was meant to be over.
Things are never that easy, Chloe thought to herself bitterly. Nothing’s ever that easy.
She looked again to her allies. Only she’d seen what had happened. Only she knew the truth.
“He has the data,” she whispered. Eyes fell to her. “I saw him, Mikel. He came out of the farmhouse. He…he must have stashed it there.”
“And those soldiers?” Tanner asked. “Were they with him.”
Chloe shrugged wearily and shook her head.
“He fled when they came. They actually saved us, before they started shooting at us. If they hadn’t come, Mikel would have killed us all.”
“That makes no sense,” said Tanner, frowning. “Who were they?”
Chloe shrugged again.
“I don’t know.”
“And…how do you know all of this? Did the grenade not affect you?”
Chloe looked again at Remus, smiling.
“He saved me,” she said. “He probably saved us all.”
Another silence fell. The jet sliced quietly through the air, little more than a light hum of the engines disturbing the awkward lull. Eyes fell in contemplation. Postures sunk in defeat. They stood and sat in their circle, back at square one.
And a horrible realisation was dawning.
It had all been for nothing.
56
Mikel sat in his little jet, quietly drifting across the blue sky. He held a smile on his face. A smile of victory.
It was odd, really, for that to be the case. Yes, he’d escaped, and was a free man once more. But he’d been so tantalisingly close to finally draining the Phantom, feasting on that most delicious of meals. He’d have moved right onto Hunt after that, and probably the Southern Queen too, appetite permitting. And to finish things off, he’d have torn up Tanner’s face, but left him alive. That was the punishment he wanted for the man. That was the fate that man deserved.
He shook his head at the thought, though the smile didn’t leave. It was bittersweet, really. A mixture of success and failure. If those soldiers hadn’t arrived, then he’d have had it all his own way. Who were those soldiers, anyway, he mused idly. It didn’t matter now.
The little jet flew on, rising into a patch of high clouds. He’d been flying for twenty minutes now, plenty to put distance between himself and the others. He drew a breath, basking in his triumph once more. And the smell of those nanites…fading fast.
It was a relief. A relief that he wished to make permanent.
Sitting back from the controls, he activated the autopilot. He shuffled in his seat, and looked to the space behind him. The money bags sat in a line, tens of millions of dollars in various denominations and currencies. They were of little interest to Mikel.
No, his interests lay elsewhere now, and the turn the day had taken was, well, quite unexpected. Things had changed dramatically, and suddenly Mikel had something to fight for.
Something, perhaps, to live for.
He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the data disc, encased in its protective metal shell. He smiled as he looked at it. Bare hours ago, this had held so little interest for him. Now, it meant the world.
His plan had been formed when Chloe first spoke with him. When she sat there, smelling so glorious, and told Mikel just what was on the disc. He’d been disinterested at first, so distracted by the scent of her nanites as he was. But the more she spoke, and the more he thought, the more the realisation dawned.
This data can save me. This data can take away my hunger…forever.
After that, he just needed a way to retrieve it, and escape the clutches of Hunt and his crew. He played along dutifully, leading them to the right spot. He knew they wouldn’t trust him, but he also knew that they had no choice. His predicament seemed dire. And they seemed so desperate. He planned to tease Tanner, rile him up. He planned to secure freedom from his constraints, and snatch up a sensory grenade. He planned it all, but it relied on his captors too. And oh, how they were lured into his web.
He shook his head.
He thought better of Hunt, a slightly begrudging thing to admit. The man had thwarted him several times before, and yet he’d been so easily manipulated this time. Snatching up the sensory grenade during the struggle had been simple. With all those guns on him, and all those intense, open eyes, watching, he knew after that that he’d be able to disable them. Just long enough to get to the farmhouse and back. Just long enough, he’d hoped, to feed.
Alas, he didn’t get his final meal. But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was that he’d managed to steal another thing from Hunt. Another thing that he dearly needed.
From his pocket now, he drew out a tiny little orb. A small device that had been taken from him. A small device that he twirled between his fingers, several times, before placing into his ear.
He’d seen where Hunt had put it. He’d seen him drop it into his jacket pocket. All he needed to do was cause that little scuffle, snatch up the grenade, and retrieve the comms device too.
It had worked. He had won.
With his fangs finally retracting after days of weary extension, he lifted his hand and activated the device. He knew, now, who his employer was.
And he knew, too, that she’d be quite
desperate to strike a deal.
“We’ll be coming into land soon, Mrs Mitchell. Would you like a final drink before landing?”
Martha shook her head, and waved Rick away. She’d had one too many already, and they’d gone beyond the point of doing her state of mind any good. The burly bodyguard nodded and retreated down the passage to the cockpit. Martha lay her head back against the headrest, and shut her eyes.
The flight had served only to darken her mood, and she was still a long way from drawing up the courage to speak with her bosses. Informing them of the loss of the data might just mean her end. But she didn’t care about that. She only cared about her.
I’ve failed you, darling, she thought again. I’ve failed you.
With several large brandies in her, the thought caused a fiercer grimace than ever. She forced her eyes to squeeze tighter, refusing to give in to tears. No, she couldn’t. She had to stay strong. She had to stay strong for her.
She firmed herself, and opened up her eyes. She could feel the jet now beginning to descend, and turned her eyes to the window at her right. She recognised the lands immediately, even from this high vantage. She’d passed this way so many times she could draw it from memory, accurate to the last tree. Everyone knew their homeland. But few loved theirs like Martha did.
She sighed wistfully, and looked the other way, ready to take in the view through the windows on the left. Something caught her eye. A light, red and blinking.
It was coming from the comms device.
She started, eyes widening. She’d considered calling back, maybe trying to make a bargain, but hadn’t had the guts. It was Ragan on the line, she knew. By now he’d have destroyed the data, knowing how efficient he was in everything he did.
So why was he calling?
She reached out, tentative, and picked up the little orb. It had no tracker on it, no way of finding her location. And, in any case, she was hardly hiding now. A curiosity took her, replacing her fears. A faint hope bloomed, like a climber clinging to the edge of a cliff and seeing a figure approach.
Without thinking, without giving in to hesitation, she thrust the device into her ear, and made the connection. She didn’t put on her voice modulator. She didn’t see the point now.
“Hello,” she whispered.
There was a silence. Her heart fluttered. In the background, she could hear the low hum of an engine.
“Martha,” said the hissing voice on the line. It was the exact word she’d last heard on the comms device. The word that forced her to sever the connection. The word that made her realise that Ragan had found her out.
But now, something was different. There was no need for pretence.
“So you’re my employer,” the voice went on, musing. “I always thought you’d be a man.”
Martha frowned. Her body tensed. Had she been drinking too much brandy? Was her mind playing tricks?
She didn’t answer. She was seeking the right words, the right way to respond. Was this Ragan playing a game, trying to lure her in for capture? Or was it…
“It’s Mikel,” said the raspy voice, cutting into her thoughts. “You can speak, Martha, don’t worry.” Still, she didn’t. Her heart pounded violently. “Of course, you’re worried. You think this may be Hunt playing tricks. No, my dear, it isn’t. You can tell from my voice. You know it’s me.”
Martha felt a strange sensation warm her, a fuzzy feeling in her mind. His voice was seductive, strangely alluring. Just like it had been before…
Before. When I spoke with Mikel before…the real Mikel.
“Mikel,” she breathed, the truth suddenly dawning. “It is you, isn’t it?”
“Ah yes, it’s me, Martha.”
She felt a thrill. Her body rose from her seat, sitting up from her slump. Her eyes widened, breath caught. She steadied herself and asked, “Why are you calling?” with a whisper.
She could barely move, barely think. She lost all awareness of the noise of the jet, of the beauty of her homeland, of the gentle voices of her bodyguards chatting quietly in the cockpit. Everything centred on the voice in her ear. All else was black and dull.
“I think,” Mikel whispered, “that you know why I’m calling. I’ve been unfair to you, Martha. I’ve been difficult with my demands. But, I wish to make it up to you.”
The line went quiet. Martha didn’t dare breathe.
“I have good news,” the vamp went on. “I have your data, Martha. And I am free of Hunt’s clutches. If you would permit it, I’d like to make a deal.”
Martha allowed herself the smallest of smiles. Hopeful, burgeoning, but still wary.
“A deal,” she whispered, that little smile hovering. “And what do you want this time, Mikel? I cannot deliver Chloe or Ragan anymore. I’ve lost my position with Project Dawn.”
“Oh, that isn’t what I’m after,” said Mikel gently.
“Then…what?” asked Martha softly.
She could almost hear the smile in Mikel’s voice when he spoke again.
“Just an end to my pain, Mrs Mitchell. Just an end to my hunger.”
Martha frowned.
“You want…” she started, trailing off. Then she realised. Then she knew. A smile grew up on her lips. “You want to be free, don’t you, Mikel,” she said. “You don’t want to be a nano-vamp, anymore.”
Mikel chuckled lightly.
“No, Martha, I don’t. I want to be made immortal.”
THE END
The Phantom Chronicles will continue in book 3 - Phantom Legacy!
BOOK THREE - PHANTOM LEGACY
57
The skies that day had been blue through the morning. From leaving the little camp to the west of Devil’s Pike, to crossing into Nebraska to the old, abandoned farm, the weather had held out nicely. A positive omen, it had appeared, for the day ahead.
It was meant to be triumphant, a day of great victory. They were meant to have the data disc by now; they were meant to have destroyed it. They were meant to be travelling back to the base of Project Dawn, high in the Colorado mountains, vindicated for their failures and greeted as heroes of their cause.
None of that had happened.
As if the weather of the world was in line with their feelings, the skies had now turned dark. A blanket of sodden grey clouds had worked quickly down from the north, bringing with it the threat of an impending storm. A storm in the skies; a storm down below. They’d failed, and now the world would suffer for it.
The strike team sat aboard the falcon in a state of despondency. Eyes were down, brows furrowed. Heads shook in denial at just what had gone on. All had retreated into their personal thoughts, trying to work through the events of the day; the escape of Mikel, the stealing of the data, the arrival of those black-clad soldiers from the ridge. No one had answers. No one knew just what to do. Right now, they were merely floating in that jet, cloaked from sight and, perhaps, wishing they could just stay hidden forever.
It had been only about twenty minutes since they’d escaped the farm, and those dozen or so soldiers who’d appeared to come from nowhere. In order to catch their breath and their bearings, Ragan had ordered Tanner to head high, drifting into the quiet skies where the falcon could hover without detection. They needed time to think, to ponder, and eventually, to plan. The data had been taken from them once more, and it remained in Mikel’s grasp. The hunt, though temporarily scuppered, was still on.
Ragan rose from a chair at the briefing table, trying to brush aside his dejection. A large part of him wanted to wallow in his failure, indulge in self-rebuke, chastise himself for his stupidity in letting Mikel manipulate him like that. The nano-vamp had had them all on a string, making his demands, exploiting their desperation to win back the data. He’d worked Tanner into a fury, clouding Ragan’s ability to make sensible decisions. When he’d demanded release from his restraints, Ragan saw no other choice. He wanted that data so badly. He needed to do whatever it would take to get it.
He thought, foolishly, that it
would be fine as long as Chloe and Nadia had guns on him. He never expected Mikel to act as he did. Stupid though it was, he’d begun to believe that the vamp was willing to cooperate. He underestimated him, and perhaps overestimated himself. And that trick with the sensory grenade - how could I not see that coming?
He gritted his teeth at the thought, and paced up through the plane. The others were still sat quietly around the jet, each lost to a temporary slump.
It has to be temporary, thought Ragan. We can’t sit like this for long.
He hoped his movement would fuel him, break him from the lull. The others glanced up at him, perhaps thinking he’d thought of something. Chloe’s eyes were eager, hopeful. Above all others, Ragan knew, she saw this data as her responsibility. Just as he did.
I’ve failed you, he thought. He had to look away.
He took a few more paces, thinking. Nadia’s arm - she sustained an unpleasant gash during the battle from a bullet graze - had now been sewn up by Tanner and was wrapped in a bandage. Her nanites would work quickly to heal the wound, though the stitching would help speed the process. It wasn’t bad enough to hinder mobility. She sat next to Tanner now, both unusually quiet. For Tanner, in particular, that was odd. At another time, Ragan would be happy for the respite. But not today.
He needed to rouse his troops. The hunt wasn’t over yet.
He cleared his throat, turning on them. He found Chloe’s eyes eager again, Remus perched on her shoulder, standing as if to attention in his avian form. The sight lured a smile to Ragan’s lips. That was enough to draw away some of the tension.
He made to speak, but realised he didn’t have much to say. Instead, he hesitated, then posed a question. He needed to get a dialogue going.
