Chapter Text
The plan had been simple. Hatch was not the type of man to leave anything up to chance, so low variables was a good sign. Kylee had been simple. Grace had been simple. Ian had been simple. Tanner was supposed to be just another recruitment.
Maybe not “just another” - he knew Daisy Herman from her position at Pasadena Hospital. A pediatrician. She’d signed up for the CNI project to “be a part of something bigger than herself”, as she’d put in her application. Four months after the project ended, she moved out of Pasadena, and completely off of the Elgen’s radar. The digging they’d done early on had been too deep, perhaps, going off of registered passports and physical mail. Getting spiders and putting a bounty up for hackers hadn’t yielded anything either. In the end, it was merely a case of Occam’s razor: she’d moved back in with her parents in Montana. Locating them took some time - she’d been smart to run off to Powder River County, out in the fields, far from the nearest sign of civilization.
But the plan was still the same: go inside, introduce himself, and his chosen Glow for the trip - Quentin, as was his usual pick. (He didn’t like using Tara on the first bout of introductions unless it was necessary. Government men and law enforcement could be convinced to make wild decisions but no one would doubt it. Loving parents took more effort to be coaxed into giving up their child. Quentin was a model student. He was a shining example of what their child could become.) They would talk with Tanner and his parents about the Elgen Academy, butter them up with praises of their child and his unique abilities, offer free tuition and board, everything a family living on a sheep ranch in the middle of nowhere would want for their son.
But when they’d arrived at the house that evening, they’d been told that Tanner was at a friend’s house for the night. Suspicious, but ultimately not impossible. There were three other farms in the area, after all. So, they improvised a bit. Nothing not accounted for, of course. One car with guards stayed behind to watch over the house from a distance, while Hatch, Quentin, and their chauffeur drove to the nearest town for the night.
It was not ten minutes later when they received a call via radio. A car had just left the ranch’s driveway, and was now driving 90 miles per hour trying to outpace them.
It was supposed to be simple. And yet…
Hatch’s car wasn’t built for high speed chases - or perhaps Hatch himself wasn’t built for high speeds - so he kept a radio close. “Update, Stephenson. How close are we to them?”
“They’ve gone down five miles per hour, but they’ve still got a lead.” Stephenson answered.
“Dispatch Squad B. Block off the road. But get them far enough away from their neighbors. We don’t want to make a big fuss tonight.” Hatch said.
There was muffled chatter from inside the car. Finally, Stephenson answered. “Yes, sir.”
From the seat behind him, Hatch could hear Quentin shuffle. “I could try using an EMP, if you want.”
“We’re not risking the damage to Elgen equipment.” Hatch said. “Or to anyone else’s homes.
Quentin nodded and gave a quick “Yes, sir”, but he was clearly still stewing about it, legs bouncing, restless.
The drive was slow, agonizingly so. Hatch tapped his fingers against the side of the walkie talkie. The occasional update he got from Stephenson or any of the other guards only told him they were getting farther and farther away from the farmland, onto the backroads. Unfortunately, that meant they were all slowing down, because the company cars were not built for rock and dirt. Especially not tonight of all nights. A light snowfall had begun dusting the ground less than an hour ago, and the roads had been slick with ice when they arrived.
“Sir-” Stephenson began, voice crackling on the speaker. “We’re getting close. They’re slowing on the ice. Going 50 miles per hour. Do you suggest a forceful stop or a pullover?”
Hatch already knew what he wanted, but the words barely escaped his lips. “Forceful-”
Stephenson suddenly let out a sharp curse, and Hatch could hear the tires squeal. “Squad B has been hit! Everyone-” And then she stopped again, and let out a gasp.
“What’s going on out there?” Hatch demanded. “Stephenson! Report!”
“Target lost control of the vehicle and crashed.”
“Into a tree?”
“…No.” A swallow. The car had clearly slowed to a stop. “Target skid 90 degrees to the left. Squad B’s captain ran into it.”
Hatch froze. A curse slipped between his lips. “Well? Are they still in the car?”
“…Unknown, sir.” When she spoke, her voice was level. Almost level. “We’re going to have to look for survivors.”
Hatch pushed his way through the scene of the crime. The only light he had was his own flashlight, and the shine from the guards’ headlights - the ones that doubled as doctor’s assistants. The Herman’s bright blue four door car was resting on slick ice roads. The right side was halfway crushed inward, the doors forced open.
Two bodybags sat next to the car, zipped tight.
“What happened?” Hatch yelled. “Is he safe?”
“Sir!” A young man he approached - clearly a new hire - began explaining. “EL-11 is safe. Sir!”
“At ease.” Came the grumble from the young man’s superior, Sergeant Stephenson. She shooed him off to the crime scene, before addressing Hatch. “Eleven’s safe, just unconscious. Unfortunately, the crash caused a concussion and the tumble got him covered in glass. They’re doing a more thorough damage assessment right now.”
“Who let this happen?” Hatch demanded. “I specifically said not to cause a scene under any circumstances.”
“Sir, they crashed into us first.” Stephenson replied. “The swerve made them lose control on the ice and they crashed on their own.”
The corner of Hatch’s lip twitched downward. That was no excuse, in his eyes. But the last time he made this known, the board had ruthlessly shot him down for refusing to account for accidents. So he ignored the thought and moved on. “Who’s in the bags?”
“Mr. Wilson and Mrs. Herman.” Stephenson explained. “Both died in the crash. Their sons were the only survivors.” Hatch could see that: the stretcher in the van was being tended to by a pair of women. “Joseph Wilson sustained less trauma from the crash. He’s fully conscious.”
“Where is he now?”
“In squad car A. He’d being examined for physical injury at the moment. There’s heavy bruising on his torso and legs, as well as the possibility of internal bleeding.”
That tracked with the symptoms they’d been given by Dr. Vaughn. “How likely are the complications?”
“Low.” Stephenson said. “Tanner had his body wrapped around his brother when we arrived on the scene. It seems he absorbed most of the damage that Joseph would have received.”
Hatch looked into the van, at Tanner’s unconscious body. A boy with ragged red hair going down to his shoulders, blood streaked down his fair skin, bandaged, bruised. His right leg was elevated.
“It’s going to be more than a few broken bones, sir.” Stephenson said. She paused, adding. “Mrs. Herman was on the phone with 911 when we arrived. We’ll be expecting police choppers.” When Hatch didn’t respond, she bowed her head. “I apologize for this mess. I should have done something to prevent this.”
“No.” Hatch said. He pressed his hand to his chin, index finger at his lip as he watched Tanner’s body as a sling was placed around his leg. “We can work with this.” He reached for his pocket, retrieving his cell phone. The phone rang four times before the receiver picked up. “Mr. Riegel?”
The man on the end of the line spoke. “Hatch! It’s been a long time! What’s got you calling me so early in the morning?”
Hatch smiled. “I’m going to need your assistance.”