by Will Hill
“This can’t end like this,” he said, his voice low and so unlike his usual tone that frowns of surprise appeared on the faces of his friends. “This can’t be the last time we’re going to sit like this, the three of us together, alive and in one piece. It just can’t. Everything we’ve done, the lives we’ve saved, and this is what it comes down to? The two of you and everyone else flying off into the night to fight God knows what? It’s crazy.”
“Matt,” said Jamie, gently. “What else are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes shining fiercely under the fluorescent light. “OK? All I know is that everything changed for me when I met you. When I met all of you. So you have to promise me that you’ll come back. Promise me that you’ll make it through this, and that you’ll come home.”
Larissa winced. “Matt …”
“Just promise,” he said, his voice rising alarmingly. “Promise me, right now.”
Jamie looked him square in the eye. “I promise to try,” he said. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to get us home safe. That’s going to have to be good enough, mate.”
“I promise the same,” said Larissa. She was looking at him with obvious concern. “I really do.”
Matt breathed out a long, low rush of air, and felt the panic that had been climbing through him abate, ever so slightly. “OK,” he said. “I guess that will have to do. And thank you. It means a lot to me.”
“It’s all right,” said Jamie, smiling at him. “It just means that you don’t get to leave any details out when we ask you about Natalia.”
Matt groaned. “Honestly?” he said. “At a time like this?”
Larissa shrugged. “What better time could there be than right before the end of the world?” she said, and grinned wickedly. “Besides, what else are we supposed to do until we go to the hangar? Spill your guts, my friend, and take your time about it. We want to know everything.”
“I don’t know about you,” said Jamie Carpenter, “but I’m starting to feel a lot better about this.”
He was standing on the tarmac of the airport’s southern runway, looking towards a pair of huge hangars that stood open to the night air. They were the only centres of light for more than a mile in any direction; the French government had shut down the airport under the cover story of a mercury contamination of the facility’s water supply, allowing it to be used as the rallying post for what was now officially known as the Combined Operational Force. With the FTB and the SPC to the north and Blacklight to the west, there had never been a need for a supernatural Department in France, but Jamie was sure that Cal Holmwood and the other Directors were extremely grateful for the French government’s assistance; the airport was barely forty minutes’ flying time south-east of Château Dauncy.
The hangars that had caught Jamie’s attention were part of the complex of buildings that housed SkyBus, the vast aeroplane manufacturer which had been founded in this quiet suburb of southern France. The airport was owned by them, and they in turn were partly owned by the French government, which had made the temporary shutdown relatively straightforward. The buildings were vast, far larger than the maintenance hangars where Blacklight’s fleet of helicopters were stored and maintained, bigger even than the main hangar, beneath which the Mina II was housed and where Jamie and the rest of the Blacklight Operators had assembled barely an hour earlier. They had been designed to accommodate the most modern passenger planes, but one of them was now home to something even bigger: a Russian An-224 transport.
The plane, one of the largest ever to take to the skies, squatted in the middle of the huge space, its wings almost reaching the distant walls, its nose cone raised, revealing the cavernous space within. The plane had been accompanied on its slow flight down from Polyarny by two Mi-26 transport helicopters. The Russian choppers were parked outside the hangar beside four SA 330 Pumas provided by the French Air Force, surrounded by maintenance crew and security personnel.
The second hangar contained a C-130 Hercules that had lumbered its way up from South Africa, and four CH-53 Sea Stallions that had made the short journey down from the Schwartzhaus. In comparison to the huge array of military hardware, the sea of black figures swarming in front of the hangars seemed tiny. But to Jamie, who had been on his way back from Paris when the Loop was attacked by Valeri Rusmanov, it was by far the largest show of Departmental strength he had ever laid eyes on. Including the Blacklight contingent, who were rapidly disembarking from the helicopters that had carried them across the English Channel, there were more than three hundred Operators and support staff waiting to depart for their target location.
“I know what you mean,” said Larissa. “It looks like the cavalry has arrived.”
“Except for the Americans,” said Jamie, peering around at the darkened airport. “I guess they’re who we’re waiting for?”
As if on cue, a distant rumbling noise became audible to the north. It was too quiet for most of the assembled men and women to hear, but to Larissa and himself it was perfectly clear. They turned towards it, their supernaturally sharp eyes scanning the horizon.
After a minute or so, Larissa raised her arm and pointed with a pale, slender finger. “There,” she said.
Jamie followed the line of her outstretched digit and saw nothing. Then three pale yellow dots became visible, moving low over the French countryside, and he reminded himself how much more powerful Larissa was than him; they were both vampires, but there was still a world of difference between them.
The dots grew in size as they approached, until their outlines identified them as cargo planes; they were flying close together, stacked up behind each other like birds in formation. The thunder of their engines was now loud enough to be heard by everyone, and the crowd of Operators and technicians stopped to watch.
The black silhouettes roared towards the runway. When they were almost on top of the airport, three pairs of blinding landing lights burst into life, slicing through the gloom and making every watching Operator shield their eyes. The howl of engines became deafening, and Jamie, who was still adapting to his newly powerful senses, found himself physically vibrating as the scream of the engines poured through him, rooting him to the spot.
The first plane bore down on the runway, passing above the surrounding suburbs at a height that would never have been permitted by any civil aviation authority, then touched down with a screech of rubber and a high-pitched whine that cut through Jamie like a knife. It raced past the hangars, sending a huge wave of air into the watching Operators, causing most of them to take a staggering step back. Fifteen seconds later the second plane touched down, and twenty seconds after that, the third.
As the transports slowed at the distant end of the runway and began to taxi back towards him, Jamie wondered what on earth the men and women who lived in the houses beyond the airport’s fence were making of the night’s events. The mercury contamination cover story would not explain the deafening convoy of aircraft that had landed at the darkened airport, and anyone watching from their garden would have been treated to a remarkable display of military technology as it skimmed the roof of their house.
With synchronised precision, the pilots rolled the three huge C-17 Globemaster IIIs to a halt with their towering rear cargo doors pointing at the hangars. The deafening engine noise cut out, leaving a silence that was almost unnerving until a cacophony of warning alarms blared out as the ramps began to slowly lower towards the tarmac.
Jamie looked around as the doors yawned wider and wider. Cal Holmwood was standing with Paul Turner, their attention fixed on the new arrivals, and beyond them he could see familiar faces: Ellison, Qiang, Jack and Patrick Williams, Angela Darcy, Dominique Saint-Jacques, and many others he recognised from operations and briefings and the Loop’s canteen queue. Beyond the massed ranks of Blacklight stood their helicopters, three of which were now empty, the doors on their sides open. The fourth remained tightly sealed, surrounded by a cordon of Operators; as Jamie watched, it roc
ked slightly on its wheels, as though something heavy was moving inside it.
The Globemaster ramps thudded to the ground with a series of metallic clangs that echoed across the quiet airport. Jamie looked into the one nearest him and saw the dark, snub-nosed shapes of a pair of AH-64 Apache helicopters, their rotors folded at their sides, their stub wings bristling with weaponry. Out of the other two transports spilled dozens of men and women in black uniforms; they hustled down the ramps with bags over their shoulders and assembled on the tarmac. A tall, broad man walked through the middle of them and approached Cal Holmwood with a thin smile on his face.
“That’s General Allen,” said Larissa, softly. “The NS9 Director.”
Jamie nodded. He recognised the man from video conferences and reports, but had never seen him in the flesh. Allen stopped in front of Holmwood, and the two men shook hands.
“Cutting it fine, Bob,” said Holmwood, his voice audible to Jamie and Larissa. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”
Allen shook his head, his smile widening slightly. “We had a little bit further to come than you,” he said, “in case you hadn’t noticed. Nine hours to brief a team, load up, and fly halfway round the world. I’d call that pretty good, Cal.”
“I suppose so,” said Holmwood, and smiled at his friend. “I see you brought me the presents I asked for.”
“The Apaches?” said Allen. “Least I could do. I’ve got another little surprise for you as well.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”
Holmwood’s smile became a grin. “It’s good to see you, Bob.”
“You too,” said Allen. “I’d say it was a pleasure if the circumstances were better, but they never are, are they?”
“No,” said Holmwood. “They never are.”
“Where do you want my guys?” asked Allen. “This is your show, so give me an order.”
“You separated them like I asked you to? Red and Blue Teams?”
The NS9 Director nodded. “I did.”
“OK,” said Holmwood. “Give them two minutes to shake off the flight, then ask them to form up out here with the others. I’ll address everyone at once, and then we can be on our way.”
Jamie smiled. The Interim Director sounded like he was trying to get a busload of teenagers ready for a school trip, rather than preparing to launch a classified military operation to confront the most dangerous creature in the world.
“All right,” said Allen. “Two minutes.”
Holmwood nodded, then turned back to Paul Turner and was quickly deep in conversation. General Allen surveyed the bustling area and stopped, his eyes seeming to come to rest on Jamie. He frowned as the NS9 Director smiled and walked quickly towards him, then realised his mistake; he glanced over at Larissa and saw the wide grin on her face as the American approached.
Of course, he thought.
General Allen arrived in front of them, his smile warm and welcoming. Jamie snapped a salute, almost perfectly in time with Larissa, but the NS9 Director waved a hand dismissively.
“At ease,” he said, then stepped forward and threw his arms round Larissa. She was lifted off her feet, her eyes flaring pink, and laughed as she demanded to be put down. General Allen did so, then stepped back to look at her.
“It’s good to see you, Larissa,” he said. “We miss you in Nevada.”
She smiled. “That’s good to hear. I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Carpenter, sir. Jamie, this is General Allen, Director of NS9.”
Allen’s eyes widened. “Of course,” he said, sticking out a gloved hand. “Damn good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Jamie took the hand, and suppressed a wince of pain as his arm was pumped up and down. “You too, sir. It’s an honour.”
“I heard about Romania,” said Allen. “Way to take one for the team, son.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Jamie. “It wasn’t exactly the plan, I have to say.”
“Plans always look great on paper,” said Allen. “They don’t tend to mean that much in the real world.” His smile disappeared, and he turned his attention back to Larissa. “It was hard to hear about Tim Albertsson,” he said, his voice suddenly low. “Everything’s still pretty sketchy, but I know the two of you were there, so tell me something. Did he make a mistake? Did he do something wrong?”
“No, sir,” said Larissa, instantly. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He was asleep when the first victim killed him.”
Jamie stared at his girlfriend, trying not to let incredulity show on his face.
Really? he thought. You’re still defending him, even now?
Allen nodded again. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “He leaves a big hole in my Department, and I would hate to think it had been for nothing.”
“The first victim had tried to scare us off several times, sir,” said Larissa. “We think killing Tim was his final attempt at getting us to turn back.”
Bullshit, thought Jamie, his incredulity giving way to anger. You know exactly why Gregor killed him. You’re just not saying it.
“Makes sense,” said Allen. “Chop off the head and hope the body falls down. Still hard, though. He volunteered to lead that operation when I was barely two lines into the briefing. Didn’t even think about it, just jumped right in. You know what he was like.”
“I do, sir,” said Larissa.
“Yours were the first two names out of his mouth when I asked who he wanted to take with him,” said Allen. “I had to pull some strings, as you can probably imagine. There were some people who weren’t exactly thrilled about two Blacklight Operators getting the gig. But Tim was adamant that you were who he wanted. It’s a damn shame he isn’t here to see this.”
“I know, sir,” said Larissa, softly. “It is.”
“Well,” said General Allen, straightening himself up and forcing a smile. “There’ll be time to mourn him later. I’d better get my team ready. It’s going to be a privilege to fight alongside you, both of you. I feel a lot better knowing you’re on my side.”
Jamie smiled, despite himself; the NS9 Director was so naturally, effortlessly charismatic that he couldn’t help it. In that moment, he saw another of the reasons why Larissa had so obviously wanted to stay in Nevada; General Allen’s clear affection for her was in direct contrast to how she was viewed at the Loop by the majority of the rank-and-file Operators. The anger that had risen in his chest as she defended Tim Albertsson disappeared, replaced by hot, sickly guilt.
I don’t blame her at all, he thought. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d never come back.
General Allen strode away across the tarmac. As soon as he was out of earshot, Larissa turned to Jamie, her face creased with worry.
“I know what you must be thinking,” she said. “And I’m sorry. I just didn’t see any benefit in telling General Allen that his Special Operator was a petty dickhead who couldn’t get over himself long enough to do his job. If we survive this, and he asks me about Tim again, I’ll tell him the truth, I promise I will. But this wasn’t the time.”
Jamie smiled. “It’s OK,” he said. “You’re right.”
Larissa gave him a smile that almost stopped his heart. Then Paul Turner’s amplified voice echoed out of a megaphone, demanding everyone’s attention.
The Blacklight Security Officer was standing beside a jeep, in the open back of which stood Cal Holmwood. The Interim Director looked out across the crowd of black-clad men and women and took the megaphone from Turner’s hand.
“Welcome to France,” he said. “And to the largest Combined Operational Force that has ever been assembled. I’m not going to inspire you with some long-winded speech, because I believe the time for such talk has passed. Every one of you knows what we are here to do, and every one of you understands the potential consequences if we fail. You have all been briefed by your respective Directors, but to reiterate, the plan is straightforward. Those of you who have been designat
ed as Red Team will lead the initial attack on the château.”
Jamie glanced over at Larissa, who shot him a narrow smile; they were both Red Team, which now made sense.
“Blue Team will secure the ground perimeter,” continued Holmwood. “And will deploy as a second wave. The Apaches will patrol an aerial cordon around the target location, preventing any vamps escaping via the air, while satellite and AWACS overlook will track any attempts at escape through the forest. There is a single Priority Level 1 objective, which is the destruction of the vampire born Vlad Tepes, and most recently known as Dracula. Priority Level 2 is the destruction of the vampire known as Valeri Rusmanov. Priority Level 3 is the rescue of Admiral Henry Seward, the Director of Blacklight. Everything else is Priority Level neutral. Any questions?”
Silence.
“I want confirmation of Dracula’s destruction,” he continued. “No ambiguity, no assumptions, no word of mouth. Visual eyewitness confirmation. Get me that, and we can all go home. Good luck to each and every one of you. Dismissed.”
There was no cheer, no bugle, no waving of flags; the men and women of the Combined Operational Force simply got to work, loading themselves and their equipment into the transport helicopters. Rotors began to spin and engines cycled up as the pilots worked quickly through their pre-flight checks.
Jamie watched, his stomach twisting slowly with nerves. The downdraught from the rotors swirled the air, forcing him to lean forward against it; he found himself grinning, and felt a heat that was becoming less and less unpleasant spill into the corners of his eyes as he faced Larissa.
“What we were saying before,” he shouted, over the rising howl of engines. “It doesn’t matter. We can—”
Larissa’s hand fastened round his arm. Her eyes were blazing crimson, her fangs wide and gleaming, her face twisted with a huge, hungry grin. She darted forward, so fast he barely saw her move, and kissed him hard on the mouth.
“No more talking,” she said. “It’s time.”
