Battle Lines

by Will Hill

  “I don’t,” said Kate, sitting back down. “I’d never spoken to her until this morning.”

  “Lieutenant Carpenter,” said Turner. “I’m going to ask you to step out into the corridor. This is an active Security Division investigation. I’m sorry.”

  Jamie stared. “You’re kidding?”

  “No, Lieutenant,” said Turner, holding out his ID card. “I’m not. Please step outside.”

  Jamie fixed his gaze on the security officer for a long moment, then got up and took the plastic rectangle from Turner’s fingers. He used it on the black panel on the wall and stepped out into the corridor, casting an unreadable glance at Kate as the door swung shut.

  “What happened?” asked Turner, as soon as the locks thudded into place.

  Kate took a deep breath, and began to talk.

  * * *

  Kate took a deep breath and pulled open the ISAT security door.

  Standing outside, perched on one of the Intelligence Division desks, was a tiny blonde girl wearing a white lab coat. Her pale face was tight, and her eyes were wide and full of nervousness.

  “Hello,” she said, walking over and extending a hand. “I’m Kate Randall. I was told you wanted to see me?”

  The blonde girl nodded. “My name is Natalia Lenski,” she said. “I work downstairs, in the . . . well, you know . . .”

  “I know where you mean,” said Kate, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You, too,” replied Natalia. “I have heard many things about you.”

  “That’s nice,” said Kate. “I think. So what can I do for you, Natalia?”

  “Can we go somewhere else?” replied Natalia. “Somewhere quiet?”

  “Of course,” said Kate. “Let’s go up top for a few minutes.”

  I don’t know what the hell this is, she thought, but at least I’ll get some fresh air.

  Two minutes later, the two girls walked through the huge double doors of the hangar and out onto the grounds of the Loop. Kate led Natalia across the runway and the wide field that lay beyond it and into the rose garden that had been built in memory of John and George Harker, brothers who had died in the blazing wreckage of the Mina, the original Blacklight jet. At the rear of the beautiful, fragrant garden stood a wooden bench. Kate took a seat, motioned for Natalia to do likewise, and waited. Eventually, the blonde girl spoke.

  “I feel awkward coming to you like this,” she said. “I know you are very busy. But I cannot pretend that I am not worried about him.”

  “Worried about who?” asked Kate.

  “Matt Browning,” replied Natalia. “He is the one who speaks about you. He told me you are friends, yes?”

  “That’s right,” said Kate. “Are you his friend, too?”

  “I think so,” said Natalia, a tiny frown creasing her forehead. “It is difficult. That is why I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Is something wrong?” Kate asked. “Is Matt okay?”

  “I am not sure,” said Natalia. She lowered her eyes and picked nervously at her fingernails. “He works so hard. It is like he carries everything on his shoulders, the entire project. He cares so much, and he is so desperate to help his friends.”

  “He told me what you’re looking for could take years,” said Kate.

  “He is right,” said Natalia. “And I think it will kill him if it does. Robert has talked to him, tried to make him slow down, but he does not seem to hear.”

  “Who’s Robert?”

  “Professor Karlsson. Our director.”

  “Oh. Okay. Go on.”

  “That is all,” said Natalia. “I wondered if you might talk to him, make him see that he is being too hard on himself. Maybe he will listen to you, because you are his friend. And I . . . am not.”

  There’s more to this, thought Kate, suddenly. There’s something else going on here.

  “Natalia,” she said, gently. “Do you like Matt?”

  “Of course,” replied Natalia, lifting her head and smiling broadly. “Everyone likes him. He is very popular.”

  “No, I mean, do you like him?”

  Natalia didn’t answer, but she blushed deeply, soft red suffusing her beautiful pale face.

  There it is. Wow. This definitely won’t be complicated. Not at all.

  “Right then,” said Kate, checking the time on her console. “We need to have a proper conversation about this. I have to go back to ISAT, but I should get some time off for lunch in about an hour or so. Can you get away for a little while?”

  Natalia nodded.

  “Great. In which case, why don’t you go to my quarters in an hour? If I’m not there, you can let yourself in and I’ll be there as soon as I can. We can talk about Matt.” She left this last comment intentionally ambiguous; she didn’t want to embarrass a girl she found herself already starting to like.

  “Yes, please,” said Natalia. “That will be very kind of you.”

  “No problem,” said Kate. “My quarters are on Level B, room 261. The override code for the door is 2TG687B33. Can you remember that?”

  “I can,” replied Natalia.

  Of course she can, thought Kate. She works for the Lazarus Project. She’s probably a certified genius.

  “Okay,” she said. “If I’m not there, wait for me. Now I have to get back to ISAT. Are you coming back inside?”

  Natalia shook her head. “I will stay here for a little while.”

  “Okay,” said Kate. “I’ll see you downstairs. 261.” With that, she got up and jogged back toward the distant doors of the hangar.

  * * *

  “She should be in the infirmary by now,” replied the security officer. He got up and thumped on the door, and immediately heard the locks start to disengage. “Her pulse was strong, her heartbeat regular. She’s got some cuts and bruises, she’s lost some blood, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s broken a rib or two. But she’ll be fine. I wouldn’t have said so if I thought otherwise.”

  “Good,” said Kate. Her face was almost translucent, as though the color had been drained from her skin. “I would hate to think that . . . something that was meant . . .” She burst into tears as the door opened and Jamie walked back into the room. He frowned, and Turner stood aside as he went to her, sitting beside her on the bed and putting his arm around her shoulder.

  “Hey,” said Jamie, squeezing her shoulders. “It’s all right. There’s nothing wrong with being scared, Kate. We’re all scared.”

  “I’m not scared, Jamie,” she said, shrugging his arm away and looking at him with eyes full of fire. “I’m bloody furious. How dare they? Who the hell do they think they are?”

  Turner felt something huge move inside his chest. I couldn’t love this girl more, he thought. No matter how hard I tried.

  Jamie grinned at her and stood up. Turner stepped forward and took back his ID card as Kate got to her feet.

  “What can we do?” she asked, her eyes shining. “Tell us how we can help, Paul.”

  “You can help me by doing nothing,” said Turner. “This is a Security Division matter. I’m going to escort you back to Lieutenant Carpenter’s quarters, and you’re going to stay there until we lift the lockdown. You will not tell anyone that we ever had this conversation. As far as everyone else is concerned, you were in Jamie’s room the whole time. Is that clear?”

  The two operators opened their mouths to protest, but Turner cut them off. “I’ve told you what I need you both to do,” he said. “So do you actually want to help, or do you just want to be the center of attention, as usual?”

  Kate and Jamie glanced at each other. Something unspoken passed between them, something that Turner couldn’t read.

  “Fine,” said Jamie. “We’ll go to my quarters.”

  “Excellent,” said Turner. “I’m so grateful that you have chosen to obey my direct o
rder. How very kind of you.”

  Jamie’s face flushed, but he said nothing as the security officer stepped aside and motioned toward the open door. Jamie walked through it without a word, Kate following behind him. Turner took a last look around the room that had been his son’s, a room that he had spent far too little time in when it had been occupied, and stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

  As the three operators made their way back to Jamie’s quarters, Paul Turner asked the question that was burning away inside him.

  “Kate,” he said, his voice low. She turned to look at him. “How did you get into Shaun’s room?”

  She blushed a deep, delicate pink. Jamie didn’t so much as twitch; he continued to walk steadily down the corridor, his gaze fixed forward, and Turner felt gratitude.

  “He gave me the override code,” said Kate. “I thought it would have been changed by now, but it hasn’t. I go there sometimes, for a bit of peace and quiet. And because . . . well, you know.” She smiled—a small, empty expression. “It feels like a bit of him is still there. Like it’s all that’s left of him. Do you know what I mean?”

  Turner nodded.

  I do. I know exactly what you mean.

  Kate looked relieved and turned back to face in the direction they were walking. He stared at her, wondering whether to tell her that for a few awful seconds he had not recognized the number on his son’s old room. He knew she would not judge him, and it might prove cathartic to admit to someone what he knew in his heart: that he had not always been the father he should have. But he decided against it; it would not help Kate to hear him give voice to his self-doubt, to the guilt that ate away at him every night, when sleep refused to come.

  * * *

  “Has anyone checked out your quarters?” asked Cal Holmwood.

  The interim director of Department 19 was sitting behind his desk, his fingers laced together, his chin resting against them. He looked tired, the deep tiredness that comes from more than just lack of sleep, that settles into the bones and soul. Turner had been giving the interim director a preliminary report on the bombing and its aftermath, and had reached the location of the explosion when Holmwood interrupted him.

  “No, sir,” he replied. “Why?”

  “What if this is about ISAT, Paul? What if it has nothing to do with Dracula or Zero Hour? If so, Kate might not have been the only target.”

  Turner stared at Holmwood. He hadn’t considered that. Why the hell hadn’t he considered that? He had been so caught up in trying to find Kate Randall that a motive for attacking her room had not really crossed his mind. He grabbed the radio from his belt and ordered Security Division Section B to make an immediate check on his quarters, exercising maximum caution.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “That should have been obvious. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you, Paul,” said Holmwood, firmly. “You’re doing the work of about five people, and you’re trying to keep us afloat while we put ourselves back together. Give yourself a break. And continue.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied. “Most of the monitoring systems on Level B are still down, but we’ve had a preliminary report from Surveillance. Their cameras don’t show anybody entering or exiting room 261 since Operator Randall left it this morning, although the door does appear to open and close on two occasions. The device itself seems to have been made from readily accessible ingredients, detonated using the charges from standard-issue grenades and triggered using parts from a standard-issue radio handset. I’m afraid that’s everything we have right now, sir.”

  Holmwood breathed out deeply. “Not much to go on,” he said. “Are you prepared to draw any conclusions at this time?”

  “Nothing that I can back up, sir,” replied Turner. “But one explanation does suggest itself.”

  “What explanation?”

  Turner opened his mouth to answer, but a loud buzzing from his radio interrupted him. He looked inquiringly at the interim director, who nodded. The security officer thumbed the RECEIVE button on his radio and said, “Go ahead.”

  “Operator Grant, Security Division Section B reporting in, sir,” said a crackling voice. “An explosive device was attached to the door of your quarters. We’ve disabled it and sent it to the labs for analysis. Over.”

  “Well done, Operator,” said Turner. Familiar fury rose in his chest and settled there, as comfortable as the company of an old friend. “Carry on. Out.”

  “Yes, sir. Out.”

  Turner twisted the radio off and set it down on Cal Holmwood’s desk. The interim director leaned forward in his chair, an unreadable expression on his face. “What are your recommendations, Paul? Tell me what you need.”

  “I want authorization to keep the lockdown in place overnight, sir,” said Turner. “I want to know where everyone is while my team does its work. Squads in the field can be held in the dormitories as they come home. I know this means we will lose a number of operations, but . . .”

  “Authorized,” said Holmwood. “We can’t fight vampires if we are under attack in our own base.”

  “My thoughts exactly, sir.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “You said an explanation suggested itself,” said Holmwood, eventually. “Tell me, although I’m sure I already know what it is. And what its implications are.”

  Turner nodded. “We’ll know a lot more if we can salvage the data from the monitoring system,” he said. “But the surveillance camera evidence is pretty damning on its own. As far as I’m concerned, we’re looking for a vampire.”

  31

  FROM ANCIENT GRUDGE BREAK

  TO NEW MUTINY

  Twelve days earlier

  So this is where they keep you?”

  Valentin Rusmanov looked up from the book he was reading and smiled broadly. Standing on the other side of the ultraviolet barrier that formed the front wall of his cell, peering in at him with open loathing, was Frankenstein’s monster.

  “Indeed, it is,” he replied, rising elegantly to his feet. “Do you approve?”

  “Not really,” said Frankenstein, his voice reverberating against the concrete walls. “If it was up to me, you’d be nothing more than a smear of blood on the floor.”

  “How vivid,” said Valentin. “Can I assist you with something, Mr. Frankenstein, or did you come all the way down here just to make insipid threats?”

  For several long moments, Frankenstein didn’t reply. His large grey-green face was still, his misshapen eyes narrow, his huge hands clenched into fists by his sides. His hair was long, and a beard climbed his cheeks toward his eyes. He was wearing a suit over an open-necked shirt and a metal stake on his belt that looked tiny against his oversized frame.

  “I want to talk to you,” he said, eventually. “About why you’re here.”

  “Here in this cell or here in this building?”

  “In this building,” said Frankenstein. “I want to know why you’re keeping up the pretense of being on our side. My assumption is that it amuses you to do so.”

  “Interesting,” said Valentin. “I can think of several thousand things I would prefer do with my time than conversing with a recycled coward, but as none of them are available to me at this precise moment, I see little alternative. So come in, by all means, and make yourself at home.”

  Frankenstein bared his teeth momentarily, but stepped through the shimmering ultraviolet light and into the cell, his face like thunder.

  “Have a seat,” said Valentin. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Wine? Blood? Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t do that sort of thing anymore, do you?”

  “There are limits to my patience, vampire,” growled Frankenstein, lowering himself into one of the two chairs that stood beside the narrow bed. “It is far from endless.”

  “I’m
sure that’s true,” said Valentin. He floated effortlessly into the empty chair and rested an ankle on his knee. “Although I suspect you will somehow manage to keep your temper, no matter how much it pains you to do so. I don’t imagine you would be thrilled by the prospect of explaining to your superiors why you made an unauthorized visit to the detention level and ended up in the infirmary.”

  Frankenstein said nothing. He merely stared at the ancient vampire, one hand moving slowly to the center of his chest and resting there.

  “Well, this is invigorating, I must say,” said Valentin, after a silent minute had passed. “I do so enjoy the cut and thrust of debate. It seems to have fallen to me to perpetuate this farce, so let me attempt to find a new topic for discussion. How about the effects of opium on the barely human body? Or the decor and music of Jazz Age New York? Or—”

  “I want you to stay away from him,” said Frankenstein. His voice rumbled like an earthquake, and his eyes burned with loathing.

  Valentin smiled. “To whom are you referring?”

  “You know damn well,” replied Frankenstein. “Jamie Carpenter. And his friends. Stay away from them all.”

  “Why on earth should I do that?”

  “Because I’m telling you to,” said the monster, his face twisted with obvious disgust. “I may not be able to make them see your charade for what it is, but I will not have them caught up in the betrayal that you and I both know is coming.”

  “I see,” said Valentin. “Let’s imagine, just for a moment, that I choose to completely ignore you. What would be the consequences of such a decision?”

  “Your destruction,” said Frankenstein. “And your servant’s.”

  “Interesting. And how exactly would you explain that to Mr. Holmwood?”

  “There would be no explanation necessary. Cal shares my opinion of you.”

  “Which is what?” asked Valentin, his voice smooth and polite.

  “That you’re an animal,” said Frankenstein.

  “I see,” said Valentin. He leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers together, and set his thumbs against his chin. “Then let me ask you something else. Setting aside both your opinion of me and your annoying tendency to make threats that you are entirely incapable of carrying out, what makes you think that you, of all people, should have any say in who Mr. Carpenter chooses to associate with?”