by Will Hill
“I made a promise to his grandfather,” said Frankenstein, “that I would protect his family. Jamie is all that’s left.”
“Interesting,” said Valentin. “It would appear that John Carpenter was a man who liked entering into agreements. He and I struck a deal of our own, in which we agreed to let each other go about our lives unmolested, a deal I extended to cover his descendants.”
Frankenstein’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”
“Believe whatever you wish,” said Valentin. “I have no interest in trying to persuade you. I gave a detailed account to Major Turner when I first arrived in this most charming of places, so I’m sure there will be a transcript somewhere, if you have the clearance required to access it.”
“Don’t worry about my clearance,” said Frankenstein.
“Really?” asked Valentin, cocking his head to one side. “I was told that you turned down the chance to sit on the task force that is committed to dealing with my brother and his master, and that you rarely leave your quarters. If I have been misinformed, and you are actually an active participant at the very heart of Blacklight, then you have my apologies.”
Frankenstein didn’t respond, but the color drained from his face, leaving it a sickly pale green.
That struck home, thought Valentin. Glass houses, my friend. Glass houses.
“Can I assume from your silence that the information I received was accurate?” he asked.
“Yes,” grunted Frankenstein. “You speak the truth, although God knows who told it to you. But that doesn’t change what I came down here to tell you.”
“Fair enough,” said Valentin. The conversation was beginning to bore him; teasing and tormenting the monster was almost too easy. “You’ve had your say. I listened, even though there was absolutely no need for me to do so. Now I will have mine.”
“I don’t—”
“Be quiet,” said Valentin. He felt heat in the corners of his eyes and admonished himself to remain calm. “If you know what’s good for you, you will be quiet and listen. Telling me to stay away from Jamie Carpenter is not the same thing as protecting him. I understand why you cannot accept that, but it is the truth. Protecting him would mean leaving your quarters, strapping on your weapons, and standing by his side as he risks his life fighting vampires. You are clearly unable, or unwilling, to do so. I’m sure you have your reasons, reasons that I imagine have their roots in a certain European capital city, but they do not excuse you being angry with me because you are no longer capable of fulfilling the promise you made. So understand this: I will associate with whomever I want, whenever I want. And, given that I am confined to this concrete box, you may want to ask yourself who is initiating the contact between Jamie and I that you are so terribly concerned about. Now. Was that sufficiently clear for you? Or do you need me to use smaller words?”
“Perfectly clear,” growled Frankenstein. “Thank you for that assessment of matters you know absolutely nothing about.”
Valentin shrugged, and smiled at the monster. “Enlighten me then,” he said. “Tell me why you’re too scared to be of any use to Jamie and his friends.”
Slowly, like an avalanche in reverse, Frankenstein rose to his feet. Valentin didn’t move. His smile remained in place, although he tensed his muscles, ready to react if the monster was stupid enough to attack him.
“If Jamie needs me,” said Frankenstein, his voice low, “I’ll be there. As I promised.”
“And how will you know if he needs you?”
“He’ll tell me.”
Valentin’s smile widened into a grin. “Are you quite sure about that?”
Frankenstein turned away and walked slowly across the cell. When he reached the ultraviolet barrier, he looked back at Valentin.
“I don’t want Jamie to know this conversation ever happened,” he said. “If you truly mean him no harm, you will understand why.”
“My lips are sealed,” said Valentin. “And do feel free to drop by any time. I’d forgotten the thrill of having empty threats thrown my way.”
Frankenstein stared at him for a long moment, then walked through the barrier without a backward glance. Valentin listened as the heavy steps echoed away toward the airlock, then let out a long, slow breath.
The monster’s attempts to intimidate him had been laughable. Valentin had no doubt that, for all Frankenstein’s size and experience, he could tear him to pieces with one hand tied behind his back. But he was deeply relieved that it had not come to that; a physical altercation with the monster would have instantly drawn the attention of Lamberton, with the Blacklight Security Division not far behind, and he had no desire to fight for his life against highly armed soldiers in a long concrete tube.
Not unless he made the decision to do so.
Valentin pirouetted gracefully up into the air, enjoying its cool resistance against his skin, and lowered himself slowly back onto his bed.
It’s rarely dull around here, he thought, as he picked up his book. I’ll give them that.
FIFTY DAYS TILL
ZERO HOUR
32
CLOSING THE NET
Jamie Carpenter looked around the Ops Room as Cal Holmwood called the meeting to order. The familiar faces that he had seen in this room dozens of times looked different: older, more drawn.
Tired.
The lockdown had been lifted an hour earlier, and since then the Loop had been consumed by tight, suffocating paranoia. Operators, scientists, intelligence staff, civilian workers, all were huddled in small groups throughout the base, their faces wearing expressions of open worry. It was not quite a full-blown panic, not yet, but a deep sense of unease had unquestionably settled into the bones of the Department. Men and women regarded each other nervously, uncertain of who they could trust, who they could truly believe was on their side. If the bomber’s intention had been to spread fear and distrust throughout Blacklight, then he or she had succeeded admirably. Although a theory was gathering momentum among the senior operators that it had been planted for a different reason.
“Zero Hour Task Force emergency meeting in session,” said Cal Holmwood. “All members present. As you will all be aware, the Loop was placed into lockdown yesterday afternoon, after an explosive device was detonated in quarters on Level B. I’m going to ask Major Turner to bring us up to speed. Paul?”
“Yes, sir,” said Turner. “The investigation is ongoing, but there is a certain amount I can tell you. The device, including its trigger and explosive core, was built with materials available inside the Loop. We have been able to find no visual evidence of anyone entering room 261 after Lieutenant Randall exited it yesterday morning. A forensic investigation is ongoing, and the evidence so far does not support a conclusion.”
“Of course it does,” said Patrick Williams. “A vampire planted the bomb in Kate’s room, one that moved too fast for our cameras to see it. Which narrows down the field of suspects to one, as far as I’m concerned.”
“The investigation is ongoing,” repeated Paul Turner, his voice full of warning. “All possibilities, both human and supernatural, will be fully examined. Now, the next—”
“Why are we putting ourselves through this charade?” asked Andrew Jarvis, his face suddenly white with fury. “Everyone knows that Valentin Rusmanov planted the bomb, but instead of going down to the cellblock and destroying him, like we should have done weeks ago, we’re going to investigate each other and look for some complicated answer when the truth is staring us in the face. We’re going to do exactly what he wants.”
“Operator,” said Turner, in a low voice. “Please do not interrupt me again.” He stared at Jarvis with gray eyes as cold as the surface of the moon and, after a second or two, the operator dropped his gaze. “Valentin Rusmanov is obviously a suspect,” he continued, looking around, daring anyone else to interrupt him. “I’m sure half the men and wom
en in this base are already convinced of his guilt, and if he turns out to be behind this, I will fire a stake into his heart myself. But there are other factors at work here that suggest that this was not an attack designed solely to cause panic.”
“It has, though,” said Amy Andrews, softly. “Everyone I’ve talked to since the lockout was lifted is scared out of their minds. They want to know how we’re supposed to stop Dracula when we can’t even feel safe in our own base. I’ve even heard rumors of desertions. Can you confirm them, Major Turner?”
Turner looked at her. “Three operators were picked up ten miles beyond the perimeter of the Loop. They are now in custody. I can tell you no more than that.”
“Jesus,” muttered Brennan. “Deserters. I’ve never heard of anything like that before.”
“What are the other factors?” asked Jamie. He had not taken his gaze from Paul Turner, who now turned to look at him.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Carpenter?”
“The factors that suggested this wasn’t an attack designed to cause panic.”
An expression flickered briefly across Turner’s face, an expression that it took Jamie a moment to recognize.
Gratitude, he thought. How about that?
“Firstly, Lieutenant,” said Turner, “we have the location of the device that was detonated. If the culprit is apparently undetectable by our security cameras, why place a bomb in Lieutenant Randall’s quarters? Why not place it in the Ops Room, or the dining hall, or underneath the Mina II? Any of those targets would have caused far greater damage. What is it about Lieutenant Randall that made her worth targeting?”
“ISAT,” said Angela. “You’re saying this is about ISAT.”
“Oh, come on,” said Brennan. “Jarvis is right, this has Valentin written all over it. I don’t know whether he was working on his master’s orders or on his own initiative, but this was definitely about Dracula.”
“Kate doesn’t have anything to do with Dracula,” said Jamie. “Or Valentin.”
“She was there when he defected, wasn’t she?” said Brennan. “Or when he supposedly defected, at least. You both talked to him. Maybe she said something he didn’t like. Or maybe he just picked a room at random and she was unlucky.”
“In which case, Operator Brennan,” said Paul Turner, “perhaps you can tell us why an identical explosive device was found in my quarters?”
There was a chorus of gasps from all sides of the table, although Jamie noticed that Cal Holmwood didn’t move a muscle.
They were already sure what this was, he thought. Turner and Holmwood. They already knew. They just let us get there on our own.
“I don’t know,” said Brennan. “I can’t explain that.”
“Lieutenant Darcy already did,” said Cal Holmwood. “I’m not going to say that this attack had nothing to do with Dracula, because whoever carried it out may well have a connection to him that becomes clear in due course. And I assure you that nobody is ruling out Valentin Rusmanov as a suspect. But the ISAT investigation, the timing, and the locations of the devices add up to a clear picture. This was not a direct attack upon us by the vampires. It was about ISAT. It was someone with something to hide trying to protect themselves.”
“So what do we do?” asked Angela Darcy.
“ISAT finishes its investigation,” replied Paul Turner. “We are almost a quarter of the way through the roster. Whoever did this has to be someone we haven’t questioned yet.”
“Agreed,” said Holmwood. “I want you to conclude ISAT as quickly as possible. There’s someone extremely dangerous inside this base, and we need to find them before they get the chance to act again.”
“I have a request,” said Jarvis. “I’d like to have Valentin Rusmanov moved to the top of ISAT’s interview list. I take your points, both of you, but I don’t care, frankly. I don’t trust the vampire.”
“I’m fine with that,” said Holmwood. “If you are, Major Turner?”
“Of course, sir,” said Turner, casting a brief, deadly glance in Jarvis’s direction. “Interviews will recommence this afternoon, and I’m perfectly happy to bring Valentin in first. Maybe then we can stop chasing shadows.”
“What about the rest of us?” asked Jack Williams. “What do you want us to do?”
“Carry on,” replied Holmwood. “I’ll be reactivating all squads within a couple of hours. You have your target lists. Nothing changes.”
“Neither of my squad have been through ISAT,” said Brennan. “Nor have I, for that matter. Do we still go out?”
“Absolutely,” replied Holmwood. “We can’t make everyone who hasn’t been interviewed inactive, not with what’s going on out there. Just be vigilant. Anything out of the ordinary, you call it in. Understood?”
Brennan nodded.
“Okay,” said Holmwood. “Anything else?”
“Yes, sir,” said Angela Darcy. “What about Albert Harker, sir?”
“We believe Harker may be responsible for the murder of a lawyer named Thomas Clarke in north London last night,” said the interim director. “Clarke was the executor of the estate of John Bathurst, also known as Johnny Supernova, the journalist to whom Albert gave an interview before he was committed. We are still attempting to ascertain whether there was something in Bathurst’s estate that Harker may be trying to acquire.”
“Maybe he blames the journalist for what happened to him,” said Patrick Williams. “With Bathurst dead, maybe he’s taking his revenge on people with connections to him.”
“That thought has occurred to us,” said Turner. “Fortunately, Bathurst’s list of known associates contained only one name, a former colleague of his called Kevin McKenna. He has been informed that a recently released prisoner with a grudge against John Bathurst may attempt to make contact with him, and that he is to call the police if so. We’re monitoring his cell phone as a precaution.”
“Okay,” said Patrick. “So we have no idea where Harker is.”
“It’s highly likely that he has gone into hiding,” said Turner. “He must know we’ll be looking for him.”
“I tend to agree,” said Cal Holmwood. “Nonetheless, he remains a priority, and I’ll keep you updated as new information becomes available. As for the rest of the Broadmoor escapees, we’re making solid progress. We have seventy-two confirmed destroyed, leaving two hundred and six unaccounted for. All target lists have been updated, and the SOP remains in place until this is over.”
“Admiral Seward?” asked Jamie, quietly.
“Major Landis has reported no progress on that front, Lieutenant Carpenter. Is there anything else?”
There was silence around the table.
“Then that’s all,” said the interim director. “As always, everything that has been said here is Zero Hour classified. However, I would urge you to try to find ways to reassure your teams. We all have jobs to do, and this is no time for panic, or for people making mistakes because they’re scared. Dismissed.”
* * *
Jamie made his way along the Level B corridor and pressed his ID card against the panel beside the door to his quarters, smiling as he heard the sound of familiar voices from inside his room.
He knew who they belonged to—after the message had come through ordering him to attend the emergency Zero Hour meeting, he had sent one of his own.
No secrets, he thought, and pushed the door open.
Sitting on his bed were Kate Randall and Matt Browning. They had used the override code that opened his door, which both of them knew by heart. They looked up as he entered, narrow smiles on their faces.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Not much,” said Matt, brightly. “Apart from one of my colleagues getting blown up by a bomb that was meant for one of my friends. How are you?”
Jamie laughed. “Never better,” he said, flopping down into
the chair beside his desk. “The cameras don’t show anyone going in or out of Kate’s room yesterday morning. There was a second bomb in Paul Turner’s room, so he and Cal are convinced that this is all about ISAT, whereas the rest of Zero Hour think it was Valentin. Oh, and nobody has any idea where Albert Harker is. So, yeah, everything’s awesome.”
“Jesus,” said Kate. “There was a bomb in Paul’s room?”
Jamie nodded. “They defused it last night.”
“Well, that seals it, surely?” said Matt, looking at Kate. “You and Major Turner? If this isn’t about ISAT, that’s an astronomical coincidence.”
“I suppose so,” said Kate. “Does anyone have any theories?”
Jamie shook his head. “Just that someone has something to hide and is willing to try to kill two operators to keep it hidden.”
“Jesus,” said Kate. “I just keep thinking about Natalia. If she’d been badly hurt or—”
“She wasn’t, though,” interrupted Jamie. “She’s going to be fine.”
“I know,” said Kate. “But the bomb wasn’t meant for her, Jamie. She had nothing to do with any of this.”
“That’s a point,” said Matt. “Why was she there when it went off? Was she coming to see you or something?”
“I don’t know,” said Kate.
“Okay,” said Matt. “But if the bomb went off when your door was opened, then she must have opened it. How did she do that?”
“How am I supposed to know?” snapped Kate. “Ask her yourself when she wakes up.”
Take it easy, thought Jamie. Don’t bite his head off.
“So,” he said, “that was the Zero Hour meeting. What’s next?”
“I’ve got to get back to Lazarus,” said Matt. “We’re short-staffed with Natalia in the infirmary.”
