Battle Lines

by Will Hill

  “Know what?” asked Paul Turner.

  “Mr. Carpenter has made rather a habit of spending time with me in my cell,” said Valentin. “I assumed he was doing so with permission, but now I see that I was wrong. How awkward.”

  Kate stared at the ancient vampire. “You’re lying,” she said.

  “I’m sure you think so,” said Valentin. “But I’m equally sure that a clever girl like you can see that there’s a very easy way for you to check. Ask him yourself the next time you see him. Ask the friend that you clearly know so, so very well. But don’t be surprised if you don’t like what he tells you.”

  Major Turner stood up, his chair scraping across the floor with a noise like nails on a blackboard.

  “For the last time,” he said, his voice low and full of fury, “this interview is over. Operators, take Mr. Rusmanov back to his cell. If he speaks, or so much as breathes in a way that you don’t like, you have my direct permission to destroy him where he stands. Now get him out of my sight.”

  40

  PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS

  Pete Randall read Kevin McKenna’s post, read it again, then read it a third time. His heart pounded in his chest as his brain screamed for him to be careful, to think it through, to not walk blindly into a trap.

  He googled McKenna and immediately breathed a sigh of relief. The man was clearly real; the range of articles by and about him was too voluminous to have been faked. But there was also nothing to suggest that he would write such a post. He was not an investigative journalist, the kind who seeks to trap corrupt politicians and financial fraudsters, and he appeared to have done nothing of note for many years.

  He knows, though. Somehow, he knows. And he’s saying so, in public.

  Pete sat with his laptop on his knees, paralyzed by the thought of what to do next. What he wanted to do was click on the comments box at the bottom of McKenna’s post and start spilling his broken heart out onto the screen.

  But he didn’t.

  South will know. I’ll ask him what to do.

  He started typing a text message, then paused as the man’s number glowed on the screen. He stared at it, then gently pressed the tip of his finger against it.

  The phone rang and rang, and Pete’s heart sank.

  Of course he won’t answer. He’s not that stupid. I bet he doesn’t even have voicemail.

  “North?”

  Pete almost dropped the phone. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s me.”

  “What are you playing at, mate?” asked South. He sounded angry. “We didn’t agree to this. Cell phones are the easiest thing in the world to trace, you know that.”

  “I know,” said Pete. “I’m sorry, I just . . . I can’t believe that post. I don’t know what to do about it, and I needed to talk to someone.”

  There was a pause.

  “It’s okay,” said South, his tone of voice fractionally warmer. “Don’t worry about it. So you read it?”

  “Yeah,” replied Pete. “I can’t quite believe it. Do you think it’s legit?”

  “I think so,” said South. “I’m not sure, but I think so. I’ve been turning it over and over, and I can’t see why the government would do this. I’m assuming that they’ve got us, and anyone else like us, under surveillance, so what would be the point? To try and trick us into talking about what we know? To get us out into the open? Why bother? If they’ve decided we’re a potential problem, why not just make us disappear?”

  A chill rattled up Pete’s spine. “That’s what I thought,” he said.

  “If it is real,” said South, “then the balls on this guy . . .”

  There was silence for a long moment.

  “So what do we do?” asked Pete, eventually. “I mean, my first instinct is to tell him what happened to me and my daughter. What are you thinking?”

  “The same,” said South. “I was just checking through what I wrote for the other site. I’m going to post it as soon as I’m done.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Pete. “That it’s the right thing to do?”

  “I don’t know,” replied South, the heat returning to his voice. “And to be honest with you, mate, I don’t give a shit. If I post it and they catch me and throw me in some cell somewhere, or put a bullet in the back of my head, then so be it. There’s nothing left they can take from me. So if this guy is going to try and do something, then I want to at least try to help him. Don’t you?”

  * * *

  Two hours later, a long way from Lindisfarne, Kevin McKenna sipped a can of lager while Albert Harker read over his shoulder, his fangs visible beneath a top lip that was curled into a wide grin of pleasure.

  The journalist and the vampire were huddled around McKenna’s laptop in an anonymous room in a chain hotel in the west London suburbs. They had left his house in Kilburn less than an hour after the blog post went live, Harker in the clothes he was wearing, McKenna with a sports bag full of hastily gathered clothes, notebooks, pens, and toiletries. He had no way of knowing whether the vampire was right, that Blacklight would come for him when they saw the blog, but he had found himself unwilling to take the chance.

  “Wonderful,” said the vampire. “Just wonderful. Less than six hours and already we have two highly detailed eyewitness accounts of both vampires and Blacklight. I could not have hoped for better.”

  McKenna nodded as Harker floated across the room and picked up a steaming mug of coffee. He had been astonished to see the stories appear beneath his blog, stories that were full of helicopters and soldiers and death and blood, but were nonetheless horribly, compellingly convincing. He was trying to stay calm, to not get too carried away, but was not completely succeeding.

  If this is all true, he thought, then he’s right. This is the story of the century.

  “So what now?” he asked, carefully. “We’ve got two people who say they saw vampires and one who saw the men you told me about. It’s a start, but it’s only two people.”

  Harker sipped his coffee. “There’ll be more,” he said. “A lot more, I suspect. As for what now, you need to get to work.”

  “On what?”

  Harker smiled. “Your finest hour, my dear Mr. McKenna.”

  41

  UNDERCURRENTS

  I’m sorry,” said Kate. “I let you down.”

  “Nonsense,” replied Paul Turner. “You were provoked by someone who has been manipulating people for more than four centuries. You stood up to him, and for your friends.”

  “But that’s what he wanted,” said Kate.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Turner. “You should still be proud of yourself.”

  They were sitting in the ISAT lounge, Kate on the sofa and Paul in the plastic desk chair. Kate was so furious with herself for having risen to Valentin’s bait that she was physically shaking; she had tried to drink a glass of water to calm herself down, but had spilled most of it on the carpeted floor. She had been expecting her boss to be every bit as angry with her as she was with herself. As a result, part of her was almost disappointed by his response.

  “You told me not to let him inside my head,” she said. “You said those exact words.”

  “I know what I said,” replied Turner. “And I wish you hadn’t. But I don’t believe he can use anything you said against you, or us. I imagine attempting to upset you amused him.”

  “He succeeded,” said Kate.

  “So I could see,” said Turner. The sight of his colleague shouting at one of the oldest vampires in the world had warmed his heart considerably; it had been all he could do to stop himself grinning like an idiot.

  Kate managed a small smile. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “The things he said about Jamie and Marie?”

  “I don’t know,” said Turner. “Jamie’s Zero Hour cleared, so I don’t think he’s breaking any regulations
by visiting Valentin. But if it’s happened more than once, if it’s become some kind of regular thing, then it will have to stop. As for Marie, I don’t really see what I can do about that. We can’t put her anywhere else, and Valentin can go through the UV barriers at will.”

  “You don’t think he’d hurt her, do you?” asked Kate.

  “I don’t know,” said Turner. “I hope not. But there isn’t much I consider beyond Valentin Rusmanov, if the wrong mood were to take him.”

  “Don’t tell Jamie that,” said Kate. “He’s got enough to worry about.”

  “We all have,” said Turner. “But I won’t concern him with something we can’t do anything about.”

  “I can’t believe he’s been going to see Valentin,” she said, in a low voice. “If he needed to talk to someone, why not me or Matt? Or his mom? Or Colonel Frankenstein, for that matter?”

  “I wish I knew,” said Turner. “Maybe he wanted to know more about his family. Valentin knew his grandfather, maybe that’s what they talk about.”

  “Frankenstein knew John Carpenter,” said Kate. “Why not talk to him?”

  The security officer didn’t answer, and she found herself suddenly, painfully angry. Despite the promise she, Larissa, Matt, and Jamie had made to each other months earlier, the world was still riddled with secrets, with lies and hidden motives.

  Paul Turner’s console beeped into life. He pulled the plastic square from his belt and checked it. As Kate watched, his eyes widened momentarily before his face brightened into a smile.

  “Natalia Lenski is awake,” he said. “No permanent physical damage, no memory loss. Excellent.”

  “Good news,” said Kate, feeling her anger subside as the weight of her guilt over what had happened to the young Russian girl was lifted from her shoulders. “That’s really good.”

  “Agreed,” said Turner, getting up from his chair. “I need to send a Security Division team down to question her. We’ll push the next interview back an hour. Go and get a coffee, forget about Valentin Rusmanov, and come back ready to work. Okay?”

  “Paul,” she said. He paused, his hand resting on the door handle, and turned back to look at her.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think you could do me a small favor?”

  * * *

  Kate and Matt walked quickly along the Level C corridor toward the infirmary.

  Paul Turner had not been thrilled by her request to let Matt see Natalia before she was officially interviewed, but had agreed after only a small amount of pleading; he understood why it was important to her, and why it would be to her friend. She had thanked him and immediately messaged Matt. Ordinarily, she would not have expected a reply; Jamie, Larissa, and herself had all become accustomed to Matt being extremely difficult to get ahold of. But in this case, she had not been surprised to receive a message from him less than a minute after she pressed SEND, agreeing to meet her at the Level C elevator.

  “So she’s really going to be okay?” he asked. “That’s what Major Turner said?”

  “For the fifth time,” she said, smiling at her friend, “Paul said she’s going to be fine.”

  “That’s good,” said Matt. “That’s really great.”

  You’ve got it bad, my friend, she thought, happily. If only you knew what I know.

  They reached the infirmary and stepped through the double doors. The long white room was almost empty; only a single bed, halfway down the left-hand wall, was occupied. Natalia Lenski raised her pale, pretty face from her pillow and peered at them as they approached, a small smile of recognition appearing as she did so.

  “Matt,” she said. “Kate. It is very good to see you both.”

  Matt blushed ever so slightly as she said his name, a tiny bloom of pale pink. He pulled slightly ahead as they neared Natalia and arrived at her bedside first. Kate slowed her own pace fractionally, hanging back to give them the briefest of moments alone.

  “Are you all right?” asked Matt. “How do you feel?”

  Natalia Lenski was a mess. Her face was bruised black and yellow, and covered in small scratches and cuts. A thin rectangle of bandage covered a patch of skin just above her ear, and her left eye was swollen almost shut. But she smiled at his questions, her face lighting up beautifully as she did so.

  “I am not too bad,” she said. “I was lucky, I think. Very lucky.”

  “Hi, Natalia,” said Kate, stopping beside Matt. “Good to see you again.”

  Matt frowned. “Do you two know each other?” he asked.

  “Not really,” said Kate. “Right?”

  “That is right,” Natalia replied, and smiled again. The girl’s injuries made Kate’s heart hurt, but her smile was a lovely thing to see.

  “Do you remember what happened?” asked Matt. “The explosion?”

  “I remember a sound,” said Natalia, frowning. “A very big sound. Then nothing until I woke up here and the doctors told me the door had hit me. They said it kept the fire away.”

  “Wow,” said Matt, softly. “I can’t believe you survived a bomb blowing up right in front of you. You’re like a superhero.”

  Natalia smiled, and Matt blushed again, more obviously.

  I should go, thought Kate. I’m in the way here.

  “I have to get back to ISAT,” she said. “I just wanted to see if you were okay, Natalia, and I’m really glad you are. Matt, you can stay for about ten minutes before Security gets here. If you want to, that is?”

  “I’ll stay,” said Matt, then looked at Natalia. “I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

  “Stay,” said Natalia. “It will be nice.”

  “Okay,” said Kate. “I’ll see you both later.” She turned to leave, but Matt said her name, and she stopped.

  “I wanted to ask Natalia something,” he said. “It might be better if you’re here.”

  “Okay,” she said. “What is it?”

  Matt turned his pale, earnest face toward the girl lying in the bed. “Why were you going into Kate’s room, Natalia? When the bomb went off. What was going on?”

  Natalia blushed deeply. “I cannot tell you that,” she replied. “It is private.”

  “Private?” asked Matt, glancing at Kate. “Between the two of you? How does that work?”

  “You heard her, Matt,” said Kate. “She said it’s private.”

  Matt frowned and looked about to protest, but saw the gentle warning in his friend’s gaze. He looked at her for a moment, then turned his attention back to Natalia.

  “I have to go,” continued Kate. “Lunch tomorrow. One thirty. No excuses.”

  Matt nodded. “Okay,” he said, then began to tell Natalia about the developments at the Lazarus Project in the last thirty-six hours. Natalia’s smile slowly returned, and Kate left her listening happily to Matt’s increasingly excitable narrative. She closed the infirmary door behind her, knowing full well that she would not see Matt in the dining room the following afternoon, and forgiving him in advance. She walked along the corridor, her mind full of hope at the fragile, bittersweet prospect of two people finding happiness amid the darkness that surrounded them all.

  Christ, I hope he works out what’s going on, she thought, pressing the button that summoned the elevator. There’s no way she’s going to tell him, and I promised her I wouldn’t. It’s so obvious, though, surely he’ll see it for himself? He is a genius, after all.

  The elevator arrived and she stepped inside, a big smile on her face.

  Although for a genius, she reminded herself, he sometimes isn’t very bright.

  * * *

  As Kate Randall and Matt Browning were opening the door to the infirmary, Major Paul Turner was stepping out of the airlock at the end of the cellblock on Level G. His stomach was twisted into an unpickable knot, a hard ball of cold, raging fury.

  Stay calm, he told hims
elf. For her sake, if not for your own. Stay calm.

  The guard post to his left was occupied by an operator from the Security Division that Turner commanded. The protocol was for every visitor to the block to sign in and out, but the security officer didn’t so much as glance in the man’s direction as he strode down the corridor, even when the operator plaintively called his name. He kept walking, forcing himself not to run, his boots clicking loudly on the floor of the corridor.

  Stay calm. Stay calm.

  He had told Kate Randall he wasn’t angry with her, wasn’t disappointed in her, and he had been telling the truth.

  He wasn’t angry with her.

  Turner reached Valentin Rusmanov’s cell, took a deep breath, and stepped out in front of the ultraviolet wall that was supposed to keep the ancient vampire contained.

  The cell was empty.

  Turner stared for a long moment, and was about to reach for the radio on his belt when a blur descended from the ceiling. An arm shot out, inhumanly fast, hauled him through the purple barrier, and slammed him against the flat concrete wall. He gasped as the blur solidified into the familiar shape of Valentin Rusmanov, his fangs gleaming, his eyes blazing red.

  “If you’re planning to kill me, Major Turner,” said the vampire, “I suggest you learn to be a little lighter on your feet.”

  “I didn’t come here . . . to fight,” croaked Turner. “If I had, I wouldn’t . . . have come . . . alone.”

  “Fair enough,” said Valentin, and he released his grip. Turner fell to the floor, clutching at his neck. “In which case, what can I do for you, Major Turner? Given that we had the pleasure of each other’s company barely an hour ago?”

  The security officer forced himself to his feet.

  “I want to know why you did it,” he said. His voice was low; it was taking every ounce of his strength to keep his temper, to not let the humiliation Valentin had just dealt him mix fatally with the fury that was already roaring inside him. “I want to know why you did that to Kate.”