Department 19, The Rising, and Battle Lines

by Will Hill

  When Smith was calm, when the colour had returned to his face and the clarity to his eyes, Adam asked who the boy was, and Smith recoiled in shock, as though he had been slapped.

  “You saw him too?” Smith asked, incredulous.

  “As clearly as I see you,” Adam replied. “Shared visions are rare things. They’re usually important. Who was he?”

  Smith sat up, and Adam took half a step away; the look of anguish on Smith’s face was almost too much for him to bear.

  “What was that?” Smith asked, his voice cracked and broken from screaming. “In the cave. Was it real? Tell me.”

  “I don’t know,” replied Adam. Fear was creeping through him, the feeling of having unleashed something he should perhaps have left alone. “It might have been, it might not. It could be something that has happened, or something that’s going to. Who was he?”

  The man who was calling himself Robert Smith took a deep breath.

  “His name is Jamie Carpenter,” he replied. “He’s my son.”

  41

  AND A TORCH TO LIGHT THE WAY

  “Say that again,” asked Paul Turner.

  Valentin smiled. “I have been assured by people I trust that my brother has had informants inside Blacklight for more than half a century, Major Turner. As I said, I cannot speculate about anyone else who might have managed to infiltrate your little organisation.”

  “You have evidence to back up what you’re suggesting?” asked Turner, his voice low.

  “This is not a courtroom, Mr Turner,” replied Valentin. “You asked me a question, I answered it. Whether you believe me or not is hardly my concern.”

  Turner stared at the ancient vampire with his glacial grey eyes, a look that would have sent chills running up the spines of most men. But Valentin Rusmanov was not most men; he was, in fact, not a man at all, and so he merely smiled.

  “If you’re waiting for me to crumble under your fearsome gaze, Mr Turner, I suspect we may be here for some time. I would recommend that you continue with your questions.”

  Major Turner held the vampire’s gaze for a moment longer, then looked away. His pale face remained as unreadable as always.

  “Do you know the names of any of the men or women your brother mentioned to you?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” replied Valentin.

  “Ranks? Dates? Anything that would help to identify them?”

  “No,” replied the vampire. “Sorry.”

  “Then you will presumably not take offence at my suggestion that this could simply be a move on your part designed to sow fear and doubt within this organisation?”

  “I take no offence,” said Valentin. “And I will certainly not think any less of you if that is the conclusion you reach. I’m sure investigating what I’ve told you will involve a large amount of predominantly tedious work, and I will understand if you do not have the appetite for it.”

  The vampire was now openly goading Major Turner; it was obvious to everyone who was watching, including Jamie.

  Keep calm, he thought, staring at the Security Officer. If you react, you’re letting him win. Keep calm.

  “My appetites are my own business, Mr Rusmanov,” replied Turner, calmly. “Unlike yours, which you inflict on innocent men and women.” A flicker of red crackled in the corners of the vampire’s eyes, and Turner continued. “For the sake of clarification, do you possess any information regarding your brother Valeri’s claim to have repeatedly infiltrated Blacklight? Beyond mere gossip, that is?”

  Valentin narrowed his eyes, and shifted in his chair.

  “No,” he answered. “I do not.”

  “Thank you,” said Major Turner. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

  Well done, thought Jamie. Bloody brilliantly well done.

  A loud beep rang out through the cellblock corridor, and everyone turned to look at the source of the sound. Admiral Seward pulled his console from his pocket, checked the screen and then widened his eyes, fractionally.

  “Carry on, please,” he said, nodding at Turner. “Lieutenant Carpenter, a word, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Jamie, and followed the Director towards the airlock door. When they were both safely through and standing in the small alcove beside the lift, Seward passed his console to Jamie.

  “Read it,” he said.

  Jamie took it from him, thumbed the control pad and watched the screen power up. He began to read the text that was filling the small rectangle.

  FROM: Ellis, Christian (NS303, 47-J)

  TO: Seward, Henry (NS303, 27-A)

  The trail of the individual suspected of being Colonel Frankenstein remained clear and verifiable as far south as Paris. Witness statements are attached. Last likely sighting was four weeks ago (Christmas Eve) at Notre Dame Cathedral. Investigation suggests that he is, or was, in the company of Jean-Luc Latour (V/A2/87), a Priority Level 2 vampire. Further investigation, including attempts to locate Latour, has proved fruitless. Trail appears to now be cold. Request permission to return to base.

  Jamie read the message a second time, so he could be sure that his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

  “They’re coming home?” he asked, incredulous. “That’s it? They’re giving up?”

  “Their investigation is concluded, Jamie,” replied Admiral Seward. “I asked them to ascertain whether Colonel Frankenstein was still alive. They have been unable to do so.”

  “It’s obvious he’s still alive,” said Jamie. “Surely it’s obvious?”

  Seward sighed heavily. “I want him to be alive too, Jamie. I really do. But the Field Investigation Team are coming home. They’ve done their job, and I’ve granted their request.”

  “What about this vampire?” asked Jamie. “Latour?”

  Seward took his console back from Jamie, pressed a series of keys, then handed it back. Jamie looked down at the file that had opened on the screen.

  Subject name:

  LATOUR, JEAN-LUC

  Species:

  VAMPIRE

  Priority level:

  A2

  Known associates:

  VALERIANO, DANTE

  FRANKENSTEIN, VICTOR

  Most recent sighting:

  18/5/2002

  Whereabouts:

  PARIS (UNSPECIFIED)

  NOTES:

  One of the oldest vampires in Paris, and possibly in all of France.

  Believed to have been turned circa 1900, by an unknown vampire.

  Known to frequent Saint-Germain-des-Prés, the Marais, the Rive Gauche.

  Often sighted in the company of artists, writers and other notable cultural figures.

  Kills to feed and for pleasure, without discrimination.

  Jamie made a decision.

  It took no thinking whatsoever, and the possible consequences of the decision didn’t even occur to him; it was simply one of those rare, liberating moments when you know exactly what you need to do, that there are no other options.

  “I’m going to Paris to find him, sir,” he said. “I really hope I can go with your permission, but either way, I’m going.”

  He braced himself for the explosion, but it didn’t come. Admiral Seward was staring at him with a look on his face that was full of empathy, and not a little admiration.

  “Permission granted,” the Director replied.

  Jamie fought back the urge to throw himself at Admiral Seward and wrap his arms round the greying, exhausted-looking man.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said. “Really. Thank you.”

  Seward nodded. “Assemble a five-man team from the active roster,” he said. “Then come back to me for final authorisation. Do not leave without my go, is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jamie. “I’m on it.”

  “All right then,” said Seward. “Go and see to it. Dismissed.”

  The Director headed back towards the airlock, and stepped through the first door. As it swung slowly shut, he turned to look at Jamie, through the narrowing gap. He
looked as though there was something else he wanted to say, the muscles around his mouth twitching as though he was about to speak, but then the door rolled shut with a loud thunk and the Director was gone.

  Jamie stared after him for a moment, then turned and walked across to the lift. He stepped inside the metal car, pulling his own console from his pocket as he did so. As the lift ascended, taking him up towards Level 0, he quickly typed out and sent a message to every Operator on the active roster.

  ACTIVE_LIST/VOLUNTARY_OP_EXT_L1A/LIVE_BRIEFING/OR/ASAP

  The lift doors opened, and Jamie strode down the corridor towards the Ops Room, wondering who would be the first to show up.

  It turned out to be Angela Darcy, although Jack Williams was less than a minute behind her.

  The pretty, deadly former spy strolled into the Ops Room as though she was taking a Sunday morning constitutional, smiled at Jamie and sat down at one of the desks. He nodded in return, about to say hello to her, when the door opened again and Jack Williams bustled through it.

  “I came as soon as I got your message,” he said, slightly out of breath. “What’s going on?”

  “Let’s wait and see who else turns up,” replied Jamie, a broad smile on his face. He was thrilled to see two of the Operators he respected the most in Department 19 answer his call. “I’ll tell you all about it then.”

  “OK,” said Jack, and sat down next to Angela. She smiled at her squad leader, and the two of them began to chat, as Jamie watched the door.

  Larissa was the next to arrive, floating rapidly through the door. She threw a look of concern towards Jamie, then saw Angela and Jack looking at her, and slid to the ground. She walked over to Jamie, and leant in close to his ear.

  “What’s the emergency?” she asked, her voice low, her breath hot in his ear. “I came as soon as I could.”

  “It’s Frankenstein,” he whispered. “I’m going to find him.”

  “Then I’m coming with you,” she said, firmly.

  He smiled at her, a thin curl of his mouth that seemed full of pain, rather than happiness. “We’ll see,” he said. “Go and sit down. I’m going to give it five more minutes to see if anyone else turns up.”

  She regarded him with a look of concern, but did as he suggested; she crossed the large semi-circular room and sat down, slightly stiffly, next to Angela and Jack. There was an initial icy moment, but then Angela said hello to her, and she was absorbed into their conversation.

  The door opened again, and two Operators he recognised but didn’t really know walked through it. The first was a woman in her early twenties called Claire Lock, a former marksman with the Metropolitan Police’s elite SO15 unit whom Jamie had chatted to in the mess once or twice. Behind her was a tall, handsome man in his late twenties, who Jamie knew was named Dominique Saint-Jacques.

  The quiet, dark-skinned Frenchman had been a legionnaire before Blacklight had recruited him; it had been quite a coup, as the elite soldiers of mainland Europe almost always joined the FTB, the German equivalent of Department 19. But Dominique had an English grandfather, and that had swayed his decision. He had given Blacklight many reasons to be grateful for the quirk of ancestry that had brought him to the Loop; Admiral Seward had once told Jamie that he considered Dominique as fine an Operator as any currently serving in the Department. The fact that he was a native French speaker only made his presence in the Ops Room all the more enticing for Jamie.

  That’s one, he thought. Without a doubt. Three more to pick.

  The door opened again, and Kate and Shaun Turner arrived through it at the same time. Kate smiled at Jamie, a look that was not quite convincing, and seemed to him to be shot through with concern. Shaun nodded respectfully at him, and he returned the gesture. They made their way over to the others, sat down and joined in with the low murmur of conversation as Jamie checked his watch.

  Ten minutes since I sent out the message, he noted. Can’t wait much longer.

  He managed to force himself to wait five more minutes, before he locked the Ops Room door and addressed the seven Operators who had responded to his call.

  “This briefing refers to a Priority Level 1 Operation,” he said. “You all know what that means. What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room; you can assume that anyone else who needs to know already knows. Clear?”

  There were a series of nodded heads and low murmurs of agreement.

  “OK,” he said, and continued. “Yesterday, Admiral Seward despatched a Field Investigation Team to the north-east coast, with a single objective: to ascertain whether Colonel Frankenstein may still be alive.”

  Larissa and Kate both gasped, and looked immediately at each other. Jack Williams’ eyes widened, as did those of Claire Lock. Dominique Saint-Jacques smiled at Jamie, while Shaun Turner and Angela Darcy remained completely impassive.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Jamie. “Why now, right? The team was despatched following the discovery of a body in a cave at the rear of a beach at a place called Bamburgh, in Northumberland. A body that has since been confirmed to be that of a lycanthrope, and which was washed ashore less than ten miles north of Lindisfarne island.”

  “My God,” said Kate, softly. “Is it the—”

  “We think so,” said Jamie. “For those of you who weren’t there, or haven’t read the reports, Frankenstein fell to what was assumed to be his death while fighting a werewolf that was a follower of Alexandru Rusmanov, a werewolf that fell with him. The body that was washed ashore had a broken neck, and human fingermarks on its throat; it was killed after it, and Frankenstein, fell over the edge of the cliffs.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Jack Williams. “If Colonel Frankenstein was alive, why wouldn’t he have made contact with us?”

  “I don’t know, Jack,” replied Jamie. “And I don’t know whether he’s alive or not. The Field Investigation Team tracked eyewitness accounts of a man matching his description from a small fishing port in northern Germany, where witnesses claim the man in question came ashore from one of the boats that work the North Sea, as far south as Paris, where the trail ended. The last confirmed sighting of this person, whoever he is, was on Christmas Eve.”

  “So what’s the plan?” asked Angela. Her voice was even, the voice of a professional.

  “The Director has authorised me to lead a team to Paris to investigate the whereabouts of this person, to try and locate him. I will be conducting this operation on the assumption that the man we’re looking for is Colonel Frankenstein, and that he is in considerable danger from the vampire he was sighted in the company of, a Priority Level 2 vamp called Latour. The primary objective will be to find him and bring him home. All other considerations will be secondary. If that doesn’t sit well with any of you, then thanks for listening, and no hard feelings. You know where the door is.”

  It was a gamble, he knew, exposing his personal interest in the mission, and the conclusion he had already reached, without remotely adequate evidence. He would not be offended if any of the Operators in the room were uneasy at volunteering for what he had essentially just admitted was a personal crusade, but he would also not have any of them risk their lives without being in full possession of the facts.

  Nobody moved.

  Jamie waited for a long moment, then sighed.

  “Thank you,” he said, meaning it. “I’m sure I don’t need to fill any of you in on my personal history with Colonel Frankenstein, or the circumstances that led to his apparent death. So for me, it’s as simple as this: if he’s alive, I’m going to find him. I don’t care if I have to destroy every vampire in France to do it. Is that clear?”

  There was a second chorus of agreement, and Jamie felt his heart lift as he looked at the seven faces staring coolly back at him.

  I would walk into the fire with any of them, he thought. Gladly too.

  “It’s a five-man team,” said Jamie, and felt a stab of guilt as the seven Operators glanced around at one another. “I’m sorry it has to come to th
is, but I had no idea how many people might show up, with all the squads so flat out at the moment. There’s nothing personal in my decision, I want you all to know that.”

  He saw smiles break out on the faces of Kate and Larissa, and felt a stab of pain at what he was about to do. As far as they were concerned, it was going to be the two of them, plus two of the others. He didn’t blame them for thinking that, but they had no true understanding of the rage that was burning inside his chest when he thought about the possibility of getting Frankenstein back, and he didn’t want them around if things in Paris went the way he expected them to.

  “Dominique, I’d be grateful if you would be my second on this operation,” he said. “How about it?”

  He saw Kate and Larissa’s smiles falter, just a fraction, as the tall Frenchman eased himself to his feet. He strode over and clasped Jamie’s hand.

  “I’m in,” he said. “Let’s bring him home.”

  “Thank you,” said Jamie. “I appreciate it.”

  Dominique nodded and stood beside Jamie, who looked out at the remaining Operators.

  “Are you up for this, Jack?” asked Jamie. “I’d love to have you if you are.” His friend leapt to his feet, and Jamie felt a grin threaten to burst across his face. He pushed it back, and gripped Jack’s outstretched hand.

  “Cheers, Jamie,” said Jack, in a low voice, then took his place beside Dominique.

  Jamie looked at the five remaining Operators, and felt his face flush with heat. Angela was looking at him with a curious expression on her face, as though she was more interested in what he was doing than whether or not he was going to pick her. Claire Lock was watching him with an even look, in which Jamie believed, or wanted to believe, at least, that he saw encouragement.