Department 19, The Rising, and Battle Lines

by Will Hill

  “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 centre 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 order. How very kind of you.”

  Jamie’s face flushed, but he said nothing as the Security Officer stepped aside and motioned towards the open door; he 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 recognised 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 appears 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 enquiringly 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 leant forward in his chair, an unreadable expression on his face. “What are your recommendations, Paul? Tell me what you need.”

  “I want authorisation 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…”

  “Authorised,” said Holmwood. “We cannot 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 towards 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 pretence 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 w
ould prefer to 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 any more, 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 unauthorised 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 centre 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 leant 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?”

  “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 colour 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 towards the airlock, then let out a long, slow breath.

  The monster’s attempts to intimidate him had been laughable; he 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 on to his bed.

  It’s rarely dull around here
, he thought, as he picked up his book. I’ll give them that.

  50 DAYS TILL ZERO HOUR

  32

  CLOSING THE NET

  Jamie Carpenter looked round 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 they 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 was built with materials available inside the Loop, including its trigger and explosive core. 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, as a result, 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.”