by Will Hill
Holmwood sighed. “What is it?”
Jarvis held out a folder. Cal took it and put it down on his desk.
“Just tell me,” he said. “I’ve read enough reports today to last a lifetime.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jarvis. “Yesterday afternoon, Kevin McKenna published a post on his blog, which referenced red eyes, and men in black suits. He appealed for people who knew what he was talking about to come forward with their stories.”
“Oh Christ,” said Holmwood. “Where is McKenna now?”
“We don’t know, sir. He’s not at home and he hasn’t used his phone or his credit cards since yesterday.”
“Albert Harker has him,” said Holmwood. “Find them, Jarvis. I don’t care how you do it, just find them.”
“We’re trying, sir,” replied Jarvis. “Unfortunately, that’s not all.”
“Go on.”
“The first two comments on McKenna’s blog were long, detailed accounts that set off about a dozen Echelon alerts. One appears to describe the incident that took place on Lindisfarne last year, while the other refers to a girl who fell from the sky into a garden, and a helicopter that landed in a suburban street.”
Holmwood stared. “Kate Randall’s father? And Matt Browning’s?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jarvis. “We’ve tracked the IP addresses from where the comments were posted. They were behind a maze of proxies and aliases, but we got the locations eventually. Lindisfarne, Northumberland, and Staveley, Derbyshire.”
“Where are Randall and Browning?”
“Missing, sir. We found Randall’s car at Berwick train station this morning. No tickets were bought using his name. We’re working on the assumption that they are either with, or on their way to meet, Kevin McKenna and Albert Harker.”
Holmwood stared for a long moment. “Why am I hearing about this now, Captain Jarvis?” he asked, his voice low and angry. “You were in the Zero Hour meetings. You know that Albert Harker is a priority.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Jarvis. “We’re tracking more than thirty of the Broadmoor escapees and keeping tabs on the rest as best we can. We’re badly understaffed, and this didn’t appear important to anyone who isn’t Zero Hour classified. It fell through the cracks, sir.”
Holmwood looked at the Captain for a long moment. “All right,” he said. “It is what it is. I’ll bring Jack Williams up to speed. No one else needs to know about this. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jarvis.
Kate Randall waited for the electronic locks to disengage, then pushed open the ISAT security door.
Her mind was full of worry – for Morton, for Jamie and Ellison, and for Matt – but not the anger she had felt only months earlier when Jamie had rejected her offer to help in similar circumstances. She was proud of herself for having reached a point where she no longer assumed the worst of her friend, no longer assumed that his decisions were designed to diminish or damage her, when, in fact, they tended to represent the opposite: a well-meaning, if slightly patronising, desire to protect her.
She headed for the lounge, where she hoped Paul Turner would be; she wanted to tell him what had happened to Jamie’s squad. She was so deep in thought that she didn’t see the nervous-looking woman standing in the reception, and walked straight into her.
“Oh God,” Kate said, stumbling and grabbing the reception desk to steady herself. “I’m really sorry.” She looked round and found herself face to face with a glowing red gaze.
“Oh, Kate,” said Marie Carpenter, her eyes instantly fading back to their usual pale green. “I’m so sorry. Did I frighten you?”
“No, Mrs Carpenter,” said Kate, smiling. “I’m fine. Are you OK?”
Marie nodded, her usual nervous expression back on her face. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m sorry about my eyes. I can’t… it just happens. I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK,” said Kate. “Honestly. I’ve seen far scarier things than you, believe me.”
Marie smiled. “I’m sure you have.”
Kate looked at her friend’s mother, deep affection rising in her chest. Marie was dressed in a pair of dark red slacks and a pale blue blouse. She looked every inch the middle-class housewife she had been, which made her seem incredibly out of place inside the Loop, a place of endless black and grey.
“Is this where you work?” asked Marie, looking around the small ISAT reception. “Jamie told me you were doing something important, but he said he couldn’t tell me what it was.”
“This is it,” said Kate. “It’s called ISAT. It’s… sort of an internal affairs department.”
“Is it dangerous?” asked Marie. “Sorry, silly question. Of course it is. Everything here is dangerous.”
“I didn’t think it was going to be,” said Kate. “Unpopular, yes. But it’s turned out to be more dangerous that I thought. Like you said, I probably shouldn’t be surprised.”
“No,” said Marie. She had clutched her hands together in front of her stomach and was wringing them gently. “Probably not.”
“What are you doing here, Mrs Carpenter?” asked Kate, gently. “Did someone send for you?”
“Oh,” said Marie, her face brightening. “A young man came down and told me I had to have an interview and brought me here. He was very polite.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Kate, smiling. “I’m sorry, the schedules keep changing at the moment. If I’d known, I’d have come down to get you myself. The interview is nothing to be worried about, I promise. I’ll be there, so you won’t be on your own. Just stay here and someone will come and get you.”
“I’ll do that,” said Marie. She smiled, an open, lovely smile that warmed Kate’s heart. “I’ll wait right here.”
“OK,” said Kate. “I’ll see you in a minute.”
She left Jamie’s mother standing beside the reception desk and walked into the lounge. As she had hoped, Paul Turner was there; he was sitting on the sofa, holding a piece of paper in his hands. He looked up as she entered, and the look on his face filled her with instant concern.
He looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“Paul?” she said. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’m fine.”
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the document in his hand.
“Security completed their investigation,” he said. “Into the bombing. These are their conclusions.”
“Anything we didn’t know?”
“Yes,” said Turner. “Sit down.”
Kate frowned, but pulled the plastic chair out from beneath the desk and took a seat.
“There was a vampire in your quarters, Kate,” said Turner, his eyes fixed on hers. “It’s been confirmed. For four minutes, about two hours before the device exploded. More than long enough.”
Kate felt cold spill through her. “How do you know?” she asked. “I thought there was nothing on the cameras?”
“There wasn’t,” said Turner. “And that was persuasive, although not conclusive. But the cameras aren’t our only means of surveillance. We have a system that monitors the temperature of every room in the Loop and records even the smallest variation. That’s how we know.”
“I’ve never heard about that,” said Kate. “Is it new?”
Turner nodded. “It was installed after Valentin’s defection. After it became clear he could leave his cell whenever he wanted, we needed a way of tracking him. In case of something like this.”
“Who knew about it?” she asked.
“The Interim Director, Security Section C, and myself,” replied Turner. “It was decided that it was better for as few people as possible to know. It’s easier to watch people who don’t know they’re being watched.”
What a lovely concept, thought Kate.
“So it showed a rise in temperature in my room?” she asked.
“That’s right,” said Turner. “A spike, from the room’s ambient temperature to several degrees beyond what humans are capable of producing. It’
s definitive.”
“So why didn’t it show up straight away? How come you’ve only just found out about it?”
“The monitoring systems on Level B were damaged in the explosion,” said Turner. “We didn’t know whether it was going to be possible to retrieve their data. A lot of it is lost, but they managed to extract the records for your quarters. And there it was.”
“So we were wrong,” said Kate, slowly. “This was a vampire attack. It wasn’t anything to do with ISAT.”
“I don’t know,” said Turner. “I still don’t buy the idea that a vampire would attack you and me by pure coincidence, but I don’t have an explanation yet. If nothing else, we’ve narrowed down our list of suspects.”
The pieces clicked into place in Kate’s mind. “Jamie’s mother is in reception,” she said. “Is this why?”
“Yes,” said Turner. “Although I will be genuinely astounded if she turns out to be our culprit. I’m beginning to suspect that one of the many skills our friend Valentin has acquired over the centuries is how to pass a lie detector, even one as sophisticated as ours. I want him brought back up here as soon as we’re done with Marie. Then, I suspect, we’ll get some answers.”
“I’ll take care of it,” said Kate. “I had something to tell you as well.”
“What is it?”
“You know John Morton? Jamie’s rookie?”
“I know him,” said Turner. “I saw Jamie had sent him for a psych evaluation. He made a couple of mistakes in the field?”
“That’s him,” said Kate. “They’ve been chasing a vamp called Alastair Dempsey, a really horrible piece of work. They missed him yesterday and a civilian girl died. Apparently, it was Morton’s fault.”
“So?” asked Turner. “Jamie knows what he’s doing. What’s the news?”
“Morton’s gone after Dempsey on his own,” said Kate. “He left a note for Ellison – she’s the other rookie in Jamie’s squad. He went three hours ago.”
“Christ,” said Turner. “Has Jamie gone after him?”
“Yep. Him and Ellison left about fifteen minutes ago. She’s out of her mind, thinks he’s going to get himself killed.”
Turner appeared to consider this for a moment. “Jamie’s doing the right thing,” he said, eventually. “One of your team gets in trouble, you try your best to get them out of it. That’s all you can do.”
“I know,” said Kate. “I just thought you’d want me to tell you.”
“I’m glad you did,” said Turner. “We can’t afford to lose anyone else, not with the Department as weak as it is. But Jamie will bring him home. I’d bet on it.”
“I would too.”
“OK then,” said Turner. “Back to our own job. Let’s see what Mrs Carpenter has to say. Quickly.”
“This is ISAT interview 086, conducted by Major Paul Turner, NS303, 36-A in the presence of Lieutenant Kate Randall, NS303, 78-J. State your name, please.”
“Marie Carpenter.”
Green.
“Please answer the following question incorrectly,” said Turner. “State your gender, please.”
“Male,” replied Marie.
Red.
Jamie’s mother looked incredibly nervous and Kate felt deeply sorry for her. Marie Carpenter had only become involved with Blacklight by accident, as a consequence of a lie her husband had perpetuated throughout their entire marriage; now she was a supernatural creature, imprisoned indefinitely inside a military base, and subject to frightening and unpleasant episodes like the one she was currently undergoing.
“Thank you,” said Turner, his voice level. “We have some questions we need you to answer, but we won’t keep you a minute longer than we need to, I promise.”
“It’s OK,” said Marie, forcing a small smile. “I want to help.”
Green.
“Two days ago, an explosive device was detonated on one of the residential levels of this facility. Were you aware of that?”
“I felt the building shake,” said Marie. “I knew something had happened. I didn’t know it was a bomb, though.”
Green.
“Thank you,” said Turner. “Were you—”
“Was anyone hurt?” asked Marie. Her face was pale.
“I’m sorry?”
“When the bomb went off,” said Marie. “Was anyone hurt?”
“That’s classified information, I’m afraid.”
“That means someone got hurt,” said Marie.
“Mrs Carpenter, that isn’t important right now. What is—”
“You’re the one my son talks about,” said Marie. Her voice had acquired an edge to it, a sliver of smooth steel. “The cold-blooded one. How can you say people getting hurt isn’t important?”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Turner. “I meant it’s not important to this process. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Oh,” said Marie, her voice small once more. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thought of people being hurt.”
No surprise there, thought Kate. Given who her son is.
“I don’t either,” she said. “Are you OK to continue?”
Marie nodded.
“All right,” said Turner, shooting a grateful glance in Kate’s direction. “Mrs Carpenter, were you responsible for planting the explosive device on Level B of this facility?”
“No,” said Marie, instantly. “Of course not.”
Green.
“Do you know who was responsible?”
“No.”
Green.
“Do you have any information that could be relevant to identifying the perpetrator of this attack?”
“Not that I can think of. I’m sorry.”
Green.
“We interviewed Valentin Rusmanov yesterday, Mrs Carpenter. He told us that he has had a number of conversations with you in your cell. Is that true?”
“Yes,” said Marie. “Am I in trouble?”
Green.
“Not at all,” replied Turner. “Has Mr Rusmanov ever said anything that you believe could have been related to the planning of an attack on this Department?”
“No,” replied Marie. “I’m sure he hasn’t.”
Green.
“What do the two of you talk about?”
“I’m not sure that’s any of your business, Major Turner,” replied Marie, politely.
Green.
Kate smiled. “You’re probably right,” she said. “But it could be really helpful. Anything you tell us will go no further than this room.”
Marie looked at her with an expression on her face that Kate didn’t like.
She’s disappointed in me, she thought. For being part of this.
She was surprised to discover how much she disliked such an idea; it was similar to how she had felt on any of the many occasions that her father had caught her doing something she wasn’t supposed to, or playing somewhere she shouldn’t.
“Jamie,” said Marie, eventually. “We mostly talk about Jamie.”
Green.
“Is Valentin interested in your son?” asked Turner.
“Very,” said Marie, proudly. “He told me that, out of all of you, he defected to Jamie because he was so impressed by what he had done to his brother.”
“Jamie killed his brother,” said Turner, softly.
“I know exactly what he did,” snapped Marie. “I was there. So was Kate, for that matter. Where were you, Major Turner?”
Wow, thought Kate. There are about three people in this whole building who would have had the balls to say that. Wow.
Turner smiled. “I was in Russia,” he said. “Cleaning up a different massacre. One carried out by the oldest Rusmanov.”
“Oh,” said Marie, colour rising in her cheeks. “I didn’t know that.”
“It’s all right,” said Turner. “There’s no reason why you would.”
“I’m sorry,” said Marie. “I get a bit defensive about my son.”
“Perfectly understandable,” said Turner. �
�I had a son. He did a lot of stupid things, but I always took his side. I don’t think parents can help it.”
Kate felt a chill up her spine. Don’t talk about him, she thought. Not now. Please don’t.
“You had a son?” said Marie, slowly.
“Shaun.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died,” said Turner. “A few months ago. He was killed by Valentin’s brother.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Marie, her voice thick and choked with tears.
“Thank you,” said Turner. Kate looked helplessly at him; she wanted to reach out and put her hand on his shoulder, but knew she could not.
“So that’s all you and Valentin talk about?” she asked, hoping to give Paul a moment. “About Jamie?”
“No,” said Marie. “Sometimes he tells me about my husband’s family. He knew Jamie’s grandfather.”
“John,” said Turner.
“That’s him,” replied Marie. “He sounds like a remarkable man.”
“I never met him,” said Turner. “He retired before my time. But from everything I’ve ever heard, I’d say you were right.”
“I told Valentin to tell Jamie about him. I think he’d like to hear about his grandfather.”
“Maybe he will,” said Turner. “Apparently, they talk quite often.”
Kate watched Marie closely. There was no surprise on her face, but something flickered across it.
“They do,” said Marie. “I can hear him as soon as he gets out of the airlock. I don’t know if he knows that, but I can. So I hear them talking.”
He doesn’t always come and see you, does he? realised Kate, suddenly. Sometimes he visits Valentin and not you. Jesus, Jamie.
“Have you heard anything else from the other cells?” asked Turner. “Anything out of the ordinary?”
“No,” said Marie, shaking her head. “People talking, laughing. Tapping away on those big mobile phone things you all carry. Nothing strange.”
Both Kate and Paul Turner froze.
After a few seconds, Marie gave a nervous little laugh. “What did I say?” she asked.
“What did you hear, Mrs Carpenter?” asked Turner, recovering slightly faster than Kate. “What exactly? Tell me.”
“Fingers tapping on a plastic screen,” said Marie, frowning. “And that beep they make. Jamie is always playing with his when he visits me.”
