The tunnel disgorged into a huge chamber, a nexus where a dozen sewers of various calibres met and emptied. Streams of water cascaded into a frothing, boiling central pool, whose contents were funnelled into a broad channel leading underground. Iron bars formed a grille across the channel’s exit, too narrowly spaced for a person to fit through. Redlaw wouldn’t have contemplated taking that route anyway. The water was a coursing torrent and there was scant headroom. Drowning was all but guaranteed.
There was a way out, though. Had to be. Tchaikovsky wouldn’t have designated this an escape route otherwise.
He spotted a ladder on the far side of the chamber. It hugged the wall, rising to an aperture near the ceiling. There for maintenance purposes, presumably. Municipal workers must come down here from time to time to inspect for leaks and blockages.
Acutely conscious of the two soldiers breathing down their necks, Redlaw indicated the ladder to Miguel and the other vampires. They sprang down from the lip of the sewer into the pool.
“Tina,” Redlaw said in her ear, “we’re going to jump. It’s a drop of about five feet, no more. Then we’re going to swim. You first. I’ll be right behind you.”
He thought she would object. It seemed that there was nothing straightforward with Tina Checkley, nothing she wouldn’t argue about first. But she surprised him by nodding assent and taking a shuffling step forward. She plunged feet first into the pool and surfaced straight away, spluttering. Redlaw launched himself in after her, on his back, spread-eagling himself so as to distribute his weight out. The night vision goggles were water-resistant but not waterproof. If the mechanism got wet, they might short out and stop working.
He managed to hit the pool without going completely under. The goggles were splashed but not soaked and remained functional, allowing him to thrash over to Tina and guide her across the pool towards a platform around the base of the ladder.
The vampires were already there and shinning up the ladder at inhuman speed, like monkeys up a palm tree. Redlaw heaved himself out of the bitterly cold, noxious-smelling water. He helped Tina out too. Then he turned, just in time to see the two soldiers arrive at the mouth of the sewer, their guns unshipped. They scanned around, searching for the vampires. One spied them on the ladder and pointed them out to the other. Both trained their rifles, curling their fingers inside the trigger guards.
Redlaw steadied the Cindermaker with both hands and aimed at the soldier on the left. It was unlikely he could kill the man, not with that body armour on, but the kick from the bullet impact might put him out of action. At the very least he could draw the soldiers’ fire, giving the vampires a few extra moments to make it to the top.
God, really, if you’re listening, I could do with a little divine intervention.
He squeezed the trigger.
He hit the soldier in the dead centre of his body mass. The man reeled, his finger tightening convulsively on the trigger. A volley of rounds pumped from his rifle into the soldier on the right, who was hurled backwards as though yanked by an invisible rope. His body struck the edge of the sewer mouth a glancing blow, then fell flailing into the pool, bellyflopping with an almighty splash and disappearing below the surface.
The first soldier, winded by Redlaw’s shot, slumped against the sewer wall. He clearly couldn’t quite believe that he had just fired on his comrade at point blank range.
Regaining his senses, he staggered to his feet and leaned out over the pool. No sign of the other man. He was clearly wracked with indecision. The vampires had, nearly all of them, scaled the ladder. They were getting away. But a fellow soldier was down, injured, in danger of drowning...
With a grunt of thwarted anger, the soldier leapt into the pool and dived under.
Redlaw grabbed Tina and hustled her over to the ladder. He clamped her hands on one of the rusted rungs.
“Up,” he said. “Don’t think about it. Just climb.”
“But I can’t see a damn—”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s a ladder. One rung after another. You could do it blindfolded.”
“What about you?”
“I’m coming. Right behind you.”
As Tina fumbled her way up the ladder, Redlaw ejected the Cindermaker’s clip and snugged fresh rounds into it from the box in his pocket. He rammed the full clip home and racked the slide.
All the while, the soldier continued to scour the pool for his comrade, breaking surface every so often to take a breath.
Redlaw kept an eye on him as he himself began his ascent of the ladder. The rungs were slimy and corroded. The ladder creaked alarmingly, rusty bolts juddering loosely in crumbling sockets.
At the top lay an access duct just large enough to stand upright in. The vampires had again halted, awaiting instructions. Redlaw ushered them forward. “We can’t be far from the surface,” he said. “There’ll be a door, a manhole, something.”
As the vampires moved off, he took Tina’s wrist. “Come on now. Last stretch.”
“It better be.”
Instinct made him turn. The soldier had abandoned the pool and mounted the ladder in pursuit of them. He was clambering into the duct, about to bring his rifle to bear.
Redlaw emptied five rounds into him. Tina shrieked as the Cindermaker flashed and boomed in the confined space. The soldier was pounded backwards by each bullet, the last knocking him clear off the ladder. He toppled out into space, and a moment later there came the heavy slap of a body hitting water.
“Is he...?” Tina said.
“I don’t know. Let’s not hang around to find out.”
A couple of hundred yards on, there was another ladder, this one leading up to a manhole cover. Miguel shoved the iron disc aside as though it weighed nothing, and everyone climbed out into the middle of a road and the teeth of a blizzard. Snow raced sideways, driven by a knifing northerly Atlantic wind beneath a black sky. It came not in flakes but in cotton-ball-sized clumps that landed thickly and clung. Redlaw felt his damp clothing begin to stiffen and freeze. Tina was already shivering, and even the vampires, less susceptible than humans to extremes of temperature, looked uncomfortable and unhappy.
“Shelter,” Redlaw said, deactivating the goggles and pulling them off. “We’re not going to last ten minutes out in this. Tina, where are we?”
She peered around, trying to get her bearings. “Beats me. Can’t see shit in this weather. I think—is that trees down that way?”
“Could be.”
“Then that’s probably Battery Park.”
“What’s Battery Park near?”
“Nothing. It’s kind of at the ass end of Manhattan. Catch a ferry to Staten Island from there, see the Statue of Liberty in the distance, that’s about it.”
Redlaw thought. “How far are we from the subway tunnel? The one we explored this morning?”
“What are you talking about?” Tina said with a scowl. “Let’s find the nearest chain hotel and check in. We don’t have to share a room. Long as it’s somewhere close by, it’s warm, and it’s got cable and a mini bar. We can ride out the storm there.”
“It isn’t just the two of us, Tina.”
“What the—? Oh, you cannot be serious.” She jerked a thumb at the vampires. “Them, too? They can take care of themselves, surely.”
“We’ve got to find them a place of refuge,” Redlaw said. “While that paramilitary death squad is around, no Sunless is safe.”
“Yeah, don’t know if you noticed, but you and me, we’re not vamps. We don’t have to worry. We can blend in, disappear. Those guys won’t come looking for us.”
“You can disappear if you want to. In many ways, I’d prefer it if you did.” He handed over her rucksack. “Me, though, I’m taking charge of these ’Lesses. Point me in the general direction of the tunnel entrance. I’m sure I can find it if I try. And be quick about it, would you? Before we die of hypothermia.”
TINA RUMMAGED THROUGH her rucksack, stalling for time. The bag’s canvas had a rubberised inner la
yer, so the outside was sodden from the plunge into the sewage pool but the interior was more or less dry. She took out her camcorder and switched it on. It powered up as normal.
“Looks okay,” she said. “Damp but not ruined.”
“Tina, please.”
“One second, all right? I’m thinking.”
Tina was, in fact, asking herself several hard questions. She had just been through a harrowing ordeal. She had been violently manhandled, almost ended up as a living juice bar for vampires, been shot at, been dragged along shit-stinky tunnels—she was altogether convinced that pursuing this vampire story was, after all, a very bad idea. She hadn’t bargained for quite this level of personal risk and suffering. It made sense to give up. Quit while she was ahead. Quit while she had a head. It could have been blown clean off her shoulders any time during the shootout in the church.
If she bailed now, however, she might not be able to hook up with Redlaw again. Lose track of him, and she’d lose the best chance she’d ever had of getting her work noticed and her name known. Some of the footage she had shot while with him was primo stuff, and if she stuck around she was likely to get more, of even better quality. Redlaw was the story really, as much as vampires.
And not forgetting the fact that here, right in front of her, was an actual group of vampires, and she was with them, alongside them, and nobody she knew of had ever gotten so close to the creatures before, no journalist or reporter. The word embedded sprang to mind, like those intrepid souls who bunked down with troops during a war, sending home filmed packages and blog updates from the front line. Tina could see herself getting embedded with vampires. She could see the value of it. Unprecedented access. Vampires up close and personal, like never before. The exclusive to beat all exclusives.
God. She’d be crazy to stay with Redlaw, but crazier still to let an opportunity like this slip through her fingers.
Who was she? She was Tick Checkley. And what did ticks do? They fastened on until they had drunk their fill, got what they needed.
“No,” she said firmly to Redlaw. “You haven’t got a hope of making it there by yourself. I’m coming with you. It’s the only way.”
“Fine.” He was less grateful than she’d expected. But she guessed that with Redlaw it was all about what was expedient. “Let’s crack on, then. Miguel. All of you. I’m no shtriga, but for the time being I’m your best hope. I think I’ve proved that already. I have a plan, and if you’re wise you’ll follow it.”
The vampires deliberated amongst themselves, but not for long.
“Okay, we’ll put ourselves in your hands,” said Miguel. “For now. But we ain’t going to trust you. Mostly because we know you can’t trust us.”
“Can’t argue with that logic. Tina? What are you waiting for? There’s no telling when our attackers might reappear.”
Tina set off at a fast pace, head bent against the snow, which patted her face with a soft, insistent beat. Not far away, sirens were howling and wailing. The sound was undoubtedly coming from the direction of St Magnus’s. There would have been reports of gunfire, summoning the emergency services. She mapped out a route in her head, one that steered well clear of the church.
Her thoughts, however, were mostly on the bravery of her decision and what she might get out of it.
She didn’t have visions of a Pulitzer Prize medal in her hands, not quite, but almost. She’d nearly died tonight, and now she was throwing in her lot with the same vampires who’d been on the brink of sucking her dry. By some cosmic law, ballsy persistence like hers must surely be recognised and rewarded.
Cowards never prospered.
Do or die.
Dare or beware.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
COLONEL JACOBSEN STUDIED the creature in front of him, the vampire in priest’s clothing. Giacoia and Child were gripping the vampire by the arms, holding him upright. He couldn’t stand unaided. Jacobsen had made sure of that by stamping on his thighs until both femurs snapped.
“What in hell’s name are you?” Jacobsen said.
The priest vampire sneered. “I could ask the same of you. You’re neither one thing nor the other, neither fish nor fowl. Human, essentially, but tampered with. Augmented.”
“All you need to know about me is I’m the one doing the interrogating. Your life is in my hands.”
“Forgive me if I don’t cower and grovel,” said the vampire. “I don’t tend to do that to my inferiors.”
Jacobsen took a swing at him, landing a roundhouse that would have shattered an ordinary man’s skull.
The vampire shook off the blow, grinning fiercely. “I am Father Rudi Tchaikovsky. I am a hundred and fifty years old and counting. I have lived two lifetimes and met far worse than you. I do not fear you.”
“You should,” Jacobsen growled, “because I’m the guy who’s going to turn you to dust unless you start cooperating.”
“And I am shtriga,” Tchaikovsky retorted. “I could tear you apart with my bare hands.”
“Could, but can’t.”
In fairness, Jacobsen thought, Tchaikovsky’s threat wasn’t entirely an empty one. It had taken three Red Eyes to subdue him. They had had to wrestle him off Corporal Lim and pin him to the floor, Child using his considerable bulk to secure him in place while Jacobsen got busy breaking his legs in order to disable him. The average vampire wouldn’t have presented anywhere near as much of a problem to the team—but then they would have just eliminated an average vampire, whereas this one seemed worth capturing because he was so unusually above average.
“Shtriga, huh?” Jacobsen went on. “That would explain it. Kind of an über-vampire, right? Well, you gave Four a run for his money, that’s for sure.” Lim had in fact been in danger of losing his fight with Tchaikovsky until his comrades came to his assistance. “But against all of us? Crippled as you are? Really, I’m not worried.”
“I say we waste this scumbag right now,” Lim chipped in. He was nursing a sprained arm. Tchaikovsky had all but dislocated his shoulder trying to wrench the combat knife off him. “Cops’ll be on their way. We can’t hang around.”
“Noted, corporal,” said Jacobsen. “But I want some answers.”
“As do I,” said J. Howard Farthingale III in Jacobsen’s ear. “Who is he?”
Jacobsen lowered his voice. “That’s what I’m trying to ascertain, sir.”
“No, not the shtriga. The other man. The one who shot at your team.”
“I don’t know, but Red Eye Six and Seven are in pursuit. I’m sure they have him by now.”
“And I’m sure they don’t,” Farthingale said. “I’m monitoring all your feeds, remember? And I’ve lost contact with both Six and Seven. Their helmet cam signals are down. All I’m getting from either is dead air. Who is he? Ask.”
Jacobsen turned back to Tchaikovsky. “There was someone else here with you. He had a gun. Friend of yours?”
“What’s it to you?”
Jacobsen kicked him in the gut. Were Tchaikovsky human, inner organs would have ruptured.
Tchaikovsky coughed up a black tarry substance that might once have been blood.
“Why are you so interested in him?” he said. “Am I not enough of a prize?”
“Just tell me about him.”
“He’s eluded you, hasn’t he? That must make you very displeased. I saw him take several of my flock with him. Survivors. Loose ends. How aggravating for you.”
“Sir, I’m hearing sirens,” said Berger. “We’ve not got long.”
“Please give me permission to cut off this bastard’s head, then we’re good,” said Lim.
“The man’s name,” Farthingale insisted in Jacobsen’s ear. “Ask him if it’s John Redlaw.”
“Redlaw,” said Jacobsen. “John Redlaw. That name mean anything to you?”
Tchaikovsky gave a crooked smile. “If you already know who he is, why are you bothering to enquire?”
Farthingale started cursing and ranting. “I kne
w it! I knew I recognised him. Goddamn cocksucker limey bastard. Fucking with us again...”
Jacobsen tuned his voice out as best he could. “You and this Redlaw are in cahoots?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Tchaikovsky. “But if he has helped some of my flock escape, as I’m assuming he has, then I have much to thank him for. I only wish, with hindsight, that I had treated him a little more charitably. I undervalued him. I mistook him for just another brainless piece of human cattle, a convenient source of nourishment. I see clearly that he is better than that.” He heaved a rueful sigh.
“Sir?” said Lim. His knife was drawn. Even with his dominant arm out of action, there was no question he would be able to behead Tchaikovsky with ease. A single left-handed slash, that was all it would take.
“Go on, do it,” said Tchaikovsky. “I’ve done all I can. Some of my flock will live to see another day. My duties have been discharged.”
“Aargh!”
It was a cry of pure fury, from the direction of the crypt entrance. Red Eye Seven—Private Abbotts—staggered out from the doorway. He strode across the church, clothes sopping, leaving a trail of water splashes behind him. His helmet was a ruin, cracked in several places, camera unit dangling off on its cable. His face was ragged and bleeding.
“Seven,” said Jacobsen. “What the fuck?”
“Shot me,” Abbotts raged. “Shot me in the face. And killed Larousse.”
“Who shot you?”
“Who the fuck do you think? White-haired guy who was leading those vamps, the one you sent me and Larousse to deal with. Motherfucker got Kyle, nearly did for me too.”
Tchaikovsky started chuckling. “Oh yes, I did undervalue Redlaw. How I regret that now. He is sincere in wanting to protect vampire-kind. I thought it a pretty pose, mere words, but it seems not. He is as much God’s agent as I am. Truly the Lord does move in mysterious ways.”
“You can shut your mouth and all,” Abbotts snapped. “Stop that laughing. Friend of mine’s dead. Only one on this team who was worth a damn, only one who’d give me the time of day.”
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