Department 19: Battle Lines

by Hill, Will

  The men and women made their way across to where she was standing, incredulous expressions on their faces.

  “Interim Director Cal Holmwood,” she said. “May I introduce Captain James Van Thal, Operators Patrick Johnson, Mark Schneider and Carrie Burgess, trainees Tom Gregg and Laura O’Malley.”

  “Holy shit,” said Burgess, then blushed a deep red. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Holmwood, smiling broadly at the new recruits. “It’s good to meet you. I’m grateful to you all for being here.”

  “It’s an honour, sir,” said Van Thal.

  “It’s nice to have you back, Major,” said Holmwood. “Things have changed quite a bit since you were last here.”

  “I’m looking forward to getting started, sir.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Holmwood. “Major Turner, please will you show these men and women to their quarters and see that they have everything they need?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Turner, stepping forward. “Follow me, please.”

  The Security Officer turned and strode towards the open hangar; after a second or two, the NS9 Operators followed him. Holmwood watched them go, then turned back to Larissa.

  “They’re good people,” she said.

  “I’m sure they are,” said Holmwood. “I wouldn’t have sent you if I didn’t trust your judgement. Or if I didn’t think it would be good for you. How was it?”

  “It was wonderful, sir,” she said. “But it’s over. I’m home.”

  Holmwood nodded. “Go and get yourself settled back in. I want a full debrief tomorrow morning. And I think there are a few people who are looking forward to seeing you.”

  “I hope so,” said Larissa, grinning.

  “Go on then,” said Holmwood. “Dismissed.”

  She cast a final glance in the direction of the Mina II. The two Operators were standing at the bottom of the ramp, flanking the prisoner; he stood stiffly, his hooded head up, his back straight, his feet shoulder-width apart. She considered asking the Interim Director about him, getting it over with there and then, but decided against it.

  It’s not the time, she thought. And I can’t wait any longer to see my friends.

  Larissa set off towards the hangar. Without thinking, she floated into the air, then remembered where she was and let her feet sink back to the ground. Flying, which had been so glorious in Nevada, so wonderfully liberating, was a cause for suspicion and distrust among a significant number of her colleagues, and she felt her heart sink, just a little.

  Her boots clicked across the concrete floor of the hangar as she headed for the double doors that would take her inside the Loop. She pulled her console from her belt and was about to type a message to Jamie, asking him where he was, when she heard three sets of footsteps come to a halt behind her and glanced back over her shoulder.

  The prisoner and his escort had stopped in front of Cal Holmwood; as she watched, he waved a hand and the two Operators walked into the hangar, leaving the Interim Director alone with the hooded man. As Larissa turned away, she saw Holmwood take one of the prisoner’s arms and lead him forward. She reached the double doors and was about to push them open when she heard three words that stopped the breath in her chest. Cal Holmwood whispered them at a volume that no normal person would have been able to hear, but to Larissa’s supernatural ears they were as clear as a bell.

  “Welcome back, Julian.”

  Larissa gasped. She pushed through the doors, not wanting to give any sign she had heard anything, and walked down the corridor beyond them. Her head was spinning; she told herself to calm down, to not jump to conclusions.

  There are plenty of people called Julian. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s dead, for God’s sake.

  The possibility was so incredible that she couldn’t allow herself to properly consider it; it was too big, too monumentally, earth-shakingly huge. It was a thought that had occurred to her momentarily in Nevada, but she had dismissed it then, as she was trying to do now.

  Coincidence. It has to be a coincidence.

  She stepped into a waiting lift and pressed the button marked B. The doors slid closed in front of her and Larissa leant against the metal wall of the car, her head pounding.

  There was no way she could tell Jamie what she had heard, not without ironclad proof that the idea now churning in her stomach was true. If she let him get his hopes up and turned out to be wrong, it would destroy him, and them. But if there was even a chance that he had been lied to, that his father was still alive, how could she not? If the prisoner disappeared into some dark corner of Blacklight, and she failed to tell him while there might be a chance to do something about it, how would she be able to live with herself?

  She was deep in thought as the lift doors slid open, revealing the long central corridor of Level B; she turned left and walked along the grey semicircular path that led to her quarters, to the room that she had not seen for more than a month. Her mind was so full of dead men and secrets that she was completely unaware of the dark shape behind her until she unlocked the door and felt a tap on her shoulder.

  Her eyes widened, then instantly bloomed dark red; she whirled round, fangs bursting from her gums, and stopped dead. Standing in front of her, a huge smile on his face, was Jamie Carpenter.

  Larissa opened her mouth, but didn’t get the chance to utter a single word. Jamie reached round her waist, lifted her into the air, and strode into the room, kicking the door shut behind them.

  TWO DAYS LATER

  61

  POST-MORTEM

  “This meeting is called to order,” said Cal Holmwood. “All members of the Zero Hour Task Force present, Lieutenants Kinley, Randall and Browning, Colonel Frankenstein and Captain Van Thal present in addition.”

  Jamie looked round the Ops Room. The central table was full, men and women in black uniforms occupying every seat round its edge. The Interim Director sat at one end with Paul Turner on one side of him, Jack Williams on the other. He looked tired, as always, but his face wore a determined expression, and his voice was low and steady.

  “The last week has been remarkable, even by the standards of this Department,” said Holmwood. “This meeting has been called to update you on recent events. Minutes will be forwarded to your consoles afterwards, together with Security Division regulations regarding what you are authorised to tell your teams. Until you have them, please discuss nothing you hear in this room with anyone not present now. Is that clear to you all?”

  There was a chorus of agreement and a ripple of nodded heads.

  “Good,” said Holmwood. “Before we begin, I’d like you all to join me in welcoming the new additions to this Task Force. Lieutenants Kinley, Browning and Randall you all know, similarly Colonel Frankenstein, who has returned to the active roster. I’d like to introduce Captain James Van Thal of NS9, who has joined us for the foreseeable future. He and I have worked alongside each other several times, and I can tell you we’re lucky to have him.”

  Kate and Matt blushed slightly, Frankenstein gave no visible indication that he had heard his name mentioned, and Van Thal nodded and smiled.

  “To business then,” said Holmwood. “I’m sure most of you already know, but I can confirm that Albert Harker, who escaped from Broadmoor during the mass breakout, was destroyed two nights ago in the printing presses of The Globe newspaper near Reading. He was destroyed by Lieutenant Browning, who was accompanied to the scene by Lieutenant Randall and Colonel Frankenstein. Interrogation of Harker’s associates has confirmed that his stated intention was to alert the general public to the existence of vampires and this Department, although they have come to believe that gaining revenge against us was his true objective He was at least partly successful in terms of the public.”

  “How successful?” asked Angela Darcy. “What’s the exposure?”

  “Approximately one hundred thousand physical copies of the edition of The Globe that Harker and Kevin McKenna altered were despatched from the facility. W
e intercepted several lorries before they reached their destinations, and were able to remove a significant portion from retail outlets. But there are at least twenty thousand copies unaccounted for, which we have to presume were bought and read.

  “In addition, The Globe’s website ran Kevin McKenna’s story uninterrupted for more than an hour. It has been taken down, along with the blog that McKenna wrote, presumably on Albert Harker’s orders, but pasted versions and caches of both appear on a daily basis. There is simply no way to make them disappear entirely, or make any accurate estimates about how many people may have read them in their various incarnations. The official response ran in The Globe yesterday, a retraction and editorial accusing Kevin McKenna of sabotage, of playing a practical joke on the country before killing himself. Early indications are that this story is holding, at least so far, although it has been roundly rejected in conspiracy theory circles. The Ministry of Defence have received more than three thousand phone calls and fifteen thousand emails enquiring about our existence, which have all been answered with firm denials. Beyond continuing to monitor the situation, there is little more we can do at this time.”

  “Jesus,” said Jack Williams. “It’s out there now, even if no one believes it yet. Harker got what he wanted.”

  “Lieutenant Browning shoved a stake into his heart until he burst,” rumbled Frankenstein. “I doubt he wanted that.”

  I’m not so sure, thought Matt.

  “The Security Division has concluded that there is no immediate danger of exposure,” said Paul Turner, giving Frankenstein a sharp glance. “Although it goes without saying that it is now a significantly more likely prospect than it was a week ago. Harker may not have thrown the doors open as he intended, but he has opened them a crack. The likelihood of this Department, and the supernatural, remaining unknown to the public indefinitely is now almost nil.”

  Jamie listened to his colleagues, his eyes widening. He knew what had happened in the printing press, had heard the tale in great detail from both Kate and Matt, but until now nobody outside the Security Division had known the extent of the damage Albert Harker had caused.

  “This could have all been avoided,” he said, his voice low, “if we had known where Albert Harker was, if his family had treated him better. None of this needed to happen.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant Carpenter,” said Turner. “When the Science Division invents a time machine, I promise you it will be the first thing we go back and fix.”

  Jamie stared at the Security Officer, who returned his gaze, his expression as flat and empty as always.

  “Moving on,” said Holmwood, shooting them both a warning look. “We have an update on Albert Harker’s fellow Broadmoor escapees. The Science Division has now been able to confirm the theory put forward by Lieutenant Browning, due in no small part to the cooperation of the SPC. The theory explains the unusual power of the turned escapees, and how such a widespread global action was able to be perpetrated at the same time.”

  Jamie glanced over at Matt, who had blushed a deep red, and saw Kate and Larissa do the same.

  You didn’t tell us this, whatever it is, he thought. What happened to no secrets?

  “What has been concluded is that the Broadmoor patients were not turned via the traditional method that we are all familiar with. They were not bitten.”

  “So what the hell was done to them?” asked Larissa. She was looking at the Interim Director with a frown on her face.

  “They were injected, Lieutenant Kinley. With the plasma that coats the fangs of every vampire. In this case, that came directly from Dracula himself.”

  There were gasps around the table. Jamie’s eyes widened, and he looked at Frankenstein. The monster was as impassive as ever, but he thought he saw a flicker of surprise in the corners of his eyes.

  “The SPC was able to map Dracula’s DNA from the remains that were formerly in their possession,” continued Holmwood. “A comparison with the altered DNA of two of the Broadmoor patients produced a partial match, with enough similarity to draw the conclusion I have just given you.”

  “That doesn’t explain why they’re so strong,” said Angela Darcy. “I thought vampire power increased with the amount of time they’re turned?”

  “That was the accepted wisdom,” said Holmwood. “And we believe it remains the case. But Lieutenant Browning’s theory suggests there is more to it than we had believed. There now appears to be a clear link between the age of the vampire and the power of their victims. This explains why the escapees are so dangerous.”

  “Maybe it only applies to Dracula?” suggested Dominique Saint-Jacques. “Because he was the first?”

  Holmwood shook his head. “There are other examples. Marie Carpenter, who was turned by Alexandru Rusmanov, is significantly stronger and faster than we would expect her to be, given when she was turned. And…” He paused, turning his attention towards Larissa.

  She frowned, then blushed under the combined gaze of the Zero Hour Task Force. “Me?” she asked. “You mean me?”

  Holmwood nodded. “General Allen has reported that you demonstrate abilities far ahead of the expected curve. He described you to me as one of the most powerful vampires he has ever seen. Is that the case?”

  Larissa was silent for a moment. “I suppose so,” she said, eventually. “I don’t know. I have nothing to compare myself with.”

  “Well, let us assume that General Allen, who has seen many hundreds of vampires in his time, is correct. You were turned by Grey, who is reputed to be the oldest British vampire. Which, again, would fit the pattern that Lieutenant Browning has uncovered.”

  There was silence around the table. Larissa looked deeply uncomfortable; Jamie tried to catch her eye, to give her a silent expression of support, but she didn’t look his way.

  “This is remarkable,” said Major Van Thal. “Have you communicated these findings to the other Departments?”

  Holmwood nodded. “The Departments have been made aware. Several are conducting their own research and will share their results when appropriate, but all have accepted the Browning Theory in principle.”

  Matt’s eyes widened and he blushed again. Jamie smiled; his friend was so uncomfortable with praise or attention, despite his obvious gifts. He was so lacking in arrogance, or ego, and he found himself suddenly furious, not for the first time, with the bullies who had made his friend’s life a misery for so long.

  “So what does all this mean?” asked Kate. “Does this change anything?”

  “Not in terms of our response,” said Holmwood. “There are one hundred and twelve of the Broadmoor escapees still at large, and the Operational objective remains search and destroy. All Operators will be briefed to exercise increased caution when confronting them, but the plan doesn’t change.”

  “Maybe it should, sir,” said Larissa. Her face was pale, and Jamie could see a red flicker in the corners of her eyes that he knew all too well.

  “You have something to say?” asked Holmwood, turning to face her.

  “I’ve been thinking about something, sir,” said Larissa. “Something that happened to me a couple of days ago.”

  “What is it?”

  “I was in Las Vegas,” said Larissa. Jamie’s eyes narrowed slightly, but if she noticed, she didn’t let it show. “In a nightclub. I was outside and I smelt another vampire, could smell her as soon as I was within about fifty metres of her, so I went over and said hello. Her name was Chloe and she’d been turned a year earlier, in a club in New Orleans.”

  “Why are you telling us this, Lieutenant Kinley?” asked Holmwood. “This isn’t the time for holiday stories.”

  “Sorry, sir,” she replied. “The reason I’m telling you is because she had no idea who we were. She’d never heard of Blacklight, or NS9, or the SPC. She didn’t know that we existed, and even once I’d told her, she didn’t seem to care. She’d only ever known one other vampire, a man she’d dated for a while in Los Angeles. She didn’t kill people, or turn
them. And she thought Dracula was a character from the movies she saw when she was a kid.”

  “What’s your point?” asked Paul Turner. “I’m assuming there is one?”

  “My point,” said Larissa, fixing the Security Officer with an icy stare, “is that this was a perfectly normal girl, living her life, minding her own business, who just happened to be a vampire. She was no danger to anyone. But if some NS9 Operator sees her through their visor on an Operation in LA, they’ll stake her without a second thought.”

  “So?” asked Holmwood.

  “So how is that OK?” asked Larissa, her voice rising. “Killing her because of what she is? She hasn’t done anything wrong and she never asked to be a vampire. Nor did any of the Broadmoor patients. They’d already been imprisoned for their crimes and now we’ve passed death sentences on them all for something that isn’t their fault.”

  “What do you suggest we do?” asked Turner. “Build some giant facility to contain them all and cross our fingers that Lazarus comes up with a cure before we have another breakout to deal with?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything, sir,” replied Larissa. “I just think it’s important for us to remember what we’re really doing every time we pull the trigger of a T-Bone. We’re not destroying monsters, or rats, or cockroaches. They’re people with a disease, and we’re killing them.”

  “That’s enough, Lieutenant Kinley,” said Cal Holmwood. “We’re facing far more serious problems at the moment and we’re barely managing to stay afloat. So I’m afraid questions of morality will have to wait.”

  Larissa nodded, although the look on her face assured Jamie that the issue was not dead; she would bide her time, but he had no doubt in his mind that she would raise it again when she felt the time was right.

  Good, he thought. She should. What she said is the truth.

  “All right,” said Holmwood. “Again, some of you will already be aware of this, but the investigation into the explosion that took place in Lieutenant Randall’s quarters is now complete. The device, together with an identical one that was safely defused in Major Turner’s quarters, was placed there by Lamberton, the former valet to Valentin Rusmanov. He was blackmailed into doing so by a former member of this Task Force, who I’m sure you have all noted by his absence.”