by Hill, Will
“Brennan,” spat Patrick Williams.
“Richard Brennan,” confirmed Holmwood. “His connection to Dracula, or more likely to Valeri Rusmanov, has not yet been ascertained, although it appears clear that it was the prospect of that connection being discovered that led him to take the action he did.”
“Attacking ISAT,” said Angela Darcy.
“Correct,” said Holmwood. “Whether he assumed that the deaths of Major Turner and Lieutenant Randall would mean the end of the investigation, or whether he was merely trying to create enough confusion to cover his escape, we don’t know. He’s gone and we have no way of tracing him.”
“How did he pull it off?” asked Jamie. “How did he get Lamberton out of the cellblock to plant the bombs?”
Holmwood glanced over at his Security Officer. “Major Turner?”
“Thank you, sir,” said Turner. “Brennan took the components for making the devices to Lamberton himself, in a standard-issue holdall. We have security footage of him entering the cellblock three days ago carrying the bag, then leaving without it. It wasn’t picked up by Surveillance. Brennan’s Zero Hour classification meant that his visiting the captive vampires was not a noteworthy event.”
“Perhaps more investigation should have been done before we handed out such freedom,” said Frankenstein, his voice low and deep.
“Perhaps, Colonel,” said Turner. “As far as releasing Lamberton from the cellblock, I am disappointed to report that Brennan successfully blackmailed a member of my Division, Operator Alex Lombard. Lombard was apparently conducting an extra-marital affair and Brennan had come into possession of a series of incriminating emails. Lombard was instructed to allow Lamberton out for a twenty-minute window during his shift in the cellblock guard post. Brennan apparently promised him that nobody would be hurt.”
“Where is he now?” asked Captain Van Thal. “Lombard.”
“He has been discharged from this Department,” said Turner. “Dishonourably.”
Van Thal nodded.
“What about Natalia?” asked Matt. “Is there a medical update?”
“As I’m sure you well know, Lieutenant Browning,” said Holmwood, the ghost of a smile rising on his face, “Miss Lenski is recovering well and is expected to rejoin the Lazarus Project within the week.”
“Good,” said Kate. “That’s something, at least.”
Turner nodded. “Agreed. Now. I am pleased to be able to report the completion of the ISAT process that Lieutenant Randall and I have been conducting. We have now interviewed and assessed every serving member of the Department, including Captain Van Thal and his colleagues. It may be little consolation today, in light of recent events, but our preliminary conclusion is that the current roster of Blacklight is clean, for what we must regrettably assume is the first time in a very long while.”
“Thank you,” said Holmwood. “And thank you too, Lieutenant Randall. I know this was far from an easy assignment, and the whole Department owes you its gratitude.”
Turner nodded and glanced at Kate, who smiled.
“Is there anything anyone wishes to add?” asked Holmwood.
“Valentin,” said Jamie, instantly. He had gone down to see his mother following the doomed chase after John Morton, and noticed immediately that both the cells that had been occupied by the youngest Rusmanov brother and his servant were empty. “Where is he?”
“Mr Rusmanov has been sent in search of his brother and his former master,” said Holmwood. “He will report back when he has information.”
Frankenstein grunted with laughter. “I won’t be holding my breath.”
“Neither will I, Colonel,” said Holmwood. “But I believe Valentin to be a man of his word, and that we will see him again.”
“I’m sure we will,” said Frankenstein. “Walking alongside his brother as his master leads them into battle against us.”
“Time will tell,” said Holmwood. “One of us will no doubt be right, and the other wrong. But only time will tell. Anything else, the rest of you?”
There was silence around the Ops Room table.
“We have been hurt,” continued Holmwood. “By Valeri’s attack and by the rot we have found at the heart of everything we thought we were. But we have won victories too, these past months, and we will win more of them. If I didn’t believe that, I would not be standing here in front of you all, and I would not ask you to give as much as I do. I remain honoured to be your commanding officer. Thank you. Dismissed.”
Larissa was last to leave the Ops Room; she watched with almost detached interest as the rest of the Zero Hour Task Force made their way out into the corridor.
Kate paused to talk to Paul Turner, before walking away alongside Matt, who checked over his shoulder to see if Jamie was following them. He was rising from his chair with a grimace on his face and a hand pressed against his damaged ribs.
Patrick Williams and his brother strolled out side by side, Jack unable to resist taking the briefest of glances at Angela Darcy, who was deep in conversation with Dominique Saint-Jacques and Andrew Jarvis. Amy Andrews left alongside Cal Holmwood, while Paul Turner and Frankenstein exited deep in conversation. She waited for a long moment, enjoying the quiet of the suddenly empty room, trying to let her anger subside.
There’s a phrase for killing people simply because of what they are, she thought. It’s called ethnic cleansing.
Larissa took a deep breath and crossed the room; she knew Jamie would be waiting for her in the corridor, and she knew they needed to talk.
They had spent most of her first day back locked in her quarters, emerging only to shower and eat. Jamie had told her about John Morton, and she had tried to make him see that it wasn’t his fault. He had asked about Nevada, and she had told him that she had enjoyed it, without offering any further details. His eyes had narrowed with suspicion but they had not spoken about it again; instead, they had spent their time catching up on what had been happening at the Loop, a question that took a long time to answer.
Larissa opened the Ops Room door and smiled at her boyfriend. He was leaning against the wall and straightened up as she approached.
“Matt and Kate need to get back to work,” he said. “But they’re going to get something to eat first. I told them we’d join them.”
“OK,” said Larissa. “That sounds good.”
They stood in the corridor, the silence between them uneasy.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I think so,” replied Jamie. “Were you in Vegas when I rang you? I tried a couple of times.”
Larissa nodded. “I was talking to Chloe,” she said. “The vampire. I’m sorry I couldn’t answer.”
That’s almost the truth, she told herself. Almost.
“It’s OK,” he said, his smile returning. “I know how it is.”
“Right,” said Larissa. The freedom of thought and deed that she had so enjoyed in Nevada was already gone; now her world was again full of guilt, and secrets, and darkness.
“I’m glad you’re home, Larissa,” said Jamie, softly. “It hasn’t been the same without you.”
“I’m glad to be back,” she lied.
EPILOGUE:
THREE FAREWELLS
“I can’t believe she didn’t even say goodbye,” repeated Tim Albertsson.
“Really?” asked Kelly. “You can’t think of any reasons why she wouldn’t? Not a single one?”
They were sitting in a booth in Sam’s Diner with Danny and Aaron. The atmosphere was cool and tense; it was the first time the four friends had been together since Tim had sent them all a message telling them that Larissa was gone, and each of them was wrestling with things they wanted to say.
“Say what’s on your mind, Kelly,” said Tim. “Don’t imply it.”
“What she’s implying,” said Danny, tipping cream and sugar into his coffee and stirring it vigorously, “is that it’s your fault she went like she did. And I agree with her.”
“What are you
talking about?” asked Tim. “I didn’t do anything.”
Kelly snorted. “Apart from make it obvious that you liked her, and flirt with her, and try to kiss her, and make her feel uncomfortable. You knew she had a boyfriend, but you couldn’t leave it, could you, couldn’t accept that maybe you couldn’t have her? And you’re surprised that she decided not to take you back to Blacklight with her, so you could hang out with her and Jamie? If so, you’re an idiot.”
Tim stared at his friend. He knew what she was saying was true, but he wanted to tell her she didn’t know the full story, that Larissa had liked him back, he knew she had, and that she had liked his attention, encouraged it even. But he couldn’t say so; it would only make him seem more arrogant, more self-obsessed.
“What really pisses me off,” said Danny, looking evenly at him, “is that you didn’t just screw it up for yourself. You screwed it up for all of us. She would have taken us with her, but you made her feel like she couldn’t. So she’s gone and we’re still here.”
“I don’t blame her,” Tim said, eventually. “And you’re right, it’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
“That’s great,” said Aaron. The quiet Intelligence Operator was staring out of the diner’s window, sipping from a glass of water. “It doesn’t change anything, though, does it? She was only here for a few weeks, but she was part of us. I don’t think I’m the only one who thought so. It’s sad that you don’t get to go to Blacklight, because I know how much you’ve always wanted to. It’s annoying that we don’t get to go either, as I for one was looking forward to the change of scene. But there’s a bigger issue here, far bigger. I think we all know that Blacklight is going to be at the frontline of what’s coming. And I’m sure we could help them, but we aren’t going. And that’s on you, whether you’re sorry or not.”
Tim was astonished; it was the most he had ever heard Aaron say in one go and the words cut him deeply. He was happy to accept the charge of having pursued Larissa when he shouldn’t have, of causing her to run away from him and his friends, but what Aaron was suggesting was far, far worse.
He’s saying that I hurt our chances against Dracula.
“I’m sorry if I let you down,” he said. “All of you.”
“Jesus, Tim,” said Kelly. “We know you weren’t deliberately trying to mess everything up, and we know this isn’t how you wanted things to turn out. You just need to realise that you can’t control everything, that everything doesn’t always go your way. Bad things happen.”
“Bad things happen,” repeated Tim. “Amen to that.”
A long way from Sam’s Diner, in the north-east of England, a man and his daughter stopped beside a car in a station car park.
Kate Randall had spent much of the previous three days with her dad. She and Matt had pleaded with Cal Holmwood not to lock their fathers in the Loop’s cells and the Interim Director had eventually relented, permitting them to sleep in one of the dormitories that usually housed new Blacklight recruits. They were locked in every night and confined to the Loop, although that was largely an unnecessary restriction; the two men were not soldiers, and were extremely unlikely to attempt to escape from a classified military base.
To begin with, their conversations had been awkward. She had talked to Matt and been relieved to hear that he was finding the same thing when he spoke to his dad. Pete Randall’s relief, his utter joy at the discovery that his only daughter wasn’t dead, had quickly given way to an annoyance that, from Kate’s frustrated viewpoint, bordered on petulance. He kept returning to the same point, again and again, the one point that she did not have a reasonable answer for.
You let me think you were dead. How could you do that?
She had tried to explain it to him, tried to get him to see what had happened from her point of view: the lack of a future on Lindisfarne, the chance to do something good, something worthwhile. And, most importantly, that Blacklight had promised her that they would not allow him to think that, a betrayal that she intended to take up with Cal Holmwood as soon as things returned to what passed for normal at the Loop. But it didn’t matter; as far as Pete was concerned, she had abandoned him.
The situation had been worsened by the long wait for Cal Holmwood, in conjunction with Paul Turner, to decide what action he was going to take against her father and Matt’s. Both men had broken civilian law, and were aware of the existence of both vampires and the agencies that fought against them; there had been rumours, many of which had reached Kate’s ears, that they would be locked up for the rest of their lives.
When the judgement had finally come, Kate’s first reaction had been to burst into tears. Her second was the understanding that she owed Paul Turner her thanks, yet again.
“So this is it,” said Pete Randall. He had his car keys in his hand, and his face was pale and drawn. “This is where we say goodbye. Am I ever going to see you again?”
Kate took a deep breath. She had escorted her father in the van that had returned him to Berwick station, where his strange, awful odyssey with Albert Harker had begun what seemed like such a long time ago, but could go no further. Holmwood had given Pete and Greg permission to return home, in the knowledge that they would spend the rest of their lives under surveillance, but she could not take the chance that anyone she had grown up with might see her; Lindisfarne was a tiny community, and her appearance would raise questions that she didn’t want her father to have to try and answer.
“I don’t know,” she said, honestly. “I hope so. There are things happening, things that I can’t tell you about. But when they’re over, if we’re all still here, then I hope so.”
Pete nodded. He was clearly reluctant to get in his car and drive home; for all his annoyance with her, it was obvious that he did not want to be parted from her again.
“I have to go, Dad,” she said. Her voice sounded strangled and her chest was tight; if she didn’t go quickly, she wasn’t sure she would be able to do so. “Are you going to be all right?”
Pete smiled. “I’ll be fine,” he said.
Kate walked forward and threw her arms round her dad. He crushed her tightly against him, dipping his face down to her ear.
“I’m proud of you, Kate,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”
She felt tears spill from the corners of her eyes and a huge lump rise in her throat. “Thanks, Dad,” she managed, the words mangled and crushed. “I love you too.”
Pete Randall released his grip and stepped back. He looked at his daughter for a long moment, then opened the car door and climbed into the driver’s seat. She stepped back as the engine rumbled into life, and watched as he pulled slowly away. As he reached the exit to the car park, she saw him twist in his seat and look at her. She raised her hand and saw him wave back. Then there was a rattle of gravel, and her father was gone.
She walked unsteadily back to the van that was idling behind her. She pulled open the passenger door, climbed in, and fastened her seat belt.
“Where to, sir?” asked the driver.
“Home,” said Kate.
Less than a hundred miles to the south, a similar exchange was taking place.
Matt Browning was standing in the kitchen of the house he had grown up in, drinking the first cup of tea he could ever remember his father having made him. He was still in mild shock; he would not have claimed with any great conviction that his father knew where the kettle was, or how it worked. The house was spotlessly clean and tidy, which had been another surprise; he had expected the rubbish to have reached the windows in the time since he and his mother had been gone.
He had gone up to his room while his father made the tea and been struck by a feeling of nostalgia so huge it was almost physical. The room, in which he had spent so much of his life hiding away from the outside world, looked so small. His bed was made, and his shelves of books and comics were as he had left them, but they felt as though they belonged to someone else; he no longer recognised the inhabitant of this room.
“You want an
other?” asked Greg Browning. He nodded at the mug in his son’s hand.
“No, thanks, Dad,” said Matt. “I’d better get going.”
His dad’s face fell briefly, but he rallied quickly. “Of course,” he said. “I understand. You’ve got work to do.”
Matt nodded.
“I wish I understood it,” said his dad, smiling gently. “But that’s nothing new, is it? I never understood most of the stuff you were doing. You were cleverer than me by the time you were about five.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
Greg frowned. “Don’t apologise, Matt. Don’t you ever apologise for who you are. I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have tried harder when you were little, been more interested. It was hard for me, son. We never liked the same things and I didn’t try hard enough to understand you. I was intimidated, to be honest with you, and I can admit that now. But it’s no excuse. And I was always proud of you, whether you believe that or not. I was always telling people about my son the genius.”
Matt blushed. He didn’t know what his dad wanted him to say. Was he asking him to forgive him, to tell him it was all right? He’d happily do so if he thought it would help, but when he looked at his father, he was far from convinced that it would.
“Now look at you,” continued Greg. “Working for the government, trying to save the world. I wish I could tell people that.”
The colour drained from Matt’s face, and his dad smiled again. “Don’t worry, son,” he said. “Your mother, no one else. I understand.”
He nodded. “Are you going to ring her?”
“Yeah,” replied his dad. “As soon as you go. Part of me wants to ring her now, let you talk to her, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea. To be honest, I don’t know if she’d take my call.”
“I’m sorry,” said Matt, again. “I didn’t mean to mess everything up.”
