Department 19 d1-1

by William Hill

  “I’m pleased to see you, too,” she said, then handed him the cylindrical detonator. He looked at it dumbly. “I went to make sure the Chemist was telling the truth,” she continued. “Something told me you would be unwilling to take me at my word.”

  Frankenstein laughed. “This is absolutely-”

  “I’m not talking to you,” interrupted Larissa. “I’m talking to Jamie.”

  Jamie looked at the angry gray-green face looming at them from the front seat of the car, then at Larissa’s calm expression. “And?” he asked. “Was he telling the truth?”

  Larissa nodded. “He was. I know exactly where they are.”

  Morris craned his head around from the driver’s seat.

  “How can you possibly expect us to believe you?” he asked.

  “I don’t expect anything,” she replied. “Take us back to base and get a satellite over Northumberland. I can show you with your own eyes.”

  It took them no more than ninety seconds to cross the distance from the authorization tunnel to the wide semicircle of tarmac in front of the hangar, but in that time a welcoming committee had gathered to meet them.

  Morris brought the SUV to a halt, and the four passengers stepped out of the car. Admiral Seward was the first to reach them, his face so red it looked as though he might burst.

  “I don’t know where to start,” he said, his voice tight with fury. “In my twenty years in this Department, I’ve never seen such insubordination, such flagrant recklessness, or such godforsaken outright stupidity!”

  “Sir-” began Morris, but Seward shouted him down.

  “Don’t say anything!” he bellowed. “Not a damn word, do you hear me? Any of you!”

  He waved a hand, and two operators appeared alongside him.

  “Take her back to her cell, immediately,” Seward said. “If she so much as blinks without your permission, destroy her.”

  One of the operators drew his T-Bone and pointed it at Larissa’s chest. The second hauled the detonator roughly out of Jamie’s hand, then placed his other hand on her lower back and shoved her toward the hangar.

  Jamie threw a desperate look at Frankenstein, who widened his eyes in a clear warning not to say or do anything. Instead he spoke to the director.

  “Admiral,” he said. “She says she has the location of Alexandru Rusmanov. Let her show us before she goes back to her cell.”

  “Are you telling me what to do, Colonel?” asked Seward, his voice cold.

  “No, sir,” replied Frankenstein. “I’m just saying that you shouldn’t let our actions allow a Priority A1 target to get away. Sir.”

  Seward stepped forward and stared up into the monster’s face. “Do you have any idea how serious this is?” he asked. “I can have you court-martialed for what you have done today. I can make sure you spend the rest of your life behind bars.”

  “Believe me, sir,” the monster replied, “I’m well aware of the likely consequences.”

  They stared at each other, then Seward shouted for the operators who were holding Larissa to stop.

  “Five minutes,” the director said. “Then she goes back to her cell. Whether she shows us anything or not.”

  Admiral Seward stood in the middle of the Department 19 Ops Room, looking up at the huge screen that covered one wall. Frankenstein, Jamie, and Morris sat silently at three of the empty desks, waiting. Larissa stood against the far wall, the two operators training their weapons on her. She had described the location to a young communications officer, who was now tapping at a keyboard. Seward was standing silently, his eyes trained on the silver watch on his wrist. After a few seconds, he looked down at Frankenstein, smiled, and held up four fingers in the air.

  “Sir, we have a satellite in geosynchronous orbit over Faslane,” said the communications officer. “Do I have permission to move her?”

  “Granted, Lieutenant,” replied Seward. “Proceed.”

  “Ninety seconds to target, sir.”

  “Very well.”

  The screen bloomed into life, showing HMNB Clyde in stunning high-definition detail. The naval base, home to the UK’s Trident nuclear submarines, hugged the eastern shore of Gare Loch, twenty-five miles west of Glasgow on the Firth of Clyde. Jamie marveled at the detail of the live pictures, beaming down from a highly classified Skynet 6 satellite six hundred kilometers above the earth’s surface.

  The picture began to move, slowly at first, then with rapidly accelerating speed as the satellite’s engines fired, sending it east-southeast, over Southern Scotland and into Northern England. It flew over the Cheviot Hills and slowed as it approached Alnwick, settling over a grand country estate on the outskirts of the market town. The resolution intensified as the satellite’s powerful cameras zoomed in on the collection of buildings filling the screen.

  A large house, built in the shape of a wide capital H, was surrounded by a number of outbuildings: stables, sheds, garages. Gravel tracks linked them together, winding through thick copses of trees and immaculately manicured lawns. A swing set was clearly visible at the rear of the house, beside a sandbox and a pair of small football goals.

  Nothing moved. The image was as still as a photograph.

  Seward checked his watch. “One minute,” he said.

  Jamie flashed an anxious glance at Frankenstein, then looked over at Larissa and was surprised to see that she was not paying any attention at all to the screen. She was looking directly at him. When his eyes met hers, she made no attempt to look away, or to pretend she had been looking elsewhere. She simply returned his gaze, her eyes calm, her face pale, her skin flawless.

  I could stare at her forever.

  “Contact,” shouted the communications officer, and the spell was broken.

  All eyes in the Ops Room turned to the screen. Walking slowly between the main house and one of the outbuildings was a large, hunched figure.

  “That’s Anderson,” breathed Frankenstein.

  “Confirm identity,” said Seward, and the lieutenant took hold of the small joystick that emerged from the middle of his console. He guided the satellite’s camera north, in the direction the figure was heading, and tracked it on maximum zoom. The man-it was a man, the slightly balding pate now clearly visible-walked quickly, his head level, his shoulders back, as calmly as if he were taking an evening stroll along one of the long sand beaches that were little more than five miles to the east. He reached the outbuilding, took a brief look to his left and right, then glanced upward, and pushed open the door, disappearing from view.

  “Freeze that image!” shouted Frankenstein.

  The communications officer wound the satellite feed back and paused it at the millisecond when the man had tipped his head backward, as though he was looking directly at them. The picture sharpened into focus, and a round, childish face with small features emerged into crystal clarity.

  “There they are,” said Larissa. “Where Alexandru goes, Anderson goes.”

  “Run it,” said Seward.

  Frankenstein groaned. “Sir, it’s obvious-”

  “I said run it,” interrupted the director. “I’ve had more than enough of people playing hunches today.”

  The lieutenant punched buttons, opening a window and entering the Department 19 mainframe. He dragged the still of the man’s face into a box and hit SEARCH. Less than ten seconds later, the computer returned its results. SUBJECT NAME: ANDERSON, (UNKNOWN)

  SPECIES: VAMPIRE

  PRIORITY LEVEL: A2

  KNOWN ASSOCIATES: RUSMANOV, ALEXANDRU

  RUSMANOV, VALERI

  RUSMANOV, ILYANA MOST RECENT SIGHTING: 3/24/2007

  WHEREABOUTS: UNKNOWN

  Jamie breathed out a sigh of relief and looked at Larissa, gratitude all over his tired face. Larissa smiled at him, and mouthed, “Told you.”

  “Zoom out and switch to infrared,” said Seward.

  The picture switched from the still of Anderson to a live close-up of the building he had just entered, then drew out and up until it
again showed the entire estate. Then, as the infrared kicked in, it changed to a series of colored swirls; waves of dark blue and black where the cold woods and lawns had been, the H of the main house a rainbow of yellow and orange, studded with moving blobs of hot, dark red.

  “There must be thirty of them in there,” said the lieutenant.

  Frankenstein turned his chair and looked at the director. Seward was staring at the screen, his jaw set firm, assessing what he was seeing in front of him. After a long pause, he spoke, and the monster closed his eyes with relief.

  “Scramble a strike team,” said Seward. “Four squads. Full weapons and tactical. I want wheels up in thirty minutes.” He looked down at the men in the seats below him, as if suddenly remembering they were there. “Frankenstein, Morris, you will lead squads two and four. Carpenter, you will be limited to the transport. I would leave you here, but given the events of today, I believe I would rather have you where I can keep an eye on you.”

  Jamie opened his mouth to protest, but Seward cut him off.

  “Do not try my patience any further, young man. I’m giving you a gift by letting you come at all. Don’t make me take it back.”

  Jamie closed his mouth.

  “Security,” continued the director. “Take her back to her cell, then report to the hangar for briefing.”

  Suddenly, the whole room was moving. Seward stepped down from the command platform and strode toward the door. The two operators who had been guarding Larissa took her by the shoulders and led her in the same direction, to the elevator that would return her to the cellblock, deep in the bowels of the base.

  Jamie jumped to his feet, calling her name. She looked back at him briefly, then turned away, allowing herself to be led out of the room.

  “It’s not fair,” he shouted at Frankenstein and Morris, who had risen from their chairs and were watching him. “She did what she promised.”

  “She can’t go,” said Frankenstein. “You know she can’t.”

  Jamie looked at Morris, who stared uncomfortably at the ground.

  “Fine,” he spat. “Let’s go and get my mother. We can deal with Larissa when we get back.”

  34

  THE HUNTING PARTY

  The mobilization of the Department 19 strike team was a sight unlike anything Jamie had ever seen. The hangar on Level 0 was a hive of activity; Operators in black uniform and purple visors filled the wide floor, clustered into tight circles as officers, Frankenstein and Morris among them, briefed them on the mission ahead. The hum of voices and the click of weapons being checked was deafening in the silent night air, but Jamie barely heard it; his attention was trained on the large structures that loomed in the darkness on the other side of the runway.

  The doors of two of the buildings were slowly rolling open, spilling bright white light across the tarmac, illuminating the white markings that led to the runway. Two enormous black shapes were slowly being revealed, and Jamie watched, fascinated.

  Inside the hangars stood a pair of black helicopters, their fuselages hanging bloated and swollen beneath twin sets of rotors. They were so tall and wide that Jamie could not believe they were capable of flight; their cockpits sat tiny above their bellies, which were the size of a suburban house. Behind him, he could hear the voices of Frankenstein and Morris giving orders to their men, but he paid no attention. It had been made clear to him that he was not going to be allowed to be involved in the mission, that his role was to be purely that of an observer, and so he saw no reason to bother with the briefings and the mission priority checklists. Instead he stood alone in the huge arc of the main hangar’s open door and watched.

  With two earth-rattling explosions of sound, the engines of the helicopters growled into life. Jamie felt the vibrations shudder through him, even though he was the length of a football field away from the towering vehicles. Lights blinked on in the cockpits, and Jamie could see the pilots, impossibly small, running through their pre-flight checks. Then there were two heavy screeches of rubber, and the helicopters began to move toward him, rolling slowly over the tarmac under the power of their diesel engines, toward the strike team that would soon occupy them.

  As they crossed the runway and emerged into the bright light of the open main hangar, Jamie gasped. The scale of the vehicles was vast; they towered above him, at least two stories tall and as wide as a 747. They looked as though someone had taken the cockpit, wings, landing gear, and rotor assemblies from a normal-size helicopter and then glued them onto a huge steel box.

  They can’t fly. Surely they can’t. They’re too big. Then a new thought occurred to him. What the hell goes in there? Sixty men won’t fill half of one of them.

  Behind him in the main hangar, the Blacklight officers shouted at their men to form up. Jamie turned and watched the squads line up into four neat lines, evenly spaced, facing out toward the waiting helicopters. Light blasted out of the bellies of the helicopters, and his shadow raced away in front of him, reaching the feet of the motionless soldiers.

  “Jamie!” shouted Frankenstein. “Get out of the way! Next to me!”

  Covering his eyes with his forearm, Jamie squinted up at the huge transports. The near sides of both vehicles had lowered, meeting the tarmac as wide ramps. Inside, beyond the blinding white lights, he could see hulking shapes at the top of each ramp, then he was grabbed by the arm and pulled to the side as the squads of Blacklight operators marched forward and upward, disappearing into the cavernous interiors.

  Frankenstein loomed over him.

  “Are you going to make this difficult?” he asked, leaning down so his eyes were level with the teenager’s. “Or are you going to stay out of the way and let us do our job? Tell me now, so I know.”

  Jamie stared up at him. Frankenstein was looking at him with no compassion, no pity; he was all business.

  OK. Have it your way. If it brings my mom home, have it your way.

  “You don’t need to worry about me,” he answered. “I won’t get in the way.”

  Frankenstein smiled at him. “Thank you,” he replied.

  They ran out to the nearest helicopter, crouching low beneath the screaming rotors. They climbed the ramp and headed to the right, where two of the Blacklight squads were sitting, in eight rows of heavy-duty flight seats. Frankenstein and Jamie sat down alongside them and strapped themselves in. Jamie looked around the enormous interior of the helicopter, his eyes widening.

  In front of him were two jet-black armored vehicles, huge and heavy-looking, with two enormous wheels on each side, the kind of wheels that looked like they belonged on a monster truck. Guns bristled from a turret atop each vehicle, and a purple spotlight sat on a swiveling arm at the front. Beyond the two vehicles were four more lights, three times the size of the ones on the armored cars, lashed safely to the floor and walls alongside racks of beam guns and UV grenades.

  The rotors rose to a whining scream, and the seat beneath Jamie shook and rattled as the huge helicopter lumbered into the air. The exhaustion he had been battling all day returned with a vengeance, and he shut his eyes as the strike team headed north.

  He was woken by the sound of Frankenstein’s voice ordering the operators to carry out their final checks. The men, who looked to the half-asleep Jamie like rows of black robots in their identical uniforms and anonymous helmets, pulled their weapons from their belts, unloaded and reloaded them, and replaced them in their loops and holsters.

  “Absolute silence until we reach the go point,” said Frankenstein, looking around at the men. “No one moves until the UV cannons are in place and all four squads are in position. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” chorused the soldiers.

  “I want this to run smooth and simple,” Frankenstein continued. “I don’t want any heroics. We go in, we eliminate the targets, we bring the package out. Understood?”

  The package? Is he talking about my mother?

  “Yes, sir.”

  The helicopters landed a mile away from the target
, sending cut grass spinning into the air and startling a herd of grazing cows. The ramps lowered and the Blacklight team deployed, the four armored cars rolling silently down into the field, their wheels propelled by engines that were surrounded by sound-dampening ceramic plates. The UV spotlights came next, attached to purpose-built housings at the rears of the vehicles. The squads of operators followed them, their purple visors lowered, their T-Bones held loosely across their chests. The men climbed into the vehicles, and Frankenstein called for a readiness report over the closed-circuit radio system that linked them together. The four squads reported back ready, and Frankenstein ordered the driver of his vehicle to proceed. The armored car moved smoothly across the field and out onto a narrow country road. Jamie sat next to Frankenstein, his visor raised, his weapons checked and rechecked, his leg bouncing nervously up and down as they neared their destination.

  Light blazed from the windows of the estate’s main house, and the sounds of music and voices floated out on the night air.

  The Blacklight team brought the vehicles to a halt in the trees at the bottom of the driveway, where they would be invisible from both the road and the house, and the operators disembarked. Frankenstein and Morris directed them into position, giving their orders via a series of complex hand signals that Jamie found utterly impenetrable. The first squad, Morris’s squad, took one of the UV spotlights, flanked the house, and took up a position at the rear, covering the back door and the outbuildings that stood in a loose semicircle around it. The second and third squads took a spotlight each and positioned themselves at the sides of the building. Frankenstein waited until he received silent confirmation that each of the teams were in position, then led his own team slowly forward toward the house. He turned to Jamie as his men started to move through the trees.

  “Stay here,” he whispered. Then he smiled.

  Jamie stared, unsure how to respond, and then the monster was gone, just another shadow moving through the black columns of trees. Jamie stared after him for a few seconds, then climbed back into the armored car.