A Subtle Agency

by Graeme Rodaughan

  It was a narrow space, crouching, Crane stepped up into the doorway, and disappeared into the darkness beyond. He moved into the secret room and soft lights came on. It was a mini-library, filled with rare and obscure books, parchments, scraps of papyrus and wood carvings on shelves along the side walls. Cornelius kept all the knowledge and lore of the Metaframe here; what had been known over five thousand years before by Hakron and Ahknaton as the Divine Engine of Thoth.

  Cornelius had come to understand that the Metaframe underpinned the physical reality of the world, that while extremely difficult to access, once reached, the rules of the universe could be changed as easily as a programmer might change lines of computer code. The shocking implications of that power had driven him to dedicate himself to ensuring that no one would ever access the Metaframe again.

  He approached the bare rear wall. In front of it stood three short marble pillars, each about five feet high and a foot across. On the middle pillar rested a polished black obsidian stone. Its surface glistened wetly in the pale light, seeming to capture the night sky in miniature.

  It was the Key of Ahknaton, retrieved in 1978 from a secret vault under St Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican City. It had been placed in the vault by Michelangelo in 1625, himself a member of the Order of Thoth who had been entrusted with the safe keeping of the key.

  The mission to recover the key had been interrupted by Arthur Slayne. They had fought in the halls near Michelangelo’s secret vault, the three of them, Arthur, Chloe and himself. Cornelius shook his head with the troubling memory, he had never seen anyone fight as well as Arthur Slayne had that day.

  Arthur Slayne’s masterful skills and extraordinary speed had saved his life, where anyone else would have died in a moment, but his survival that day had sparked an interest - an interest that had led to the events of this night.

  What a pity that he is not one of my Generals; what a treasure he would make.

  Crane placed the golden tube containing the Papyrus of Hakron the scribe on top of the left pillar. It had never left the hands of a member of the Slayne family line for over five thousand years and now it was here.

  Tonight it is safe.

  He turned to contemplate the bare, third pillar on the right.

  The Interpretive Codex remains to be retrieved for safe keeping. Chloe Armitage is my best asset and she will be pivotal to bringing it here.

  Turning he looked out into the more brightly lit main library.

  And what then? Her capability and ambition are dangerous. In the long years ahead, she may find a way to breach Allemande’s curse. With the three in my possession, it would be safer for everyone if she was no longer with us.

  ‘When the time comes, she must go,’ Cornelius Crane said in the silence of his library.

  * * *

  Chloe had used her pass to swipe her way into the bio-hazard waste section of the Rikers Island Waste Treatment Plant.

  The treatment plant was an ongoing commercial concern, operated by front companies owned by Shadowstone, and therefore owned by the Vampire Dominion. Even detailed inspection by city officials would not show all of what really went on at this facility. By day, the main plant processed all manner of waste, including medical waste from New York City and surrounding district hospitals. By night, the smaller bio-hazard waste section was staffed exclusively by vampires, and it processed the remains of vampire feasts held at Crane’s Citadel and other locations sanctioned by Crane where vampires could feed.

  When Cornelius Crane shifted his operations from London to New York City in the 1920s, he had built the towering citadel on Fifth Avenue over the New York subway. He had cut a secret line out to Rikers Island, funding the establishment of the waste treatment facility. He had made it widely known amongst vampires exactly what the bio-hazard waste section was for. Chloe had punished vampires for breaking the rules and dumping bodies where they might be found by humans. Indiscreet vampires had been culled from the ranks by Chloe and her staff. The ones that had survived were all obedient and religiously tidy about their feeding habits.

  The existence of the Vampire Dominion was a very well-kept secret.

  Chloe made her way into the depths of the bio-hazard waste facility, to a door that the staff who worked there could not pass through. She tapped her pass on the sensor, the door clicked and she pushed it open. The next section was known only to the upper echelon of the Vampire Dominion, Crane, the generals, and their immediate staff. It was a facility for containing vampires, a vampire prison. It was rarely used, as non-compliance by a vampire to the edicts of Cornelius Crane was typically a fast form of suicide. The primary exceptions were the generals. They had been handpicked by Crane, and he had gone to the trouble to have them cursed to improve their usefulness. With Jean Philippe Allemande dead, they were not replaceable. When they made mistakes, instead of killing them, he would punish them.

  The most recent example had been a stint by Dieter Franz, the general in charge of continental Europe, who had made a terrible error of judgment in 1945. He had been hauled back to the US in disgrace by Chloe, before being interred in a silver coffin for thirty years. The internment had temporarily cost Dieter Franz his sanity; it had taken him several years to recover and become useful once again.

  Chloe opened the final door, entering the last room at the very bottom of the facility. In the room was “The Machine”, and Marcus stood next to it. William Slayne was strapped into the device and unable to move.

  Good, Marcus has used duct tape to silence him.

  She was thankful for his thoughtful consideration. She had never liked the tiresome sound of screaming and if at all possible, she preferred to avoid it. Most of the time in combat with Chloe, people didn’t scream - they didn’t get the chance to. The incident with Anna Slayne earlier in the night had been distasteful, but necessary to the success of the mission, and Chloe excelled at dealing with necessities.

  ‘Marcus, you have done well,’ she said, reaching up and kissing him on the cheek.

  Marcus beamed and said, ‘we are ready.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘Do you want to feed,’ Marcus offered.

  Chloe shook her head, ‘no, I am replete. Please, be my guest - he is all yours. You deserve it, it has been a long and trying night.’

  She looked around and saw a table prepared with syringes and other medical paraphernalia.

  Marcus had been thorough in his preparation.

  She felt quite warm to him at the moment.

  I might even invite him back for sex.

  She picked up a syringe, and once again, she filled it with her blood.

  In her peripheral vision, she picked up the sudden movement as Marcus sank his fangs into William Slayne’s throat.

  She watched him feed, noting his self-discipline when he stopped short of draining William Slayne dry.

  ‘Good work, Marcus,’ she said enthusiastically.

  Marcus stepped back and she inserted the syringe needle into William’s heart, depressing the plunger, she pushed a full load of her blood directly into his left ventricle.

  Bound into immobility; William’s eyes bulged, his skin developing a clammy sheen.

  She stepped back, waiting patiently.

  A clock ticked noisily in the background.

  After five minutes, she could see that the transformation was almost complete; she indicated with a flick of her eyes what she wanted to be done.

  Marcus ripped off the duct tape.

  ‘Wait! Hey!’ William Slayne yelled.

  It was all he was able to say as Chloe punched a green button on a console next to the machine. The metal arm that William had been strapped to arced forward 180 degrees and slammed him into a coffin made from pure silver. The restraints around him automatically released with puffs of high-pressure air, retracting in a matter of milliseconds.

  Before William could react, the coffin lid slammed shut and a dozen heavy bolts were automatically screwed into place by a series of whirri
ng robotic arms. A giant mechanical claw attached to a pulley and a motorized runner system on the ceiling reached down, hooked up the coffin, and slotted it neatly into a waiting vertical holding chamber in the floor. The final action was a lid that slid shut over the chamber leaving no trace of the coffin beneath.

  To all intents and purposes, William Slayne had disappeared from the face of the Earth.

  Chloe took Marcus’s hand, looking up into his eyes, ‘you have done very well tonight, time for some recreation back at my penthouse.’

  Marcus smiled broadly.

  She stroked his chest, staring hungrily into his eyes, ‘now where did you park the helicopter?’

  Chapter Two

  “The most useful deceptions are those that the target will actively resist questioning.” - General Chloe Armitage

  “Take a potent lie, wrap it in the truth and hammer it home with trauma.” - General Chloe Armitage

  - Quotes from an Instructional Video, Target Capture and Conditioning, Shadowstone Covert PSYOPS Manual - Appendix B

  * * *

  Boston

  April 28th

  23:40

  Anton scanned the departure board at South Station, the main hub for ground transport out of Boston.

  It showed a Greyhound bus leaving for Montreal in ten minutes, with the following Montreal bus leaving on Saturday morning at 07:00. The five-mile hike from the forest preserve and cemetery behind his house to the station had allowed him to begin to calm down and collect his scattered thoughts. He ached with sadness, broken only by flashes of livid fury, his thoughts mirroring his feelings.

  There were so many unknowns. Where did Chloe Armitage live? Who was King Cornelius Crane? Was there an army of vampires? How do you kill a vampire? How would he find out what he needed to know - it wasn’t information that you could get at the local library? How would he survive without being found again?

  Where is my father?

  Anton had considered going north to Montreal, getting away from Boston to find somewhere out of the way to regroup and gather resources. Montreal seemed as good a place as any to start with. As he stood in front of the departure board, the clock ticked away the opportunity to board the 23:50 bus.

  How do they keep it all secret?

  He backed away from the departure board.

  With his peaked cap pulled down low and his hood up, he found a seat in the waiting room. He sat down, bowed his head and became just another nondescript passenger waiting for a late night bus out of Boston.

  Chloe Armitage spoke of the Vampire Dominion. If the vampires are organized, then they must have someone keeping their secrets during daylight.

  ‘I will need to find the secret keepers,’ he whispered.

  She also said that my dad was a member of the Order of Thoth as if they were the bad guys. What is the Order of Thoth and how do they fit into this? She said he was exiled, but why? Was it something to do with my grandfather?

  If my grandfather was such a “bad ass” warrior, why wasn’t he around to protect his family?

  Anton’s fists clenched to white knuckle intensity as rage flared through his soul. He wiped away hot tears that had squeezed out of his eyes. He quickly looked around, but no one had noticed his distress.

  She also left me alive so that I can do something for her - well damn that, she can burn in hell before I help her with anything.

  Anton leaned back, his backpack beside him, pulling the peak of his cap low over his eyes as if he was resting. He spent most of the next hour going over in his mind what he knew, what he didn’t know, what were the opportunities for action, and what were the priorities. As the time passed, he formed a plan of action.

  They will have to deal with the evidence, they have to keep it secret.

  Anton determined that if he acted quickly, he could find out who the secret keepers were.

  And that would be a good start.

  With the Montreal option abandoned, Anton approached the ticket window, speaking with the teller, he confirmed that there were available seats on the express bus to New York. It was due to leave in fifteen minutes time at 01:00.

  She took photos, they will be looking for me, I need a false trail.

  I need some breadcrumbs for them to follow.

  There was a nearby ATM, he went to it, withdrawing nine hundred and eighty dollars from his savings account, it was most of what he had. He went back to the ticket counter, using EFTPOS to buy a one-way ticket on the next bus to New York City.

  Two transactions, two breadcrumbs.

  He then quickly went to the toilet, stripping off his cap and jacket, he stuffed them into his backpack. As he went to leave the toilet block, he noticed a random bit of graffiti on the wall, which read “We are ruled by vampires!”

  ‘No kidding,’ he said to the empty room.

  Now to poke the sleeping bear.

  With three minutes to go before the bus was due to leave, Anton went to a public payphone and dialed 911. In hushed tones, he identified himself as Anton Smith, quickly relating the basic details of the evening to the operator. He told her that his mother had been murdered and his father abducted by two assailants. He described them as a strikingly good-looking brunette and a tall, powerfully built, blond man, dressed in business attire and under thirty years of age. He named them as Chloe Armitage and Marcus Drake. Anton hung up the phone, jogging to gate one, where the bus to New York City was boarding the final passengers.

  Before boarding the bus, Anton slowed to a walk and glanced up at the camera dome in the ceiling at the gate.

  Taking a seat at the back of the bus, he put on his cap and jacket, pulling his hood up and over his head.

  She took photos of me, she expects to find me again. Breadcrumb number three - be seen getting on this bus to New York. In three minutes time - I’ll be off this bus, and underneath the radar.

  * * *

  James was on the I-91 heading north toward East Hartford on the way to Boston, when his Shadowstone smartphone pinged with an automated message from the Panopticon.

  He had a hit on the target.

  ‘Heads up,’ he said.

  The smartphone, networked with the car to display a ghostly image onto the windscreen. There was enough resolution in the translucent image that James could easily read it, without it obscuring his vision of the road ahead. The image detailed a debit card transaction for a withdrawal of nine hundred and eighty dollars in the name of Anton Smith.

  Smith is running.

  ‘Well, that was easy,’ James remarked.

  The smartphone pinged again, the details of a bus ticket to New York flashing up onto the windscreen.

  James pursed his lips; shaking his head, he pulled the car over to the emergency stopping lane.

  He picked up the smartphone, dialing back to the New York City Shadowstone office, where the call was answered by the staff duty officer manning the desk.

  ‘I need an immediate Panopticon tracker on the 01:00 express bus from Boston to New York City. I need four operatives at the Port Authority Terminal before 05:20 this morning at gates sixty to sixty five to confirm sighting on a target, photos are on their way. Do not engage the target, tail and track only. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. It will take about five minutes to establish a panopticon tracker on the bus. I will immediately assign a team to the PA Terminal.’

  ‘Do it.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  James hung up the call.

  As his car accelerated, merging back into the traffic, a third Panopticon ping hit his smartphone and an image of Anton Smith getting onto the bus flashed up onto his windscreen.

  Newbie.

  James shook his head with disappointment.

  This won’t take long to clean up, what a waste of my time.

  * * *

  Luke Watts, Sergeant Detective with the Boston Police Department, pushed back the safe door with a pen and peered inside it.

  He stared into the empty space within the
safe.

  Robbery?

  He considered it was a possible motive.

  Turning from the safe, he surveyed the crime scene. The other two members of his squad, Detectives John Kelly and Sean O’Reilly were busy taking photographs. The Crime Scene Response Unit led by Sarah Murphy was examining the body, in situ, and as yet untouched. The junior members of the CSRU were setting up filtered floodlights to search for body fluids, fingerprints and other evidence that may have been left by the perpetrator.

  His eyes were drawn back to the woman’s head lying on the ground next to her feet.

  Luke shook his head with dismay and sighed.

  Grim.

  He had been with the police department for nineteen years, joining a week after his eighteenth birthday. He had been with the Homicide Unit for the last ten years, six as a Sergeant Detective leading his own squad. He had seen knife attacks before, but this was the first beheading, and he had a sincere wish that it be his last.

  Luke carefully threaded his way through the furniture toward where Detective Kelly was teasing something from the edge of the huge hole in the wall. Kelly held it up with a pair of tweezers, it was a torn piece of dark, pinstriped fabric.

  ‘It was caught on a wood splinter in the middle of the wall,’ Kelly said, frowning as he put the fragment into an evidence bag.

  The wall had been holed in a vaguely human shape, that stretched a yard across, and from floor to ceiling. The plaster dust and wood fragments in the hallway, and the direction that the wood had broken in, clearly indicated that whatever went through the wall had come from the lounge room. Luke had an image in his mind of a large man going through the wall, it would neatly fit the shape of the hole.

  Like something out of a damn cartoon.

  However, given the thickness of the wooden members, it was doubtful that anything human would have survived the impact. He stroked the broken edge of a beam with a gloved finger, the wood was hard and strong, with no sign of rot or weakness. He shook his head, nonplussed by what he was looking at.