by Will Hill
“But you didn’t.”
“I wanted to, though.”
“But you didn’t. And if that doesn’t tell you how you feel about Jamie, and where your loyalties really lie, I don’t know what will.”
Larissa looked at her friend and felt something shift inside her. “There’s something else, Kate,” she said. “Something I overheard, that I wasn’t supposed to. Something I think Jamie would want to know, but I’m just—”
“Don’t even think about it,” interrupted Kate, her eyes flashing with sudden anger. “If you’re keeping some secret from Jamie, I don’t want to know anything about it. We said we wouldn’t do this, Larissa, the four of us, and I for one meant it.”
“I know,” said Larissa. “No more secrets, I remember. But this is something—”
“Didn’t you hear me?” asked Kate. “I said I don’t want to know. You want my advice? Tell your boyfriend whatever it is. Secrets get out eventually, we both know that, so just tell him now. It’ll be better in the long run.”
Will it? wondered Larissa. I’m really not sure about that.
“OK,” she said. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. Let’s talk about something else.”
Kate smiled. “No problem,” she said. “Let’s talk about Zero Hour. That should cheer us up.”
The two girls burst out laughing, drawing curious looks from the surrounding tables. Zero Hour hung over the Department like the sword of Damocles, ever-present and seemingly unstoppable. Each Operator had been forced to find their own way of dealing with it; some had withdrawn to the point of mutism, others had taken to training obsessively in the Playground and the simulators. Kate, Larissa was pleased to see, had clearly decided that making fun of the situation was the best approach.
“Right,” she said. “The end of the world is always good for a laugh.”
Kate nodded, her laughter subsiding. “That’s the thing, you see. That’s what I can’t get my head around, why the numbers I just read out make no sense. It’s the end of the world. I mean, not like if an asteroid hit the planet and everything died, but the end of the world we recognise. The one we understand.”
“Unless we’ve got it all wrong,” said Larissa. “And Dracula is just planning to keep his head down and not bother anyone.”
Kate laughed again, but her good humour was clearly gone. “Do you think that’s likely?”
“No,” said Larissa.
“Me neither,” said Kate. “I think it’s all going to burn unless we stop him. I just don’t know whether I believe we still can.”
Larissa nodded. That was the fear that lurked at the back of her mind, at the back, she suspected, of every Operator’s: that it was already too late to stop what was coming, that the digital display in the Ops Room ticking relentlessly down to Zero Hour was little more than an affectation, and all their planning and preparation would turn out to be nothing more than futile gestures against a darkness that was implacable.
“I have to,” she said. “Otherwise what’s the point? We might as well just hang up our uniforms and spend our last days on a beach somewhere.”
“Don’t tempt me,” said Kate, smiling widely.
“Who’s tempting?” said Larissa. “I could fly us both to Mustique in about two hours. Just say the word.”
“I think Cal might have something to say about that,” said Kate. “Court martial, in all likelihood.”
Larissa sighed extravagantly. “You’re probably right. Maybe next year, if there is one.”
The two Operators finished their breakfast in a silence full of warmth and camaraderie. When the plates and bowls were clear and the mugs were empty, Larissa sat back in her chair and looked at her friend.
“Serious question,” she said. “What chance do you give us when Zero Hour arrives? One in ten? Twenty? Worse?”
Kate shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I wouldn’t say the odds were good. I’d say they were far from good, if I’m honest.”
“Me too,” said Larissa. “But here’s the weird thing. I wouldn’t change where we are, and what we’re doing, for anything. I’ve thought about this a lot, about the different ways my life could have gone, so I can say it with absolute certainty. Right here, right now, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Me neither,” said Kate, instantly. “Despite everything with my dad, and Shaun, there’s nowhere I would rather be than here. Sometimes I think it would be nice to be lying in a warm bed somewhere out there, with no idea of the darkness all around me. And it probably would be. But you know what? I’d rather know what’s coming, and have the chance to at least try and do something about it. Even if we fail, and Dracula rises and the world burns and eighty million people really do die, I’d rather be able to tell myself that I tried.”
Larissa grinned.
“Amen to that,” she said. “A-bloody-men.”
Jamie Carpenter was pulled out of a dream about his father by the loud beep of his console.
He reached for the plastic rectangle and stabbed blindly at its screen with his finger, hoping to hit the exact section that would dismiss the message causing the ungodly noise. He missed, and when the beep rang out again he forced open his eyes and hammered the screen so hard it almost cracked.
In the dream, he and his dad had been standing in the living room of their old house in Brenchley. The window was broken, and the coffee table was smashed, and Jamie knew it was the night his dad had died, the night that Alexandru Rusmanov had come for them. His mother wasn’t there; in reality, she had been standing against the wall opposite the window, her hands clutching her face, her eyes wide with terror. But in the dream, it was just the two of them. His father had been saying something, something that Jamie couldn’t understand, although he had been sure it was important. His console had woken him before he could ask his dad to repeat it.
Jamie pressed the heels of his palms hard against his eyes and squeezed them shut, the remnants of the dream still floating at the edges of his barely awake mind. Then he swung himself out of bed and started to fill the coffee machine.
No more bullshit, he told himself. No more self-pity. Just get on with it.
The smell of boiling coffee began to fill his small quarters, bitter and enticing. Jamie waited for it to finish, studiously ignoring the message waiting on his console; he doubted it was a summons to a court martial, but it was still unlikely to be good news, whatever it was. It was far too early for it to contain his squad’s orders for the day, which meant it was something unusual, although that was a word that had no real meaning inside the Loop.
The previous day had been a strong contender for the worst he’d endured since joining Blacklight, which was saying something. After the Zero Hour Task Force meeting, he had slipped away through the hangar and out on to the Loop’s grounds, avoiding anyone who might want to talk to him, including Larissa. He knew it had been cowardly, but he had simply been unable to face the prospect of explaining to his girlfriend exactly how badly he had screwed up, so he had gone where he knew she couldn’t follow: out into the bright late-morning sun.
He had wandered the grounds for a long time, lost in his thoughts. As he made his way back to the hangar, he had seen Matt and Natalia walking across the runway together, and had ducked behind one of the supply sheds. Matt was his best friend, but he could no more face him than he could Larissa.
Jamie had spent the rest of the day locked in his quarters, ignoring messages from Matt and Larissa and Kate, increasingly urgent demands that he answer them and tell them what was going on. By the time 1800 rolled around, he had rarely been so relieved to head out on a Patrol Respond.
It had gone better than their first, although that wasn’t difficult. Qiang and Ellison had been sympathetic and reassuring, insisting that the incident with Chris Hollison could have happened to anyone, that it was a miracle it had never happened previously. Jamie had appreciated their concern, told them so, then ordered them to focus on the operation at hand.
Eight hour
s later they had returned to the Loop, tired but satisfied with their night’s work: three dead vamps, a civilian couple rescued from a home invasion that had been on the verge of turning extremely unpleasant, and no injuries or failures of protocol. He had dismissed his squad mates, and fled for the privacy and security of his bed.
Enough hiding, he thought. I’m done with that.
Jamie poured a mug of coffee and took a sip. The liquid burned his lips, but he didn’t care; the caffeine was what he needed, the energy to get dressed and go out there and do his job. When the mug was empty, he sat down on his bed and opened the message that had woken him up.
NS303-67-J/OP_EXT_L1/LIVE_BRIEFING/OR/1500
ATTACHED: PRELIMINARY BRIEFING.
LOCATION: ROMANIA.
TARGET: THE FIRST VICTIM OF DRACULA.
That can’t be right, thought Jamie, incredulous. There has to be some mistake.
He was still staring at the screen two minutes later, trying to make sense of the orders he had been sent, when a heavy knock shook the door of his quarters. He jumped, then threw the console down on his bed and went to the door. The locks had barely slid clear of their housings before it was thrown open and Larissa stormed into the room. She stared at him with eyes that glowed the colour of fire.
“You’re not dead then,” she said, her voice low and full of barely contained anger. “I was starting to wonder.”
Jamie recoiled from the fury boiling out of his girlfriend, and raised his hands in placation. “I’m sorry,” he said. “About yesterday, I really am. I just needed—”
“Eight messages, Jamie,” said Larissa, her voice little more than a growl. “I sent you eight messages, and I know Matt and Kate sent you at least that many again. I waited for you outside the Ops Room, after you didn’t message me when you said you would, and you ran away, where you knew I couldn’t follow you. I tried to find you all afternoon, and you hid from me. Then you went out on patrol without a single word, and you couldn’t even be bothered to let me know you were home safely. Do you really, honestly think that qualifies as reasonable behaviour?”
“No,” said Jamie. “I don’t. It was selfish and cowardly and I have no excuse. I’m sorry, Larissa.”
The fire in her eyes faded, ever so slightly. “What’s going on, Jamie?” she asked. “And don’t say nothing, because I’m going to punch you if you do. Tell me the truth. I want to help.”
“I screwed something up,” he said. “And I couldn’t face you, or Matt, or anyone else. I’m sorry I avoided you, I really am, I should have told you what had happened, but I just couldn’t. I needed a few hours to get my head together. I really am sorry.”
“How badly did you screw up?” asked Larissa.
“Really, really badly,” said Jamie, forcing a tiny smile. “Or at least I thought I did. But then I got sent this.” He held out his console.
She took it, read the orders, then looked at him with blazing eyes and a wide smile full of pride, as she pulled her own console from her belt and showed him the screen. Identical orders glowed on it, plain black text on the white background.
“You too?” he said. “Both of us?”
Larissa nodded, then wrapped him in a tight hug and rose effortlessly into the air, spinning him elegantly in the small space of his quarters.
“Amazing!” she shouted. “That’s completely amazing. I’m so proud of you.”
Jamie grinned as he dangled in her grip. “Put me down, for God’s sake,” he said. “It’s just an operation.”
Larissa lowered him back to his bed and floated above him, her eyes glowing.
“It’s not just an operation, Jamie,” she said. “It might be the most important operation the Department has ever ordered. And we get to go.”
“I know,” said Jamie. “I don’t get it either.”
Larissa frowned. “What don’t you get?”
Jamie forced a smile. “I get why you’re going. You’re the most powerful Operator in the world, and if I’m going after a vampire who might be almost as strong as Dracula, I’m putting you on my team, every time. But I don’t get why I’m going too.”
Larissa’s eyes flared with clear annoyance. “You’re one of the best Operators in this Department, Jamie,” she said. “Holmwood knows how good you are, and he trusts you. Why are you doubting yourself all of a sudden?”
“Because it was my squad Cal was talking about in the Zero Hour meeting,” he said. “The Operator who got filmed and ended up on the news. That was me.”
He quickly filled her in on the fiasco that his new squad’s inaugural Patrol Respond had become, sparing her the worst of the dressing down he had received from the Interim Director and the extent of the crying he had done on his mother’s shoulder. She listened, the glow in her eyes fading to reveal an expression of sympathy.
When he was finished, she narrowed her eyes. “It’s not that bad,” she said.
“Cal seemed to think otherwise,” said Jamie. “So did Paul Turner.”
“I’m sure they did,” said Larissa. “But after McKenna and the email, how long did they really think we’d be able to stay a secret? I’m sure they’re pissed off at you, but they have to understand that it was inevitable. It’s not your fault.”
Jamie felt his heart swell at her faith in him, biased and almost blind though it was. “It was my fault,” he said. “I lost Chris Hollison. I was taking something that wasn’t his fault out on him, and it backfired.”
“And that was stupid,” said Larissa. “And I seriously doubt you need me to tell you so. But talking about a court martial? That’s bullshit, Jamie, and you know it.”
“Maybe,” he said. “And I’m hoping it won’t come to that, I really am. But you can see why getting these orders was a bit of a surprise, given that it’s less that thirty-six hours since Cal was talking about it, whether he was completely serious or not.”
“Maybe he’s better at letting things go than you are,” said Larissa. “Maybe he’s big enough to put the mission ahead of personal anger.”
Jamie frowned; an unsettling though had just occurred to him.
“You didn’t do anything, did you?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“Like saying you’d only go if I got to go as well.”
Larissa smiled. “No, Jamie,” she said. “Cal doesn’t tend to discuss Operational personnel with me. I found out five minutes ago, same as you. I promise.”
“So what the hell is going on?” said Jamie. He was suddenly feeling incredibly frustrated, as though the ground had been pulled out from under him in the Interim Director’s quarters two nights earlier, then pulled out from under him again this morning.
“Why does there have to be anything going on?” asked Larissa. “There’s a Priority Level 1 operation, we both got selected for it, and the briefing is in nine hours in the Ops Room. That’s all you need to be thinking about.”
“I suppose so,” said Jamie, his expression brightening. Regardless of whatever was going on behind the scenes – and he was sure there was something, despite what Larissa thought – this was a mission he was thrilled to be part of, especially in light of Larissa’s orders; it would have killed him to watch her leave without him, bound for the birthplace of vampires, looking for a way to end Dracula once and for all.
“Good,” said Larissa, and smiled at him. “I have to take care of some stuff, but I could meet you back here after lunch? We’d have an hour or so before the briefing. Unless you’re planning to hide from me again?”
The look on her face told Jamie everything he needed to know about how she was suggesting they fill that hour. He smiled back at her, heat rising from his stomach and into his chest.
“No more hiding,” he said. “I promise. And that sounds like a plan to me.”
Larissa closed the door to Jamie’s quarters behind her and flew steadily down the Level B corridor towards the lift at the end. As she did so, she pulled her console from her belt and opened the second message Cal Holm
wood had sent her, the one that had arrived immediately after the orders that had been sent to both her and Jamie.
FROM: Holmwood, Cal (NS303, 34-D)
TO: Kinley, Larissa (NS303, 77-J)
Come and see me ASAP.
She let herself float in the air as the lift ascended, enjoying the sensation, her mind turning the message over and over. She had told Jamie the truth; she had played no part in his selection for the mission to Romania, and had only found out that she was to be involved when the order had appeared on her console. And being summoned to see the Interim Director was not an unusual occurrence, especially not with Zero Hour so close. But something about the message made her uneasy, something that she could not quite put her finger on.
When the lift opened its doors on Level A, she slid back to the ground, feeling familiar disappointment at having to do so, and strode down the corridor towards Cal Holmwood’s quarters. The Security Operator stationed in the short corridor outside waved her through without bothering to check his schedule; she was an unmistakable figure inside the Loop, recognised and whispered about by everyone. She walked past the Operator without casting so much as a glance in his direction, and pushed open the door.
Cal Holmwood looked up from his desk as she entered the room, and smiled.
“Lieutenant Kinley,” he said. “Come in.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Larissa. “You wanted to see me?”
“I did,” said Holmwood, pushing aside a teetering pile of paper as Larissa stopped in front of his desk. “I assume you saw your orders?”
She nodded. “I did, sir. Thank you for having so much faith in me.”
Holmwood smiled. “I have complete faith in you,” he said. “But in this case, it wasn’t my call. The mission to Romania is being briefed and led by NS9, and they selected its personnel.”
Larissa frowned. “Why are NS9 in charge? Why not us or the SPC?”
“That’s between me and the other Directors, Lieutenant,” said Holmwood. “Although, if you were to suggest that it was easier to let NS9 lead it than it was to get the European Departments to agree, you might not be a million miles away from the truth.”