by Will Hill
Larissa smiled. “So that’s why Jamie’s going.”
Holmwood’s smile disappeared. “Yes,” he said. “You are no doubt aware of Lieutenant Carpenter’s behaviour two nights ago?”
“He told me, sir.”
“Of course he did,” said Holmwood. “So it won’t surprise you to know that if I had my way, he wouldn’t be going anywhere near this operation?”
“No, sir,” said Larissa. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Good,” said Holmwood. “Unfortunately, his name is on the NS9 selection list and I can’t stop them taking him without removing him from the active roster. And for some reason, even now, I find myself unwilling to take that step. Do you think I should?”
You’re asking me if I think you should bench my boyfriend? thought Larissa, her eyes widening. Jesus.
“No, sir,” she said. “Whatever mistakes Jamie may have made, he’ll do the Department proud in Romania. And I think you know that, sir.”
Holmwood shrugged, and allowed the smallest of smiles to creep on to his face. “Maybe,” he said. “I hope so, for all our sakes. But I didn’t ask you here to talk about your boyfriend, Larissa. A situation has arisen that requires you to make a decision.”
Great. I’m sure this is going to be straightforward.
“What situation, sir?”
“Are you aware of the supposed existence of a vampire who was cured of the condition?” said Holmwood.
“I heard rumours, sir,” said Larissa. “When I was in Nevada. They called him Adam.”
Holmwood nodded. “What I’m about to tell you is classified above Zero Hour. Is that clear?”
More secrets, she thought. Awesome.
“Yes, sir.”
“Intelligence has come to light that appears to confirm that Adam is real. Or was, at least. It suggests he was cured at NS9, as part of a black project that ran in the 1990s under the supervision of Christopher Reynolds, also known as Richard Talbot.”
“The first Director of the Lazarus Project? The one Jamie killed?”
“The same,” said Holmwood. “The project was investigating the possibility of weaponising the vampire virus, in response to rumours that the SPC were attempting to do the same. The reality was that Reynolds was working for Valeri Rusmanov, attempting to cure the weaknesses of vampires without removing their strengths. According to our source, he succeeded with Adam.”
“Your source being the man who came back from Nevada on the Mina II with me?” asked Larissa.
Holmwood shook his head. “The source is not important, Lieutenant. And I have told you before that you are not to speak of him.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “So Adam was cured? Like, genuinely cured?”
“Apparently,” said Holmwood. “It was a failure from Reynolds’ perspective, as Adam was cured of the condition entirely. He was released with the other test subjects when NS9 discovered that the SPC rumours were false, and shut the programme down. Reynolds had destroyed all the records and disappeared, so nobody knew what had really been going on in his lab, never mind what had happened to Adam. He slipped right through their fingers.”
“Jesus,” said Larissa, her face pale. “General Allen must be furious.”
“That would be rather an understatement,” said Holmwood, and smiled. “Anyway. Acting on this new intelligence, NS9 is sending a team to locate Adam and bring him in, and I don’t think I need to tell you just how far a workable cure might tip the odds in our favour when Zero Hour gets here.”
“No, sir,” said Larissa, although it wasn’t the potential military applications of such a discovery that had risen instantly into her mind; she was thinking of Marie Carpenter, and of herself.
“Lieutenant Browning is departing for Nevada in thirty minutes,” said the Interim Director. “I have received an official request from General Allen for you to accompany him, and take part in the operation to find Adam and bring him in, a request that precedes your selection for Romania. Both operations are Priority Level 1, both are vital to the strategic aims of this Department, and you, not to put too fine a point on it, are by some distance the most powerful Operator any of the Departments have. As a result, I am leaving the choice up to you: Nevada or Romania.”
“Surely the first victim is more important?” said Larissa. “If what Grey said is true, and only he can stop Dracula?”
“Perhaps,” said Holmwood. “Or perhaps not. The very idea of the first victim is based on little more than legends and rumours, an old vampire prophecy that may turn out to be entirely meaningless. Whereas, if Adam truly was cured, he represents a tangible, scientific path that Lazarus can follow, a path that could shorten their work by a decade. But I also know how much you enjoyed your time in Nevada, so it’s up to you. Bob Allen will be happy either way.”
Larissa stared at the Interim Director, her heart surging with a wave of rare pride. She knew how much Bob Allen respected her, how sad he had been when the time had come for her to leave, but it was still heartening to know that she was apparently the first choice for two operations that could define the future not just of NS9 and Blacklight, but of all the Departments. She was also surprised to realise how much it meant to her to hear Cal Holmwood refer to her as the most powerful Operator in the world; it represented a huge improvement on how she believed she was normally perceived inside the Loop, as something dangerous and unnatural.
As a freak.
But although her heart was momentarily full of pride, her mind was racing with doubt. She did miss the desert, and she had loved the vast majority of her time at NS9. But it had ended badly; she had broken promises and been forced to disappear without even saying goodbye to the people who had become her friends, the sad, shameful result of a situation she had badly, wantonly misjudged.
A situation that would be waiting for her if she went back, more poisonous and destructive than ever.
I can’t see them, she thought. Danny, and Kara, and Kelly, and Aaron. I’d be too ashamed.
Then the voice she hated, the one she had come to think of as the voice of her vampire side, cruel and vicious and violent, whispered in the back of her head.
Don’t pretend this is about them, it said, in a tone as slick as oil. Admit the truth to yourself, even if you can’t admit it to anybody else.
Admit that you can’t face Tim Albertsson.
Larissa felt her throat tighten, her stomach start to churn; she growled, involuntarily.
“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” asked Holmwood.
“I’m fine, sir,” she managed. “I’m sorry. I’ll go to Romania, sir. The potential for trouble there seems far greater, so I think I’ll be more useful.”
“Only if the first victim does actually turn out to exist,” said Holmwood. “But either way, I’m sure NS9 can handle Adam.”
“Yes, sir,” said Larissa, trying not to let the relief show on her face. “I think so too.”
“Fine,” said Holmwood, and nodded. “I’ll then see you and Lieutenant Carpenter in the Ops Room at 1500. Until then, dismissed.”
Larissa walked quickly out of the room, strode past the Security Operator, and waited until she was in the lift and making the short journey back down to Level B before she exhaled a huge breath, one it felt like she had been holding for hours. She lowered her head, taking air in and letting it slowly drift back out, feeling the panic that had risen in her in Cal Holmwood’s quarters begin to recede.
I can’t see him, she thought. I’m sorry if that’s selfish, if I should go to Nevada and help them look for Adam. But I can’t see Tim.
I just can’t.
Kate walked into her office in the Security Division to find Paul Turner already waiting for her, his expression characteristically neutral.
She groaned, inwardly; her commanding officer’s presence only ever meant trouble, and she had been hoping for at least enough time to drink a second cup of coffee and sort through her schedule before the first crisis of the day presented itself.
No such luck, she thought. I don’t know why I’m even surprised.
“Morning, sir,” she said, with as much cheerfulness as she could muster. “Everything all right?”
Turner smiled. “Is it ever?” he asked.
Kate rolled her eyes. “You’re a beacon of hope and happiness, sir. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Funny, that,” said Kate. “So what’s going on? How are our guests?”
The encampment that had sprung up in the forest had been the topic on every Operator’s lips for the past day and a half. She knew that the Security Officer would have preferred to keep it Zero Hour classified, but to do so was simply not feasible; at least a dozen Operational Squads had passed the protesters overnight, on their way to and from their Patrol Respond grids. From the conversations Kate had overheard, in the canteen and corridors of the Loop, opinion appeared evenly split between a conviction that the right to protest was one of the fundamental freedoms that Blacklight helped to protect and a belief that the camp should be cleared and its ungrateful, trouble-making occupants thrown in jail. Kate leant instinctively towards the first viewpoint, although a small, vicious bit of her that she was not proud of thought the second option sounded like a damn good idea.
“Enjoying their fifteen minutes of fame,” said Turner. “They’re the front page of every newspaper, and the first article in every TV bulletin. Well, alongside Chris Hollison’s footage of our own celebrity Operator.”
Kate nodded. The video of the graveyard had been playing on the BBC News Channel barely an hour earlier, as she ran on a treadmill on Level F.
“I saw it, sir,” she said.
“As did most of the country,” said Turner. “Or so it seems, at least.”
“And you’re still not going to tell me who it was?”
“You don’t need to know,” said Turner.
“Fine,” said Kate. “So what are we going to do about it, sir?”
“Nothing,” said Turner, emphatically. “For now, at least. The MOD will continue to deny our existence and the existence of vampires. But you and I both know that’s not going to wash for much longer. Soon, perhaps even very soon, someone is going to find a vampire who is happy to stand in front of a camera, and then it’s game over. And we can’t move the protesters. They’re on public property and they aren’t breaking any laws, even though their protests are nothing more than an ignorant nuisance.”
Kate watched the Security Officer closely as he spoke. There seemed to be genuine hurt in the corners of his eyes, in the downward turn of his mouth, as though the protesters offended him, rather than annoyed him.
“Anyway,” he continued, “we’re watching them, and if any of them sets a toe on government land they’ll be in a cell before they even know what happened. For now, you and I, and this Division, have bigger things to worry about.”
Kate frowned. “Like what, sir?”
Turner picked up a pile of folders from beside him on Kate’s desk.
“Most of these are from the Surveillance,” he said. “A few from Intelligence. All are from the last thirty-six hours, since the Cambridge email went viral.” He opened the first one. “Four teenagers wearing what was described to the police as ‘Goth clothing’ were assaulted in Leeds by at least twelve men, possibly as many as fifteen. Three of the victims were hospitalised, one with suspected brain damage. The men who were arrested claimed they thought the teenagers were vampires, so they were protecting themselves. Protecting themselves, Kate. By stamping on an innocent teenager’s head because he was wearing black clothes and make-up. This was last night, on a well-lit street in the centre of the city.”
“Jesus,” said Kate, her stomach churning at the thought of such vicious, unprovoked violence. “That’s awful.”
“I know,” said Turner, and opened the second file. “Petrol was poured through the letterbox of a house in Stockport in the early hours of this morning, then set on fire with matches. The occupants of the house were mercifully not at home, and two suspects were arrested after a neighbour called the police. They confessed to arson and attempted murder, and said they had done it because, and I quote, ‘There were always lights on in that house after dark, and you never saw anyone coming or going, so we reckoned they must be vampires.’ The man and woman in question both work from home, and admit to being night owls. They’re being treated for shock in Stepping Hill Hospital.”
He set the file aside and picked up another. “A man broke his wife’s jaw and nose because she allegedly attempted to bite him.” Another file. “Two national supermarkets have sold out of garlic, and regional stores are reporting shortages. Churches have been overwhelmed with requests to bless crucifixes and provide holy water. Halal butchers are being harassed about the blood they drain from animals.” Yet another. “On two separate occasions, more than a hundred miles apart, police were called to disturbances in graveyards and found them being patrolled by men and women calling themselves Operators and carrying wooden stakes. Two different places, for God’s sake.”
Glacial cold had spread slowly through Kate as she listened to the Security Officer. She had seen the best that humanity had to offer during her time in Blacklight, moments of remarkable bravery and integrity, but had also seen men and women at their worst, scared and desperate and lost.
“I had no idea it was so bad out there,” she said.
“Things fall apart quickly,” said Turner. “Once something like this gathers momentum, all we can do is try to minimise the damage. People are scared, and confused, and they’re lashing out. It’s only a matter of time until someone is killed.”
“And they’re blaming us,” said Kate, softly. “For keeping the vamps secret.”
Turner nodded. “It’s only to be expected,” he said. “People don’t like being kept in the dark, even when it’s for the best. They don’t care how many lives we’ve saved over the years and decades, or how many monsters we’ve destroyed. All it takes is for them to hear the word ‘secret’ and they throw tantrums like children. Like babies.”
Kate shook her head. “I’m not so sure, sir,” she said. “People being outraged because they didn’t know about us is one thing, and it’s plainly ridiculous. It’s no different than the government denying for decades that MI5 existed, or pretending that GCHQ wasn’t sharing civilian data with the NSA. I think most people accept that their government can’t keep them safe and be completely transparent at the same time. But being outraged because we hid the existence of vampires is something else, and I have some sympathy.”
Turner narrowed his eyes. “Really?”
“Yes, sir. Vamps have been a danger to human beings for more than a century, but we never informed the public, never told them how to protect themselves. We made the decision not to. We managed it on their behalf, and we kept the incidents down, but the ones that did take place, the ones that we couldn’t stop, were massacres, like the one I saw happen to the people I grew up with. None of whom had the slightest idea what was happening, or what they were supposed to do about it. They died terrified and screaming, surrounded by monsters that they had been told didn’t exist, told so their entire lives. Maybe one or two of them might have survived if vamps had been common knowledge.”
“What’s your point, Lieutenant?” asked Turner. His eyes were still narrowed. “Where are you going with this?”
“My point is that I think outrage is a reasonable response to what the public is only now just starting to find out,” said Kate. “But not for the reasons they think. As you said, it’s not going to be long until some vamp gives an interview or goes on TV and the public realise that they aren’t all monsters, not all sadists and murderers, that most of them are just normal people who live similar lives to them. And when they do, there’s going to be a wave of outrage that makes the people in the forest with their signs look like the mildest inconvenience.”
“Explain,” said Turner, although Kate could see from his exp
ression that he already knew where she was headed.
“Members of this Department have destroyed thousands of vampires over the years, sir, probably tens of thousands. Men and women who were killed just because they were vampires, not because of anything they’d actually done, any crimes they’d actually committed. No charges, no trials, just a T-Bone stake through the heart and some carefully worded lies for their families. And we’re still doing it, sir, every night when the squads go out on Patrol Respond. It’s a necessary evil, and I have no doubt that we’ve saved at least as many lives as we’ve ended, but none of that is going to matter. This is what Larissa warned us about when she came back from NS9, sir. To the public, this is going to look like mass murder, pure and simple.”
Turner put the files he was holding back on to the desk. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples and forehead with his fingers, then opened them and smiled gently at Kate.
“You agree with her, don’t you?” he said, his voice low. “You think Larissa’s right.”
“I don’t know,” said Kate. “I think there’s truth in what she says, but then I think about Alexandru and Valeri Rusmanov, and all the other monsters I’ve seen with my own eyes, and I don’t know. I don’t think destroy on sight is the right SOP, but I don’t have a better solution either. I think a vampire prison would be too difficult to hide, not to mention incredibly dangerous, and, until Lazarus finds a cure, I can’t think of any other alternatives. But it troubles me, if that’s what you’re asking. It does.”
Turner nodded.
“Don’t you ever have doubts, sir?” she asked.
“No,” said Turner, instantly. “I was ordered to do the things I’ve done for Blacklight and I never hesitated, never asked why. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t, and it’s too late for me to start now. I’ve waded through blood for this Department, Kate. I’ve seen things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, and I’ve done things that will never truly leave me, not if I live for another century. So I have to believe they meant something. I have to believe I did them for good, no matter how hard they were.”