by Will Hill
REPORT 7542/B
SUBMITTED: 0342
BY: MAJOR ALEXANDER PIERCE/NS303, 41-F
FAO: INTERIM DIRECTOR CALEB HOLMWOOD/NS303, 34-D
SECURITY: PRIORITY LEVEL 1, DIRECTOR EYES ONLY
SUBJECT: APPLICATION OF SECURITY SURVEILLANCE MEASURES TO CIVILIAN PROPERTY, AS PER SURVEILLANCE DIVISION ORDER N426/9
BEGINS.
Surveillance installation completed as follows:
– Voice-activated recording installed across property and grounds.
– Location tracker/voice-activated recording devices installed on both (2) vehicles currently at the property.
– Motion-activated camera coverage of property and grounds.
– All telecommunication lines breached and automatic recorders installed.
– Thermal ground sensors installed.
– Mobile telecommunications monitoring grid installed over property.
– Keychecks and keylogs installed on laptop computer within the property. Spyware installed for future user network migration.
– Remote thermal-monitoring net installed, covering property and grounds.
All systems checked and functioning.
ENDS.
Cal had repeatedly made it clear to Julian that if he was to eventually be released it would be under strict surveillance. He had not spelt out just how intrusive it would be, but he felt no guilt; Julian knew exactly how this game was played and as far as Cal was concerned, he was already bending over backwards for his old friend.
Nobody else would have had any chance of ever leaving their cell, he thought, as the double doors at the rear of the hangar swung open. And maybe he shouldn’t either. But I made a promise.
Three figures emerged, walking rapidly across the concrete floor towards him. Two were Security Division Operators, in full uniform with MP7s resting in their gloved hands. Between them, dressed in a shirt and jeans, and with a black hood over his head, was Julian Carpenter.
The scuffed leather bag he had carried with him across the Atlantic was hung over his shoulder, and his uncuffed hands swung at his sides. Cal had told the Security Operators not to restrain the prisoner unless he resisted, which he had not considered was likely. The two men had no idea who they were escorting; they had been ordered to pass the hood through the cell’s food slot and wait until the prisoner knocked on the door twice before they opened it. Julian had been told to do so once the hood was in place, and had been specifically ordered not to say a single word to either of the Security Operators. As a precaution, Cal had selected two men who had not joined the Department until after Julian’s supposed death; to them, he was nothing more than a name from the past, whose voice would be unfamiliar if Cal’s old friend decided to defy his orders.
The Operators and their prisoner stopped in front of him. “Reporting as ordered, sir,” said one.
Cal nodded. “Very good,” he said. “Get the transport ready.”
The Operators chorused, ‘Yes, sir,’ and made their way across the hangar towards the line of black SUVs. Cal waited until they were out of earshot, then clasped his friend’s shoulder.
“Are you all right, Julian?” he asked.
The hooded figure nodded. “I’m great, Cal. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Holmwood smiled. “Show me your arm,” he said.
Julian pushed up his left sleeve and presented his arm for inspection. The skin below the elbow was wrapped with a thin bandage, which Cal carefully unravelled. Beneath it was a short incision, sealed shut by a row of neat black stitching. One of the Department’s surgeons had been sent to Julian’s cell the previous evening, using the same protocols of hood and silence, to implant the final condition of his release: a new locator chip inserted into the thick muscle of his forearm.
“Clean work,” said Cal. “Hope it didn’t hurt too much.”
Julian laughed. “I’ve had worse.”
“Are you ready to go?”
“Is there any point in me trying to talk you out of this?”
“No,” said Cal.
“Then I’m ready.”
The Interim Director took his friend’s hands in his own and squeezed them tightly. “Don’t do anything stupid, Julian,” he said, his voice low. “Please don’t. Just keep your head down. When this is all over, we’ll talk again, I promise. But for now, just think about Jamie and Marie. OK?”
Julian tightened his grip on Cal’s hands, then broke the hold.
“I will be,” he said. “Believe me, I will. Goodbye, Cal.”
“Goodbye,” said Holmwood. He walked across the hangar, then paused at the double doors and watched as the Security Operators helped Julian into the back of one of the SUVs. As it pulled out on to the grounds of the Loop, Cal fought back a profound sense of loss, a mingled wave of sadness and guilt that threatened suddenly to sweep through him. He took a deep breath, then pushed open the doors and strode towards the lift at the end of the Level 0 corridor.
One conversation I wasn’t looking forward to done, he thought, as he stepped into the lift and pressed the button marked B. One to go.
The moment of silence after he knocked on the door was so long that Cal began to believe that Frankenstein wasn’t there.
If that proved to be the case, a large part of him would be relieved. The old monster had just about emerged from the dark period following his rescue from Paris, a period in which he had become a virtual recluse, but he still spent more time alone than Cal thought was healthy, even though he understood the reason.
It was the same reason that Larissa Kinley had jumped at the chance to escape to Nevada, that kept Marie Carpenter inside her cell despite the Interim Director’s repeated offers to relax the conditions of her detention.
It was shame, pure and simple.
Frankenstein was ashamed of what he had become.
Not a reanimated patchwork of dead parts and pieces; that reality, the monster had long since come to terms with. What he was ashamed of was what he had been turned into on the island of Lindisfarne by a bite that dripped poison, before his long fall, and the loss of all that he was. A lycanthrope.
A werewolf.
The Interim Director was about to pull the console from his belt and search for Frankenstein’s locator chip when an unmistakable voice rumbled through the door.
“Wait.”
Cal did as he was told, until the locks disengaged and the door swung open. The monster filled the doorway, towering over him by half a metre, his eyes narrow, his thick black hair tousled and falling across his high forehead.
“Cal,” grunted Frankenstein. “What do you want at this ungodly hour?”
“I need to talk to you, Victor. Can I come in?”
Frankenstein shrugged, and stepped aside. Cal walked into the neat, sparse room.
“Coffee?” asked Frankenstein, closing the door behind them.
“No thanks,” said Cal.
“I’m going to make some.”
“That’s fine.”
Frankenstein filled a kettle that looked tiny in his oversized hands and spooned coffee into a mug. As the kettle began to boil, the monster regarded him with a curious expression.
“So what’s going on, Cal?”
“Something miraculous, Victor,” replied Holmwood. “One of our oldest friends has come back to life. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Frankenstein frowned. Then, slowly, a thin smile spread across his face. “So it is Julian you’re keeping downstairs,” he said. “I thought as much.”
“Why?” asked Cal. “What made you think that?”
Frankenstein shrugged. “A prisoner that only you are allowed access to,” he said. “A man who flew in from Nevada barely two months before new intelligence came to light about a cured vampire. Wasn’t hard to connect the dots.”
Cal stared at the monster. He had been expecting denial, or refusal to comment, but Frankenstein’s admission that he knew Julian was alive had been startlingly forthcoming.
“You knew,” he said. “All along, you knew he wasn’t dead, and you never told me. You let me grieve for him. Why?”
Frankenstein frowned again. “You know why.”
“Your oath to the Carpenters takes precedence over your loyalty to the Department?”
“I’ve never made any secret of that. The two have rarely been at odds, but this, unfortunately, was one of the times when they were.”
“It was a court-martial offence,” said Holmwood. “Or offences, I should say. Aiding and abetting a fugitive, lying to the Director of the Department, conspiracy, God knows what else.”
“I understand that,” said Frankenstein. He poured boiling water into his mug and stirred his coffee.
“Did you help him fake his death?” asked Cal. “I know you kept him updated on Jamie and Marie once he was gone, but did you actually help him escape?”
“What do you think, Cal?” asked Frankenstein, and took a long sip of his coffee.
“I think you were on the team that went to bring him in when his arrest warrant was issued,” said Holmwood. “And I remember you insisting that be the case. So I think you did, yes. I think you and Julian cooked something up between you and you helped him escape, even though he was wanted for treason.”
“Did you ever really think he was a traitor?” asked Frankenstein, his voice low. “Whatever the evidence, whatever Thomas Morris hung round his neck, did you ever actually believe that he could do something like that?”
“No,” said Cal, his voice rising with anger. “He was my friend too, Victor. Don’t try and make it seem like you were the only one who stood by him. I loved him too.”
“If you loved him,” said Frankenstein, “then you should have no problem understanding what I did.”
There was a long moment of silence.
Ever since Cal had received the video call from Bob Allen informing him that Julian Carpenter had just driven in from the Nevada desert and surrendered, he had been surprised by the emotion that filled him most often when he thought about the situation his old friend had created. It wasn’t relief that he was still alive, or excitement, or sympathy for Jamie and Marie; it was anger, hot and bright and burning at the very limit of his self-control.
He was furious that Julian had not trusted him, and Henry Seward, and Paul Turner, and the rest of his friends and colleagues, to stand with him when he needed them. No matter how compelling the evidence against him had appeared at the time, Cal was unshakeable in his belief that they would have looked beyond it and found a way to help him.
But instead he had run, leaving a cowardly trail of devastation behind him: a family damaged almost beyond repair; a crack in the Department from which had spread the awful, whispering tendrils of betrayal and paranoia; and a yawning hole in the lives of the men and women who had known him. And if Frankenstein had been in on it, if the monster, whose instincts and judgement were usually so sound, had actually helped Julian do something so utterly stupid and reckless, then that only made it worse.
“You swore to protect the Carpenters,” he said. “You didn’t consider that the best way to do that might have been to bring Julian in?”
“The second most powerful vampire in the world had sworn vengeance against him,” said Frankenstein. “A vampire who would never stop, would never tire of waiting for his revenge, and would not have thought twice about butchering Jamie and Marie for the sheer joy of doing so.”
“We could have protected him,” said Cal.
“Could you?” asked the monster. “I watched Valeri bring an army in here and murder half the active roster, barely three months ago. And compared to Alexandru, Valeri is a model of restraint. Julian believed that if the world thought he was dead, his family would be safe.”
“He was wrong,” said Holmwood.
“I’m fully aware of that now, Cal,” said Frankenstein, his voice a low rumble. “But I didn’t know at the time, and neither did Julian, so what was done was done. I’m sorry if you’re upset, or annoyed, or if you feel betrayed. I’m afraid there was no time to worry about anyone else.”
Cal sighed. He had not expected an apology, he would, in fact, have been astonished to receive one, but he had nonetheless been expecting something that at least resembled contrition.
“How did you do it?” he asked. “How did you fake Julian’s death?”
Frankenstein narrowed his eyes, then smiled. “He wouldn’t tell you, would he?” he said. “You asked him and he wouldn’t tell you.”
“No,” said Cal. “He wouldn’t tell me.”
Frankenstein grunted with laughter. “He always was a law unto himself. But you can’t really think I’m going to tell you when it’s clear he doesn’t want you to know?”
“I thought you might be more reasonable than him.”
“Then I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Cal scowled, feeling his frustration intensify. “You’re impossible,” he said. “Both of you. You always have been.”
“At least I’m consistent,” said Frankenstein, “if nothing else. Was there something more?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You said you wanted to tell me something. Was it just that Julian is alive?”
“No,” said Cal. “It wasn’t just that. I came down here to tell you that he has been released.”
Frankenstein’s smile disappeared. “Released?”
“Under strict surveillance,” said Cal. “He was taken out of the Loop this morning.”
“Where to?”
Cal shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you that, Victor. All you need to know is that he’s been released and is under strict orders not to attempt to contact anyone within the Department, under any circumstances. Including Marie and Jamie.”
Frankenstein grunted with laughter. “You’ve known Julian almost as long as I have,” he said. “Do you honestly think he’s going to follow that order?”
“Of course not,” said Cal. “I’m not an idiot, Victor. But it was that or locking him up for the rest of his life, and I couldn’t do that to him. I probably should have, but I just couldn’t. My conscience weighs heavy enough as it is.”
“You did the right thing,” said Frankenstein.
“I really don’t care whether you think so or not,” said Cal. “But thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” said Frankenstein. “So why are you telling me this, Cal? You’re obviously driving at something, so just spit it out.”
Cal nodded. “There’s no way Julian can get access to his family,” he said. “Not unless someone inside the Department helps him. So I need to know, right now, about any procedures the two of you established for staying in touch, any back channels you used to use, or anything else that I should be aware of.”
“There’s nothing,” said Frankenstein.
“Are you telling me the truth, Victor?”
“Will you believe me if I say yes?” said Frankenstein. “You’re going to have to decide for yourself.”
“If he tries to contact you,” said Holmwood, “I’m trusting that you’ll do the right thing and tell me. I understand the oath you swore, and I’ve always respected it, but Jamie is the priority, not Julian. Is that clear?”
“He won’t try to come through me,” said Frankenstein. “He’ll know that’s what you’ll be expecting. But if he does, I’ll tell you. I promise you that much.”
“Thank you, Victor,” said Cal. “I believe you. And I hope it goes without saying that Jamie doesn’t need to know about any of this?”
Frankenstein smiled. “What do you take me for, Cal? An idiot? He’d burn this whole place to the ground, with you and me inside it.”
Cal nodded, a smile of his own rising on his face. The monster was right; if Jamie found out that two of the men he trusted the most, in whose hands he regularly placed his life, had been concealing the fact that his father was still alive from him, the explosion would be audible from miles away.
His console beeped into life on his belt. Cal t
ilted the plastic rectangle and saw NEW MESSAGE glowing on the screen. He tapped OPEN, saw who it was from, and quickly closed it.
“I have to go,” he said.
He was about to turn towards the door when he noticed that Frankenstein had slid a hand beneath the collar of his shirt and was scratching slowly at his skin. Cal flushed with embarrassment, and considered pretending he hadn’t seen, but it was too late; the monster was regarding him with narrowed eyes.
“I’m sorry, Victor,” he said. “I didn’t mean to stare.”
Frankenstein’s gaze remained unchanged for several long seconds. Then his eyes widened to their normal misshapen sizes, and the faintest flicker of a smile curved his grey-green lips.
“Don’t worry about it,” said the monster. “It feels like my skin is on fire. I never felt anything like it before I was bitten.”
“How long?” asked Holmwood.
“The night after tomorrow,” said Frankenstein. “I can feel it, Cal. I know how that must sound, but it’s the truth. I can feel it coming, feel it pulling at me. I’ll go into a cell this afternoon.”
Cal grimaced. He hated the requirement that his old friend spend three days of every month locked in a concrete box, but he also understood that it was absolutely necessary from a security perspective. He had visited Level H during the last full moon and the noise coming from Frankenstein’s cell had been astonishing: a cacophony of howls that chilled the blood and growling roars that shook the thick walls.
“Are you getting any closer to controlling it?” asked Cal.
Frankenstein gave him a long look.
“No.”
The monster pushed the door closed behind the Interim Director and pressed the button that engaged the locks; they slid loudly into place.
He stood still for a long moment, his palms flat on the surface of the door, his head slightly lowered, his mind churning. Then he strode back across his quarters and began to make another cup of coffee. As he waited for the water to boil, he tried to push away the guilt that was building in his stomach, like clouds gathering before a storm.