Battle Lines

by Will Hill

  “No, sir,” replied the security officer. “This is Jacob’s show.”

  Jamie glanced at Jack, who widened his eyes in a gesture that conveyed exactly what it was meant to.

  Holy shit. This must be serious.

  Holmwood considered for a moment, then sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll load the footage. Care to tell me what I’m looking for?”

  “If you run the view of the courtyard as the hospital is breached, sir,” replied Scott, “I’ll tell you as soon as I see it.”

  Holmwood grunted, then flopped down into the chair behind his long wooden desk. He woke up his console and tapped in a series of commands. A wide screen lit up on the wall opposite, and the operators shuffled to either side so that everyone could see. Holmwood navigated through the Blacklight network and dragged a file labeled EXT_COURTYARD out of a folder containing hundreds of gigabytes of footage of the Broadmoor escape. He double-clicked it, and black-and-white video filled the screen.

  The camera was positioned on the back of the gatehouse, directly above the entry arch. It looked across the courtyard toward the main door of the hospital building itself. As the footage began, a Range Rover was sitting in the middle of the frame with its driver’s side door open and a man standing beside it. Beyond the car, on the ground in front of the hospital, lay a figure in a white hospital gown, which suddenly leaped to its feet, causing several in the audience to gasp. The patient sprinted across the courtyard and leaped onto the hood of the car, thrashing and clawing and hammering at the windshield, managing to get one hand through the glass. Then the car accelerated backward, passing beneath the camera and out of view.

  “Who was that in the car?” asked Brennan. His voice was low and shaken.

  “Benjamin Dawson,” replied Paul Turner, without taking his eyes off the screen. “And Charles Walsh. Both residents of Crowthorne, the village below Broadmoor. Both deceased.”

  Jamie said nothing. His eyes were locked on the awful events playing out on the wall screen. The video had no sound, which, if anything, made it worse; the horror seemed unreal without the screams that would have inevitably accompanied it in real life. The courtyard was still for a few moments, until a second white figure fell from somewhere above the camera’s range. It thudded to the ground, one of its legs visibly breaking, then dragged itself in the same direction the car had gone. Seconds later another patient dropped into frame, followed by another, and another. Several of them ran for the gate, while others simply stood in the courtyard, seemingly unsure of what to do next.

  Then the hospital door burst outward, breaking and splintering onto the cobblestones of the courtyard. A huge man in a white gown appeared in the doorway, his eyes glowing; they showed up on the monochrome footage as bright, flickering white. He walked slowly forward, stopped, then threw back his head and screamed silently at the night sky. All at once the courtyard was full of movement as the newly turned patients of Broadmoor spilled into it—dozens of them, then what seemed like hundreds, running and leaping and pushing at each other, a wide stream of vampires reveling in the glory of freedom. They began to run across the courtyard, disappearing beneath the camera and flooding out into the night.

  “Freeze it there!” shouted Jacob Scott. “Right there!”

  Jamie looked over at the Australian colonel. His eyes were fixed on the screen, his weathered face pale and drawn. Cal Holmwood hit a key on his console, and the footage stopped moving. He rewound until Jacob told him to stop, then tapped at his console again. The still image sharpened until it looked like a photograph.

  “What are we looking at?” he asked.

  Jacob Scott got slowly to his feet and walked across to the wall screen. He reached out a trembling hand and pointed at a man walking calmly across the courtyard.

  “Him,” said Scott. “He’s who I wanted you to see.”

  “Who is that?” asked Jamie.

  “That’s one of us,” replied the colonel. “That’s Albert Harker.”

  16

  CLASSIFIED MEANS CLASSIFIED

  Twenty minutes later

  I can’t believe it,” said Cal Holmwood. “I knew David Harker. I can’t believe he’d do that to his own son.”

  “He did it, sir,” said Jacob Scott, his voice low and unsteady. “I was there. I saw.”

  Jamie had listened with slowly dawning horror to the long, sad tale of Albert Harker. Colonel Scott had told it carefully, leaving out nothing, allowing the cruelty that had apparently lurked at the heart of the Harker family to be fully revealed: how his father and brother had committed Albert to Broadmoor under an assumed name, to languish there in secret until he died.

  How could they do it? he thought, his mind struggling to process such horror. How could anyone do that?

  “I don’t know these men,” he said. “They’re not still operators, are they?”

  “They’re both dead,” replied Holmwood. “David died more than a decade ago, and Robert, what, almost two years ago?”

  Paul Turner nodded. “About six months after his sons passed,” he said.

  Jamie’s mind was filled with an image of the bronze plaque in the rose garden at the edge of the Loop. “The Harker brothers who died when the first Mina went down,” he said, slowly. “John and George. They were Robert’s sons?”

  “David’s grandsons,” said Holmwood. “And Albert’s nephews, although I doubt they even knew he existed. I can’t imagine their father mentioned his brother very often.”

  “But you knew Albert existed,” pressed Jamie. “You knew David Harker, and you must have known he had two sons. Didn’t you ever wonder about him?”

  “We knew Albert was . . . different,” said Holmwood. “I mean, everyone did. It was no secret. It was a scandal when he turned us down, and we all knew David was furious. But I had no idea about the rest.”

  “No one knew, sir,” said Jacob Scott. “David and Robert knew, and I knew. That was it.”

  “How did you know?” asked Paul Turner. “Why were you even there, Jacob? This was clearly a family matter.”

  “Robert asked me to go with him,” replied Scott. “He told me he needed someone he could trust. So I went.”

  “I don’t understand why Robert wanted anyone there apart from himself and his father,” said Holmwood.

  “I’ve thought about that, sir,” said Scott, his eyes flicking momentarily to the floor. “I’ve thought about it a lot over the years. I’ve come to the conclusion that Robert didn’t trust David not to go too far if it was just the three of them.”

  The implication of the colonel’s words hung in the air, clear to everyone in the room.

  Jesus, thought Jamie. Jesus Christ.

  “Are you saying that—” Jack Williams began, but was interrupted by the interim director.

  “I think we all know exactly what Jacob is saying, Jack,” said Holmwood. “And before we crucify the memory of a loyal member of this Department, I would remind you all that Jacob is telling us what he believes, rather than what he knows for certain. Is that clear to you all?”

  “That’s right,” said Scott. “You asked me what I thought. I don’t know for certain what was going through David’s mind.”

  “But you were happy to go along with it?” said Paul Turner, his voice like ice. “Happy to help your friend commit his brother to a mental hospital for the rest of his life for no reason?”

  “I wasn’t happy about it!” shouted Colonel Scott. “Not then and not now! And neither was Robert, nor David! It broke their hearts to see what Albert had become, how much he hated them, wanted to hurt them. But they put their feelings aside and did what needed to be done, for all of us. For the good of the Department.”

  “For the good of the Department,” repeated Turner, slowly. “Is that what you tell yourself, Jacob?”

  “Go to hell, Paul,” spat Scott. �
��Don’t you judge me, not after the things we both know you’ve done. You think I don’t remember Serbia? Or Belfast?”

  “Enough!” shouted Cal Holmwood, slamming his hand down on the top of his desk. “Jacob, why are we only hearing about this now? Why didn’t you tell us yesterday morning at the Zero Hour briefing?”

  Scott met the interim director’s eyes for a brief moment, then looked down at the floor.

  “I know why,” said Paul Turner. “Do you want to tell them, Jacob, or should I?”

  Scott gave the security officer a look of pure venom. “You tell them,” he said. “I can see you’re dying to.”

  “Fine,” said Turner. “We sent out the ISAT interview orders for tomorrow about an hour ago. Jacob’s name is third on that list. By now, every operator in the Loop knows at least some of the questions we’re asking. One is whether there are any incidents in which the subject believes he may have compromised the security of the Department, intentionally or otherwise.”

  “You knew you were going to get caught,” said Holmwood, looking at Colonel Scott. “So you decided to come clean first. Is that it?”

  Jacob stared at the interim director, anguish written plainly across his face, and nodded. “I didn’t think it mattered,” he said, hoarsely. “Until yesterday, I really don’t think it did. It wasn’t Blacklight business, Cal. It was family.”

  “It was despicable,” said Jack Williams.

  “I’m inclined to agree with you,” said Holmwood. “But regardless of how any of us may feel about David Harker’s decision, the fact remains that he has left us a situation that needs dealing with. Firstly, I want a field investigation team to find the journalist that Harker spoke to in 2002; he may well be in danger. Andrews, scramble a team and have him brought in.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Amy Andrews.

  “All right,” said Holmwood. “Secondly, I want a squad dispatched to find Albert Harker. Ideally, I’d like him brought here and placed in custody, but if that proves to be impossible, then SOP applies to him in exactly the same way it does to every other vampire.”

  “Let me do it,” said Jacob Scott. His jaw was set in a straight line, and his voice was firm and steady. “I can bring him home, sir. I know I can.”

  “Not a chance, Jacob,” said Holmwood. “You are hereby confined to quarters, and I’m suspending your position on this task force, pending a full Security Division investigation. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  Scott’s eyes had widened enormously, and he appeared to be on the verge of tears. “Yes, sir,” he managed, his voice little more than a croak.

  “Good,” said Holmwood. “Jack, I want you to take care of Albert. I’m going to make finding him Surveillance’s top priority. When they do, we’ll move him to the top of your target list under a fake name. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jack Williams. “Thank you, sir.”

  “All right,” said Holmwood. “The rest of you, carry on as normal. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that not a single word of this goes beyond this office? If I so much as hear the name Albert Harker anywhere in this base, I swear to God I will court-martial every single one of you and to hell with the consequences. Please tell me you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” chorused the group of operators.

  “Good,” said Holmwood, and sighed deeply. “It’s at times like these that I remember exactly why I never wanted this bloody job. Lieutenant Carpenter, I need to speak to you, please. The rest of you, get the hell out. Dismissed.”

  Jamie groaned inwardly. Jack Williams gave him a quizzical look as he got to his feet; he gave his head the tiniest shake in response. Jack jerked his thumb toward the door and gave a brief nod. The meaning of the two gestures was clear.

  I’ll wait for you outside.

  Then Jack was gone, and Jamie was alone with the interim director.

  “What happened yesterday, Lieutenant?” asked Holmwood, leaning back in his chair.

  “Sir, I haven’t had a chance to write my—”

  “Cut the shit, Jamie,” interrupted Holmwood. “Just tell me what happened.”

  Jamie took a deep breath. “I terminated our operation early, sir. I didn’t think it was safe for my squad to remain in the field.”

  “It’s never safe out there,” said Holmwood. “What was different yesterday?”

  “One of my new squad members reacted badly to his first encounter with a vampire, sir. He froze, and almost got hurt. The rest of our target list was still unidentified, so I made the decision to return to the Loop.”

  “Without authorization?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jamie. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Cal Holmwood rubbed his temples and closed his eyes momentarily. “Your rookie,” he said, eventually. “What’s his name?”

  “Morton, sir. John Morton.”

  “Morton,” repeated the interim director, and sighed again. “Not everyone is cut out to be an operator, Jamie. What they did before they got here doesn’t guarantee anything.”

  “That’s what I’m saying, sir,” said Jamie, keeping his voice calm and even. “I don’t think he’s a lost cause, not at all. But I don’t think he’s ready to be out there.”

  “He’s going back into training as soon as this crisis is over,” said Holmwood. “Him and all the other rookies. When he does, I’ll order Terry to keep a closer eye on him, but until then I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

  “I want you to put him on the inactive roster, sir,” said Jamie.

  “Out of the question,” said Holmwood. “We need all the men we can get. You know that.”

  “Sir, if we—”

  “Lieutenant Carpenter,” interrupted Holmwood, a weary expression on his face. “Do you understand what is happening right now? What we’re facing?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jamie. “Of course I do. I just think that—”

  “There are still more than two hundred Broadmoor escapees out there, Jamie, and you’ve seen with your own eyes exactly what they’re capable of. The normal vamps are getting bolder by the minute, Dracula is getting stronger and stronger, and we have no idea where he is or whether Henry Seward is even still alive. So I hope you can understand why I cannot authorize having an able man sitting in this base twiddling his damn thumbs.”

  Jamie tried one last time. “I understand, sir. Will you at least let me send him down for psychological assessment? That might be enough. Sir.”

  “Fine,” said Holmwood. “Do whatever you need to. But the next time you go out, he goes with you.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jamie, through gritted teeth. “Thank you, sir.”

  * * *

  Jamie pulled the door to the interim director’s quarters shut behind him and saw Jack Williams leaning against the opposite wall, an expression of mild concern on his face.

  “Everything okay?” asked Jack.

  “Fine,” he replied, forcing a smile. “It was just the Morton thing. No big deal.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure,” said Jamie, and started to walk down the corridor. “Don’t worry about it, seriously. Especially right now. Can you believe Jacob? It’s incredible.”

  Jack widened his eyes exaggeratedly as he fell in beside his friend. “No shit,” he replied. “I don’t think this has ever happened before.”

  “A descendant being turned?” asked Jamie. Jack had joined the Department in more peaceful times and had completed the entire thirteen-month-long training program that all operators were supposed to pass. As a result, his knowledge of Blacklight’s history was usually far greater than Jamie’s.

  “I’m pretty sure,” said Jack. “And no active descendant has ever been turned, I’m absolutely sure of that. A lot of them have died, but none have been turned.”

  A lot of them have died, thought Jamie, himself a d
escendant of the founders. Thanks for that, Jack. Seriously.

  “It’s big,” he said. “Holmwood sending you after him. That’s big.”

  “I guess so,” replied Jack. “It shouldn’t be any different, really. He’s an escapee like any other. I just have to keep my mouth shut about it.”

  “Still,” persisted Jamie. “Of all the people in the room, Cal picked you to take care of it. You should feel great about that, mate. Really, you should.”

  Jack smiled. “I am pretty pleased,” he said. “It must mean I’ve been doing something right these last few months.”

  Jamie, who knew exactly how highly regarded Jack Williams was by every single member of the Department, refused to dignify his friend’s comment with a verbal response. He merely tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.

  “Yeah, all right,” said Jack, a wide grin on his face. “My squad mates are super-cool vampire-destroying ninjas, and Holmwood would have been crazy to pick anyone else. Better?”

  “Better,” said Jamie, returning his friend’s smile. They walked on until they reached the elevator at the end of the Level 0 corridor. Jack pushed the button, and they waited in comfortable silence for it to arrive.

  “We don’t see each other very often, Jack,” said Jamie, suddenly. “It’s not surprising, given everything that’s going on around here, but still. It’s a shame.”

  “It is,” said Jack. The elevator arrived, and the two operators stepped inside. “I don’t feel like I see anyone apart from my squad these days. It’s hard.”

  “I know,” said Jamie. “I get back from operations and all I ever want to do is sleep.”

  “Do you miss Larissa?” asked Jack.

  “Of course I do,” said Jamie. “But even when she was here, it was getting harder and harder to find time to see her. And now she’s on the other side of the world. I get why she’s there, and I’m happy she seems to be having a good time. But, yeah, I miss her.”

  “She’ll be home soon, though, right?” asked Jack. “And in the meantime, we need to hang out. Let’s make it happen. Breakfast, or lunch, or something. Maybe tomorrow?”