by Will Hill
“Oh, Kate,” said Marie Carpenter, her eyes instantly fading back to their usual pale green. “I’m so sorry. Did I frighten you?”
“No, Mrs. Carpenter,” said Kate, smiling. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”
Marie nodded, her usual nervous expression back on her face. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m sorry about my eyes. I can’t . . . it just happens. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” said Kate. “Honestly. I’ve seen far scarier things than you, believe me.”
Marie smiled. “I’m sure you have.”
Kate looked at her friend’s mother, deep affection rising in her chest. Marie was dressed in a pair of dark red slacks and a pale blue blouse. She looked every inch the middle-class housewife she had been, which made her seem incredibly out of place inside the Loop, a place of endless black and gray.
“Is this where you work?” asked Marie, looking around the small ISAT reception. “Jamie told me you were doing something important, but he said he couldn’t tell me what it was.”
“This is it,” said Kate. “It’s called ISAT. It’s . . . sort of an internal affairs department.”
“Is it dangerous?” asked Marie. “Sorry, silly question. Of course it is. Everything here is dangerous.”
“I didn’t think it was going to be,” said Kate. “Unpopular, yes. But it’s turned out to be more dangerous that I thought. Like you said, I probably shouldn’t be surprised.”
“No,” said Marie. She had clutched her hands together in front of her stomach and was wringing them gently. “Probably not.”
“What are you doing here, Mrs. Carpenter?” asked Kate, gently. “Did someone send for you?”
“Oh,” said Marie, her face brightening. “A young man came down and told me I had to have an interview and brought me here. He was very polite.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Kate, smiling. “I’m sorry, the schedules keep changing at the moment. If I’d known, I’d have come down to get you myself. The interview is nothing to be worried about, I promise. I’ll be there, so you won’t be on your own. Just stay here, and someone will come and get you.”
“I’ll do that,” said Marie. She smiled, an open, lovely smile that warmed Kate’s heart. “I’ll wait right here.”
“Okay,” said Kate. “I’ll see you in a minute.”
She left Jamie’s mother standing beside the reception desk and walked into the lounge. As she had hoped, Paul Turner was there; he was sitting on the sofa, holding a piece of paper in his hands. He looked up as she entered, and the look on his face filled her with instant concern.
He looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“Paul?” she said. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’m fine.”
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the document in his hand.
“Security completed their investigation,” he said, “into the bombing. These are their conclusions.”
“Anything we didn’t know?”
“Yes,” said Turner. “Sit down.”
Kate frowned, but pulled the plastic chair out from beneath the desk and took a seat.
“There was a vampire in your quarters, Kate,” said Turner, his eyes fixed on hers. “It’s been confirmed. For four minutes, about two hours before the device exploded. More than long enough.”
Kate felt cold spill through her. “How do you know?” she asked. “I thought there was nothing on the cameras?”
“There wasn’t,” said Turner. “And that was persuasive, although not conclusive. But the cameras aren’t our only means of surveillance. We have a system that monitors the temperature of every room in the Loop and records even the smallest variation. That’s how we know.”
“I’ve never heard about that,” said Kate. “Is it new?”
Turner nodded. “It was installed after Valentin’s defection. After it became clear he could leave his cell whenever he wanted, we needed a way of tracking him. In case of something like this.”
“Who knew about it?” she asked.
“The interim director, Security Section C, and myself,” replied Turner. “It was decided that it was better for as few people as possible to know. It’s easier to watch people who don’t know they’re being watched.”
What a lovely concept, thought Kate.
“So it showed a rise in temperature in my room?” she asked.
“That’s right,” said Turner. “A spike, from the room’s ambient temperature to several degrees beyond what humans are capable of producing. It’s definitive.”
“So why didn’t it show up straightaway? How come you’ve only just found out about it?”
“The monitoring systems on Level B were damaged in the explosion,” said Turner. “We didn’t know whether it was going to be possible to retrieve their data. A lot of it is lost, but they managed to extract the records for your quarters. And there it was.”
“So we were wrong,” said Kate, slowly. “This was a vampire attack. It wasn’t anything to do with ISAT.”
“I don’t know,” said Turner. “I still don’t buy the idea that a vampire would attack you and me by pure coincidence, but I don’t have an explanation yet. If nothing else, we’ve narrowed down our list of suspects.”
The pieces clicked into place in Kate’s mind. “Jamie’s mother is in reception,” she said. “Is this why?”
“Yes,” said Turner. “Although I will be genuinely astounded if she turns out to be our culprit. I’m beginning to suspect that one of the many skills our friend Valentin has acquired over the centuries is how to pass a lie detector, even one as sophisticated as ours. I want him brought back up here as soon as we’re done with Marie. Then, I suspect, we’ll get some answers.”
“I’ll take care of it,” said Kate. “I had something to tell you as well.”
“What is it?”
“You know John Morton? Jamie’s rookie?”
“I know him,” said Turner. “I saw Jamie had sent him for a psych evaluation. He made a couple of mistakes in the field?”
“That’s him,” said Kate. “They’ve been chasing a vamp called Alastair Dempsey, a really horrible piece of work. They missed him yesterday, and a civilian girl died. Apparently, it was Morton’s fault.”
“So?” asked Turner. “Jamie knows what he’s doing. What’s the news?”
“Morton’s gone after Dempsey on his own,” said Kate. “He left a note for Ellison—she’s the other rookie in Jamie’s squad. He went three hours ago.”
“Christ,” said Turner. “Has Jamie gone after him?”
“Yep. He and Ellison left about fifteen minutes ago. She’s out of her mind, thinks he’s going to get himself killed.”
Turner appeared to consider this for a moment. “Jamie’s doing the right thing,” he said, eventually. “One of your team gets in trouble, you try your best to get them out of it. That’s all you can do.”
“I know,” said Kate. “I just thought you’d want me to tell you.”
“I’m glad you did,” said Turner. “We can’t afford to lose anyone else, not with the Department as weak as it is. But Jamie will bring him home. I’d bet on it.”
“I would, too.”
“Okay then,” said Turner. “Back to our own job. Let’s see what Mrs. Carpenter has to say. Quickly.”
* * *
“This is ISAT interview 086, conducted by Major Paul Turner, NS303, 36-A, in the presence of Lieutenant Kate Randall, NS303, 78-J. State your name, please.”
“Marie Carpenter.”
Green.
“Please answer the following question incorrectly,” said Turner. “State your gender, please.”
“Male,” replied Marie.
Red.
Jamie’s mother looked incredibly nervous, and Kate felt deeply sorry for her. Marie Carpenter had only become in
volved with Blacklight by accident, as a consequence of a lie her husband had perpetuated throughout their entire marriage. Now she was a supernatural creature, imprisoned indefinitely inside a military base, and subject to frightening and unpleasant episodes like the one she was currently undergoing.
“Thank you,” said Turner, his voice level. “We have some questions we need you to answer, but we won’t keep you a minute longer than we need to, I promise.”
“It’s okay,” said Marie, forcing a small smile. “I want to help.”
Green.
“Two days ago, an explosive device was detonated on one of the residential levels of this facility. Were you aware of that?”
“I felt the building shake,” said Marie. “I knew something had happened. I didn’t know it was a bomb, though.”
Green.
“Thank you,” said Turner. “Were you—”
“Was anyone hurt?” asked Marie. Her face was pale.
“I’m sorry?”
“When the bomb went off,” said Marie. “Was anyone hurt?”
“That’s classified information, I’m afraid.”
“That means someone got hurt,” said Marie.
“Mrs. Carpenter, that isn’t important right now. What is—”
“You’re the one my son talks about,” said Marie. Her voice had acquired an edge to it, a sliver of smooth steel. “The cold-blooded one. How can you say people getting hurt isn’t important?”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Turner. “I meant it’s not important to this process. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Oh,” said Marie, her voice small once more. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thought of people being hurt.”
No surprise there, thought Kate. Given who her son is.
“I don’t either,” she said. “Are you okay to continue?”
Marie nodded.
“All right,” said Turner, shooting a grateful glance in Kate’s direction. “Mrs. Carpenter, were you responsible for planting the explosive device on Level B of this facility?”
“No,” said Marie. “Of course not.”
Green.
“Do you know who was responsible?”
“No.”
Green.
“Do you have any information that could be relevant to identifying the perpetrator of this attack?”
“Not that I can think of. I’m sorry.”
Green.
“We interviewed Valentin Rusmanov yesterday, Mrs. Carpenter. He told us that he has had a number of conversations with you in your cell. Is that true?”
“Yes,” said Marie. “Am I in trouble?”
Green.
“Not at all,” replied Turner. “Has Mr. Rusmanov ever said anything that you believe could have been related to the planning of an attack on this Department?”
“No,” replied Marie. “I’m sure he hasn’t.”
Green.
“What do the two of you talk about?”
“I’m not sure that’s any of your business, Major Turner,” replied Marie, politely.
Green.
Kate smiled. “You’re probably right,” she said. “But it could be really helpful. Anything you tell us will go no further than this room.”
Marie looked at her with an expression on her face that Kate didn’t like.
She’s disappointed in me, she thought. For being part of this.
She was surprised to discover how much she disliked such an idea; it was similar to how she had felt on any of the many occasions that her father had caught her doing something she wasn’t supposed to, or playing somewhere she shouldn’t.
“Jamie,” said Marie, eventually. “We mostly talk about Jamie.”
Green.
“Is Valentin interested in your son?” asked Turner.
“Very,” said Marie, proudly. “He told me that, out of all of you, he defected to Jamie because he was so impressed by what he had done to his brother.”
“Jamie killed his brother,” said Turner, softly.
“I know exactly what he did,” snapped Marie. “I was there. So was Kate, for that matter. Where were you, Major Turner?”
Wow, thought Kate. There are about three people in this whole building who would have had the balls to say that. Wow.
Turner smiled. “I was in Russia,” he said. “Cleaning up a different massacre. One carried out by the oldest Rusmanov.”
“Oh,” said Marie, color rising in her cheeks. “I didn’t know that.”
“It’s all right,” said Turner. “There’s no reason why you would.”
“I’m sorry,” said Marie. “I get a bit defensive about my son.”
“Perfectly understandable,” said Turner. “I had a son. He did a lot of stupid things, but I always took his side. I don’t think parents can help it.”
Kate felt a chill run up her spine. Don’t talk about him, she thought. Not now. Please don’t.
“You had a son?” said Marie, slowly.
“Shaun.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died,” said Turner. “A few months ago. He was killed by Valentin’s brother.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Marie, her voice thick and choked with tears.
“Thank you,” said Turner. Kate looked helplessly at him. She wanted to reach out and put her hand on his shoulder, but knew she could not.
“So that’s all you and Valentin talk about?” she asked, hoping to give Paul a moment. “About Jamie?”
“No,” said Marie. “Sometimes he tells me about my husband’s family. He knew Jamie’s grandfather.”
“John,” said Turner.
“That’s him,” replied Marie. “He sounds like a remarkable man.”
“I never met him,” said Turner. “He retired before my time. But from everything I’ve ever heard, I’d say you were right.”
“I told Valentin to tell Jamie about him. I think he’d like to hear about his grandfather.”
“Maybe he will,” said Turner. “Apparently, they talk quite often.”
Kate watched Marie closely. There was no surprise on her face, but something flickered across it.
“They do,” said Marie. “I can hear him as soon as he gets out of the airlock. I don’t know if he knows that, but I can. So I hear them talking.”
He doesn’t always come and see you, does he? realized Kate, suddenly. Sometimes he visits Valentin and not you. Jesus, Jamie.
“Have you heard anything else from the other cells?” asked Turner. “Anything out of the ordinary?”
“No,” said Marie, shaking her head. “People talking, laughing. Tapping away on those big cell phone things you all carry. Nothing strange.”
Both Kate and Paul Turner froze.
After a few seconds, Marie gave a nervous little laugh. “What did I say?” she asked.
“What did you hear, Mrs. Carpenter?” asked Turner, recovering slightly faster than Kate. “What exactly? Tell me.”
“Fingers tapping on a plastic screen,” said Marie, frowning. “And that beep they make. Jamie is always playing with his when he visits me.”
Turner grabbed his console from his belt. “Send me a message,” he said, turning to face her. “Quickly.”
“What message?” asked Kate, thumbing her screen into life.
“Anything,” said Turner. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
Kate tapped on the MESSAGING icon and pressed NEW. She searched Paul Turner’s name, quickly wrote “Test” in the subject line, and hit SEND. There was a long, pregnant moment of silence, then the screen on Paul Turner’s console lit up, and a short, two-tone beep sounded in the silent room.
“Was that the noise?” asked Turner, turning back to face Jamie’s mother. “The one you heard? Was that it?”
Green.
Turner flicked a glance in Kate’s direction. His eyes were wide, and the corners of his mouth were curling slightly upward, in what appeared to be the beginnings of a smile.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re telling us that you’ve heard Valentin Rusmanov using a console like the ones that we carry, like the one you’ve seen your son use? And that you’ve heard it beep like mine just did? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No,” said Marie, frowning. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“What do you mean?” asked Turner.
“It wasn’t Valentin. It was the other one.”
Turner stared. “His butler?” he asked. “Lamberton?”
Marie Carpenter nodded. “That’s him.”
50
DEADLINE
Spirit of Innovation Industrial Park
Reading, Berkshire
The sun finally slipped beyond the horizon, plunging the industrial estate into the gloomy gray of twilight.
Four pairs of eyes watched from inside a rented van as the men and women who worked in the vast concrete boxes began to stream out, heading for the train station or the sprawling car parks. They went quietly, paying no attention to the small white vehicle parked in front of the glass reception of one of the largest buildings on the estate: the printing press that produced more than half a million copies of the Globe every night of the year.
Inside the van, Pete Randall was nervous.
Throughout the long, tense afternoon, Albert Harker had refused to tell them what he had planned; he believed it was vital that only he knew the details until sharing them was absolutely necessary. His caution was extreme, bordering on paranoia; he had apologized, but would not be moved on the matter.
Pete and Greg had eventually been sent out with a handful of Albert Harker’s money and instructions to rent a vehicle, a van with no windows in the sides or back, so the vampire could be safely transported inside it. They had found a place barely ten minutes’ walk from the hotel. At first, Pete had been reluctant to hand over his driver’s license, until Greg told him that, at this point, it no longer mattered. They were in too deep to worry about a paper trail or an electronic fingerprint.