by Will Hill
It had been painful for Valentin to turn his back on Alexandru. He had done the same to Valeri many years earlier, without even a second thought; he had hated his oldest brother since they were children, and four centuries had not changed his feelings. He and Alexandru, on the other hand, had once been as close as it was possible for two brothers to be.
Since Valentin had been old enough to be allowed to play without the supervision of the gaggle of nannies their mother had employed to protect her fragile nerves from the vexations of her sons, they had been inseparable. Alexandru had never resented the presence of his little brother, even when the older boys in the village remarked on it with derision; he had allowed Valentin to follow him around like a nervous puppy, without complaint or resentment.
On one occasion the son of a local farmer had pushed Valentin over in the village square, sending him home in tears. Alexandru had patiently waited until his little brother spoke the culprit’s name, then quietly slipped out of the house, returning several hours later unable to lift his right arm above his shoulder. An hour later the farmer had arrived at their house, demanding compensation; Valentin, listening in secret from the top of the stairs, heard the man explain to their father that Alexandru had taken a branch from a white oak tree and beaten his son so badly with it that the boy would never walk again.
Valentin’s father listened carefully, expressed sympathy and handed the farmer a bag of coins. As soon as the man departed, he called for Alexandru, who appeared immediately, ready to accept whatever punishment was about to befall him. Instead, his father gave his middle son a glass of schnapps, poured one for himself, then toasted him and told him he was proud of him. Valentin, crouching in the darkness overhead, had been overcome with a love for his brother that was so powerful he had thought his chest might explode.
The last embers of that love had still flickered in Valentin’s chest when he made the decision to remove Alexandru from his life. He assuaged his guilt with the conviction that the man he had once loved so fiercely had, in truth, been gone for many years; that the destructive, impulsive creature who now answered to his brother’s name was not his brother, not in any sense beyond the physical.
There had been attempts by Alexandru to make contact in the years that followed; each one had been met with polite refusal from Lamberton, and eventually Valentin knew his brother had ceased to try. The thought made him feel something close to grief, even though he doubted their estrangement had been a cause of significant distress to Alexandru, a creature who lived from appetite to appetite, on instinct and desire.
The growing admiration for Jamie that Valentin now felt confirmed to him what he had long suspected; that the feelings he had had for his brother, feelings that had once burned so fiercely that he would have killed for Alexandru, gladly and without hesitation, had been extinguished.
“Why are you staring at me?” asked Jamie. His tone was curious rather than aggressive, but it carried a subtle undercurrent of threat.
Valentin awoke from his memories, and smiled at the teenager.
“You destroyed my brother,” he said, in a friendly voice, and his smile widened as he saw Jamie take a sharp intake of breath. “I was just wondering how such a thing came to pass. Gossip is a remarkably prized commodity in the world I inhabit, but the details have never reached my ears. I was wondering whether you would tell me how you did it.”
Jamie appeared to consider this for a moment, as an almost infinitesimal glance of worry passed between Kate and Larissa, then began to talk.
He told Valentin the truth; that he and his friends had fought Alexandru’s acolytes for as long as possible, but that they had been defeated, leaving him standing alone in front of Valentin’s brother. He told him that he had known there was no way he could hope to actually harm Alexandru with any of his weapons, but that he had also realised that Alexandru knew that too.
He explained that he had emptied his MP5 into the base of the huge cross behind the chair in which Alexandru was sitting, and then fired his T-Bone into its heart, under the pretence of having aimed for Alexandru and missed. And finally, he told Valentin how he had used the winch mechanism of his T-Bone to pull the cross down on top of Alexandru, tearing him to pieces, before he stabbed his stake into the ancient vampire’s beating heart.
Valentin listened to Jamie’s story with slowly widening eyes. When the teenager finished, he brought his hands together in a single silent clap, and smiled widely at Jamie.
“You are your grandfather’s grandson, Mr Carpenter,” he said. “He would have been proud to have thought up such an idea, and he was the kind of man who once faced me in my own home while wrapped in explosives, threatening to destroy us both if I did not permit him to leave unharmed with his friend.”
“My granddad did that?” asked Jamie, incredulous. “Why?”
“It was a long time ago,” replied Valentin. “He had been sent by your organisation to destroy a vampire who happened to be a guest at a New Year’s Eve ball I was hosting. When we discovered his presence, and that of his monstrous friend, we unmasked them, and were considering what to do with them when your grandfather revealed the ace contained in his sleeve.”
Jamie’s blood turned cold in his veins.
“Monstrous friend,” he said. “Who do you mean by that?”
“I’m sure you know,” said Valentin.
“Frankenstein,” Jamie said, softly. “He was with my grandfather, wasn’t he?”
Valentin nodded. “I may be wrong,” he said. “But I believe that night marked the beginning of their friendship. I don’t believe they were acquainted before then.”
“What year was this?” asked Jamie.
“1928,” replied Valentin.
More than eighty years ago, thought Jamie. More than eight decades of protecting my family, right up until I got him killed.
The van slowed to a halt, and Jamie heard the rumble of the gates opening in front of them. As the vehicle pulled slowly into the authorisation tunnel, his mind was full of Frankenstein, full of regret that he could never undo the chain of events that had led to the monster’s death, a chain of events that had been set in motion because he, Jamie, had been stupid enough to believe the words of Thomas Morris over the words of a man who had dedicated his life to the protection of the Carpenter family.
Valentin sat quietly, watching the pain etched on the teenager’s face. He didn’t know why the mention of the monster was causing the boy such anguish, but he resolved to find out.
This is a business arrangement, he thought, smiling inwardly. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun too.
“Place your vehicle in neutral.”
The artificial voice boomed through the van, waking Lamberton, who opened his eyes and regarded the three Operators with mild disinterest. Ted slept on, a small puddle of drool gathering on his nightshirt. Then the conveyor belt beneath them rolled the van forward, and the artificial voice spoke again.
“Please state the names and designations of all passengers.”
“Carpenter, Jamie. NS303, 67-J.”
“Kinley, Larissa. NS303, 77-J.”
“Randall, Kate. NS303, 78-J.”
There was a long pause.
“Supernatural life forms have been detected on board this vehicle,” said the voice. “Please state clearance code.”
“Supernatural life forms present on authority of Carpenter, Jamie, NS303, 67-J, requesting a full containment team and the presence of the Director and the Security Officer upon arrival.”
There was a long silence, and then Admiral Seward’s voice sounded through the speakers that surrounded the van.
“Jamie?” he said, sounding annoyed. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you code in with the Lazarus authorisation? What’ve you got in there?”
“Trust me, sir,” replied Jamie, and grinned widely at Valentin. “You’d never believe me if I told you. But I really, really recommend that you meet us in the hangar, sir. I promise you don’t want to miss t
his.”
The van was still for several minutes, time that Jamie knew the Director would be using to scramble a meeting party to the hangar. Eventually, the conveyor belt slid them forward, and Jamie heard the interior doors grind into motion as their engine roared back into life.
“We’re approaching the hangar,” said their driver, his voice metallic through the intercom that linked the cab and the body of the vehicle. “You might want to be ready with some answers, sir.”
“Show time,” said Valentin, and straightened his navy blue tie.
The van stopped. Larissa reached for the door handle, then looked at Jamie, her eyes full of remorse.
“Last chance not to do this,” she said.
Jamie looked back at her. “Just open the door,” he said.
She held his gaze for a final moment, then her eyes flared red as she turned the handle and shoved the door clean off its hinges. It crashed to the concrete floor of the hangar, a doctor who was standing near the back of the van leaping out of its way. Jamie peered out of the opening, and felt his heart stop in his chest.
Staring silently back at him was the entire active Operational roster of Department 19.
More than a hundred men and women stood in a wide semi-circle, interspersed with members of the technical and medical staffs, their white coats standing out amid the sea of black. Many of the Operators had their T-Bones drawn, some resting them across their chests, some allowing them to dangle at their sides. At the front of the vast, silent mass stood Henry Seward, with Paul Turner and Cal Holmwood flanking him. Either side of them stood a squad of Operators with their visors down and their T-Bones at their shoulders, aiming them into the van. Behind them, an Operator stood holding a rack of restraining harnesses.
Jamie forced himself to breathe, then reached down and flicked the switch that killed the ultraviolet barrier. In silence, Larissa, then Kate, and then finally Jamie, stepped down from the van’s mangled doors, and faced the Director.
“Well,” said Seward. “What’s this all about, Lieutenant Carpenter? What have you got in there, Bigfoot?”
Jamie opened his mouth to answer, but Valentin moved before he could form the first syllable. In less than the time it would have taken any of the watching Operators to blink, he was out of his seat and standing in the open door frame of the van, as though he had teleported across the short distance.
“Valentin Rusmanov,” he said, a wide smile on his face. “What a pleasure it is to meet you all.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Admiral Seward’s jaw fell open as the rush of a hundred sharply taken breaths sounded through the hangar. Even Paul Turner raised an eyebrow, an expression of enormous surprise by his usually unreadable standards. Then suddenly, as if a switch had been flicked, everyone moved.
Jamie saw an Operator near the front of the crowd raise his T-Bone to his shoulder and pull the trigger. “No!” he yelled, but was too late.
The projectile exploded out of the weapon’s barrel, and hurtled towards the centre of Valentin’s chest. The ancient vampire turned his head. His eyes burst into a terrible, nightmarish crimson black, then his hand flashed out and plucked the metal stake from the air, as casually as if he had caught a ball that had been thrown to him. His eyes faded back to normal, and he smiled as he examined the metal projectile in his hand.
“Hardly the polite way to greet a guest,” he said, then turned and threw the stake out of the hangar, into the darkness beyond the runway. The metal cable that attached it to the weapon hissed as it unwound, then reached the end of its length and pulled taut. There was a shout of pain from within the crowd as the Operator who had fired was jerked off his feet and slammed to the concrete floor, his weapon flying out of his hands and away into the gloom.
“He’s here voluntarily!” shouted Jamie. “Hold your fire.”
Discontent rumbled through the crowd; T-Bones twitched in the cold evening air as gloved fingers rested on their triggers, but the Operators complied, at least for the time being.
Valentin floated down from the van, the smile on his face still broad, his heels clicking the concrete as he walked briskly over to Admiral Seward. “You are Henry Seward, are you not?” he asked.
“I am,” the Director replied, his eyes staring directly into the vampire’s.
“How lovely to meet you,” said Valentin. “Director Seward, my associate and I formally request asylum among the fine men and women of Department 19. I have information I believe you will find useful, and I offer my service in the coming fight against my brother and his master.”
“Valentin Rusmanov,” replied Seward, “I accept your request for asylum, pending an assessment of the value of the intelligence you claim to be able to provide. You will be remanded into Blacklight custody, while that assessment is carried out. Is that clear to you?”
Valentin grinned. “It certainly is, my dear Director. And I am ready to begin whenever you are; if you would be so good as to show Lamberton to our rooms and provide me with a pot of coffee, I’ll happily tell you anything you want to know.”
Jamie stood in Admiral Seward’s office, waiting for the Director to finish his call to the Prime Minister.
The Loop was buzzing with the news of Valentin’s arrival; Jamie and his squad had been deluged with questions as they tried to make their way through the hangar, and Jamie had been regarded with a level of awe that seemed to border on suspicion.
There had only ever been four Priority Level 1 vampires; Dracula himself and the three Rusmanov brothers. Jamie had now destroyed one and had a second make a point of surrendering to him personally. He knew that even as he stood, waiting patiently to be debriefed by the Director, his name was once again being whispered through the levels of the Loop, and he knew that not all of what was being said would be complimentary.
As Valentin and his servant walked casually out of the hangar, surrounded by three squads of Operators looking for the slightest suspicious movement and watched incredulously by almost a hundred men, Admiral Seward had appeared at Jamie’s side and told him he expected to be debriefed in his office in ten minutes. Jamie had asked whether the Director was requesting the presence of the whole of Squad G-17, and was told that only he need attend.
Admiral Seward hung up his phone, then regarded Jamie with a smile of mild incomprehension.
“It’s always you, isn’t it?” he said. “Why don’t these things happen to anyone else? Why is it always you?”
“Just lucky, sir,” replied Jamie.
“You don’t believe that any more than I do,” said Seward. “Tell me the truth; why do you think Valentin Rusmanov chose you, out of all the Operators from all the Departments in the world, to surrender to?”
“Honestly, sir,” said Jamie. “I don’t know. When I saw him, I thought he was there to kill me for what I did to Alexandru. But then he mentioned something about my grandfather; he told me they met a long time ago. I think him coming to me had something to do with that, sir.”
“That makes a certain amount of sense,” said Seward. “John, your grandfather, was officially retired by the time I joined the Department in ’81, but he was still around so much you would never have known it. He used to talk about Valentin with a sort of grudging respect; I always thought it was a worthy adversary sort of thing, but maybe there was more to it.”
“Maybe, sir,” said Jamie. “My granddad certainly seems to have left an impression on him.”
“You’d have liked John,” said Seward, nostalgia creeping into his voice. “Everybody did. It’s a shame you never got to meet him; he’d have been incredibly proud of you.”
A lump leapt into Jamie’s throat.
“Thank you, sir,” he replied. “I’d like to think that’s true.” He tried to force the lump back down, and struck out for safer ground where his dead ancestors weren’t waiting around every corner to pull at his heartstrings.
“Who’s going to lead the interrogation of Valentin, sir?” he asked.
“Major Turner,” replied Seward.
“Good news,” said Jamie. “Sir, I really need to get some sleep. May I be dismissed?”
“By all means,” replied Seward. “I’d advise you to get as much as you can. The interrogation is scheduled to begin at 0800 tomorrow, and attendance is mandatory for all Zero Hour Task Force members. Please try not to be late.”
Jamie’s face fell. “Sir, how long do you think the interrogation is going to last?” he asked.
Seward laughed. “You mean, how long will it take for Valentin Rusmanov to tell us everything he knows that we don’t?” he replied. “I’d clear your schedule. Indefinitely.”
Jamie walked along the corridor outside the Director’s quarters, his head pounding.
The exhilaration of bringing Valentin Rusmanov to the Loop was wearing off, leaving in its place a sticky, bitter-tasting feeling of unease. He had spoken to Kate and Larissa in a way he had never done before, and he had no idea where his words had left them, whether what seemed to be broken between them could be repaired.
Suddenly he was overcome with an overwhelming wave of grief that he couldn’t talk to Frankenstein about what was happening; the monster’s advice was often not the easiest to hear, but his motives had proved to be beyond question.
He was the one person who had always been on Jamie’s side.
Then the nervous, earnest image of his mother appeared in his head, and guilt quickly displaced grief.
I forget, he thought. Sometimes I forget she’s down there.
He walked quickly to the lift at the end of the corridor, and pressed the button that would take him down to Level H, the detention level. Despite everything he was, everything the people around him wanted him to be, he was still a teenage boy who sometimes, just sometimes, really needed his mother.
22
TINFOIL HATS
STAVELEY, NORTH DERBYSHIRE TWO HOURS EARLIER