Department 19, The Rising, and Battle Lines

by Will Hill

  He was remembering the time before the death of Dracula, remembering what it was like to be subordinate, to live at the beck and call of another. He was remembering how it felt to be the youngest, to stand in the shadows cast by his brothers, especially by Valeri, hated, stupid, arrogant Valeri, who never strayed more than a few yards from his master, like a bloodhound panting at his owner’s side. He was remembering how it had felt, and thinking about everything he would be forced to give up if he returned home, when he made a decision that felt immediately right.

  “Never again,” he whispered. “Never again.”

  He turned from the window, summoned Lamberton and told him to cancel the evening’s festivities. Lamberton raised an eyebrow; the Feast of the Souls, the annual black-tie dinner party where the food was a living menu gathered from every continent, was one of his master’s favourite social events. But he immediately did as he was told, and left Valentin in peace.

  The following morning Valentin called for his loyal aide again, and told him he was dismissing him from his service.

  “I see,” said Lamberton, his face a sombre mask of utter professionalism. “Might I ask what aspect of my performance has been unsatisfactory, sir? I would be most grateful to know, so I can attempt to improve it.”

  “You know full well that your performance has never been anything less than exemplary, Lamberton,” replied Valentin.

  “I appreciate that, sir,” he replied. “In which case, I must confess I find myself at something of a loss as to the reasons for my dismissal. Sir.”

  Valentin looked at his old friend with enormous warmth in his eyes.

  “I’ve made a decision, Lamberton,” he said, slowly. “A decision that will put me in great peril, peril that I cannot ask you to share. I am not going to return to my brother and his master; I am, in fact, planning to do the exact opposite. I will shortly depart for England, where I intend to offer my services to Blacklight, to help them destroy Valeri and Dracula both.”

  Silence descended on the study, as Lamberton considered the implications of his master’s words. Eventually, he spoke.

  “In which case,” he said, “I refuse your dismissal.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I have never cared for your brother Valeri, sir,” said Lamberton, his eyes flashing momentarily. “I have always considered him a pompous fool, a boot-licker who has spent the last century trying to revive his master because he is incapable of living a life in which there is no one to tell him what to do. Alexandru, if nothing else, was his own man; I shed no tears over his death, but he was, to me, the equal of a thousand Valeris.”

  Passion was rising in the servant’s voice. “I have no wish to spend the rest of my life trailing at the heel of anyone,” he continued. “Not Valeri, and not his master either. It has been my honour to serve you this past century and more, and I swore to myself long ago that I would never serve another. I have long fulfilled my own small ambitions, and I am proud of my life, here at your side. I do not wish to see Dracula destroy everything we have built, nor see him tear this world apart for no better reasons than arrogance and hubris. Both he and Valeri are relics of a long-dead world who I would gladly see put out of their misery.”

  Valentin’s eyes widened as Lamberton spoke. He had never, in more than a hundred years, heard the servant speak in such a way; a feeling of great pride swelled within his chest, and he broke into a wide smile of admiration.

  “Very well,” he said. “Your position remains as it was. Please, begin making the arrangements for our departure.”

  “Very good, sir,” said Lamberton, the tiniest flicker of a smile curling the corners of his mouth. Then he floated backwards out of the study, closing the door gently behind him.

  “I would have thought my reasons would be obvious, even to you,” replied Valentin, smiling. “I have no desire to see Dracula rise to power again. As to why you should believe that my motives are genuine, I offer you this: you are all still alive.”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Turner, his eyes narrowing.

  “Exactly what I said, my dear Major. Standing before me are the Director of Blacklight, the Security Officer of this facility, and members of the Holmwood and Carpenter families. If I had come here with some devious plan to hurt the Department from the inside, then surely all I would need to do was step through your little barrier and tear the heads from your shoulders. But I haven’t. If you don’t find that compelling evidence of my honesty, then I’m afraid I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Let’s say I choose to believe you,” said Turner. “Explain to me exactly what you are proposing.”

  Valentin rolled his eyes, and glanced at Lamberton, who was watching the exchange with professional disinterest. “You cannot defeat Dracula if he is allowed to regain his full strength,” he said. “It will be impossible. You would have little chance of destroying my brother, even with all your men and all their little stake guns, and comparing Dracula to Valeri is like comparing a Rottweiler to a poodle. Without me, he will rise, and you will all die.”

  “And with you? How exactly will you help us defeat him?”

  “I offer no guarantee that I can,” said Valentin, simply. “In all likelihood, my assistance will merely delay the inevitable. But I promise you this: with me on your side, you have a chance. A tiny one, in all likelihood, but a chance, nonetheless. Without me, you don’t.”

  Valentin looked directly at Jamie as he spoke, and he flinched under the vampire’s immortal gaze. He looked down the line of men at Admiral Seward, who was staring silently at Valentin; he looked extremely pale under the fluorescent lights of the cellblock.

  He knows what Valentin is saying is true, realised Jamie, and felt a chill race up his spine. We can’t stop Dracula on our own.

  “For what you are suggesting,” continued Major Turner, “which is essentially nothing more than a promise to try and help us defeat your former master, you are expecting to be allowed to murder innocent men and women, with impunity, for the rest of your life. Have I got that right?”

  “You have,” replied Valentin, a cruel smile creeping across his face. “But I’m afraid that’s not all.”

  “What else would you like?” snarled Turner, his composure momentarily deserting him. “The keys to the Loop? A virgin girl sent to your house every day?”

  “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” replied Valentin, coldly. “And no, since you ask, I require nothing so crass. I want the opportunity to engage in conversation with Mr Carpenter, alone. That’s all.”

  Jamie felt the eyes of every member of the Zero Hour Task Force turn slowly towards him, and felt heat rise in his face.

  “With me?” he asked. “Why would you want to talk to me?”

  “You destroyed my brother, Mr Carpenter,” said Valentin, “and I knew your grandfather. I think we have a great deal to talk about, don’t you?”

  Jamie flicked a glance at Admiral Seward, then looked back into the cell.

  “Maybe we do,” he said. “Maybe we don’t. But I’m happy to find out, if that’s what this is going to take.”

  “Excellent,” said Valentin. He jumped up from the chair and approached the barrier, until he was less than a metre away from Jamie. He tilted his head to one side, as if examining the teenager.

  “You look like him, you know?” Valentin said. “Your grandfather. You look very much like him.”

  “Step back from the barrier,” warned Major Turner.

  “I’ve only ever seen a portrait,” said Jamie. He could feel himself sinking into Valentin’s wide grey eyes. “He died before I was born.”

  “You could be his double,” said Valentin. The air between them was thick with tension, as though the UV barrier was giving off a field of static electricity.

  “Mr Rusmanov, step back from the barrier,” said Turner, his voice as cold as ice. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

  Valentin blinked, and then stepped back, breaking the spell.

&nb
sp; “My apologies,” he said, smoothly. “Please, by all means, continue with your questions.”

  24

  THE FOURTH MUSKETEER

  Almost three hours later the men of the Zero Hour Task Force made their way down the corridor of the detention level.

  The interrogation was progressing well; in fact, it was progressing far beyond even their most optimistic projections. So far, Valentin Rusmanov had been true to his word; he had told them everything they wanted to know. He had not restricted his disclosures to Valeri and Dracula either; he had encouraged them to enquire about all aspects of vampire life, and when a question had been posed to which he did not know the answer, he had simply given the briefest of glances to Lamberton, who had immediately supplied it.

  The information was flowing at such a rate – everything from known vampire habitats and congregations, to sources of black-market blood, to how much awareness the vampire community had of the supernatural Departments and the tactics they used to evade their attention – that Seward had called the first session of the interview to an end and ordered a resumption the following morning. He intended to spend the rest of the day formulating a structured approach for extracting the enormous amount of valuable intelligence that Valentin Rusmanov was carrying in his head.

  As the lift made its way up through the Loop, the Operators filed out one by one. On Level B, Jamie made for the door; his plan was to gather his thoughts for a few minutes in his quarters, then go and find Larissa. But as he stepped forward, he felt a hand fall across his shoulder, and he turned back. Admiral Seward was looking at him with a strange expression.

  “I need to see you in my quarters, Lieutenant Carpenter,” the Director said.

  “Now, sir?” asked Jamie.

  “Now.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied, and watched the grey metal doors of the lift slide shut.

  Admiral Seward held the door to his quarters open, waited for Jamie to step through it, then followed him inside and closed the door. Jamie stood patiently as the Director removed his jacket and settled himself behind his desk.

  “I got a reply from Beijing,” said Seward. “In less than forty-eight hours, remarkably. Damn nearly a record for PBS6.”

  “What did they say, sir?”

  “They’re investigating the circumstances of the Chinese citizens who arrived in Britain on the Aristeia, and they’ll keep us up to date on their findings. Standard stuff.”

  “Can we offer to send a team out to help them?”

  “We certainly can,” answered Seward. “And I probably will. But I can tell you now what their reply will be; they’ll thank us for our kind offer and tell us they’ll be sure to inform us if they need our assistance.”

  “But they won’t.”

  “No,” said Seward. “They won’t.”

  There was a long moment of silence that was not entirely comfortable; the obvious concern on the Director’s face made that impossible.

  “You do realise,” said Seward, eventually, “that Valentin’s reason for being here may well be to take revenge against you, for what you did to Alexandru?”

  Jamie recoiled. “I don’t understand, sir,” he replied. “If he wanted to kill me, why didn’t he do it in the Twilight Home? Why go through all this?”

  “I don’t know, Jamie,” said Seward, rubbing his eyes. The Director looked old, and worn down. “It may be part of a plan that we can’t see the shape of yet; it may just be for his own amusement. I may be completely wrong, and his reasons for wanting to be alone with you might be exactly what he says they are. But you need to know the possibilities, Jamie, because I’m not going to order you to speak to him. I’m leaving that decision up to you.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “Because all the information in the world is not worth putting an Operator of this Department alone in a room with a Priority Level 1 vampire against their will,” replied Seward. “Much of what we do here lies within the grey areas of morality; that is our burden, one we all share, and it weighs heavier on some than on others. But we do not throw our people to the wolves, Jamie; we do not put lives at risk on the whims of monsters. And we are not about to start now, on my watch.”

  “Is he going to stop answering questions if I don’t talk to him?” asked Jamie.

  “He says so,” replied Seward. “He wants to talk to you tomorrow, before we continue. I say again, Jamie, I will not order you to do this. But if you think you can handle it, I won’t stop you either. It’s up to you.”

  Jamie thought about the lives that Valentin Rusmanov’s information could save, remembered the feeling of standing before Alexandru, the sensation of total helplessness, and tried to imagine the power that Valentin said Dracula possessed.

  “I’ll do it, sir,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, like he wants.”

  “We’ll be watching you every second,” Seward replied. “But we won’t be able to have anyone in the cellblock with you; Valentin specified that it be just you and him, and he’ll detect anyone else from a mile away.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway, sir,” said Jamie, a small smile on his face.

  “Why not?”

  “Because if Valentin decides to kill me, we could put the entire Department in the cellblock and it wouldn’t be enough to stop him. Sir.”

  The two men considered the awful truth of Jamie’s words; they were standing in the centre of the most highly classified, technologically advanced and heavily armed military facility in the country, but sitting casually in a worthless cell several hundred metres below them was a creature they were powerless to control if it decided to do harm.

  It felt like standing on quicksand.

  The intercom on Admiral Seward’s desk buzzed into life, startling both men. Jamie smiled, a sheepish, nervous grin that the Director returned before he pressed the button on the intercom.

  Marlow’s voice appeared instantly.

  “Sir, we have a situation on Level B that requires your attention.”

  “What kind of situation?” asked Seward.

  “A civilian boy was brought in last night, sir, after making an emergency call he admits was designed specifically to attract our attention. Squad B-9 picked him up in Derbyshire, destroying two vamps that were about to kill him. He spent the night in the secure dorm, sir.”

  “So what?” asked Seward, impatiently. “Quarantine him, explain what will happen to him and his family if he talks, give him twenty-four hours in isolation to think it over, then send him home. Why are you involving me in this?”

  “Two reasons, sir,” said Marlow, his voice like that of a parent trying to explain something simple to a child. “First, how did the vamps know where he was? They can’t be monitoring the entire 999 system for anything supernatural, sir, it’s too vast; that’s why we have Echelon, to filter through it all.”

  “I know exactly why we have Echelon,” snapped Seward. “Get to the point, Marlow.”

  “Yes, sir. They were there before our squad was, which means they knew about the call at least as soon as we did. How did they know that?”

  “My God,” said Jamie, softly. An image of Thomas Morris’s smiling face burst into his mind. “The vamps have access to Echelon.”

  “How could they?” asked Seward, his voice sounding far more confident than he felt. “There are only two monitoring stations: GCHQ and…”

  “Here,” said Jamie. “The leak’s here in the Loop, sir. It has to be. GCHQ doesn’t scan for the supernatural.”

  “Christ,” said Seward, then addressed the intercom. “Marlow, are you still there?”

  “Yes, sir,” his aide replied. “What do you want me to do, sir?”

  “Kill it,” Seward said. “No mention of this goes beyond the people who already know. I have Lieutenant Carpenter with me; who is with you?”

  “Major Turner, sir.”

  “OK. This goes no further. Don’t touch the logs or the database; I don’t want anyone in Comms to know we’re looking into this. I want recomme
ndations from Major Turner on how to proceed by 1900 hours, is that clear?”

  “It is, sir,” said Marlow.

  “Good,” replied Seward. “What was the other thing?”

  “Sir?”

  “You said there were two things that required my attention. What’s the second one?”

  “Sorry, sir. The civilian they picked up last night is the same boy who was injured on the night Lieutenant Carpenter arrived at the Loop, sir.”

  Jamie’s eyes widened. “Matt?” he asked, incredulous. “They brought Matt back in?”

  “That’s right, Matt Browning,” said Marlow.

  “So what?” asked Seward. “The Security Division has protocols for every possible civilian eventuality, Marlow. I really fail to see why you’re telling me this.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’m telling you because when we asked him why he made the emergency call, he confessed that he was trying to engineer a way back to the Loop. It appears that the amnesia he was diagnosed with after he woke from his coma was fake, sir.”

  “And?”

  “We asked him why he wanted to get back here so badly, and he said that Lieutenant Carpenter told him to. Sir.”

  Seward froze, then slowly craned his neck upwards.

  “Stand by,” he said into the intercom, and then fixed Jamie with a look that could have been carved out of a mountainside, an expression of indescribable disappointment. “Jamie,” he continued, his voice low and full of menace. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Jamie took a deep breath. “Sir, I don’t want to tell you—”

  “Tell me what you did!” bellowed Seward.

  The teenager swallowed hard, and began to talk.

  Jamie waited in the corridor beyond the infirmary, leaning against the wall, attempting to look casual. His head was lowered, and he had an open folder in his hands that he appeared to be leafing through, but his attention was surreptitiously fixed on the double doors of the infirmary, forty metres down the corridor.