by Will Hill
“Wow,” he said. “Who would have believed it?”
Kate frowned and turned her head towards where he was looking. Then she was waving her arms in the air and shouting across the dining hall. “Matt! Over here!”
Matt flinched at the sound of his name, then grinned when he saw his two friends. He raised a hand in acknowledgement and began to pick his way through the maze of tables and chairs towards them. His foot caught an outstretched leg at the last second and he stumbled, arms wheeling furiously for balance, before righting himself and crash-landing in the empty chair beside Kate.
“This place is a death trap,” he said. “It’s safer out there than in here.”
“It’s safer anywhere you aren’t,” said Jamie, grinning.
“Really?” replied Matt. “Is it my fault that everyone decides to constantly put things in my way. If I could fly like Larissa, there wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Maybe we can persuade her to bite you when she gets back,” said Kate. “I think she’d agree it’s for the greater good.”
“You are both terrible people,” said Matt, smiling. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too,” said Jamie. “How’re things downstairs?”
“They’re OK,” said Matt. “We’re making progress.”
“How are the team settling in?” asked Jamie, finally taking an enormous bite of his burger.
“They’re great,” said Matt. “They’re so committed, even though they’re trying to find a cure for a disease that none of them knew existed three months ago. It’s pretty inspiring.”
“Right,” said Kate, grinning wickedly. “I’m pretty sure I know which one of them inspires you the most.”
Matt flushed bright red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“What’s going on?” demanded Jamie. “Kate?”
“Ask Matt,” she laughed. “Ask him about a pretty Russian girl called Natalia. I’m sure he’ll have plenty to say on the subject.”
“You’re dead, Kate,” said Matt, grinning evilly. “I’m going to kill you with your fork.”
“The girl who got hurt in the blast?” asked Jamie. “The one who was going into your room, Kate?”
“That’s the one,” she replied. “Matt?”
“She’s just a girl that sits near me in the lab,” said Matt. “She’s a geneticist from Leningrad. The SPC sent her.”
“And you love her,” said Kate, her face rigid with fake seriousness. “You love her and you want to marry her and have lots of little genius children with her.”
Jamie burst out laughing. Matt gave him a look that, if facial expressions could kill, would have tortured him for several days before slowly dismembering him.
“I do not love her,” he protested. “I barely know her. I just like her, that’s all.”
“And she likes you?” asked Jamie.
“I don’t know,” said Matt. “I wouldn’t have thought so.”
Kate groaned. “You are absolutely the stupidest genius I’ve ever known,” she said. “I told her I wouldn’t say anything, but I suppose our pact comes before everything else. She was going into my room when the bomb went off because I told her to. She came up to ISAT to ask me about you, and I told her to go and wait in my room so we could talk properly.”
Matt’s eyes widened. “She came to ask you about me? What did she want to know?”
“She was worried about you,” said Kate. “She thought you were working too hard, which you quite obviously are. But she could have talked to Professor Karlsson about that. She came to see me because she likes you, and she wanted to ask someone who knew you what she should do about it.”
“So what did you tell her?” asked Jamie, his burger completely forgotten.
“I told her she should talk to Matt,” replied Kate. “But then the bomb happened and she ended up in the infirmary.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Jamie. “I’m just putting this together now. This is what you told Major Turner when he made me leave the room yesterday?”
Kate nodded. “We went to see her yesterday. She’s going to be fine, thankfully.” She turned her attention back to Matt. “Why do you think I got out of there so quickly? So I could leave the two of you alone.”
Matt stared. “I didn’t know that,” he said. “I didn’t know any of this. She likes me? She told you she does?”
“She did,” said Kate. “So unless the bomb scrambled her brain, it’s probably a pretty safe bet that she still does.”
“Tell her you like her,” said Jamie, firmly. “As soon as she’s out of the infirmary. No sense in waiting around.”
“I agree,” said Kate. “It looked like it took all of her courage to come and ask me what she should do, so grow some balls and give her a break.”
Matt stared at his friends, his immensely powerful brain completely overwhelmed. “OK,” he said, eventually. “I’ll think about it. And I’ll talk to her when she gets out. Everyone happy?”
“Very,” said Kate. “She’s a sweet girl, Jamie. You’ll like her.”
He smiled. “I don’t doubt it. She’s clearly got good taste.”
Matt grinned, the wide, naughty smile of a schoolboy.
It’s good to see him smile, thought Jamie. To see them both smile, and laugh, and talk about something that isn’t vampires and cures and traitors.
“So,” said Kate, “let’s move the spotlight before our friend explodes with embarrassment. What’s going on with you, Jamie?”
He groaned. “Nothing half as much fun,” he said. “Everyone is still chasing down the Broadmoor escapees and we’re only on to the second of ours. We missed him yesterday.”
“You missed him?” asked Kate. “That’s not what I heard.”
“No,” admitted Jamie. “Not me. One of my rookies. Morton.”
“Is she the woman?” asked Matt.
“No, he’s the man,” said Jamie. “John Morton. He missed a shot his first time out, a hard shot in pitch darkness, but it made him start questioning stuff. Then yesterday a civilian died and he’s blaming himself for her. The worst thing is, he isn’t totally wrong. If he hadn’t choked, she’d still be alive.”
“Should he be active?” asked Kate, a deep frown on her face.
Jamie shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I’m benching him until this Broadmoor thing is all sorted. I’m not giving up on him, not by any means, but I can’t have him in my squad right now. It’s too dangerous.”
“I’m sorry,” said Kate. “That’s hard.”
Jamie shrugged.
“What about the other one?” asked Matt. “What’s her name?”
“Ellison,” said Jamie, breaking into a wide smile. “Lizzy Ellison. She’s awesome. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. So that’s something, at least.”
“You be careful,” said Kate. “Your mum isn’t the only one who worries about you when you’re out there. You know that, right?”
“I know,” said Jamie. “But there’s no need. I’m always careful.”
“How is your mum?” asked Matt. “Is she OK?”
“She’s all right,” he replied. “At least I think she is. I don’t go and see her as often as I should. I know I don’t. She doesn’t say anything, but I know she thinks the same. But she’s safe down there, and that’s the main thing.”
“Do you think she knows who’s in the cell on the other side of the corridor?” asked Matt. “Does she have any idea?”
“Not in the slightest,” said Jamie, shaking his head. “She doesn’t know any vampire history and, even if she did, she wouldn’t care. She’s not their biggest fan, let’s put it that way.”
The implication of Jamie’s words was not missed by any of them, and suddenly the chair beside him seemed particularly empty. Kate, who knew full well that Marie Carpenter had become quite familiar with the ancient vampire who lived opposite her, and exactly what she thought of their absent friend, held her tongue.
“Anyway,” he
said, forcing a thin smile, “enough of that cheery subject. Let’s talk about something light and fluffy. Kate, what’s going on with ISAT?”
His friends burst out laughing and he joined in, relishing the sound.
“It’s fine,” said Kate, once the laughter had subsided. “We’re making progress, everybody hates us for what we’re doing, and hopefully we won’t find anything. But, given the bomb, that seems less and less likely.”
“Because it was in your room?” asked Matt.
“And because there was an identical one in Major Turner’s,” said Jamie. “Right?”
“Right,” said Kate. “We’re about a quarter of the way through the interviews so if there’s something there, if someone we haven’t talked to yet is hiding something, we’ll know soon enough. The obvious suspect was Valentin, but we interviewed him yesterday and he passed.”
“What was that like?” asked Jamie.
“What was what like?”
“Interviewing Valentin.”
“It was… enlightening,” said Kate, and gave him a strange look, one he wasn’t sure he liked. He considered pressing her on the subject, but something made him hold back. Instead, he pushed his plate to one side and sat back in his seat.
“Look,” he said. “We all know we should do this more often, but we all know how difficult it is to make it happen. So all I’m going to suggest is that we try a bit harder. How does that sound?”
“It sounds good,” said Kate, instantly. “I miss the two of you.”
“Me too,” said Matt. “I know I’m not around much at the moment, what with Lazarus and everything, but I’ll try harder. I promise.”
“It’s OK,” said Jamie. “Everyone knows how important what you’re doing is, and no one takes it personally. It would just be good to see you more often.”
Matt nodded. “It would,” he said, softly. “It really would.”
Jamie looked at his two friends for a long moment, and made a decision.
“I have something to tell you,” he said. “It’s nothing major, but it’s something I’ve been keeping to myself, and we promised each other we wouldn’t do that. So here it is. I’ve been visiting Valentin in his cell, even though I promised Frankenstein I wouldn’t.”
Kate smiled and, in that moment, Jamie realised she had already known; clearly, that had been the enlightening part of her conversation with the vampire.
She didn’t say anything, he thought. Didn’t tell me off or try to trick me into confessing.
“Should you be doing that?” asked Matt, his face clouding with concern. “Is it safe?”
Jamie shrugged. “Valentin’s pretty much unstoppable,” he said. “If he wanted to hurt me, he would. So being in his cell is no more dangerous than anywhere else.”
“What do you talk to him about?” asked Kate, the same smile on her face.
You know this too, don’t you? I’ll play along, though.
“My family,” he replied. “Valentin knew my grandfather, knew him better than I think anyone in the Department realises. He tells me about him.”
“That sounds good,” said Kate. “As long as you’re being careful?”
“Like I said,” smiled Jamie, “I always am.”
Matt started telling Kate something that Professor Karlsson had said the previous day. Jamie was half listening when Lizzy Ellison walked into the dining hall, a look of intense concentration on her face.
He sat up in his chair and waved to her. She didn’t respond, but headed towards him in a straight line that was the opposite of Matt’s clumsy, circuitous route. Whatever the Director of the Lazarus Project had said had clearly been extremely funny, as his friends had both fallen about laughing, but Jamie had stopped listening entirely. His attention was focused on his approaching squad mate.
Ellison arrived at their table and Jamie saw that her face was noticeably pale. Kate and Matt had finally stopped laughing and were now looking at the new arrival with obvious interest.
“Ellison,” said Jamie. “Do you know Matt Browning and—”
“I’m sorry, sir,” interrupted Ellison, glancing at Jamie’s friends. “I need to talk to you. In private.”
“Whatever it is,” said Jamie, “you can tell me here. I don’t keep secrets from Kate and Matt.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Ellison.
“Do you want to sit down?” he asked. “You look like you’re about to burst.”
“I’m fine, sir,” she replied, then looked at him with an expression of such awful distress that he felt a chill crawl up his spine.
“No, you’re not,” he said. “What is it? Tell me.”
Ellison glanced over at Kate and Matt again. “It’s John, sir.”
“Morton?” asked Jamie. “What about him?”
“He’s gone, sir.”
The chill spread across Jamie’s shoulders and up the back of his neck. “What do you mean gone?” he asked. “Gone where?”
Ellison pulled her console from her belt, thumbed it open, and held it out. Jamie took it from her and read the short message that glowed on its screen, his eyes widening as he did so.
From: Morton, John/NS304, 07-B
To: Ellison, Elizabeth/NS304, 07-C
Gone after Dempsey. Don’t follow me. Need to do this myself.
Oh Christ, thought Jamie. Oh Jesus Christ, what have I done?
45
FINAL EDITION
As the train pulled into Darlington station, Pete Randall suddenly found himself on the verge of a panic attack.
He had driven across the Lindisfarne causeway in beautiful pale sunshine and made his way up to Berwick without incident; the roads were clear, and it was one of those fresh, clean mornings, where the world felt as though it was brand-new. It felt like the beginning of some great adventure, a journey into the unknown, the destination uncertain.
Pete parked his car at Berwick station, wondering idly whether he would ever see it again, and bought his ticket. The train creaked and squealed up to the platform, miraculously on time, and he climbed into coach D on legs that were unsteady with excitement. Tucked under his arm was a copy of The Globe, its brightly coloured front page screaming with outrage about a footballer who had been photographed leaving a nightclub with a woman who was most certainly not his heavily pregnant wife. He found a seat, bought a cup of tea from the trolley, and carefully coloured in The Globe’s white logo with a black felt-tip pen. Then he sat back, stared out of the window at the North Sea as it rushed past, and waited.
A small number of people crowded coach D’s aisle as the train pulled into Darlington, pulling bags and cases down from the overhead shelves, putting on coats and scarves, and making their way towards the doors. Pete watched them leave, cursing silently that he had unwittingly sat on the wrong side of the train, and therefore been unable to get a look at the people waiting on the platform; he had never met the man he knew only as South, never seen a photo of him, but had a curious sense that he would recognise him. He would certainly recognise the uniforms of the police he was still partly convinced were actually going to be waiting for him.
As the aisle cleared, people began to board the train. Pete sat back in his seat and raised his copy of The Globe with trembling hands, pretending to read it as he scanned the new arrivals.
A woman walked through the carriage with a screaming baby in her arms and a look of profound exhaustion on her face. Two teenage boys followed her, huge headphones resting around their necks, as an elderly woman struggled into the carriage behind them, dragging a suitcase so enormous that a kindly man sitting near the door got to his feet and helped her wrangle it on to the luggage rack.
No one else appeared.
Pete’s heart thumped in his chest; he was suddenly overcome with the desire to run to the end of the carriage and pull the driver alarm, stopping the train before it left the platform. He could get off and run, and keep running until he worked out what to do next. But he didn’t; panic paralysed him, freezing him in his seat.<
br />
He looked at the other people in coach D, eyeing them all with new suspicion. Were any of them police? Were all of them police? Or if not police, then something worse? Men and women who would not think twice before making him disappear?
“North?” said a low voice, and Pete Randall clamped his teeth together so he didn’t scream. He whirled round in his seat and saw a middle-aged man standing beside him with a deeply nervous expression on his face.
“South?” he asked, his voice high and unsteady.
“That’s right,” nodded the man, a tentative smile spreading across his face. “It’s good to finally meet you, mate. Really good.”
“You too,” Pete replied, his heart still pounding in his chest. He extended a hand. “I guess we’re done with this North and South thing, right? I’m Pete Randall.”
South took his hand and shook it fiercely. “Greg Browning,” he said.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: 11:05:42
Subject: Re: Urgent submission
Kevin,
If this is a joke, it’s a pretty good one. If it isn’t, you need psychiatric help.
Colin
“I told you he wouldn’t go for it,” said Kevin McKenna. He watched as Albert Harker read the email, and waited for the explosion he was sure this setback was going to provoke.
“I know what you told me, Kevin,” replied Harker, softly. “My memory is perfectly functional. This reaction was only to be expected, as you yourself suggested. Reply to him, telling him that you are quite serious. Tell him you want pages one and two of tomorrow’s edition, and that your story is to run uncut.”
McKenna grinned with relief. “Anything else?” he asked. “Shall I ask him to send us a suitcase full of money and a case of champagne to toast our success with?”
Harker turned to him and smiled. “I think that might be pushing our luck, Kevin. Don’t you?”
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: 11:09:16
Subject: Re: Re: Urgent submission