Department 19, The Rising, and Battle Lines

by Will Hill

  They told him I was dead? They promised me they would never tell him that.

  She thought back to the conversation that had taken place on the morning she had agreed to join Blacklight; her only condition, the one thing she had asked for, on which she was completely immovable, had been that they let her father know that she was all right, that she was safe.

  A pillar of cold fury rose inside her.

  Major Gonzalez said they would tell him I was OK. He told me that to my face. He said they would wait a few weeks until things died down, then they would tell him that I was doing something secret, but that I was OK.

  She suddenly understood why her father was here, why he had ended up in the company of a monster like Albert Harker, and the realisation threatened to overwhelm her. He had not spent the last few months quietly proud of a daughter who was doing something important and secret; he had spent the last few months wondering whether his only daughter was dead or alive.

  He must have felt like he had nothing left to lose.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” she managed. “I never wanted you to think that. I didn’t know that’s what you had been told.”

  “And that’s supposed to make it all right?” asked Pete. “You left me without even saying goodbye and I’m supposed to be OK with that?”

  “She really didn’t know,” said Matt, his stomach churning; this painful mixture of guilt and recrimination was not how being reunited with their fathers was supposed to be. “I know what she was told.”

  “I don’t care what she was told,” shouted Pete, and Matt flinched. “I’ve been on my own in an empty house on a dying island, wondering what happened to you, for three months. Three months. How could you do that to me, Kate? After what happened to your mother?”

  Kate’s eyes widened in shock. “Don’t bring her into this,” she said. “It’s not my fault she died, Dad. You can’t blame me for that.”

  Pete sagged, visibly. “I’m not,” he said, softly. “And I don’t. Never think that, not even for a moment. But I’ve missed you, Kate. I’ve missed you so much.”

  Kate took her father’s hands and met his gaze with her own. “I’ve missed you too, Dad,” she said. “I never wanted what I did to hurt you, although I suppose I knew it would. But it was an opportunity to do something, Dad, maybe the only one I was ever going to get. This was my chance.”

  “I would never have stopped you,” said Pete. “I’ve known since you were five that I was going to have to say goodbye to you one day. Lindisfarne was never going to be big enough for you, and that’s fine, that’s great. I wanted you to go out and make a life of your own, and your mum dying didn’t change that.”

  “It did for me,” said Kate, her voice shaking. “I could never have packed a case and said goodbye and left you in that house on your own. I could never have done it.”

  “So you let me think you were dead? You thought that was kinder?”

  “I didn’t know that’s what you were told!” shouted Kate. “I’ve told you that!”

  There was a long moment of silence, deep and pregnant with tension. Father and daughter stared at each other, their chests rising and falling, the heat high and clear in their faces. Eventually, it was Pete who dropped his eyes first.

  “So what is it you do?” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “For these people you work for?”

  “I can’t—”

  “You can’t tell me,” said Pete. “Right.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Do you kill vampires?”

  “Dad,” said Kate, helplessly. “You know I can’t—”

  Pete shook his head, then lowered it, as though he was deep in thought. “Is it right?” he asked, eventually. “What you do now. Is it right?”

  “It’s necessary,” replied Kate.

  “All right,” said Pete. “All right then.” He drew his daughter to him and threw his arms round her. Matt watched, relief spreading through him, before turning back to his dad.

  “Your mother is going to be so happy,” said Greg. “She… well. She’s going to be very happy.”

  “How is she, Dad?” he asked. “How’s Laura? I miss you all.”

  “They’re OK,” said Greg, his voice suddenly unsteady. “As far as I know, they’re all fine. She’s going to be so happy when she hears you’re all right.”

  As far as you know? wondered Matt. Why don’t you know for certain?

  The answer hit him like a bucket of cold water.

  She left him. After I went, she took Laura and she left him. Has he been on his own all this time?

  Then he realised what his father had said, and his heart sank.

  “You can’t tell Mum about me, Dad,” he said. “If they let you go, you can’t tell anyone about any of this.”

  “What do you mean, if they let me go?”

  “What did you think was going to happen to you if you got caught, Dad? You were just going to get a slap on the wrist and be sent home on the next train? This is classified government business, Dad, more highly classified than you can imagine.” He was suddenly furious with his father for being so stupid, for having got himself mixed up in this bloody mess. “Why are you even here, Dad? What the hell were you doing with someone like Albert Harker?”

  It was Pete Randall who answered; Matt’s father looked so shocked he was incapable of speaking.

  “We didn’t know what he was,” he said, letting go of his daughter. “We thought we were helping Kevin McKenna do something good, helping him warn the public about vampires. We didn’t know this was what Harker really had in mind.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” said Matt. “I’m sure you were doing what you thought was right. But you were wrong. It won’t help the public to know about this stuff. It won’t do any good.”

  “We just wanted to do something,” said Greg Browning, finding his voice. “We didn’t want anyone else to go through the same thing as us. I lost my family and they told Pete he’d lost his. All because of vampires and the goddamn men in black. So what were we supposed to do?”

  Kate looked over at Matt; he met her gaze, but said nothing.

  He had no answer to his father’s question.

  60

  HOMECOMING

  LINCOLN COUNTY, NEVADA, USA

  Larissa floated above her bed, her hands laced behind her head, and checked the clock on her bedside table for perhaps the hundredth time in the last hour.

  6:42.

  Eighteen minutes until General Allen is expecting me to give him my decision. And I still don’t know what I’m going to tell him.

  On her desk were two pieces of paper, representing two very different futures; she stared at them from across her quarters, and felt her stomach churn with uncertainty.

  She had slept, although for a long time after leaving the NS9 Director’s quarters she had not thought she was going to be able to, but when it came, it had been fitful and full of bad dreams. When she had woken up to see the clock telling her it was just after 5am, she had given up and headed for the showers. The pounding water had done nothing to clear her head, however; she had been no closer to a decision when she returned to her room than she had been when she lay down on her bed seven hours earlier, to consider a decision she had long thought would be easy.

  Within a week of her arrival in Nevada, Larissa had been pretty sure who she was going to take back to Blacklight with her. Tim had asked her as soon as they began to work together and through him she had met four of the remaining five, the four Operators with whom she had become close: Kara, Kelly, Danny and Aaron. Her participation in the attack on General Rejon’s compound had left her spoilt for choice as far as the sixth place was concerned, but she had taken an instant liking to Anna Frost, the quiet, elegant Canadian Operator who reminded her so much of Kate Randall.

  And that should have been it. Six names, six men and women who would all be assets to Blacklight, and who she would be delighted to have in the Loop with her; the right choices, for hersel
f and her Department.

  Until Tim Albertsson ruined it.

  That isn’t fair, she told herself. You both ruined it. You liked the attention and you misread the situation. It’s your fault too.

  Larissa knew that was the truth and it made her furious with herself. She had started to wonder if there was something wrong with her, if she possessed some natural propensity for self-destruction. She wanted to take her friends back to Blacklight, where she knew they would be on her side, would defend her against the distrust and suspicion she still regularly encountered at the Loop, and now she wasn’t sure if she could.

  All because of stupid, handsome, arrogant Tim Albertsson.

  Even after Mexico and Las Vegas, she had still believed there was time to make the problem go away. There was still a month left on her secondment; plenty of time to talk to him, to make it absolutely clear to him that nothing was going to happen between them, and for him to come to terms with that before the six of them departed for Britain.

  General Allen’s bombshell the previous evening had destroyed that hope; now there was no time, and the awkwardness and embarrassment that she felt was raw and powerful. She couldn’t take Tim to Blacklight, not like this, not with the memory of his kiss so fresh in her mind, the memory of how he had looked at her in the club in Las Vegas, the naked hunger on his face. How could she introduce him to Jamie, and Kate and Matt? She would spend every waking minute on edge, waiting for Tim to say the wrong thing, either by accident or on purpose, to tear apart the fragile bonds that held Jamie and her together.

  It was far too great a risk.

  But she had made him a promise and if she didn’t keep it, she knew full well that she couldn’t take the others. There would be too many questions, too much animosity left behind; Tim would never forgive her if she compounded her change of heart by taking all of his closest friends with her when she left.

  How did I make such a mess of this? she wondered. How did I manage to let it all go wrong?

  Larissa rose up off her bed, feeling heat spill into the corners of her eyes, drying away the tears that had been starting to gather there. She hung in the cool air of her quarters, took a deep breath, let it out, and looked down at the two pieces of paper.

  On one sheet were the names she had anticipated handing to General Allen when the time came. On the other was a second list, men and women she knew would be good for Blacklight, but who were not her friends. Taking them with her would mean she had done her job, done it properly and well, but would also mean that a real chance to improve her life had been left behind in the Nevada desert. She stared at the two lists of names for a long time, until the clock ticked over to 6:58.

  All right, she thought. All right then.

  Larissa floated down to the ground and picked up one of the pieces of paper. For a second, she stood absolutely still, her eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the wall in front of her; then she opened her door and flew down the corridor towards the elevator without a backward glance.

  “Are you sure about this, Larissa?” asked General Allen. He was sitting on one of the sofas in his quarters while she perched on the other, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. “These aren’t the names I was expecting.”

  “Are they a problem, sir?” she asked.

  Allen shook his head. “No problem,” he said. “They’re just surprising. No Tim, no Kelly or Kara? None of your friends?”

  “No, sir,” said Larissa, trying to keep her voice as level as possible. “I was sent here to take six Operators back to Blacklight. Not to make friends, sir.”

  “I understand that,” said Allen. He narrowed his eyes in obvious suspicion. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Larissa felt heat threatening to rise in her cheeks and willed herself to remain calm. “Nothing, sir,” she said. “These are the Operators I think will be the best fit for Blacklight.”

  General Allen picked the sheet of paper up and read it again. “Captain Van Thal,” he said. “Operators Johnson, Schneider and Burgess. Trainees Gregg and O’Malley. They’re from the class you and Tim have been training?”

  Larissa nodded. “They’re going to be good Operators, sir.”

  “I’m sure they are,” said Allen. “James Van Thal I understand. He’s spent time at Blacklight before. Did you know that when you chose him?”

  “No, sir,” said Larissa. “Although that’s certainly a bonus.”

  “Johnson, Schneider and Burgess. Have you worked with them all? Be honest with me.”

  “I’ve worked with them all,” said Larissa. “And I’ve gathered opinions from other members of the Department. Everyone rates them extremely highly.”

  General Allen set the list down on the sofa beside him and fell silent. Larissa studied his tanned, weathered face and wondered what he was thinking. She supposed there was nothing preventing him from rejecting her list and insisting that she take a different group of Operators back to England with her, but she was certain he wouldn’t want to do so.

  “I’m going to agree to this,” he said, eventually. “And I’m not going to make you tell me what’s really going on here, even though I know there’s more than you’re saying. I just want to make sure you know that if there was anything you wanted to tell me, it would stay between us. All right?”

  Larissa’s throat tightened; the General’s voice was full of kindness and devoid of judgement. “I do know that, sir,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “OK,” he said, getting up from the sofa and standing in front of her. “You’re cleared for departure at 10:00. I’ll give them their orders and have them meet you in the hangar at 09:30. I imagine most of them are going to be a little bit surprised.”

  Larissa got to her feet. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “And thank you for making me so welcome here.”

  General Allen smiled widely. “It’s been a genuine pleasure, Lieutenant Kinley. I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’m going to miss you too, sir,” she said. “I really am.”

  *

  Six hours later the Mina II sped smoothly east, its supersonic engines propelling it above the flat blue-grey expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. Larissa sat strapped into one of the seats that ran along the walls of the aircraft’s hold, her heart pounding in her chest.

  She had been unprepared for the range of emotions that had spilled through her as the sleek jet sprinted along the Area 51 runway and leapt gracefully into the bright Nevada sky. Sadness she had been expecting, and it was there in spades; what she had not anticipated were the potent blooms of grief and loneliness, and a sharp, acidic burst of something that felt horribly close to despair. For a single, panicked moment she had considered shouting for the pilot to turn the plane around, to take them back so she could change her mind.

  But it was too late for that; the six Operators she had selected were sitting in the Mina’s hold, looking at her with expressions of mild curiosity that hadn’t changed since they had arrived in the NS9 hangar to report for a mission that none of them had been expecting to be a part of.

  Captain James Van Thal was a tall, dark-skinned man in what Larissa guessed was his early forties. His head was shaved bald and his eyes were a beautiful pale brown. He had been a Recon Marine before being recruited into NS9; a stripe of pale pink rose up the back of his neck and on to his scalp, the result of a series of grafts to replace skin that had been burned away in the Iraqi desert more than a decade earlier.

  He was soft-spoken and had been one of the first people to welcome Larissa to Dreamland, without making any mention whatsoever of the fact that she was a vampire; she had been impressed and grateful. Kelly and Danny had worked closely with him before he had been moved into the Intelligence Division, and both spoke of him in glowing, almost reverential terms. He had been born in Angola in the middle of the War of Independence, and his father had apparently died getting his infant son out of the country; Larissa’s friends said that Van Thal was happy to talk about it in general terms, but would not be d
rawn on any details. His aura around Dreamland was similar to Paul Turner’s around the Loop, although the two men could not have been more different; Van Thal was warm and friendly, unfailingly polite and gregarious.

  Patrick Johnson and Mark Schneider looked so alike that they could easily have been mistaken for brothers, especially in their NS9 uniforms. The two men were in their early twenties, with closely cropped hair and the deep tans that came with being stationed in a desert where the daytime temperature regularly exceeded forty degrees. They were both former Navy SEALs and had both been leading Operational squads for several years; they were solid, experienced Operators, the kind of men that nobody at Blacklight would be surprised Larissa had brought with her.

  Carrie Burgess was a tall, sharp-faced woman in her twenties with black hair and delicate features. She looked nothing like the CIA intelligence operative she had been before NS9, but had a reputation as one of NS9’s sharpest intelligence analysts, for calm, level-headed thinking and strategic excellence. Larissa had only worked with her directly once, and had found her somewhat bland, but she worked closely with Tim Albertsson and the rest of the NS9 Special Operator programme, which was enough for her; the SO programme only utilised the very best of the best.

  Tom Gregg was barely out of his teens, short and powerful with jet-black skin and huge, nervous eyes. He had joined the Army straight out of high school, and quickly made an impression on his superiors with his determination and tenacity; he had already been marked out as a future member of the special forces, most likely Delta, by the time General Allen had swooped in and recruited him for NS9. He had performed well during the training that Larissa had helped Tim Albertsson oversee, taking his knocks with quiet persistence, always eager to learn and improve.

  Laura O’Malley was slightly older than Gregg, perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three. She was short and extremely pretty, her dark red hair as much a signifier of her Boston Irish roots as her surname, and had arrived at Dreamland from the NSA, the shadowy branch of the National Security apparatus, where much of what she had done was highly classified. Larissa was already looking forward to seeing her and Angela Darcy together; the two women’s careers had been remarkably similar, and she suspected they were either going to become good friends or bitter rivals.