Alex had seen enough horror movies to know what a fake vampire looked like on a screen. This one didn’t look fake. He looked every bit as real as he had face to face.
‘But where was the camera?’ she muttered. ‘There was no camera. I’d have seen it.’
Gibson smirked. ‘Maybe you have some other explanation as to why we’re seeing this?’
‘Silence,’ Olympia said.
Now the hidden lens turned round to point in the opposite direction, and Alex’s mouth hung open as she saw herself onscreen, walking down the cellar steps. She was wearing the tight-fitting black combat kit she’d used for the job, carrying the Desert Eagle in its tactical holster. Her features were a little grainy but clearly recognisable.
‘What an entrance,’ Donskoi said. ‘Joan Crawford would have envied it.’
Alex couldn’t speak. She heard herself on the video clip saying ‘Surprise!’ Saw her hand go to her holster and draw the pistol.
Then, just about audible over the speakers:
‘Federation scum. Your time is over.’ The vampire’s voice.
The next few seconds of footage left no doubt as to what was happening in the cellar. The flash and boom of the gunshot. The scream of the vampire, falling into the shadows, the Nosferol already ravaging his body. The camera gave a violent wobble and seemed to turn away in horror.
It was then that Alex realised how the footage had been filmed. The surviving human had had some kind of miniature spy camera attached to him, turning whichever way he turned, seeing what he saw. It could have been anything, a badge, a button on his jacket.
Alex suddenly felt very cold and shaky. The worst was yet to come. She remembered what the human had said to her next, when he’d seen the way she’d destroyed the vampire with a single bullet to the chest:
‘How did you—’
And her reply, just before she’d injected him: ‘It takes a vampire to destroy a vampire properly.’
Immediately afterwards, she’d pumped her syringe-load of Vambloc under his ear, erasing his memory of everything that had just happened. Her comment to him had been no more than a throwaway line, intended for dramatic effect and meant to be instantly forgotten. Just a way to liven up a routine chore she’d been carrying out for decades.
But captured on digital audio, an admission like that to a human was a Federal crime that meant a one-way trip to Termination Row.
And Olympia had heard it loud and clear, Alex thought. This was it, then. Her fate was sealed.
But just as it reached the crucial moment, the footage cut off abruptly. In its place was a line of text that promised: ‘TO BE CONTINUED . . .’
Alex let out a long inward sigh of relief.
‘A fine day’s work that was, Agent Bishop,’ said Olympia.
‘How could I have known?’ Alex started to protest.
‘What happened to the human?’ Donskoi asked.
‘I carried him out of there, pumped full of Vambloc.’
‘With the camera intact,’ Gibson put in. ‘That’s one memory you didn’t erase.’
‘Why didn’t you dispose of him?’ Olympia demanded. ‘If you had destroyed the body, you would have destroyed the video evidence.’
‘My job is to terminate rogue vampires, not to kill humans. I thought that was just slightly against Federation laws?’
‘Your job,’ Olympia snapped, ‘is to protect and uphold the Federation. At all cost, vampire or human. The Federation laws are the code we expect our common vampire citizenry to abide by. For the sake of the greater good, however, those of us granted the appropriate authority may sometimes have to bend the rules in a considered fashion. I would have thought that you, as a senior agent, would have understood that.’ She paused, visibly seething. ‘Evidently not. And now, thanks to you, the humans know about us. They know about the Federation. The very thing we have most sought to avoid since its foundation. Concealment is, has always been, the whole purpose of its existence.’
‘Did you speak to the human, Agent Bishop?’ asked Donskoi, looking at her with the penetrating eye of a hardened interrogator. ‘Is there anything we should know about – anything you might have revealed that will be shown in the next instalment this Knightly posts on his website?’
Alex stared at Donskoi. Did he know the truth, or was he just cleverly trying to lure her into incriminating herself? She swallowed. ‘Nothing,’ she lied. ‘I did the job I was trained and ordered to do, and I got out of there. That’s it.’
‘This Errol Knightly is gaining a great deal of publicity from his new book,’ Olympia said. ‘Drawing millions of humans to his website. I hope you realise how serious this is?’
‘With respect, I disagree,’ Alex said. ‘Ignore it, and it’ll soon be forgotten, along with all the fake footage of Yetis, ghosts and the Loch Ness monster. This is the internet, Supremo Angelopolis. It’s already so full of shit that nobody will take this seriously.’
‘We take it very seriously, Agent Bishop,’ Donskoi said. ‘We are not idiots. Within days, hours even, this footage will have spread virally across the entire web, and by then there will be nothing we can do to control the situation. We have technicians at work as we speak, attempting to hack and crash the site. That may buy us some time. But to avert this disaster fully, the footage must be destroyed at source.’
‘You have forty-eight hours,’ Olympia told her. ‘Starting from now. Find and destroy all copies of this video, any hard drives on which it is stored, and anyone who tries to stand in your way. You will then track down the human who sent the footage to Knightly and erase his memory permanently. Are these orders understood?’
Alex nodded, avoiding Gibson’s eye. She could feel delight radiating off him in warm waves.
‘Forty-eight hours, Agent Bishop,’ Olympia said. ‘Fail this time, and you have my word that you will face immediate Nosferol termination.’
Chapter Forty-Two
Bal Mawr Manor
The day’s anti-vampire weaponry training session with Knightly had been due to start five minutes ago. As he waited for him to show up, Dec wandered about the armoury room. It was a converted private chapel, partially demolished at some point in its history, but still retaining its original stained-glass windows through which the bright morning sun cast colourful reflections across the flagstones. Where the old walls had crumbled and been rebuilt – not so long ago, judging by the bits of scaffolding still propped up in one corner – a modern extension had been constructed to house an adjoining indoor archery range complete with big straw target bosses for crossbow practice. The weapons themselves were hung on the racks that took up two entire walls of the old chapel.
Dec paused to admire them and to gaze at the silver-tipped bolts in their quivers, before moving on down the line to examine some of the other devices intended for defence against the Undead. A huge spray gun with a butt like a rifle was attached by a pipe to a clear plastic canister marked ‘HOLY WATER’; beside it, another canister was labelled ‘CAUTION IRRITANT: CONCENTRATION OF GARLIC’. There was a whole variety of crucifixes, mallets and stakes. Finally, a horizontal rack housed a collection of Samurai swords in ornate scabbards.
Dec liked the look of the crossbows best. He glanced back at the huge riveted iron door of the armoury to check nobody was coming, then reached up and took one down from the wall. Holding the bow end down with the foot stirrup, he grasped the thick, taut bowstring and heaved it back with a grunt until it clicked into place. He gingerly fitted one of the silver-tipped bolts, then carried the weapon over to the adjoining practice range, stood on the firing line, raised the stock to his shoulder and peered through the telescopic sight.
Twenty yards away, the circular straw archery target looked huge in the scope. Dec squeezed the trigger and the bow fired with a sharp crack and a satisfying kick to the shoulder. The deadly bolt whistled off downrange and embedded itself deep into the outer edge of the target, sending bits of straw flying.
Dec walked up to the target with
a fire burning in his heart. In his mind’s eye, the vampire now lay writhing helplessly on the floor with the bolt protruding from its shoulder. The next shot would be the coup de grâce – right through the heart. He yanked the bolt out of the target and returned to the firing line. He was just about to re-cock the bow when he heard the armoury door grate open on its massive iron hinges and turned, expecting to see Knightly.
It was Griffin. The bent old man shuffled into the range, threw a sour look at the bits of straw on the floor and another at Dec, and then disappeared and returned a moment later carrying a broom taller than he was. As Griffin muttered and cursed and began to sweep up the mess, Dec somewhat resentfully replaced the crossbow on the rack. ‘Mr Knightly said I could practise here, so he did. I’m going to help him kill vampires,’ he added.
‘Said that, did he?’ Griffin made a harsh crackling sound that Dec realised was laughter, ending with something that sounded like ‘Bollocks.’
‘Mr Knightly’s a hero,’ Dec said defensively, but the old man just went on chuckling to himself. Just a bit strange in his ways, Dec thought. Probably not such a bad old fucker once you get to know him. ‘So you’ve been with the Knightly family a long time, yeah?’ Dec said out loud, in an attempt at polite conversation.
Griffin shook his head and muttered something in Welsh.
‘Say again?’ Dec said.
‘Knightly this, Knightly that. Knightly my arse,’ Griffin muttered with an evil look as he finished gathering up the bits of straw.
Dec stared at him. ‘But—’
‘Dibble,’ Griffin croaked.
‘Beg your pardon?’
‘Reg Dibble. That’s his name. Had this draughty mouldy old place less than a year. Bought it with the money from that book.’
‘Look, mister,’ Dec protested. ‘That can’t be right. This house has been in the Knightly family for generations. Yer man in armour, on the horse there, he was his ancestor, so he was.’
Griffin leaned on the broom handle as his thin old shoulders quaked with mirth. ‘Sir Useless Knightly. Aye. That pile of old tin came from a secondhand shop.’
Dec boggled. ‘No, no! He was the first vampire hunter in the family, so he was. First in a long line.’
‘Vampires!’ Griffin wiped a tear of laughter from his wrinkly cheek. ‘Never more killed a vampire than you or I have. Shit in his pants if he ever saw one, I reckon. Duw, duw.’
A bewildered Dec was lost for words when the armoury door opened again and Knightly strolled into the range. ‘There you are, Declan. Good, good. Sorry I’m a bit late for our session. Been on the phone to my agent. Just the usual business matters I won’t bore you with. A day in the life of a bestselling author, you know.’ He sighed and gazed importantly out of the window at the view across the bay.
‘Did you upload the video clip, then?’ Dec asked, still reeling from what the old man had just told him.
‘There for all to see,’ Knightly replied. ‘Did it this morning. Oh, Griffin, there you are. Go and make up one of the other bedrooms, will you, there’s a good chap? We’re expecting another guest shortly.’
‘Aye, aye, aye.’ The old man shot him a begrudging look as he shuffled off, carrying the enormous broom, and slammed the door behind him.
A visitor? Dec thought that was strange. He hadn’t spoken to Joel an hour ago. Could he have got here so fast? Come to think of it, Dec hadn’t even mentioned it to Knightly. ‘Did he phone you, then?’ he asked.
‘She,’ Knightly corrected him with a generous smile. ‘Yes, she did, early this morning. A young lady who read my book and is desperate for my expert advice. It seems her father has been attacked by a vampire. I always look after my fans, Declan. And she sounded very nice. Well, she’s certainly coming to the right place.’ Knightly clapped his hands. ‘Now, our training session. Today I’m going to instruct you on the mastery of one of the most vital weapons in our anti-vampire arsenal.’
‘The crossbow?’ Dec asked hopefully.
‘The sword, Declan, the sword. Now these,’ he said, walking over to the rack and taking one down, ‘are something really special. Japanese katanas, specially made for me by a venerable swordsmith in Kyoto. The blades are solid silver. Well, silver plated, in point of fact. Here, feel the balance.’
‘Nice,’ said Dec, who’d never held a sword before. ‘Are you really Reg Dibble?’ he wanted to ask – but kept his mouth shut.
‘Formidable tool,’ Knightly went on proudly. ‘Available to order from my website. I offer a ten per cent discount to readers of my book. Of course, we’re not going to fight with these. I wouldn’t like to injure you by accident.’ Opening a large drawer beneath the rack, he lifted out two flexible nylon training swords and tossed one to Dec. ‘Now, let me show you the moves. You go and stand over there. Good. Now, imagine, Declan, that you are the vampire and I am the hunter. I’m going to attack you by surprise and slice off your head. Have no fear, my boy: I’ve done this many times. The blade will stop just short of your neck. Stand very still.’
Hefting the training sword, Knightly limbered up with a few awkward leg-bends and arm-swings. Then he took a couple of deep breaths, let out a sudden roar and rushed at Dec with the sword raised, pirouetted like an ungainly ballet dancer and whooshed the nylon blade through the air, missing Dec by several feet and smashing one of the overhead neons, which rained bits of glass down on his head.
‘Of course,’ he panted, red-faced from the exertion, brushing glass out of his hair and crunching fragments underfoot, ‘that was deliberate. Just to give you an idea of the destructive range and power of this fearsome weapon.’
‘You carry on like that with a real sword, you’re going to slice your own head off,’ said a voice behind them.
The training sword fell out of Knightly’s hand. He and Dec whirled round simultaneously to see a young woman standing there. She was wearing a fleecy denim jacket, faded jeans, and there was a bag hanging off her shoulder. Her thick blond curls were tangled from the wind.
‘W-Who are you?’ Knightly stammered.
‘Old guy let me in here,’ she said, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder. ‘I’m Chloe Dempsey.’
Chapter Forty-Three
London
Horns blared angrily and headlights flashed as Ash cut up the afternoon traffic. After years of drifting around the countryside on foot it had been a long time since he’d been at the wheel of a car, and the fast BMW Gabriel Stone had provided for him was a thrill to drive. He could get used to this, he thought as he carved aggressively through another narrow gap, forcing a bus to squeal its brakes.
He wasn’t so sure he could get used to the suit and tie, though, or the false teeth he had to wear. He’d ditch them as soon as he could. Till then, they were all part of Stone’s plan and Ash wasn’t about to question the strict, detailed orders he’d been given.
Ash’s blinded eye had stopped suppurating now, but the lids were badly swollen shut and the black bruise had spread from cheekbone to eyebrow. He didn’t care about the pain, any more than he did about his lacerated right forearm. The pain just drove him on harder.
He smiled to himself as he glanced at the slim attaché case on the passenger seat. Inside, surrounded by a thick layer of lead lining, the cross nestled in a bed of soft velvet. He’d listened intently as Stone described exactly what he was to do with it. In order to become what he wanted to be, first he must destroy many of his future kind. Ash wasn’t interested in the reason why. There was nothing he wouldn’t destroy to win his reward. A whole undiscovered dreamworld had opened up in front of him and nothing could possibly stand in his way.
Which made it all the more frustrating when the traffic up ahead suddenly thickened and slowed to a standstill. More horns honked and blared impatiently all around him, but this time they were directed at the snarl-up that seemed to be caused by an accident a couple of hundred yards further up the street. An ambulance and a cop car were pulled up at the side of the road. In the flashing blue
of their lights, Ash caught a glimpse of paramedics carting some old guy into the back of the ambulance.
He thought about the blood-encrusted sword that lay wrapped up in his old greatcoat in the BMW’s boot. The old Ash, the one who hadn’t given a fuck about anything except killing people, would have got out of the car right now, popped the boot open and taken the sword out. These people who dared block his progress would soon have got out of the way when he started chopping a path through them. Police? Bring ’em on, he’d have thought to himself. Fuck ’em.
But that had been then, and this was now. Now things were different. Now he had something to lose by being reckless. And something to gain – an unimaginably huge amount to gain – by being smart.
As he watched, he saw a policewoman threading her way back down the line of waiting traffic, pausing to speak to the drivers. He sat impassively with his hands resting on the wheel until she reached his BMW, then rolled his window down and gave her a smile. It had been years since Ash had been able to smile without scaring a fellow human being half to death.
‘There’s been an accident up ahead, sir,’ the policewoman said, with a discreet glance at his bad eye. ‘Afraid there’s going to be a bit of a hold-up.’
‘Rotten luck. I hope nobody was hurt.’ Ash thought his put-on middle-class accent was pretty good. ‘Problem is, I’m in a bit of a hurry, officer.’ He reached across to the passenger seat and flipped open the catches of the attaché case to show her what was inside. ‘I’ve been restoring this old cross for St Mary’s. The bishop is attending a service there in just a few minutes’ time, and was going to bless it. I’ve been working on it day and night.’ He pointed at his eye. ‘Which as you can see is hard for me to do, with my illness. Still, my faith keeps me going.’
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