As ever, I paused before the plaque, seeing the latest names, the letters still raw and white against the black marble. Given enough time the letters would accumulate dust and dirt, despite the best efforts of the cleaners, and the paint that filled the engraved marks would turn a light cream color like all the rest. But for now the wounds were fresh.
I ran my fingertips over each name, whispering them, as if I needed to commit them to memory, fighting to swallow the lump in my throat.
Sixteen fresh names, in a massive slab of marble that already held two hundred and fifty-six.
I stepped back, snapped to attention, and saluted with the kind of precision that officers rarely warranted. I held the salute while my vision doubled and quadrupled, paying my respects to absent friends, treasured comrades, honored dead. I snapped my arm down and Marie put her hand on my shoulder, offering some small comfort.
“Mornin’ boss,” came a gravelly voice from down the corridor.
It was Cameron, the fifth member of my team. He was inmüt, a werewolf but, unlike Marie, he was stuck from birth in his wolf form. He was seven feet tall and built like a tank. One of the training rooms had a poster on the wall of Cam firing his modified GPMG and the caption ‘Werewolves with machine guns! We’re fucked!'. Not to be outdone I’d persuaded a group of pilots to allow me to take a picture of Cam in the cockpit of a Eurofighter, added the caption ‘Werewolves in fighter jets! Where is your God now?’ and stuck it up next to the original.
Cam, to his credit, thought both posters were hilarious.
“Morning Cam,” I replied.
“Morning ma’am,” he said, politely inclining his head towards Marie.
“Hello Cameron,” she replied.
“Sorry I’m late, boss,” he said. “I was with Father Fulton.”
Father Derek Fulton—nicknamed, with almost wearying inevitability, ‘Derek the cleric’—was the Army Catholic chaplain assigned to the Ministry. Cam was a gentle person who had been forced to participate in some truly heinous acts by a vampire Lord named Marcus Demios. He was now trying to work his way through the guilt with the aid of the priest.
“That’s okay,” I said. “The Minister is running late himself.”
“Himself?” said Cam.
“Yeah, apparently there’s been a change in command here,” I said. “We’ve got some new guy to train.”
This last had been said as I was opening the door.
“Yes, Jack,” said the Minister. “You do have some new guy to train.”
CHAPTER
4
I stood in the doorway, my mouth open. Sitting behind the desk was Colonel Tilehurst, my old C.O. from my Special Forces days. Gone, however, was his uniform and tan beret. In their place was a very sober suit.
“Boss?” I asked. “You’re our new Minister?”
“I am, indeed,” he replied gravely. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to get elected first.”
Unlike every other Minister in the government, the Minister for Paranormal Research and Defence didn’t need to be an elected MP first. The Minister was directly appointed by the Queen under advisement of the Chiefs of Staff Committee. There were those who were shrilly protesting that this violated everything back to, and including, the Magna Carta, but others felt that the Ministry was too important to be muddied by politics. The Minister wasn’t even a voting Member of Parliament, so it always seemed a little academic to me.
“So you decided to call us in to crack open the champers?” I asked as I took a seat.
“Do I look like I’m about to whip open a bottle of expensive fizzy French slop?” he asked.
“No, boss, you look like the cat that got the cream,” I replied. “Spill it, what’s up?”
Tilehurst had opened his mouth to reply when the phone rang and cut him off. He motioned us to wait and picked it up. I took advantage of the distraction and turned to John and Anna.
“How’s your dad?” I asked John quietly.
“Oh dad’s … dad,” he said with a smile. “He’s recovering. His doctor said he’ll be back on his feet in a few days and he’s already making a nuisance of himself with the nurses.”
“And your mum?” I asked.
“I think she’s more worried than she’s letting on,” said Anna. “About John and his dad.”
Tilehurst hung up the phone and sighed.
“So many things that people think require my time,” he said with a tight smile. “So, where were we?”
“You were about to tell us why we’re here,” I replied, sitting back in my chair.
“Are you aware of the saying that our colonial cousins have that goes ‘Only Nixon could go to China’?”
There followed what is generally known as a ‘pregnant pause’. Finally I gave up and broke it.
“You’re sending us to China?”
“So literal, Jack?”
I shrugged, deciding to stay silent.
“No, not China,” Tilehurst went on. “Yesterday morning the Ministry received a request from a foreign, though allied, government for, quote, the best vampire hunter available, unquote.”
“And they weren’t available?” I asked, deadpan.
“No, they’ll have to settle for your scrawny arse,” Tilehurst replied. “Given the fuss that’s building over last night, I thought it prudent to get you away for a while. Intel suggests that the vampire news channels are going to ride this incident to death. They will be reporting on how you’ll be popping up all over the country being dark and evil for the next few days so it’ll be nice to force them into an own goal. When you get back we’ll do a little press conference about how you were really away helping out an ally the entire time and grind their face in the lies. That’s not the real reason, of course. We seriously need allies like the government in question and a little bridge building never hurts.”
“Which government?” Anna asked.
“Give you three guesses,” said Tilehurst with a twitch of the corners of his mouth.
“Well,” she said. “Given what you said about Nixon and China, I’d guess either Vatican City, the USA, or France,” said Anna promptly.
“Give the lady a small prize,” said Tilehurst. “Right first time.”
“The Vatican?” I said, astounded. “What do they need a vampire hunter for?”
“To hunt vampires?” said John, one eyebrow raised.
“Officially you’ll be there in an advisory capacity, there to aid in the equipping and training of the Swiss Guard and the Vatican police. Unofficially, you’ll be there to aid the Vatican authorities in dealing with a series of attacks against various individuals. They didn’t supply us with too many of the boring details, but there was a strong smell of urgency about the request, so we’re guessing at least a few dead bodies.”
I sighed.
“We’re not going to have to meet the Pope, are we?” I asked.
“Apparently he’s quite excited to meet you, Jack,” Tilehurst said dryly. “Don’t worry, I’ve already informed them of your status as a hell-bound infidel. They won’t be expecting you to kiss his ring or call him ‘Holiness’. However, as a favor to Her Majesty we do ask that you don’t call him—” Tilehurst consulted a note, “a ‘dumb death-cultist with a Napoleon complex’ like you did the Archbishop of Canterbury.”
“Actually, the term I used was ‘imbecilic death-cultist with delusions of grandeur’ if I remember correctly.”
The incident, gleefully reported by certain newspapers, had happened a few weeks ago. The Archbishop had just given an interview in which he had claimed that only ‘good, church-going Christians’ could be vampire hunters and anyone else was doomed to failure. Someone asked me about it in a safe house one day and I’d answered, not knowing the person was a reporter.
I believe that at one point I might have shaken hands with Mr. Tact, but never got to know him very well.
“Okay,” I said, trying to turn businesslike. “When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow afternoo
n, which gives you plenty of opportunity to break another bed in the guest quarters.”
I cranked one eyebrow up to maximum height and gave my most unamused stare. I was getting a little tired of my relationship with Marie being the butt of so many jokes around the Ministry. Few people had the guts to repeat those jokes to my face—fewer still to Marie’s—but Tilehurst was a comrade and as much of a friend as a superior could be.
“Oh lose the sour look, Jack,” said Marie. “We did break a bed the last time we stayed here.”
“Granted, but that must have been shoddy manufacturing,” I said. “You weren’t riding me that hard.”
Actually, Marie had been on her back, in the throes of passion; she’d grabbed the headboard and yanked it clean off. The whole bed had collapsed, which didn’t slow us down for a second. Some things are more important than a collapsing bed.
I turned back to Tilehurst, trying to drag the conversation back on topic.
“What about weapons?” I asked.
“Were you using any?” John asked, sparking a round of suppressed laughter.
“You can take whatever you need,” said Tilehurst, trying not to grin. “But it has to be boxed up.”
“Why?” asked Cam.
“We’ll be sending you on Concorde,” Tilehurst explained. “The Vatican doesn’t have a runway, so you’ll be landing at the international airport in Rome. Leonardo da Vinci something-or-other. The Italian government is having enough of a fit allowing you through their territory without you guys stepping off the ‘plane looking like escapees from an action movie. Anything you can’t wear concealed needs to be in cases.”
“Understood, boss,” I said.
“Maybe you’ll get to ask the Pope where he shits,” said Marie.
Tilehurst gave me a long-suffering look as I fought not to laugh.
“Jack, under no circumstances are you to ask the Pope if he shits in the woods. Do I make myself clear?”
I grumbled a reluctant affirmative, not that I ever would have asked that question.
“Okay,” he said with an air of finality. “Everyone get the fuck out of my office and get ready to represent your country. Someone go find Bolt and tell him he's going with you. Not you, Jack. Sit the fuck down and stay the fuck there.”
John and Anna shot me puzzled looks as they rose, Marie looked more worried. Cam looked, as ever, furry and amused.
“Okay,” said Tilehurst once the door was closed. “I’m going to broach a subject I don’t want to broach and, having broached it, never broach it again. The only reason I’m broaching it now is so I can say I’ve broached it and, you may rest assured, any wanker who tries to broach it again will get my boot up their arse, understood?”
“Broach away, boss.”
“There are those, both inside and outside the Ministry who feel that your relationship with Ms Hennessey is inappropriate and that it is incumbent upon me to tell you to end it. I’ll accept any reply in five words or less.”
“Go and fuck yourself, boss.”
“Thought so. Glad we had this little chat.”
CHAPTER
5
We made ourselves comfortable in the big leather seats as the Concorde taxied onto the runway. The delta-winged supersonic passenger jets were decommissioned a few years ago after a series of horrific accidents, but the Royal Air Force, who had intended to use them as training tools, saved four from the scrap heap. Ground crew had not only identified the flaw that had led to the accidents, but came up with a brilliant solution, allowing the birds to return to service. Even so, no airline would touch them with a big stick. The RAF decided to keep them.
Now they were VIP transports, used for high level diplomatic flights and occasionally trotted out for ceremonial purposes. Inside they boasted the kind of luxury normally associated with the better class of hotel, perfect for ferrying civilian and military nobs around or, failing that, giving us a quick ride to Italy.
Admittedly we didn’t look out of place. John, Bolt and I were suited and booted, looking like we’d just broken out of the stock market. Anna was wearing a pinstripe pantsuit that made her look stern and sexy at the same time. With a pair of leather gloves and a broad-rimmed hat she would be able to endure daylight for an hour or so.
Marie looked like a sophisticated wet dream. She was wearing a dark red suit with a black silk blouse. The skirt ended an inch below her knees, showing off her stocking-clad calves to good effect. A pair of strappy black high heels completed the outfit. Under the suit she was wearing a flimsy black garter belt, black silk panties and a matching bra. I knew this for certain because this morning, when I’d first seen what she was wearing, I had planned and executed a reconnaissance mission behind enemy lines. A case of vidi, vici, veni, if you will.
The biggest surprise was Cam. Somehow, and I don’t know how, he’d managed to find a suit that fit him. It was dark gray, complete with a waistcoat and gold pocket watch. Granted, the shirt was stretched a little around his thick neck, his shiny black shoes were a slightly odd shape due to his clawed feet, and his tail looked a little silly sticking out of a hole in the back of his trousers, but overall the effect was pretty good. When he donned the trilby that completed his outfit he looked like a prosperous, if lupine, businessman.
Each of us was wearing a shoulder holster under our jackets. John, Bolt, Anna, Marie and I all had our service pistols. Cam had a specially made shoulder holster that contained a modified H&K MP7. Given his size the compact PDW barely made a bulge in his jacket.
The jet began to accelerate down the runway, the Rolls Royce Olympus engines building to a scream. Then, smooth and refined, the sleek aircraft was climbing into the air. There was a soft whirring noise and a barely noticeable bump as the wheels and the nose came up, and we were heading towards what was probably the most bizarre mission of my career.
Marie had opened a paperback novel and was quietly reading. I reached across and lifted the book with one finger, just enough to get a look at the cover. I groaned when I saw myself or, rather, what the Ministry thought of as me. More chisel-jawed, more steely-eyed, and more aggressively spiky-haired, but me nonetheless.
“Really?” I asked in a pained voice.
“Yep,” she said primly.
“Having the real thing in your life isn’t enough?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t sleep with this guy on a bet, my love,” she said. “He’s totally incapable of keeping it in his pants. All he does is kill vampires and then shag some whore, every single book.”
She turned to me and smiled sweetly.
“I much prefer the version who kills vampires and then shags me,” she said.
“Which one are you reading?” asked Anna.
“It’s ‘For Queen And Country’,” said Marie.
“Ah,” said Anna in a knowing voice. “Our boy has a threesome.”
“Really?” said Marie. “I haven’t got that far yet.”
“Oh yes. Our hero and another hunter spitroast a female police officer.”
Marie turned to me and lowered her voice.
“Spitroast?”
I rolled my eyes, trying to figure out how to explain it.
“Okay, the woman’s on her hands and knees, one guy taking her from behind, the other in her mouth,” I said.
“Huh,” said Marie, thinking about it for a second. “Sounds like fun.”
“It is,” said Anna quietly.
John’s head snapped up and he gave his wife a hard look.
“What?” she said. “You knew I wasn’t a virgin when we met, love of my life.”
He shook his head and sighed heavily.
“Oh put the black look away, stud,” said Anna. “You’ve done both ends—and more—since we got married, and you know you’re the best I’ve ever had.”
“Ooh, TMI,” I said quietly, which set Marie off giggling.
Anna sent me a frosty look and Cam rolled his eyes.
“As the single guy in the group,” he growled. “
I find this whole conversation inappropriate.”
“Oh piss off, fur face,” I said. “Single? My arse.”
Four pairs of wide eyes swiveled to stare at me.
“Oh, what?” I said. “I’m the only one who heard about it?”
Four pairs of eyes swiveled to stare at Cam.
“I’m the only one who heard that Kim had a fit because she caught you taking Siren out to dinner?”
Cam glared at me for a second and then hid behind his newspaper.
“I have no comment on that allegation,” he muttered.
“Some of the ladies at the Ministry have a thing for fur coats?” asked Anna.
Cam pointedly ignored her.
“One or two of the guys have a thing for fur coats, too,” said Marie in a quiet voice, nudging my calf with her shoe.
“One or two?” I asked.
“Well, one that I know of,” she said, nudging my leg again.
I smiled and gently stroked the back of her hand with one finger.
Anna was smiling at us; a wide grin that showed off her slightly elongated canines, and suddenly something occurred to me. Anna didn’t grin much. Oh, she smiled a lot, but very rarely did those smiles expose her fangs. When she was alone with the team or with others who knew her well she was more relaxed. I’d never really thought about how hard it must be for her, being a vampire in England. Not everyone would know she was one of the good guys.
“Something on your mind, boss?” she asked when she noticed my gaze.
“Not really,” I said. “Just thinking. How’s things with you? Everyone treating you okay?”
“Most,” she said, giving me that wide smile again. “Most in the Ministry know me.”
“Good,” I said. “How about you, Cam? Any trouble fitting in?”
The big werewolf shrugged.
“Nobody dares say anything to my face,” he said with a toothy grin.
“Well, if either of you have any problems, let me know, okay?”
“Yes, mummy,” said Cam.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m serious. Anyone gives you any crap, I wanna know.”
Crusader (MPRD Book 2) Page 3