Battle Lines

Jamie felt his eyes begin to close, even though he had only woken up three hours earlier, to find a box in the middle of his console’s screen telling him that he had a message waiting from Larissa. He had pressed OPEN and read the lines of text that appeared.

Hey! Hope you’re OK? Will be awake for the next hour or so if you’re around and fancy giving me a call… x

Jamie had checked the time stamp on the message. It had arrived at 7:30am, when he had apparently been so soundly asleep that he hadn’t even heard it beep. He had quickly done the time-zone maths in his head.

Half past eleven in Nevada. Late.

He had considered calling her anyway – he didn’t think she would be too annoyed if he woke her up – but had decided to let her sleep. Now, as he contemplated the scale and horror of what he had just been told in the Ops Room, he wished he had made the call; it would have been good to hear a genuinely friendly voice. For a second, he considered walking round and knocking on the door to the quarters next to his own, the quarters occupied, technically at least, by one of his best friends, but knew it would be a waste of time.

Matt Browning was almost never in his room these days, unless he was asleep. Jamie knew he had turned down the chance to move into one of the larger quarters inside the Lazarus security perimeter, and while he admired the reasoning behind his friend’s refusal, a spirited attempt to avoid devoting his every waking moment to his work, he thought it had, in fact, been largely pointless. Matt’s life now revolved entirely around the Lazarus Project, and that was that. Jamie missed his friend, but wasn’t annoyed with him; how could he be, when what Matt had devoted himself to was arguably the most important project being carried out in the whole of Blacklight? However, he did think he should try to press Matt into having a drink in the officers’ mess, or at least into sharing a table at lunch; it had been a while since they had talked for longer than a minute or two in a corridor, when both were on their way somewhere else.

On the other hand, it had been barely seventy-two hours since he had talked to Larissa, but he still missed her terribly. They had spoken for almost an hour over a secure video connection, Jamie battered and bloodied by the operation he had just returned from, Larissa bright and smiling, eight hours behind him, her day just getting under way. The pleasure and excitement in her voice as she told him about Dreamland, the NS9 base, and the men and women who inhabited it, was bittersweet to his ears. He knew she had been furious with Holmwood for selecting her for the NS9 secondment, and he knew she missed him as much as he missed her, but she now had a levity about her that he both relished and feared.

He was happy that she was happy: God knows she deserved it after what had happened to her over the last few years, and what had been done to her during the attack on the Loop, when she had been burned down to little more than bones. But he was also jealous of her temporary new life, away from the darkness that surrounded Blacklight, that seemed to follow him wherever he went; jealous that she was meeting new people and experiencing new places, new things. And a tiny piece of him, the vicious, self-loathing part that had been birthed by his father’s death and nourished by years of bullying and loneliness, kept asking the same two questions, whispering them in the darkest recesses of his mind.

What if she forgets about me? What if she doesn’t want to come back?

He pushed such miserable thoughts aside and climbed off his bed. He pulled a bottle of water out of the small fridge beneath his desk and headed out into the corridor, pulling the door to his quarters closed behind him, trying to focus on nothing more than the task at hand.

Jamie logged in to the terminal at the front of Briefing Room 4 and found his squad’s target list waiting for him. He moved it up on to the wall screen behind him, and waited for the rest of his newly activated squad to arrive.

They kept him waiting for less than two minutes. Morton and Ellison burst through the door, clad in their dark blue training uniforms, red-faced from what Jamie knew would have been several minutes of running along the curving corridors of Level 0 in search of the right room. They were caked in sweat and drying blood, but their faces wore identical expressions of determined enthusiasm.

“Good to see you both,” said Jamie. “Get lost on the way up here?”

Morton looked about to deny it, but Ellison opened her mouth first. “Yes, sir,” she said. “The corridors all look the same, sir.”

“You’ll get used to it,” said Jamie, and smiled at his squad mates. “Trust me.”

The two rookies nodded, clearly relieved.

“Take a seat,” Jamie said, motioning towards the empty plastic chairs that surrounded the long table in the middle of the room. Morton and Ellison did as they were told as Jamie watched them, wondering if he had been so nervous and eager to please when he first arrived at the Loop.

I don’t think I was, he thought. I didn’t give a damn about anything apart from my mum. I acted like I owned the place.

He flushed at the memory, but only slightly. He had done what he needed to do to get his mother back, and that was all that had mattered. He knew he had annoyed plenty of Operators in the process, and that not all of them had forgiven him for what they had perceived as arrogance and a disrespectful attitude.

“Operators,” he said, his voice even. “This morning, Interim Director Holmwood authorised MOVING SHADOWS, a Priority Level 1 operation being carried out by the entire active roster of this Department. What you can see on the screen behind me is our little piece of it.” He tapped a series of keys on the console’s touch screen and the first name on the target list was replaced by a digital scan of a hospital admission record. “Last night,” he continued, “an unknown vampire force conducted a mass escape from Broadmoor Hospital in Berkshire. Surveillance footage and satellite thermal imaging suggest that all released patients have been intentionally turned, and Science Division analysis indicates that they are significantly more powerful than usual newly-turned vampires. All of which means we now have almost three hundred potentially highly dangerous vampires on the loose. MOVING SHADOWS is a search and destroy mission, intended to eliminate this new threat in as short a timeframe as possible. Any questions so far?”

Morton raised his hand and Jamie nodded. “Why are you telling us this, sir?” he asked.

“Your training has been suspended,” replied Jamie. “As of right now, you are active Operators in Department 19, until such time as this operation is concluded. When it is, you go back to the Playground. But not until then. Do you understand?”

Morton nodded, the colour draining from his face. Ellison looked at him with wide eyes as she raised her hand.

“Yes?” said Jamie.

“You said search and destroy, sir,” said Ellison. “Right?”

“That’s right.”

“How is that going to work?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, people are going to expect the patients to be found, sir. The media is going to go absolutely crazy, and the families of the escapees are going to demand to know what happened. We’re talking about vulnerable people here, sir, people with severe psychiatric issues.”

“Not any more,” said Morton. “Now we’re talking about vampires.”

Ellison shot her squad mate an extremely sharp glance, then returned her attention to Jamie.

“The media doesn’t know anything yet,” he said. “When it leaks, which we have to assume it will, we’ll make sure they don’t run it. Anyone who lives near the hospital is being handled, and when it becomes necessary to tell the public about what happened to the patients of Broadmoor, the Security Division will devise a cover story. I’ve no idea what that will be, before you ask, and it’s not something you need to worry about. What you do need to worry about are the five vampires we’ve been ordered to destroy.”

“OK, sir,” said Ellison, although unease had clearly settled over her. Morton gave her a furious look, then whispered something Jamie didn’t catch. Ellison turned on him, her eyes blazing with anger, and opened her mouth to reply.

“Operators!” barked Jamie, causing them both to jump in their seats. “This is not a training exercise. This is the real thing. You will give me your complete attention right now or I’ll assume that you aren’t ready for this and send you back downstairs. Is that what you want?”

“No, sir,” they chorused.

“Good,” replied Jamie. “That’s good. Because this is a Priority Level 1 operation, the kind that Operators die on. The footage demonstrating the power of these escaped vampires is extremely disconcerting, so let’s focus, shall we? I want us armed and triple-checked and ready to go in one hour, so it might be useful for us to know who the hell we’re looking for.”

Morton and Ellison leant forward, their attention fully focused on their squad leader. Jamie forced a tension-breaking smile and began to brief them on what was waiting for them beyond the walls of the Loop, knowing even as he did so that nothing he said could truly prepare them.

I’ll just be pleased if I bring them both back alive.

8

THE LOST HARKER

THREE MONTHS EARLIER

TRANSCRIPT

INTERVIEW WITH ALBERT HARKER. JUNE 12 2002

(tape begins)

JOHNNY SUPERNOVA: Right, it’s on.

ALBERT HARKER: What’s on?

JS: The tape recorder. It’s recording.

AH: Oh. Fine.

JS: Please say your name for the tape.

AH: Albert Harker.

JS: OK. I’m going to call you Albert, if that’s cool?

AH: That’s fine.

JS: So. Albert. You approached me and offered me this interview. Why don’t you start by telling me why.

AH: Thank you. I wanted to give this interview so that people know the truth.

JS: The truth about what?

AH: About vampires, Mr Supernova. About Blacklight. About my family.

JS: Now you see, my bullshit detector just went off straight away. Because you just said the word vampires.

AH: That’s right. I did.

JS: Well, let’s get this out there then. Your position, what you’re saying to me, is that vampires are real? They exist, right now, in the real world.

AH: That’s correct.

JS: And why would you expect me to believe something so ridiculous?

AH: Because it’s the truth.

JS: Do you have any proof? Anything to back up your claim?

AH: Just my word.

JS: I sent a car to collect you for this interview from a homeless shelter, Albert. I can see needle tracks on both your arms. And you think I should take your word for something like this?

AH: That’s entirely up to you, Mr Supernova. I can’t make that decision for you.

JS: Oh, I’ll make it for myself, don’t you worry about that. So. Before we get on to the supposed existence of these vampires, tell me something else. Tell me how you would be in a position to know about them, if they were real. Because it seems to me like everyone else thinks they’re fiction, and I’ve got to tell you, you’re off to a pretty bad start when it comes to being convincing.

AH: You are aware of my surname?

JS: I am.

AH: And, as a journalist, I would presume that you are a well-read man?

JS: I suppose so. Reasonably.

AH: And you don’t see the connection?

(pause)

JS: Dracula. You’re talking about Dracula?

AH: Very good, Mr Supernova. Dracula, yes. My great-grandfather was Jonathan Harker, the hero of Stoker’s story. Which, in truth, was a work of historical fact, rather than the fiction it has been portrayed as.

JS: You take a lot of heroin, don’t you, Albert?

AH: That is immaterial.

JS: So Dracula wasn’t a story. It really happened. Am I understanding you here?

AH: You are. It happened much as Stoker wrote it down. He overheard the tale from Abraham Van Helsing, who he crossed paths with here in London.

JS: Van Helsing was real too?

AH: Obviously. The sooner you get your head around these simple facts, the quicker and less painful this process will become.

JS: Don’t get snippy with me, mate. Remember who’s paying who.

AH: I apologise. Yes, Mr Supernova, Van Helsing was real, as was John Seward, and Quincey Morris, and Arthur Holmwood, whose great-grandson sits in the House of Lords as we speak. And so was my great-grandfather. They were all as real as you and I.

JS: Meaning Dracula was real too.

AH: Correct. He was real, and he died, as Stoker described. And my ancestor and his friends came home. But Dracula was not the only vampire in the world, merely the first. Others followed, in time.

JS: And?

AH: And my great-grandfather and his friends were given the authority to deal with them. On behalf of the Empire.

JS: By who?

AH: By Prime Minister William Gladstone. In 1892.

(pause)

JS: You’re serious, aren’t you? This isn’t a wind-up.

AH: I am deadly serious, Mr Supernova. This is the biggest secret in the world, a secret that my family and others have kept for more than a century. And I’m telling it to you.

JS: Why? I mean, apart from the money.

AH: My family and I are… not close.

JS: So you’re doing this out of spite? I mean, if this is all real, if you’re not crazy, then my guess is you’re going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble if I find someone to run this.

AH: That’s my problem. But yes, I imagine they won’t be thrilled.

JS: Are you in danger? More importantly, am I?

AH: Not as far as I know. But I offer no guarantees, Mr Supernova. Blacklight operates entirely outside the laws that govern you and I.

JS: Blacklight?

AH: The organisation that hunts vampires and keeps them secret. That’s not its real name, but is what it has always been called. It evolved from the four men who survived the encounter with Dracula.

JS: What is it?

AH: I’ve never seen the inside of it. But it’s something like a special forces unit for the supernatural.

JS: Whoa, whoa. You’ve never seen it?

AH: Not from the inside, Mr Supernova. It is the most highly classified organisation in the country. But there are traditions that concern the descendants of the original members, the founders. We are automatically given the chance to join when we turn twenty-one.

JS: And I presume you said no?

AH: I did.

JS: Why?

AH: Because I had no desire to spend my life chasing monsters. And because there are few things I have ever wanted less than to be anything like my father.

(pause)

JS: Why’s that, Albert?

AH: Because he was a bully, a sadist and a fraud, who played favourites. He loved my brother while he tolerated me, and made it abundantly clear to everyone.

JS: But when the time came, he still asked you to join this Blacklight?

AH: I have no doubt that it broke his heart to do so. But he was bound by the rules, by the traditions of the organisation he gave his life to. I’ve come to believe it was the only thing he ever truly cared about. So, yes, when I turned twenty-one, he asked me. I’ve never seen him happier than when I turned him down.

JS: So how does it work? You wake up on your birthday and your dad comes into your room and says ‘Hi, son, by the way, vampires are real, I’m part of a secret organisation that fights them and now you get the chance to be too’?

(Harker laughs)

AH: Pretty much. He used a lot more words than that, most of which were honour, and duty, and sacrifice. But yes, that’s about it.

JS: And so you said no. How did he react?

AH: He looked like the cat that got the cream. Then he shouted at me for about an hour, called me a coward and a baby, and told me he was embarrassed that I was his son. It went perfectly for him.

JS: How so?

AH: Because he was allowed to openly hate me, Mr Supernova. I finally gave him a good enough reason, by turning down his life’s work. And he didn’t have to have me there with him every day. I don’t know what he’d have done if I had said yes.

(pause)

JS: But you didn’t. So what happened then? He tells you this massive secret, and everyone normally says yes, but you say no. How does that work?

AH: He warned me not to tell anyone what I’d heard, said that they’d lock me up if I did, and that no one would believe me anyway. A couple of days later he brought me a form to sign, some version of the Official Secrets Act. And that was that. We never talked about it again.

JS: You mentioned your brother. He joined?

AH: Of course. Of course he did. He was my father in miniature. He couldn’t wait.

JS: So what did you do instead?

AH: Finished university. Moved to London. Discovered drugs. Became very, very fond of them.

JS: How did your family react to that?

AH: They cut me off the first chance they got. Said I was a stain on the family name, that I was no longer welcome at home. They turned their back on me, Mr Supernova.

JS: Bastards.

(pause)

AH: On several occasions I would be at a party, or in a bar, and I would catch someone staring at me, someone who didn’t look like they belonged with me and my friends. And a couple of times I got home and knew someone had been in my flat. Nothing was missing or out of place. It was professional work. But I knew. So I suppose they kept an eye on me, in their own way.

JS: Because they were worried you might talk?

AH: I don’t know. I imagine so.

JS: But you never did. Until now, at least. Why not?

AH: I wanted to forget everything. I didn’t care about their stupid little department, and I doubted anyone would believe me. So I tried to let it go.

JS: Why now then?

AH: Spite, Mr Supernova, as you said. And justice. And because I’m sick of carrying this around with me. I want to be rid of it.

(pause)

JS: This is good stuff, you know? The black sheep son of a noble family cut off and left to rot, heroin, homelessness, people following you, going through your stuff. It’s juicy, mate. Very juicy. But there’s still one problem.

AH: Which is?

JS: Vampires. Blacklight. I just… I can’t see a way that anything you’re telling me is the truth.

AH: I understand your position, Mr Supernova. Better than you realise, believe me. But it is the truth. I can tell you what my father told me, and that’s all. Beyond that, you’re on your own.

JS: Tell me.

AH: I’m afraid I can’t duplicate the pathetic awe in my father’s voice, but I can still remember most of what he said. I’ve already told you that Blacklight was founded in the late nineteenth century. Well, in the hundred or so years since, it’s changed rather a lot. My father told me it started out as four men in a house on Piccadilly, but now it’s more like the SAS, a classified special forces unit that polices the supernatural. I doubt you’ll find it mentioned officially anywhere, but you’re welcome to try and prove me wrong. As for the vampires? Nobody knows what made Dracula more than human, but what is known is that he was the first. After he died, he left a handful of vampires behind, vampires that he had personally turned. They turned others, and so on, and so on. The rise in vampire numbers is what prompted the expansion of Blacklight.

JS: What about the vampires themselves? Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m saying that word, but what are they about? They, what, swoop around in the night, changing into bats and wolves?

AH: No, Mr Supernova. The shape-changing was added by Bram Stoker for the entertainment of his readers, as was the susceptibility to crosses and holy water. They don’t work. Nor does garlic or running water. The rest of it, though, is true. They’re strong, and fast, and vulnerable to sunlight. Their eyes glow red. And they need to drink blood to survive.

JS: What kind of blood?

AH: Any, as far as I am aware.

JS: Human?

AH: Yes. Of course.

JS: So they bite people?

AH: They do. They bite people, and if their victim doesn’t die, they turn into a vampire as well.

JS: So why aren’t there thousands of them? Why don’t I see them on every street corner?

AH: As far as I understand, it’s because very few of their victims survive. And because Blacklight works very hard to keep them secret.

(pause)

JS: What do you want me to do with all this, Albert?

AH: I don’t understand the question.

JS: You’re a smart man. You know every editor in the country is going to laugh me out of their office if I write this up and submit it. Nobody is going to believe it. I’m sitting here looking at you and I believe you mean every word you’ve said, but even I can’t accept it as the truth. I just don’t see how it can be. How come nobody has ever broken ranks before? Why has no vampire ever come forward? Why aren’t the papers full of missing persons and bodies found drained of blood? You see what I’m saying?

AH: You are a journalist, aren’t you?

JS: Yeah.

AH: Then do your job. Everything I’ve told you is the truth. So dig, Mr Supernova. Find out what you can. If you can’t find anything to back up what I’m saying, then forget it, with my blessing. But if you can, if you can find any tiny little thing that corroborates what I’ve told you, you will find yourself in possession of the biggest exclusive in the history of humanity. Surely that’s worth a few days of your time, even if all it does is confirm that you were right about me all along. As for why nobody has ever broken ranks? I would imagine that the members of Blacklight would find it very difficult to speak to anyone without being monitored, and even if they did, I’m sure they would swiftly find themselves facing a court-martial. And the vampires? Why would they make themselves known? So that all their potential victims know they exist, so that the government can declare open war on them? And finally, Mr Supernova, I’m sorry to have to tell you that the papers are full of missing persons, and people who have had terrible things done to them. And that’s not even allowing for the hundreds of dead and disappeared who never make the pages of the tabloids.

(pause)

JS: I think we’re done here, Albert.

AH: I think so too.

JS: Where can I find you? If I need to follow up on any of this.

AH: You can’t. If I’m still alive in a few months’ time, if neither the vampires nor Blacklight get me, I’ll find you.

JS: This is ridiculous. You know that, don’t you? It’s nuts.

AH: Just do your job, Mr Supernova. That’s the only advice I have for you. Treat it like any other story and see what you can turn up. I wish you the very best of luck, I honestly do.

JS: Cheers. I think.

(tape ends)

Kevin McKenna dropped the transcript on to his desk and exhaled heavily; it felt like he had been holding his breath the entire time he had been reading. The dead cigarette fell from his lips, making him jump; he had forgotten all about it.

Jesus, Johnny, he thought. How desperate were you?

The transcript was nonsense, so much so that McKenna felt almost embarrassed for his former mentor. This kind of tattling, tabloid silliness was so far beneath the Johnny Supernova he had once known that it made him genuinely sad.

Things must have been so much worse than I realised. The Johnny I used to know would have laughed this guy out of his flat.

McKenna got up from his chair and flicked through the rest of the folder. It contained four or five pages of notes, written in Johnny Supernova’s distinctive sloping scrawl. He gathered them up, held them over the wire rubbish bin that sat beside his desk, then paused.