Department 19: Battle Lines (19 page)

Greg was extremely familiar with what North was talking about; he and his wife had done exactly the same thing when Matt had been returned to them, erasing the men in black and the girl and the helicopter from their previously well-ordered life.

“I know what you mean, mate,” he said, softly. “Trust me.”

There was silence for a long moment, but it was far from uncomfortable; it was the easy quiet of two people who are beginning to think they have found a kindred spirit.

“It’s weird,” said North, eventually. “I don’t talk much to anyone these days. It doesn’t seem worth the effort when I don’t trust anything I hear. Cops, government, TV, the papers. It’s all bullshit. I’m not saying I trust you, because I don’t, not yet. But even if you are just one of the men in black waiting to arrest me when you’ve found out how much I know, it’s good to be able to talk to someone. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” replied Greg, instantly. “Part of me will always wish I didn’t know the things I know. I never wanted to. It all got dumped on me, and then I was told to shut up and forget it all ever happened. So this is good, mate. It’s a good thing.”

“I go to the mainland every week or so,” said North. “You know where I live, so that shouldn’t be a surprise. I go to Keswick, or up to Alnwick, sometimes all the way to Berwick, and I watch people. I watch them doing their shopping, holding hands, shouting at their kids, running for buses, and I feel jealous. I
envy
them for the things they don’t know, for the way they just live their lives one day to the next, not knowing the dangers that are all around them. I sometimes wish I could go back to that, like you said. But I know I can’t.”

“Neither can I,” said Greg. “We play the cards we’ve been dealt, right?”

“Right,” replied North. “I don’t care what happens to me any more and that’s the truth. My life ended when my daughter was taken away. But that doesn’t mean I
want
to die, at least not yet. What I
want
to do is get even, figure out a way to pay them back for what they did. And I want to warn everyone that what happened to you and me could happen to them next.”

“How?” asked Greg. “I want that too, mate, but how? If we start telling people, we’ll disappear. You know that as well as I do. And no one will believe us anyway.”

“I know,” said North. “We need someone with a bigger voice than ours, someone it won’t be so easy for them to shut up.”

“And we’ll need proof,” said Greg, thinking about the blank faces of his neighbours, the scared expression of the policeman who had told him that there was nothing he could do about Matt’s disappearance, that an order had come down from the highest levels telling him to drop it. “If we had proof, maybe we could find a journalist who would do something. I mean, it’s the biggest story in the world, mate. If we could persuade someone to run it, that is.”

“What proof could we get?” asked North. “I’ve got nothing apart from what I saw. Have you?”

“No,” replied Greg. “Nothing.”

There was a second silence, longer than the first, which only ended when Greg’s mobile phone began to beep. He picked it up from the surface of Matt’s desk and saw that it had been four minutes since they had started talking.

“I’m going to get off,” he said. He could hear the sadness in his own voice; he knew that when the connection was cut, he would be on his own again. “But we need to speak soon. We need to work out what the hell we’re going to do.”

“Agreed,” said North. “I’ll be in touch. Good to talk to you.”

“You too, mate,” said Greg. He reached out and clicked the red button marked END, his hand trembling slightly as he shut down the computer.

He’d taken the first step. There was no going back.

The waitress set a bowl of chicken salad large enough to feed a family of five down in front of Larissa, rousing her from her thoughts and returning her to the fluorescent surroundings of Sam’s Diner. She thanked the woman and began to eat.

Her mind, as it often did, had drifted to Jamie. She was looking forward to calling him, once the time difference allowed it; it was the middle of the night in the UK, and she didn’t want to wake him up. They had last spoken three days earlier and things had seemed fine, superficially at least; she had asked about Kate and Matt, about his mum, about Frankenstein and the Department he had been born to be a part of, and Jamie had answered her with his usual enthusiasm, updating her on the new Lazarus Project, on Kate’s painful decision to join ISAT, and the ongoing efforts to bring Blacklight back to full strength. He had told her he missed her and she had replied in kind, instantly and truthfully.

But in the middle of the conversation there had been a space, a hole that they both seemed to be aware of, but which neither of them mentioned. Larissa knew it came from her, from the same issue she had been wrestling with since shortly after her arrival in Nevada, that she could still not yet bring herself to raise with her boyfriend.

Or with anyone else.

She finished her mouthful of food and took a long swallow of her root beer, the dark pungent liquid that was just one of the many small delights that NS9 had to offer.

“You still with us, Larissa?” The voice was gentle and full of mockery, and she smiled. Kara, one of NS9’s squadron of helicopter pilots, was looking at her with a quizzical expression; her bright green eyes, full of humour, shone out against her dark brown skin and jet-black hair.

“Sorry,” she replied, her smile widening. “I was just wondering what the chances were of me finding some more interesting dinner company.”

Kara burst out laughing as Danny and Kelly, both Operators in their second years of service with NS9, bellowed in mock offence. Kelly, the tall, heavy-set Tennessee girl who had grown up on the banks of the Mississippi, pounded her hand on the table, her face a mask of perfect outrage. Danny, the loud, gregarious Virginian son of parents whose exploits in the CIA were still classified at the highest level, made as if to stand up and leave, so disgusted was he by Larissa’s insult.

Aaron, the pale, quiet Israeli intelligence analyst who looked like a librarian but refused to talk about the things he had done as a member of Mossad before coming to Nevada, grabbed Danny’s shoulders and pulled him back down into his chair, laughing as he did so. Larissa observed this pantomime with a comforting warmth spreading through her chest.

Her secondment to NS9 was a bridge-building mission, part of the new commitment made by the supernatural Departments of the world to pool their resources and intelligence, a commitment forged in the aftermath of the attack on the Loop and the abduction of Henry Seward. She had been ordered to spend two months in Nevada, during which time she was to select six American Operators who would help fill the holes left by Valeri Rusmanov’s assault. Operators had been despatched to every Department in the world, with similar assignments; when they were complete, Blacklight would be the first fully multi-national Department, staffed by men and women of every race and nationality.

Out of the corner of her eye, Larissa noticed Tim Albertsson looking at her. Tim had been the second person she had met when she arrived in the western desert, and was technically her direct superior for the duration of her stay, although he had never given any impression that he thought of them as anything other than equals, and tended to phrase his ideas for how she should spend her time as requests, rather than orders. The Special Operator was immensely popular within NS9: polite, gregarious, effortlessly charming.

And clearly, obviously, attracted to her.

Larissa was not by nature an arrogant person, but she was sure that her reading of the situation was correct. She was mostly flattered, although part of her found it slightly disconcerting; Tim Albertsson was twenty-five years old and, although she was twenty herself, almost twenty-one, she still looked like she was seventeen.

I always will, thanks to Grey
, she thought.
Stuck at seventeen while everyone around me gets old. Brilliant.

Nonetheless, she liked Tim. He was open and positive and generous, and she couldn’t resist flirting with him, just a little. She certainly wasn’t encouraging him to do anything about the feelings she was sure he had for her, at least not consciously; she was in love with Jamie and would never do anything to hurt him. But he was a long way away, and she couldn’t help enjoying the fact that Tim liked her.

The fact that they spent most of their time together did not help the situation. Tim had asked her to help him train a new intake of NS9 recruits, which was apparently one of the areas of responsibility that came with his mysterious rank. They had been working on the same group of nervous, eager men and women for more than a week now, and today had been the day that Tim had asked her to show them what they were really dealing with.

Nine nervous faces stared at Tim and Larissa.

The recruits were in a line at one end of the NS9 physical training facility, the round room that had been the direct inspiration for the Loop’s Playground. For eight days, they had been put through their paces under Tim’s watchful eye, while Larissa observed from behind the one-way glass of the observation gallery, offering comments and suggestions when it seemed appropriate. The recruits had run, and fought, and run, and fought. They had been dragged through the endless gleam of the White Sands desert for forty-eight punishing hours, forced to endure the sucking anguish of sleep deprivation, challenged to improvise and plan as their minds and bodies screamed for rest. They had practised endlessly with the tools of their new trade: the T-Bone pneumatic stake launcher, the Heckler & Koch MP7 submachine gun, the HK416 assault rifle, the Glock 17, the UV beam guns and grenades. They had been taught strategy and tactics, urban and rural pacification, use and maintenance of vehicles, and hand-to-hand combat, with no credit given for whatever training they had done in the past. Every one of them was bruised and every one of them had bled on the dark blue floor of the room they were standing in.

None had quit.

Now, for the first time, Larissa was standing before them, listening as Tim introduced her.

“Larissa Kinley is a Department 19 Lieutenant, ladies and gentlemen. She’s also a vampire. If anyone has a problem with that, raise your hand now and I’ll be happy to show you exactly how much patience I have for ignorance in my recruits. Anyone?”

No one raised their hand, but Larissa felt nine pairs of eyes settle on her. She knew part of it was the mention of Department 19; Blacklight was the original supernatural Department and was still revered by the Operators of its global counterparts. But mostly it was the word vampire; she knew that she was the first member of her species that these men and women had ever seen, and that they were curious to see exactly what she was capable of. She could tell from their expressions that several of them were afraid of her. She took no pleasure in it, although she was glad, for their sakes; being scared of vampires was, as far as she was concerned, the only rational response.

“All right,” said Tim. “Larissa has very kindly offered to help with today’s combat training. I don’t like your chances, I’ll tell you that now, but maybe one or two of you will surprise me. Larissa?”

“Thank you,” she said, stepping forward. “Get your T-Bones.”

The recruits glanced at each other; they were wearing their training uniforms, but were carrying no weapons.

“This is an unarmed session, Larissa,” said Tim. “Non-lethal.”

“Don’t worry,” she replied, glancing over at him. “Tell them to get their weapons. It’ll be OK.”

Tim shrugged and gave her an I-hope-you-know-what-you’re-doing look. Then he turned back to the recruits, who were staring at each other uncertainly.

“You heard the Operator!” he yelled. “Weapons and kit, on the double! Move!”

The recruits scattered away to the far end of the training room and began attaching belts and weapons to their training uniforms. It took a long time, Larissa noted; it was not yet a process that had become second nature. Eventually, they reformed their line, T-Bones resting awkwardly in their gloved hands.

“That’s my first lesson to you,” said Larissa, walking down the line. “Never, ever get into physical proximity with a vampire unless you don’t have a single weapon left. T-Bones, guns, beams, grenades: use them all before you even think about going hand to hand. Is that understood?” The recruits nodded. “OK,” she said, smiling encouragingly at them. “Try to shoot me.”

The trainees looked uncertainly at each other. “Who are you talking to?” asked a female recruit at one end of the line, who had presumably summoned up all her courage to do so.

“All of you,” replied Larissa. Then she flexed a muscle that, of all the people in the room, only she possessed. Her fangs slid down from her gums and her eyes flooded a deep, glowing crimson. The recruits took a communal half-step backwards, their eyes widening and shifting as one to Tim. The Special Operator shrugged, trying not to let his emotions show on his face; he was worried, as this was far from an authorised training session, but part of him was telling him he didn’t need to be. The recruits nervously raised their T-Bones and pointed them at Larissa.

“Do it,” she growled, and they opened fire.

Nine stakes screamed through the air. Larissa leapt from the ground, quicker than human eyes could clearly follow, and pirouetted backwards, spinning through the air as a black blur and two trailing lines of red. As she shot towards the wall, her hands flew out and caught the T-Bone wires; she gave them a sharp yank and the weapons flew out of the recruits’ hands, sending several of them crashing to the floor. Larissa stopped spinning and floated in the air above their heads, looking down at them with red eyes and an expression of disappointment.