Department 19: Battle Lines (55 page)

“And my family?”

Allen looked away.

“What about my family, Bob?”

“I can’t tell you what Cal will do,” said Allen, looking straight at his friend. “But I know what I would do.”

“What would you do?”

“I’d forbid you from ever contacting either of them,” said Allen. “Jamie is an Operator and Marie is in Blacklight custody, and they both think you’re dead. I wouldn’t let you anywhere near them, at least until the Dracula situation is resolved.
If
it gets resolved.”

An uneasy silence hung in the air for a long moment, thick with the dismal prospect that Bob Allen had described. Julian couldn’t believe that Cal Holmwood would do that to him, not after all the years they had fought alongside each other, but he knew that his friend was suggesting a genuine possibility. If they wanted to keep him away from his family, it would be easy for them to do so.

Their case for doing so would also be easy to make: that his return would provide a distraction to a serving Operator as they approached potentially the darkest period in their long history. He was sure that Marie and Jamie would be furious if they found out, but therein lay the central problem; with his son and his wife living inside the Loop, merely letting them know he was still alive would be almost impossible.

“I hope you’re wrong, Bob,” he said, eventually.

“So do I, Julian,” replied Allen. “More than you know.”

The two men sat in silence for a long while; both of them looked old and tired, the cumulative wear and tear of years spent walking into the darkest corners stood out in the deep lines on their faces.

“Is it worth it?” said Julian, suddenly.

“Is what worth what?”

“What we do,” he said. “Everything we’ve done and everything we’ve given. Was it worth it? Did we ever do anything good, Bob?”

There was a long pause. “I don’t know,” said Allen. “There are people who are alive because of the things we did. That has to count for something.”

“There are just as many who are dead, maybe even more,” said Julian. “Men and women we killed because they were vampires, not because of anything they’d done. I think of some of the things I’ve done and I can’t even begin to imagine how I justified doing them.”

“Orders,” said Allen. “Following orders.”

Julian grunted. “Right,” he said. “I’ve heard that excuse before, Bob. Heard it used to excuse the same thing in fact: destroying people because of what they are, not what they’ve done.”

“Jesus, Julian,” said Allen. “I get it, you’re locked up down here and everything looks black. But don’t do this to yourself.”

“Do you remember Kosovo, Bob?” he asked.

“I remember.”

“What was that, 1999? 2000? Christ, I can’t even remember.”

“It was ’99,” said Bob, his voice low.

“There was that Albanian girl in the square. Do you remember her? What the vamps had done to her?”

“Yeah,” said Allen. “I remember.”

“We found them up in that barn behind the church,” said Julian. “The vamps and their women and their kids.”

“Julian…” said Allen, helplessly.

“We started shooting, and then I grabbed my stake, and when it was over, I couldn’t lift my arm above my shoulder for two days. I remember
that
, Bob. I’ve tried to forget it, but I can’t. I just can’t.”

“We did what we had to do,” said Allen. “What we were ordered to do. They were killers, Julian, we saw what they’d done with our own eyes.”

“The men,” said Julian. “But the women? The kids? What had they done to deserve a stake?”

Allen didn’t answer.

“If Dracula rises,” he continued, “then it’s over for us, and everyone like us. But even if he doesn’t, even if you manage to stop him in time, I think it might still be over. Nothing lasts forever. We keep the biggest secret in the world, and we’ve killed and killed and killed to keep it safe. But how long until someone finds out what we don’t want them to know? Or until more people find out than we can lock up or kill? What happens when the world sees the things we’ve done?”

“I don’t know, Julian,” said Allen. “And neither do you.”

The two men looked at each other, the weight of history bearing down on them.

It was a long time before they spoke again.

Matt Browning ran down the centre of Level D and skidded to a halt outside the entrance to the Blacklight Science Division. He pressed his ID card against a black panel on the wall and waited impatiently as a series of locks released. When the panel turned green, he pushed the heavy security door open and stepped through it.

He emerged into a large square room containing a wide reception desk and the open-plan workstations that were occupied by the Division’s administrative staff. The woman behind the desk frowned at Matt as he approached: his arrival was unscheduled, and his eyes were a little too wide for comfort.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m Matt Browning,” he replied, putting his ID on the counter. “Who’s the Duty Officer? I need to speak to them, please.”

“I’m sorry,” replied the receptionist. “Dr Cooper is in the lab. Can I take a message?”

“No,” said Matt. “I’m sorry, but you can tell him I need to speak to him right now, on Zero Hour Task Force business. I don’t want to involve the Interim Director in this, but I will if you make me.”

The receptionist narrowed her eyes and, for a moment, Matt thought she was going to call his bluff; he suspected that Cal Holmwood would back his demand to speak to a senior member of the Department without notice, but that he would also not be thrilled about being forced to do so. The receptionist stared at him for a long moment, then lifted the telephone from her desk and dialled a number. She spoke quietly into the receiver, turning her head away from Matt and shielding her mouth with her hand, then replaced the phone in its cradle.

“Dr Cooper will see you,” she said. “I’m to take you through.”

She got up from behind the desk, her body language making it clear that there was literally nothing in the world she would less like to be doing than assisting him. Matt fought to keep his temper, which rarely showed itself, in check; when the receptionist waved her hand in a way that vaguely suggested he should follow her, he bit his tongue and did so.

In the wall behind the administrative desks stood three heavy white metal doors. Beyond them, the Science Division comprised three large research labs arranged in a semicircle, each one home to two of the Division’s six primary areas of research: Computational and Information Sciences, Sensors and Electron Devices, Human/Supernatural Research and Engineering, Survivability/Lethality Analysis, Vehicle Technology, Weapons and Materials Research. There was a large proving area at the southern edge of the Loop’s grounds, as well as ranges and experimental chambers of all sizes and specifications spread throughout the underground levels, all of which were highly classified. Access to the labs was controlled by a series of double airlocks, and the entire Division was monitored at a microscopic level; the complex of rooms was fully automated and could be locked down instantly in the event of a breach or an accident.

The receptionist unlocked the middle door and led Matt into a short corridor. At the other end stood the entrance to a grey airlock, identical to the one that guarded the containment block four levels below. She gestured for Matt to step inside and was making her way back towards reception before the airlock door had even closed behind him.

Matt fought back claustrophobia as the light inside the tight space turned first red, then purple. A billowing cloud of gas rushed up from vents in the floor and he shut his eyes, waiting for it to be over. When the roaring ceased, he opened them in time to see the light turn green and the inner door swing open, revealing a tiny man in a white coat with a big smile on his face.

“Matt?” he asked, extending his hand. “Matt Browning?”

“Hello,” said Matt. He took the outstretched hand; the man in the white coat pumped it up and down enthusiastically.

“I’m Mark Cooper, Director of the Science Division. It’s great to meet you.”

“Is it?” blurted Matt, slightly overwhelmed by the warmth of the greeting.

“Absolutely,” said Cooper. “Cal Holmwood shares some of the Lazarus Project reports with me. Amazing stuff, truly. It’s incredible what you’re doing down there.”

“Thanks,” said Matt. He suddenly found himself trying not to laugh.

“You’re welcome,” said Dr Cooper. “I met Robert Karlsson a few years ago, in Geneva. A great man.”

“He is,” said Matt. “We’re lucky to have him.”

“No doubt. Now what can I do for you, Mr Browning? I’m guessing it has something to do with our recent arrivals?”

“It has,” said Matt. “Can I see them, please?”

“Of course,” said Dr Cooper. “Follow me.”

The Science Division Director turned and strode away down the corridor, at a pace that surprised Matt; the man’s legs were so short he would not have predicted such speed was possible. At the end of the corridor stood a pair of doors with round windows at head-height. A sign was fixed to the wall beside them:

RESEARCH LABORATORY 2

HUMAN/SUPERNATURAL RESEARCH AND ENGINEERING

SURVIVABILITY/LETHALITY ANALYSIS

Matt followed Cooper through the doors and into the lab.

It was huge: a rectangular space with a high, flat ceiling and tiled floor. The entire room was painted white; its walls and ceiling gleamed almost as brightly as the metal benches that lined the walls and the computer screens that sat atop them. At least a dozen men and women in white coats were bustling between a wide arrangement of desks, a long wall full of files and folders, and rows of machines that Matt recognised: gene sequencers, hologram projection units, powerful supercomputer cabinets, 3D virtual database racks. At the back of the room, a row of six cells was set into the wall, shimmering with the same ultraviolet barriers that restrained the occupants of the detention block.

“Welcome,” said Dr Cooper. “I’m sure this must look pretty unimpressive compared to the Lazarus labs, but we call it home.”

“It’s great,” said Matt. “What are your priority projects?”

“Right now, investigating the advanced physical attributes of the Broadmoor escapees,” replied Cooper. “Generally, the same as always. Tactical analysis of vampire strengths and weaknesses, analysis of the virus itself. We work in tandem with Lab 3. They apply our work to weaponry and defence development.”

“You use live subjects?” asked Matt. A chill ran up his spine. “I mean, other than the Broadmoor escapees?”

“We do,” said Dr Cooper. “Although I know what you’re thinking and you don’t need to worry. What we do here is nothing like what Professor Reynolds was up to.”

Matt had seen the interior of the original Lazarus Project labs; they had been nothing more than sophisticated torture chamber, where vampires had been eviscerated, destroyed and revived, and treated as nothing more than animals, all in the name of Reynolds’ headlong pursuit of a cure for their weaknesses, the precise opposite of what the rest of Blacklight had believed he was working on.

“I hope not,” he said. “What he did was inhumane.”

“I saw,” said Dr Cooper. “I led the team that cleared out the labs after he was killed. It still gives me nightmares.” He smiled, but Matt didn’t think the doctor was joking; not entirely, at least.

“There were two survivors,” said Matt. “A man and his daughter. Reynolds was about to destroy them when Jamie interrupted him. Do you know what happened to them?”

“Patrick and Maggie Connors,” said Cooper, nodding his head. “They were released as soon as the investigation into Reynolds was complete.”

“Really?” asked Matt. “We let two vampires go?”

Dr Cooper nodded. “The Interim Director ordered them released personally. Surveillance could probably tell you where they are, if you’re interested?”

Matt shook his head. “That’s OK. I just find it odd that they got released and now the whole Department is under orders to destroy the Broadmoor escapees. None of those men wanted to be vampires. It seems… inconsistent.”

“It’s a grey area,” agreed Cooper. “Cal’s doing his best.”

“I’m sure he is,” said Matt. His mind was threatening to run away with him, wanting to dig deeper at the moral questions that lay at the heart of Blacklight; he forced himself to focus on what he was there to do. “Can I see the escapees you’re holding?”

“Of course,” said Dr Cooper. “Follow me.”

Matt did so, weaving through the rows of desks and benches. Several staff nodded at him as he passed, but most were engrossed in their work; the atmosphere was much the same as it was in the Lazarus Project complex where he spent the overwhelming majority of his time. Dr Cooper led him to the cell at the far left of the row and stopped outside the UV wall. Matt joined him, then looked into the sealed room.

It was sparse, but was still a far cry from the transparent cubes in which the unfortunate victims of Christopher Reynolds had been kept; there was a bed with sheets and pillows, a chair with a small table beside it, a sink, and a curtained-off area that Matt assumed contained a toilet. CCTV cameras peered down from all four corners of the room, presumably positioned to record the treatment of the cell’s occupant. Which, in this case, was a man in his fifties, lying on his bed and reading a paperback book. He didn’t look up at Matt and Dr Cooper, even as they began to talk about him.

“Christian Bellows,” said Dr Cooper. “He was recovered in the Broadmoor grounds. Put up no resistance when they brought him in and has been no trouble since he got here. He just likes to be left alone.”

“What did he do?” asked Matt. “To end up in Broadmoor in the first place?”

“Almost killed a postman,” said Dr Cooper. “He had come to believe that the man was planning to kill him, so he attacked him with a kitchen knife.”

“Jesus.”

“He’s a paranoid schizophrenic,” said Dr Cooper. “We have his treatment records and his pharmaceutical schedule. Don’t worry, we’re looking after him.”

“Does he understand what’s happened to him?” asked Matt. Bellows looked calm and relaxed, like a man lying on the sofa in his living room.