Kardinal (11 page)

THE way she’d killed the three tribesman shocked Lawton.

She’d moved so quickly. A white blur against the night. Sliced each man’s throat with her razor-sharp nails. Before one hit the ground, the second was dead, and then the third.

And as rapidly as she’d killed them, Ereshkigal returned to each body and feasted on the blood gushing from their open throats.

Once she had drained them of blood, they were embryonic vampires, waiting to be born again within 24 hours. So Lawton waited for the bodies to stop twitching before driving a stake into each man’s heart, and their bodies combusted.

Mutilating corpses wasn’t his idea of fun. But he had no choice. He didn’t have much choice in anything he did these days. He wondered again about fate and how powerless he’d become and determined once more to fight for his own future.

As he stood over the tribesmen’s remains, he asked Ereshkigal, “What do you care about?”

She said nothing. She wiped blood from her mouth.

“Do you want a vampire world, like the Nebuchadnezzars?” he said.

“These are human things – dreams, power, destiny. They are drained out of us when we become vampire.”

“Then what do you care about?”

“Survival,” she said.

“But you love your husband. You want to go back to him.”

She furrowed her brow. “Love? I don’t remember.”

“I think you lie. You remember the love you felt for Haran, you told me.”

She scowled. “I don’t remember love. I want to go home because it is where I belong. I have lived in dread for 5,000 years, wandering the earth. Now, I want to sleep in my husband’s darkness, in my city of bones. What do you want, Lawton?”

“I want to die an old man, wrecked and broken by life.”

“What a miserable wretch you are. You have a woman?”

He said nothing. He thought of Aaliyah. His heart ached. Was she still alive? Would this journey end in a broken heart for him?

“I see you do,” said Ereshkigal. “Where is she?”

“Here in this country. Hunting your Nimrod.”

“Then I shall I have to kill her after I kill you.”

He said nothing. There was nothing to say. This was an irrational alliance for him. He wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming or not. How could he have aligned himself with a vampire? How could they both be headed towards the same destiny? A face-to-face with the god of the undead. And how could they work together when their end goals were poles apart?

“If I left you here,” she said, “would you survive?”

“If I left you here, would you? Kill me now, you’re alone out here. No hiding place. The sun’ll get you. You need me to get home. But if I kill you, what’s the worse that’ll happen to me?”

“Killing me is not so easy.”

“I’m good at doing stuff that’s not easy.”

“You are not like other humans.”

He didn’t want to know that he was different. He didn’t want to think about what the skin in his eye was doing to him. If he could, he would rip it out of his head. But he knew it would take all the nerves out with it, and much of his brain. It was attached to him. And it was living inside him, poisoning him. He rejected the notion that he was becoming something different, that he would not be Jake Lawton anymore. But in truth he had been changing every day. And he had changed more during these past few years than at any time in his life.

7am (GMT + 3 hours), 19 May, 2011

HER company was strangely comforting.

They lay in the rear of the truck. It was pitch black. Outside, the sun scorched down. It was nearly 10am in Iraq. Mid-morning. Blistering heat. Deadly to the creature lying next to him.

They had driven through the night, covering more than 100km on off-road routes. They had left behind the regions of Iraqi Kurdistan, and they were now in Iraq itself. They had stopped a few kilometres outside Tel Isqof, an Assyrian town of around 7,000 people. Lawton had driven the truck into some trees on the side of the road. As long as no one made their way through the woods, they should be safe enough. But you couldn’t be sure. And that fear prevented Lawton from resting.

Ereshkigal, though, slept like the dead thing she was, curled up into a ball next to him under the tarpaulin.

His mind drifted. He felt relaxed. He looked at her pale face. Her flesh was like porcelain. She was completely still, not breathing. But she was dead, after all. She didn’t need air. Only blood. He touched his neck where she’d bitten him. He felt queasy, the thought of her cold lips on his throat, the blood pulsing out of his vein, into her mouth.

He sat bolt upright.

He didn’t want to feel any sympathy towards this creature. You had to be merciless with them. You couldn’t have them as allies. They were made to hunt and kill – to hunt and kill humans.

But maybe, if you looked hard enough, you could find some humanity in them.

He stared at the sleeping vampire.

Maybe there was a hint of what they’d been before.

And Ereshkigal had been a young woman in love. A bride-to-be, excited at the prospect of her wedding day.

There had to be something of that left in her.

He shook his head, rejecting the notion.

There had been nothing of the human Jenna left in the vampire Jenna.

There had been nothing of the human Sassie left in the vampire Sassie.

Or if there had been, he’d not seen it – or maybe not looked hard enough.

He put his head in his hands. His skull ached all the time. His eye burned. Again he tried to pluck the glass sphere from the socket, again it felt as if he were yanking out all the nerves and muscle.

He didn’t know what was happening to him. He thought he might be changing as Ereshkigal had suggested. And that change meant death to him. He didn’t want any vampire blood in his body. He would kill himself if that were true. He had decided – after ensuring that Aaliyah was safe and killing Nimrod, Lawton would end his life. It wasn’t worth living anymore.

He got up, planning to get going again.

He covered Ereshkigal in the tarpaulin before opening the rear door narrowly and peering out.

He stepped outside. It was hot. He blew air out of his cheeks. He started sweating straight away.

He was making his way round to the front of the truck when he saw them.

Four men in military fatigues loitering near a jeep, just twenty yards away.

They straightened when they saw Lawton.

His immediate reaction was to protect Ereshkigal. He didn’t question his instinct. If he’d considered it, protecting a vampire would seem bizarre. But that’s what every sinew in his being told him to do.

He waved at the soldiers and said in Arabic, “
Sabah al-khair
.”

Good morning
.

Then he bolted. Away from the truck. Away from Ereshkigal. Away from the men.

He heard shouts of, “
Qif! Qif!
”

Stop! Stop!

He heard the jeep’s engine roar.

He looked behind him.

Three of the troops were chasing on foot.

The fourth drove the jeep.

It crashed through the trees after him.

Lawton sprinted. His heart pounded. He was tired and weak, his legs ready to buckle. But he had to get them as far away from her as he could. She had no chance of protecting herself in daylight.

A glance over his shoulder showed they were gaining.

He opted for some delaying tactics.

He put his hand up and slowed down.

They came up to him, shouting, and shoved him on the ground.

He got a mouthful of dirt. He spat it out. They were yelling at him. They prodded him with their weapons.

“
Qif
,” said a voice. A fat man in his fifties who looked suspiciously like Saddam Hussein stepped out of the jeep.

He huffed and puffed. The drive had obviously taken a lot out of him.

Lawton tried to identify the man’s stripes. He was certainly the senior officer. But he couldn’t make out the Iraqi insignia.

Lawton sat up, his hands still over his head. His arms and his back hurt where they’d jabbed him with their rifles.

The fat man pulled out a packet of Marlboro and put one in his mouth. Lit it with a Zippo. Offered a cigarette to Jake. He took one.

The fat officer gestured, and two of the soldiers picked Lawton up, roughly.

The fag hung in his mouth. The officer lit it. The smoke was strong, and he coughed. Much stronger than the rollies he usually smoked. He’d not smoked a proper ciggie in years.
It was here in Iraq
, he thought. When he was fighting Saddam. And here he was now face-to-face with a Saddam look-alike.

“You are American? British? Français?” asked the officer in English. Then he said something in French, a question.

Lawton smoked.

“You talk to me,” the fat man said. “
Vous me parler
.
Sie reden mit mir
. English? French? German? No matter, you will talk to me.” He nodded.

Lawton got a rifle butt in his belly. It knocked the wind out of him, and he bent double. The fag went flying. The fat man stamped on it.

He felt himself being picked up again and his pockets rummaged. He had nothing on him. The only thing of value he had was the Spear of Abraham, and that was in the truck.

“No ID,” said the fat soldier. He gestured towards the truck. Two of the men started to trot towards it.

Lawton said, “All right, you win,” as calmly as he could, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that there was something in the truck. “I’m British. On a mission.”

The fat man scowled. “I know nothing of this. I command this post. I know nothing.”

“Your government would know.”

“They say nothing to me.”

“Your English is very good, sir.”

The fat soldier smiled. “Sandhurst.”

Bollocks
, thought Lawton.
American TV, more like
.

“I’m sure you learnt how to treat allied troops,” he said.

“I know how to treat friends – and enemies.”

Lawton was getting ready to fight. He’d worked out he could take all of them, even though they were armed. It was high risk. But they looked slow and soft. The fat bloke, easy. Stub a cigarette in h
is eye. Guy number two, next to him, would lose his gun before fatso started to scream. And that weapon would kill guys three and four before the butt slammed into guy number two’s jaw.

Four down. Less than three seconds.

He was ready to make those three seconds count when something hard whacked him across the back of the head, and stars burst before his eyes before he passed out.

PART FOUR.
DESTINY.

London – 7.22am (GMT), 19 May, 2011

IT was looking good for George Fuad and the United Party. The polls showed they were going to win. Or
he
was going to win. And it was a good victory. Not a landslide. But a solid majority.

It was early days so far, but the turnout had been low. Below ten per cent in some areas. But they’d expected poor figures. People were either too scared or had given up hope.

George longed for it to be the latter.

Apathy was a gift to tyrants. And he was a tyrant. He made no bones about it. Tyranny was his weapon. Terror would be his modus operandi.

He’d known this day was coming since he was a child. Since his dad had told him the Fuad family was special.

The sun was shining, and George felt happy. He was standing outside a polling booth near Leicester Square Tube Station. The streets were still relatively quiet, considering this was London soon after rush hour. But there hadn’t been much rushing in the city over the past few years. And life had dwindled to a crawl recently.

George was being interviewed by a radio reporter, and he said, “Britons will vote in their thousands for a change. They feel abandoned. They have been left high and dry, caught in the middle of a war between weak government and dangerous foreign gangs. The people have been misled into thinking that vampires are our enemies. Today, the British people will tell the government, the corrupt, dirty government, what they think of them. This will be a vote for unity – unity between human and vampire.”

“Mr Fuad,” said the reporter, “what do you say to those who claim you have lied about the dangers posed by vampires.”

“What do I say? I say it’s them are the liars. Look at what they’ve done to Britain. Look at what Elizabeth Wilson, who has brazenly accused me of lying, has done to Britain. She let it die. I’m going to bring it to life again. I’m going to make this country great. And London will be a great capital, just like Babylon was.”

“Like Babylon?”

“A golden city,” he said.

“We can barely run our schools and hospitals. Rubbish is strewn on the streets. People are homeless. There are no jobs. The capital’s water supply is poisoned. How can you justify spending so much money on making, as you say, a golden city?”

“We won’t spend any cash,” said George. “We’ll take it back. We’ll take it back from Europe. We’ll take it back from everyone who has ferreted cash away illegally in our vaults. And we’ll send an army to take it back.”

“But our Armed Forces are in tatters.”

“No, our new allies, the vampires. They will be our army. They will work with us to build a golden city. We’ll work together, humans and vampires, for the benefit of Britain. This is what people want. This is what they will vote for.”

Yes
, he thought,
they will foolishly vote for panic and fear
.

But that would come. For now, let them see just a little bit of hope on the horizon. A day or two of hope.

Cheers came from across the street. George waved at his supporters. They waved white flags emblazoned with a red U, symbol of his party.

The radio reporter said, “I’m here with George Fuad, leader of the United Party, the man who appears to be headed into government. You must be happy with what the opinion polls suggest, Mr Fuad?”

“Today is the most important poll.”

“If you win, what will be your first act as prime minster?”

Declare myself emperor for life
, he thought.
Turn the screw on you lot at the BBC. Unleash vampires on the pathetic population
.

He smiled. “If I win, I will have a cup of tea, the most English thing a man can do.”

She thanked him.

He walked towards his car. One of his bodyguards opened the door for him. George got in the back seat. He let out a sigh of relief. An advisor sat in the back. She held out a satellite phone.

“More interviews?” said George.

“Your brother,” said the advisor.

He grabbed the phone excitedly.

“Hello, Alfred?”

The line crackled.

“It’s good to hear your voice,” said Alfred, his love for George coming through the bad line.

“You too,” said George, not meaning it so much.

“We – you’re going to win.”

“Looks like it. What’ve you got to say to me, Alfie?”

“We’re through to Irkalla. We are at the outskirts of this incredible underground city, mate. There are buildings here. Pillars stretching miles into the darkness above me. It seems impossible, because… because we’re only a thousand feet under ground. It’s like a mirage. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s – ”

“Have you found Nimrod?”

“Not yet, no, but we’re… we’re – ”

“Hurry up, Alfie.”

“I will, I will. But I have even better news for you.”

“There can’t be better news than finding Nimrod.”

“Might be,” said Alfred. “Jake Lawton has been arrested. He’s being held by Iraqi security forces.”

It
was
good news. It made George feel even happier. Fate was smiling down on him.

“Make sure he never leaves Iraq, Alfie. If the Iraqis don’t do him, send some of those hired killers you’ve got there. Send anyone. Don’t let Jake Lawton see the light of day ever again.”

“He won’t,” said Alfred.