Department 19: Zero Hour (16 page)

Zero Hour, the Intelligence Division estimate of the point at which Dracula would regain his full power, was now less than a week away, and they were no closer to either locating the ancient monster or devising any way of stopping him if the date came and went. Everyone inside the Loop knew what was coming, but only the men and women of the Zero Hour Task Force really, truly understood; they were privy to details that were classified from everyone else.

Sometimes I wonder if it would be better not to know,
thought Jamie.
Perhaps ignorance would be bliss.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Larissa looking at him, her eyes narrowed. He had not messaged her the previous night, as he had promised to; by the time he’d left his mother’s cell, grateful for, but unconvinced by, her insistence that everything would be all right, he had been completely drained, capable of nothing more than heading to his quarters and falling into a shallow, dreamless sleep.

He looked at his girlfriend. She tipped her head to one side and widened her eyes, the question in the movement clear.

Are you all right?

Jamie gave his head a single shake, and forced the thinnest of smiles as Paul Turner stood up and joined Holmwood at the head of the table.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice as flat and empty as ever. “As per the agenda, Lieutenant Randall will now brief you on the findings of the Intelligence Division report that Security commissioned, and which will be sent to you all later today. I warn you now, it does not make for comfortable reading.”

There’s a surprise,
thought Jamie.

“Thank you, sir,” said Kate, getting to her feet as Holmwood and Turner took their seats. She seemed calm, at least as far as Jamie could tell; her face was pale, her hands steady, her eyes clear and focused. “The report is entitled
Provisional Forecast of Losses and Damage in the Event of the Establishment of Supernatural (Type V) Social Dominance
. I don’t think I need to explain what that means to anyone here?”

There was a moment of silence, before she continued. “Good. The report is based on a number of models and simulations, and attempts to allow for possible variations in Dracula’s actions if he is allowed to complete his rise, what his motivations and ambitions may be, and their effect on the wider vampire populace. All variables are addressed in depth in the full report, so as a result the figures I’m going to give you now should be treated as best estimates. The situation we are facing is entirely unprecedented, and is too fluid to be modelled with any great degree of certainty. That said, I have some headline numbers that you should take on board. It goes without saying that these are fully Zero Hour classified, and not to be shared or discussed with anyone outside this room.”

Kate looked around, checking for any dissent or lack of understanding.

“All right,” she said. “The Intelligence Division projects, based on an amalgamation of the various models, that the unchecked rise of Dracula will result in the deaths of between twenty-five and thirty million people within twelve months.”

There was a sharp intake of breath around the table.

“Christ,” said Patrick Williams, his voice low.

Kate nodded. “I know,” she said. “Trust me, I do. The second projection is harder to quantify, as it deals with the potential spread of vampirism. The evidence provided by Valentin Rusmanov under interrogation confirms that prior to his death, Dracula operated a strict policy of allowing no new vampires to be turned. However, we cannot assume that this will remain the case, or how possible enforcement of such a rule would be. Given that, Intelligence projects a rise in global vampire numbers of almost twelve hundred per cent in the two years following Zero Hour, at a cost of approximately eighty million human lives.”

Jamie fought back the urge to laugh. The number was so ridiculous, so impossibly huge, that it was incomprehensible.

Eighty million people. All dead, if we don’t stop him.

“I should reiterate,” said Paul Turner, “that these are just numbers, for now at least.”

The air in the Ops Room seemed suddenly cold; it was as though Kate’s words had sucked the vitality out of it. Jamie stared at the tight, pale face of his friend; she returned his gaze as the rest of the Zero Hour Task Force sat in silence, struggling to digest what they had just been told.

“The report makes a final prediction,” said Kate, her calm tone eerily similar to Paul Turner’s. “It suggests that if Dracula is allowed to rise unchecked, and the second projection proves accurate, vampires will outnumber humans within eight years of Zero Hour. That they will be the dominant species on the planet in less than a decade.”

She sat down, not meeting anyone’s eye. There was stunned silence around the table, full of palpable horror.

Nobody thought it would be that bad,
thought Jamie.
Not in a million years. My God.

Cal Holmwood got slowly to his feet. His face was ashen.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Randall,” he said. “Copies of the report will be sent to you all later on today. Read it, understand it, but be aware that as of right now, it changes nothing. Our goals and priorities remain as before. The purpose of this Task Force has always been to stop Dracula from rising, and this should do nothing but sharpen our focus and strengthen our resolve. If we fail, people will die. That is the responsibility we bear, and now we know the numbers. But if we do our job, then maybe numbers are what they will stay. I don’t want anyone to be disheartened, or demoralised. We know the stakes now, nothing more. We know precisely why we cannot allow ourselves to fail.”

Jamie felt the icy horror crawling within him recede, just a little.

He still believes we can stop this,
he thought.
If he does, then I have to.

“All right,” Cal said. “I’m sure many of you have little stomach left for bad news, but I’m afraid the reality is what it is. Major Turner?”

Paul Turner stood up again and cast his empty gaze across the men and women of the Task Force. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “Operators, please direct your attention to the screen.”

Jamie watched as the wall screen at the head of the Ops Room flickered into life. Turner tapped rapidly on his console, first opening a window then expanding it to fill the screen. It showed an area of forest beside a straight road, in the centre of which burned a large campfire. Beyond the flickering orange flames, he made out half a dozen tents, with smoky silhouettes wandering between them. At the side of the road, facing a camera they presumably had no idea was watching them, a dozen men and women stood in a neat line, drinking from steaming travel mugs and holding a series of brightly painted signs and placards. What was printed on them was clear, and Jamie’s heart sank as he read.

BLACKLIGHT = FASCISTS

VAMPIRES ARE PEOPLE TOO

THE MILITARY ARE
THE REAL BLOODSUCKERS

“What you are looking at,” said Paul Turner, “is public land beyond the border of the Loop, approximately seven hundred metres outside the authorisation gate. This is live footage.”

“Outside the border of the
Loop
?” said Patrick Williams. “This is a classified facility, for God’s sake. No one knows it exists.”

“No longer true,” said Turner. “Yesterday an email was sent from a Cambridge University laboratory. It contained a series of digital images, and quickly went viral. The Surveillance Division estimates that in the last sixteen hours it has been forwarded more than ninety thousand times and posted to social media sites on almost half a million occasions. It is already impossible to stop the spread of the images and the information attached to them.”

“What are the images?” asked Jack Williams, his face as pale as a ghost’s. “For Christ’s sake, spit it out.”

The Security Officer turned his head and fixed Jamie’s friend with a look that would have sent most men scuttling under the table to hide. Jack didn’t flinch; he returned the stare with a cold, determined one of his own.

“The images, Lieutenant Williams,” said Turner, “were taken by a commercial imaging satellite four months ago, to be used for GPS mapping. They show the detonation of the ultraviolet bombs that ended Valeri Rusmanov’s attack on the Loop.”

“Jesus,” said Angela Darcy. “The coordinates.”

Turner nodded. “The sender of the email, who if I have my way will spend the rest of his life in prison, was clearly aware of the story that Kevin McKenna published before he was killed by Albert Harker. Whoever they are, they traced the ownership of the land in the images through the Land Registry, and included the record in the email. It shows the purchase of the land,
this
land, that we are sitting at the centre of, by the Ministry of Defence from a charitable organisation called the Lux E Tenebris Foundation. That organisation had Jonathan Harker, Albert Holmwood, John Seward and Abraham Van Helsing as its original board of directors.”

“Shit,” said Jack Williams.

Turner nodded. “For those of you who have not seen the news this morning, last night, an Operational Squad conducting a Patrol Respond was secretly filmed by a civilian using a mobile phone. Before you all start shouting at once, which squad was involved is not important, and will remain classified information. And all things considered, the footage
could
have been worse. It does not conclusively prove the existence of the supernatural, nor does it reveal explicit detail about this Department. But when placed alongside an email showing ultraviolet detonations at this location, a location
linked to the men named in Bram Stoker’s novel
, the case against us starts to become compelling.”

“We’re caught, aren’t we?” said Angela, softly. “They know we’re here.”

“Yes,” said Turner. “And video surveillance suggests they are not happy.”

“This is outrageous,” said Jack Williams. “What the hell do they think they’re doing?”

“Is it allowed?” asked Angela. “The protesting, I mean. They can do this?”

Larissa frowned. “Yes, it’s allowed,” she said. “They’re on public land. And I suspect they
think
they’re protesting the killing of vampires.”

“I can see that,” snapped Jack. “Why, though? I bet none of them has ever seen a vamp.”

“Most of the people who marched against the Iraq war had never met an Iraqi,” said Larissa.

“You think this is the same as that?” asked Jack, his face reddening. “Really? Those people waving signs are the people we risk our lives every night to protect. I can’t believe this.”

She knew,
whispered a voice in the back of Jamie’s head. He was staring up at the screen, his stomach churning.
Larissa saw this coming a long time ago, how what Blacklight does would be perceived. She knew it would look like murder.

“We’ve encountered civilians twice this week who didn’t seem surprised to see us,” said Patrick Williams. “They’d read McKenna’s work, and they believed it.”

The Security Officer nodded. “The tide is turning,” he said. “Those who believe aren’t being laughed at any more, and there are more of them every day. The first protesters arrived overnight, and eight more have joined them in the last three hours. We have every reason to expect that rate to increase as the day goes on.”

“There’s nothing we can do about the phone footage,” said Andrew Jarvis, the Zero Hour representative of the Surveillance Division. “It’s everywhere. Unbelievably stupid for one of our own to get caught like that, but not fatal, as Major Turner said. The MOD is maintaining a refusal to comment, and it’s holding for now. As far as the email goes, no newspaper is going to run it, not yet at least. But I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do. We’re issuing takedowns as fast as we can, but we can’t make either story go away, not completely. Eventually, we’re going to reach a tipping point, and it’s going to be open season on us when we do.”

“Everyone in this room understands that Surveillance is doing all that can be done,” said Holmwood. “In the short term, the SOP remains the same, especially where civilians are concerned. It may need revising as this information continues to spread, but you will be advised of any changes as and when. As I said, our focus, our priority, remains the same. And it is in relation to Dracula that I am finally able to bring you something that is at least
close
to good news.”

Jamie sat forward in his seat, his curiosity piqued; by the Interim Director’s standards, this almost qualified as hyperbole.

Holmwood pulled his radio from his belt and spoke into the microphone. “Bring him in.”

Jamie felt excitement flutter in his stomach.

Valentin,
he told himself.
It has to be. Valentin’s back.

But he was wrong.

The Ops Room door opened and a Security Division Operator stepped through it, leading a dark figure by the arm. Larissa instantly hissed, a loud, threatening noise, and Jamie glanced at his girlfriend; her eyes had turned the colour of molten lava, and her face was twisted with bright, shining hatred. He frowned, taken aback by her response to the new arrival.

Then realisation struck him like a bolt of lightning.

“Grey,” he said, out loud.

The old vampire raised his head and peered out from beneath a mane of almost-white hair. His gaze came to rest on Jamie, and a smile rose on to his lined face.

“Mr Carpenter,” he said, causing several of the Task Force to gasp at the booming rumble of his voice. “It’s good to see you again. And Miss Kinley, of course, and Colonel Frankenstein. Where is Mr Morris?”

“Dead,” growled Frankenstein. “In Hell, with any luck.”

Grey’s face fell. “Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry. I have not been keeping up with current events.”

“Operators,” said Cal Holmwood. “This is Mr Grey, the founder of the Valhalla commune in Scotland. He has information that I believe you will want to hear.”

“Quite so,” said Grey, forcing levity back into his voice. “Quite so, Mr Holmwood. And I thank you for the opportunity to relay my information in person. Who I am is not strictly relevant to what I am about to tell you, but suffice it to say that I have been a vampire for a long time, and I have no wish to see Dracula rise.”