Department 19: Zero Hour (39 page)

“You never mentioned him,” said Jamie. “Not even once. But he talks like you were best mates, and he keeps smirking at me, like he knows something I don’t.”

“I know he does,” said Larissa. “I’m sorry. All I can say is that it isn’t what you think. Please try and trust me.”

Jamie stared at her, searching within himself for the strength, and the patience, to do as she asked. “OK,” he said, eventually. “I’ll try.”

They stood in silence for a long moment, the freezing air whistling around them, the eastern sky lightening.

“Do you reckon Kate and Matt are still asleep?” he asked, eventually.

Larissa smiled. “Kate will be at her desk in Security by now,” she said. “You know she will. And Matt should be having dinner, with any luck.”

Jamie frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Nevada is ten hours behind us.”

“What does that have to do with Matt?” asked Jamie.

It was Larissa’s turn to frown. “Matt’s in Nevada,” she said, slowly. “Helping NS9 look for Adam. Didn’t he tell you?”

“I haven’t seen him for a couple of days,” said Jamie. “When did he leave?”

“Yesterday morning,” said Larissa. “And whose fault is it that you haven’t seen him? I know he tried to find you the day before yesterday, when you spent the whole day feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Shit,” said Jamie. “He probably wanted to tell me about it.”

Larissa nodded. “I’m sure he did.”

Jamie grimaced.

I can’t do anything about it now,
he told himself.
I’ll apologise to Matt when we get home.

“We should wake the others,” he said.

“Why?” asked Larissa, her voice suddenly low and urgent. “We could just go in there right now, you and me. We don’t need the rest of them. I can protect us.”

“We can’t do that, Larissa.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not,” he said. “Because we’ve got orders to follow.”

Larissa hissed loudly, and Jamie took an involuntary step back. “Orders?” she growled. “Since when do you give a shit about orders? You’ve disobeyed more than you’ve followed, and you’ve been right more times than not. Trust yourself, Jamie. Trust me. We can do this.”

“Do what?” asked a voice.

Jamie spun round and saw Tim Albertsson standing at the edge of the shelter, regarding them with a wide, easy smile. Behind him, he heard a low growl emerge from Larissa’s throat.

What the hell is going on here?
he wondered.
I mean, seriously.

“Nothing,” he said. “We were just about to wake the rest of you.”

Tim nodded, his smile growing even wider. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “It’s nearly dawn, and we need to be in the forest before your girlfriend bursts into flames, don’t we? Come on, Engel’s making coffee.”

The American ducked back under the shelter. Jamie turned to Larissa, and recoiled; her fangs were clearly visible, her eyes blazing red, and she was staring at the spot where Albertsson had been standing with open, roaring fury.

“Larissa,” he said. She gave no indication of having heard. “
Larissa,
” he said again, and grabbed her arm.

She turned on him with the speed of a striking cobra, her fingers closing round his hand, a terrible hiss bursting from between her bared teeth. Jamie stared, frozen with shock, until she blinked and let go of his arm, and the person in front of him was once again the girl he loved.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I hurt you?”

Jamie shook his head. “I’m fine,” he managed. “Are you OK?”

“No,” said Larissa. “I’m not.”

“And what about Albertsson?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’ve seen you look at people like that before,” said Jamie. “It normally doesn’t end well. For them, at least.”

Larissa shrugged, and smiled a thin, unpleasant smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “But if you’re saying that Tim should be careful, I agree with you. This forest seems like a dangerous place.”

“We have been here before,” said Arkady Petrov.

Larissa looked round at her squad mates and sighed. The Russian was right; she recognised the clearing they were standing in, the sprays of early wildflowers and low bushes that rose around the bases of the huge tree trunks, the mingled mixture of fragrances that filled the air.

“No we haven’t,” said Tim Albertsson, stabbing at a topographical survey map with a gloved finger. “We’re here, see.
That’s
where we made camp,
that’s
where we came in,
this
is where we are. We’re going in the right direction.”

“We are going in circles,” said Petrov, his voice flat and even.

“What are you saying?” said Albertsson, rounding angrily on the Russian Operator. “That I don’t know how to read a map?”

Petrov said nothing; he merely stared at Albertsson with his dark grey eyes.

“Arkady is right,” said Larissa. “We’ve been here before. We must have got turned around somewhere.”

“How could you possibly know that?” asked Albertsson.

Larissa shrugged. “I know.”

Albertsson rolled his eyes. “Well, isn’t that awesome? No, thanks for that, seriously.
You just know
. That’s really helpful.”

“Hey!” said Jamie, his eyes flashing with anger. “It’s not her fault we’re lost.”

“Are you taking your girlfriend’s side, Lieutenant Carpenter?” asked Tim. “What a colossal surprise. I’m sure nobody saw that coming.”

“I don’t give a shit what you saw coming,” said Jamie, his face colouring a dark red. “She’s right, Arkady is right, and you
know
they’re right. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“Thank you for your input, Lieutenant,” said Albertsson. “I’ll be sure to give it the consideration it deserves.” The American stalked away from the rest of the squad, flattened the map against one of the tree trunks, and began to trace a route on it with his finger, muttering angrily to himself.

Larissa glanced at Jamie, whose gaze was still fixed on Albertsson’s back, and then looked at the rest of the squad. Petrov was leaning against one of the trees, rolling a cigarette with practised ease. Van Orel was looking at Jamie with a small smile, its narrow curve full of what Larissa believed was support, and Engel was standing off to one side, her face impassive. It was already clear that the German Operator was hating every second of DARKWOODS; her dismay at the behaviour of her squad mates was obvious.

And perfectly justified,
thought Larissa.
This is going bad.

She took a deep breath as she waited for Tim to order them to move out again. She had told nobody, not even Jamie, but her head was swimming; it was as though the forest had been designed to overwhelm her, to nullify her supernatural abilities. The smells that rose from the ground as they made their way deeper and deeper into the dark trees grew stronger and more intense; spring wildflowers that gave off sweet, complicated scents, mushrooms and fauna that smelt of rot and decay, the thick stench of animal blood and waste. And beneath it all buzzed a constant, maddening drone, a relentless, painful rattle that burrowed into her ears, making clear thinking difficult, and causing her to wonder if there was something wrong with her. She had asked Jamie if he could hear it, and he had looked at her with a frown.

“Hear what?” he had asked.

Larissa hadn’t replied.

This is going bad,
she thought again, as Tim Albertsson folded the map and strode back towards his squad.

It’s going bad fast
.

In truth, things had started badly and got worse.

The squad had been ill-tempered from the moment she and Jamie had returned to camp, fractious and anxious and seemingly spoiling to pick fights with one another. They had taken down their shelter in near silence, before stepping past the disembowelled wolf and into the forest. The discovery that the snow that covered the field had largely failed to penetrate the thick canopy of trees briefly lifted spirits; searching their target area would have taken weeks if they’d been forced to wade through waist-deep snow. But barely a minute had passed when Van Orel, whom Albertsson had ordered to take point, stopped abruptly.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed.

His squad mates gathered behind him, then froze in their tracks as they saw what had made him halt.

In front of them was a gallery of dead animals.

Wolves had been pinned to half a dozen trees, their grey fur soaked with blood, their innards spilled. Between them, two of the widest trunks were decorated with the corpses of red deer, their mouths coated with foam, their eyes bulging; Larissa stared at them, marvelling at the strength it must have taken to lift the heavy bodies and drive wooden stakes through thick muscle and old, heavy bark.

Two wild boars had been butchered and arranged on the floor of the forest, surrounded by bushes that were full of flayed squirrels, badgers, foxes and rats, the small corpses hung in neat, gruesome rows.

Designed,
thought Larissa, and shivered.
Arranged, especially for us.

“What the hell?” whispered Albertsson.

She turned to look at their squad leader, and saw his eyes widened with fear. Then Tim noticed her looking and collected himself; he stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he pulled off a glove and dipped a finger in the blood of the nearest wolf.

“Still warm,” he said.

“It was done while we were asleep,” said Engel, saying out loud what everyone was thinking. “Asleep fifty metres away.”

Larissa felt her vampire side straining, begging for release. She felt familiar heat in the corners of her eyes, felt the itch in the roof of her mouth as her fangs began to move.

“This is a final warning,” said Petrov. “Last chance to turn back.”

“To hell with that,” said Albertsson, although Larissa didn’t think the tone of his voice matched the determination of his words. “We’re not going back till we find what we came here to find. Let’s move out.”

Cal Holmwood stood in the hangar of the Loop, a splitting headache pounding through his skull, and waited for his friend to be brought out.

After the general alarm had ceased its ungodly screeching, he had received a message from Paul Turner explaining what had happened out on the perimeter and assuring him that the situation was under control. Cal didn’t doubt it; he had more faith in his Security Officer than in any other member of the Department, himself included. But despite that faith, he had not been able to persuade his tired, aching body to return to sleep. Instead, he had lain awake for almost an hour, staring alternately at the dark ceiling of his bedroom and the glowing numbers of the digital clock on his bedside table, until he had admitted defeat, showered, dressed, and trudged out to his desk.

The mountain of files and folders that was piled precariously on its surface was nothing less than an Everest of red tape. At the summit was a new report from the Surveillance Division, which he lifted down and opened.

REPORT 7542/B

SUBMITTED: 0342

BY: MAJOR ALEXANDER PIERCE/NS303, 41-F

FAO: INTERIM DIRECTOR CALEB HOLMWOOD/NS303, 34-D

SECURITY: PRIORITY LEVEL 1, DIRECTOR EYES ONLY

SUBJECT: APPLICATION OF SECURITY SURVEILLANCE MEASURES TO CIVILIAN PROPERTY, AS PER SURVEILLANCE DIVISION ORDER N426/9

BEGINS.

Surveillance installation completed as follows:

– Voice-activated recording installed across property and grounds.

– Location tracker/voice-activated recording devices installed on both (2) vehicles currently at the property.

– Motion-activated camera coverage of property and grounds.

– All telecommunication lines breached and automatic recorders installed.

– Thermal ground sensors installed.

– Mobile telecommunications monitoring grid installed over property.

– Keychecks and keylogs installed on laptop computer within the property. Spyware installed for future user network migration.

– Remote thermal-monitoring net installed, covering property and grounds.

All systems checked and functioning.

ENDS.

Cal had repeatedly made it clear to Julian that if he was to eventually be released it would be under strict surveillance. He had not spelt out just how intrusive it would be, but he felt no guilt; Julian knew exactly how this game was played and as far as Cal was concerned, he was already bending over backwards for his old friend.

Nobody else would have had any chance of ever leaving their cell,
he thought, as the double doors at the rear of the hangar swung open.
And maybe he shouldn’t either. But I made a promise.

Three figures emerged, walking rapidly across the concrete floor towards him. Two were Security Division Operators, in full uniform with MP7s resting in their gloved hands. Between them, dressed in a shirt and jeans, and with a black hood over his head, was Julian Carpenter.

The scuffed leather bag he had carried with him across the Atlantic was hung over his shoulder, and his uncuffed hands swung at his sides. Cal had told the Security Operators not to restrain the prisoner unless he resisted, which he had not considered was likely. The two men had no idea who they were escorting; they had been ordered to pass the hood through the cell’s food slot and wait until the prisoner knocked on the door twice before they opened it. Julian had been told to do so once the hood was in place, and had been specifically ordered not to say a single word to either of the Security Operators. As a precaution, Cal had selected two men who had not joined the Department until after Julian’s supposed death; to them, he was nothing more than a name from the past, whose voice would be unfamiliar if Cal’s old friend decided to defy his orders.