Red Eye - 02 (29 page)

“Yes, sir,” said Lieutenant Giacoia. “I have one. Under the circumstances, what’s the pay situation?”

“If you check your contracts, you’ll find there’s a layoff clause. Each of you receives a very generous severance package, amounting to a lump sum in the region of thirty-five thousand dollars apiece, scaled according to rank. Any other questions?”

“Yes,” said Abbotts. “What about Larousse? He had an ex-wife and son down in Corpus Christi. The bitch was bleeding him dry with alimony payments but he coughed up ’cause he loved that kid. You going to give them a little extra? Being as how Kyle was KIA and all.”

“Private Larousse’s relicts will be adequately recompensed for their loss, yes,” said Farthingale. “That, too, is in the contract. Is that it? Nothing else?”

Chief Warrant Officer Berger was hunched forwards, intently scraping under the nail of one index finger with the other. Of all the five soldiers seated around the table, she seemed the hardest hit by what Farthingale had had to say.

Scowling, she looked up. “I’d like to get something straight with you, Mr Farthingale,” she said.

“Sure.”

“Did I hear you right about Colonel Jacobsen? He’s dead?”

“I’m afraid that’s the only inference I can draw.”

“And”—Berger’s voice cracked ever so slightly—“he went off chasing after some vampires solo?”

“Correct. I advised him against it, mostly because—”

“Because the vamps in question have a human ally. This Englishman who got Larousse.”

“Indeed. And who also got the colonel.”

“Then, sir,” said Berger, thin-lipped, ice cold, “might I respectfully ask that we go hunt the bastard down and teach him who he’s messing with?”

“You’re entitled to ask that,” said Farthingale, “and a half-hour ago I’d have said yes, by all means, with my blessing. However, thanks to the aforementioned ‘authority greater than myself,’ I can’t actually allow anything like that any more. Porphyrian is terminated and that’s that. Whatever feelings you may have—and believe me, I share them—you cannot act on them on my watch. Payback in your own time, once the PP-66 has been completely flushed out of you and you’re no longer in my direct employ, is entirely your own business. If you’re willing to wait until then, you’ll hear no objections from me. None whatsoever. In fact, I’ll be cheering you on. In the meantime, though, you have no alternative but to hold your fire.”

“That’s it? Your final word on the subject?”

“That’s it, Warrant Officer Berger.” Farthingale sounded strained. “It’s out of my hands. I wish it were otherwise, but it’s not. Thank you, all of you, for your service. I have to sign off now. Over and out.”

B
ERGER WAITED FOR
the green status light on the speakerphone to wink out.

“Where are you going?” she said to Abbotts, who had risen from his chair.

“Uh, the rec room? I thought we were done here.”

“We aren’t. Sit down.”

Something in her tone made Abbotts retake his seat. Immediately.

“So we’re just going to leave it at that, are we?” Berger said. “Suck it up and move on?”

“What do you suggest we do?” said Gunnery Sergeant Child. “Man made it clear. Game over.”

“Jacobsen—the colonel—is dead.”

“And?”

“He was our commanding officer,” said Berger. “This Redlaw person left him out in the daylight to burn. A horrible, undignified death. Does that sit well with any of you?”

Giacoia pulled a face. “It’s pretty cold, I got to say. Sounds like the colonel wasn’t even given a fighting chance.”

“I’m all in favour of a retaliatory strike,” said Corporal Lim, rubbing his sore arm. “I liked Jacobsen. I respected him. He didn’t deserve to die that way.”

“Kyle likewise,” said Abbotts. “Poor bastard drowned in sewage.”

“But,” Lim continued, “whatever we do, it’ll have to wait until we’re Porphyrian-free.”

“Will it?” said Berger.

“You heard the boss.”

“I heard him all right. But was I listening? Properly?”

“You’re saying we should ignore him,” said Child.

“I’m saying if we want to do this thing, and do it right, this is the time. We hang around, Redlaw’s long gone. He’s in the wind. And a week from now, we’ll be just ordinary humans again.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Child with a smirk. “There ain’t nothing ordinary about me.”

“You know what I mean. Unenhanced. We’ll have lost our boost, our edge. Whereas...” Berger looked at each of the other four in turn. “If we go after Redlaw today, all souped up and at the peak of our abilities, we’ll have every chance of catching him and settling accounts.”

“Seriously fucking his shit up,” said Child.

“Precisely.”

“Yeah, but wait one,” said Giacoia. “Jacobsen was a good guy and all, and so was Larousse, I guess, but do we have a right to run around whacking someone just because he whacked a couple of ours? I mean, this isn’t Iraq or Afghanistan. We’re not talking about some rabid towelhead terrorist needs putting down.”

“SEALs whacked Osama,” Abbotts pointed out. “And the way I remember it, no one cried. Anyone who kills Americans, especially a foreigner, becomes a legitimate target.”

“But this is different. Sure, we took some casualties. Isn’t that to be expected? Nobody said this would be a risk-free deal. But the campaign’s over now, and we’ve been ordered to stand down.”

“By a civilian,” said Berger, “who made no bones about the fact that he’d be glad to see Redlaw offed.”

“Just so long as it can’t be linked directly to him,” said Lim.

“And that’s another reason to say fuck him,” said Berger. “Let’s use what we’ve got, what Farthingale’s given us, while we still can. We do it today and we do it right. We honour Jim Jacobsen’s memory, and Private Larousse’s. One last outing for Team Red Eye. Maybe with an extra dose of PP-66 in our bloodstreams, just to be absolutely sure. Who’s with me? Show of hands.”

Abbotts’s hand went up straight away. Child’s and Lim’s followed. That left only Giacoia.

“Lieutenant?” said Berger. “You’re CO now. You going to lead this mission?”

Giacoia stroked his goatee. He was rather proud of it; it helped compensate for his receding hairline.

“Shit,” he sighed. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

Berger’s eyes gleamed in triumph.

She didn’t care which of the five of them would be the one to end Redlaw’s life. As long as it happened, and she got to watch.

But if, by chance, she found herself with Redlaw at her mercy—the man who’d killed her lover—she would take her time with him. She would make it nice and slow. There would be ripping, and rending, and tearing, and she would relish every long, drawn-out, blood-soaked minute of it.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

P
RECIOUS FEW PLACES
to eat were open. Eventually Redlaw and Tina found a 24-hour McDonalds where Tina wolfed down two Big Macs in a row, while Redlaw tackled an Egg McMuffin as circumspectly as though it were an unexploded bomb.

Then they resumed their trek northward, heading into the once shunned, now chic environs of the Meatpacking District. On every street, boutiques selling houseware and handicrafts jostled alongside art galleries and trendy antique shops. Tina aspired to live in an area like this, rubbing shoulders with the rich and fashionable. With what was stored in her camcorder, that goal didn’t seem nearly as remote as it used to.

Not far from where Miguel had said the school bus depot lay, they passed a stationery store. The proprietor, who lived in the apartment above, was unlocking the door and raising the security shutters as Redlaw and Tina approached. Redlaw greeted her and quickly established that she sold black cartridge paper and rolls of parcel tape. He thrust a wad of dollar bills into Tina’s hand.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Tina asked.

“Buy some of that paper and tape. As much as you can get of both. And scissors.”

“What for?”

“Think about it,” said Redlaw. “A big vehicle with plenty of windows. Windows that let in daylight.”

“Oh?” said Tina, and then, “Ohhh. Yeah. I see.”

“Sort that out. Meanwhile, I’ll go and procure our transportation.”

Procure?
Tina thought, then realised the store’s proprietor was still in earshot. “Okay. So you don’t need my help for that, then?”

“It’s better if it’s just one of us.”

“Because I’d be a liability. Stupid Tina might do something wrong.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re thinking it. I know you, Redlaw.”

“No.” Redlaw lowered his voice. “I’d just prefer it if I have only myself to watch out for. In case there’s trouble.”

“Whatever. Off with you,” Tina said curtly. “Go do your manly thing. I’ll shop. ’Cause that’s what girls do, yeah? Shop.”

Redlaw was already walking away. “Twenty minutes,” he said, without looking round. “I’ll pick you up. Be standing there.”

“Yes, dearest!” Tina called after him, in her best imitation of an upper-crust British housewife. “You bring the Rolls round, once I’ve finished in Harrods.”

The stationery store proprietor shot her a wry smile. “We can’t help who we fall for, can we?”

Tina rolled her eyes. “Eww. Puh-leeze.”

“He’s not your...?”

“He’s not my anything.”

“Oh, God. I’m sorry. I just assumed. The way you two were bickering.”

“Like I couldn’t do better than Herman Munster there.”

“But that accent of his,” the proprietor gushed. She was the kind of plump, hippyish woman who seemed born to wear purple. “It’s to die for.”

“Believe me, lady, you think the British are all cucumber sandwiches and garden parties with Her Majesty? They’re not. If
he’s
anything to go by, they’re the maddest bunch of motherfuckers on the planet. Now, am I buying stuff off of you or not?”

“Of course. Come on in.”

But once inside the shop, a thought struck Tina. Twenty minutes. That was just about enough time.

“Excuse me,” she said to the proprietor, “is there a restroom I could use?”

“Sure. Through that door, in back. You want I should start fetching out that paper and tape for you in the meantime?”

“That’d be great.”

T
INA SAT ON
the toilet seat lid, camcorder in one hand, BlackBerry in the other, the two devices linked by a USB cable. Using the Media Sync app, she imported data from the camera memory to the BlackBerry and converted the H.264-format files to mpegs. These she uploaded onto her website via email. She subtitled each clip “Raw Footage, Awaiting Edit and Commentary,” then composed a brief post to introduce them:

New to Tick Talk—Vampires of Manhattan

This is some truly cool stuff, straight out of my camera. Check the date stamp. You won’t believe what you’re seeing, but it’s 100% genuine!

She clicked the Publish button and sat back with a sharp exhalation, almost a gasp of relief, as though she’d just given birth.

She couldn’t possibly have held on to the vampire footage a moment longer. It was just too big, too important, too damn shit-hot. It demanded to be shared. Never mind that she’d made a pact with Redlaw not to release a single frame into cyberspace until after he was finished with his business in New York. How much longer were he and she going to be sticking together anyway? Not long. He’d probably never find out that she’d jumped the gun. He was mono-focused on getting his troupe of vampires to safety. So what harm could it do, Tina starting out on her road to fame and fortune a little ahead of schedule?

She returned to the main part of the shop, where the proprietor was busy bagging up several dozen huge rolls of cartridge paper and a stack of parcel tape.

“There you are,” she said to Tina. “That’s everything I’ve got. You’ve cleaned me out. I hope it’ll be enough for whatever you’re planning to do.”