LITMIR.BIZ

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become friends. They had remained close, even as geography separated them, and it was obvious to Larissa that the loss of Henry Seward had hit General Allen hard, coming as it did less than three years after the death of Julian Carpenter.

      Their first conversation had turned into a subtle interrogation of Department 19’s ability to find Admiral Seward and bring him home; Larissa got the distinct impression that only protocol was preventing General Allen from shipping the entire NS9 roster to Europe to aid in the search for his lost friend. She had reminded him that he knew Cal Holmwood and Paul Turner were good men, and reassured him that they were doing everything they could; her presence in Nevada was proof that they were keen to restore Blacklight to full strength as quickly as possible so they might better hunt for their lost Director, and Allen had appeared satisfied, at least outwardly.

      Larissa floated to the pair of sofas that dominated the centre of the room. They were angled towards the screen with a long wooden coffee table before them; she took a seat and waited for the Director to appear. She was hopeful that General Allen might continue his tales of Jamie’s father; she loved hearing them, and had taken to writing them down in a small notebook she kept in her quarters. Her plan was to give the notebook to Jamie when she got home; she hoped it might help him to know the real man his father had been.

      A minute or so later one of the doors at the back of the living room opened and General Allen emerged. He was a large man, tall and broad through the shoulders, and carried himself with the upright ease of a lifelong soldier. He was dressed in a white T-shirt and combat trousers and was towelling the last remnants of shaving foam from his ears and chin as he strolled into the room. He saw the vampire girl sitting on the sofa and grinned broadly.

      “Larissa,” he said. “Good to see you. Drink?”

      “Diet Coke, please, sir.”

      Allen nodded, and took a can from his fridge. He selected a beer for himself, then handed the can and a glass full of ice to Larissa. She thanked him, and poured her drink as the General twisted the cap off his own. He flopped down on to the sofa opposite her and took a long pull from his bottle.

      “Tim says you’re scaring the hell out of the trainees,” he said. “Apparently, a couple of them asked to be transferred back to their units.”

      “Oh God,” said Larissa, her face flushing pink. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

      “Don’t worry about it,” said the Director, smiling broadly. “They’ve all been turned down. You opened their eyes, that’s all. They’ll get over it. And if they can’t, they’re no use to us.”

      Larissa nodded. “I suppose not, sir.”

      “Your Operational reports have also been excellent. Uniformly so.”

      “That’s good to hear, sir.”

      Allen nodded. “Have you talked to Jamie?”

      “Not for a couple of days, sir. I’m going to call him tonight.”

      “That’s good,” said General Allen. “It still blows my mind to think about what he did to Alexandru Rusmanov. A kid his age? Unbelievable.”

      Larissa felt pride explode through her chest. “He doesn’t think it was that big a deal, sir,” she replied. “He thinks he did what he had to do. I’ve tried to tell him he’s wrong, but he won’t hear it.”

      “He is wrong,” said General Allen. “Do you know how many Operators have lost their lives to Alexandru over the years? Older, far more experienced men and women than him? Too many to count, Larissa, and every one of them was trying to do what needed doing. Only he actually did it.”

      Larissa beamed. She loved the awe with which her boyfriend was regarded on this side of the Atlantic, from rookie Operators all the way up to the Director himself. Jamie was nothing short of a legend: the teenager who had destroyed Alexandru Rusmanov, who had taken a squad of men and women into the lair of the oldest vampire in Paris and rescued Victor Frankenstein, who had earned the trust of Henry Seward and the grudging respect of Paul Turner. She felt no jealousy when people asked her about him, just pride, and love.

      “I know, sir,” she said. “You should tell him.”

      “I will,” said General Allen. “One day, I definitely will.”

      “He’ll appreciate it, sir.”

      “Do you miss him?” asked the Director. “Are you looking forward to going home?”

      Larissa considered this: two different questions, with two different answers.

      “I miss him,” she said.

      General Allen nodded. “I’m hearing nothing but great things about you,” he said. “Tim’s just about ready to adopt you. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

      “That’s nice to hear, sir.”

      “We probably could, you know,” said Allen, his grey eyes suddenly fixed on hers. “Arrange a permanent transfer, I mean. What would you think about something like that?”

      Larissa felt her stomach churn with desire. She pictured herself flying through the great open spaces surrounding Dreamland, eating and drinking and laughing with her friends in the diner at the edge of the runway, training recruits and helping NS9 on Operations throughout the length and breadth of this vast, unfamiliar country.

      “What about Jamie?” she asked. “Could you have him transferred too?”

      General Allen laughed. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Larissa, I can assure you of that. But I think the chances of Cal Holmwood letting that happen are somewhere very close to zero.”

      Bob Allen watched as Larissa closed the door behind her, then got up and reached into his fridge for another beer. As he removed the cap, the sense of conflict that always arose in the aftermath of talking to Larissa made its presence known in his stomach, where it twisted gently. His excitement at discussing Blacklight’s new generation with the vampire girl was tempered by a sense of guilt, of having betrayed the man who was currently locked in a cell eight floors below his feet.

      He had told Larissa the truth: one day he would meet Jamie Carpenter and, when he did, he intended to shake him by the hand and congratulate him. That wouldn’t be enough, but there were no words that were sufficient for what Jamie had done, no way to do it justice. Bob Allen would never have permitted a lone Operator to face a Priority Level 1 vampire, especially not one as old and dangerous as Alexandru Rusmanov; he doubted, in fact, whether he would have sent less than fifty of his finest Operators to face him. But Jamie had faced him alone, with minimal weapons and training, and prevailed.

      Yet, despite his genuine admiration, Bob Allen feared Jamie Carpenter. Specifically, he feared how the boy might react if he ever found out the truth: that on both sides of the Atlantic, men he was expected to trust with his life were keeping his father’s survival a secret from him.

      The Director drained his second beer and headed for the door. At the end of the corridor stood the elevator that would take him down to the detention level, where the man he had described to Larissa as one of his closest friends would be waiting for him, alone in the darkness.

      5

      EVERYTHING HEALS, IN TIME

      Kate Randall wiped her eyes and splashed water on her face. It was the first time she had cried in almost two and a half days, a new personal best since the night a month earlier when she had watched her boyfriend die.

      She was standing in the bathroom within the small suite of rooms that had been commandeered by ISAT, the Internal Security Assessment Team. In the centre was the interview room, containing a seat flanked by two metal cabinets of monitoring equipment, a desk and two plastic chairs. Outside the entrance to the interview room was a small lobby, separated from the rest of the Intelligence Division by a heavy steel door, which was accessed by a nine-digit code known only to three people.

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