LITMIR.BIZ

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was not a surprise. He had welcomed her in, and listened as she explained why she was there.

      “Are you sure?” he asked, when she had finished.

      “Yes.”

      “Thank you,” he said, and hugged her. The sensation was so strange that for a long moment she stood stiffly in his arms, before gradually bringing her own up and wrapping them round his broad shoulders.

      With Kate on board, ISAT was ready to go in less than a week. The rooms were equipped, the Intelligence Division briefed, and preliminary interviews carried out on the men and women who would be working for the team; this included Kate and Paul Turner, who insisted on going first. By this point, the Intelligence Division had been carrying out the most invasive background checks in the history of the British Intelligence Services for almost a month; they had been Turner’s first order as soon as ISAT was authorised by Cal Holmwood. Turner’s was complete and had come back spotless. But the revised checks were only half of the process; the other half was an interview, with the subject attached to a lie-detector machine more sensitive than any available to the public.

      The ISAT machines measured the same variables as regular lie detectors – heartrate, breathing patterns, perspiration etc. – but did so with a precision that was unmatched. They returned results that were 99.9 per cent accurate; from a mathematical perspective, they were as close to infallible as it was possible to be. The Intelligence Division staff had attached pads and wires to Paul Turner’s body, and Kate had asked him the questions they had devised together; he passed, as no one had ever doubted for a second. Then Kate had taken her turn, followed by the eight members of the Intelligence Division that had been assigned to ISAT. All passed, and Major Turner had sent a message to Interim Director Holmwood, telling him they were ready for him.

      That had been yesterday.

      Cal Holmwood had also passed, to the surprise of precisely no one, and had given them the final order to begin. To avoid any possible accusations of agenda, they were taking the Operators in computer-randomised order; the first of them, Lieutenant Stephen Marshall, looked up as Kate and Turner entered the interview room. The pads and wires were already attached to his body, and his face bore an expression of outright contempt as they took their seats opposite him.

      “Lieutenant Marshall,” said Paul Turner. “Do you need anything before we begin?”

      Marshall’s face curdled with disgust. “Just get on with it,” he spat.

      “As you wish,” replied Turner, and glanced over at Kate. She nodded, then opened her folder of questions to the first page.

      “This is ISAT interview 012,” she said. “Conducted by Lieutenant Kate Randall, NS303, 78-J in the presence of Major Paul Turner, NS303, 36-A. State your name, please.”

      “Lieutenant Stephen Marshall.”

      Kate looked down at the table; set into its surface was a small screen, angled in such a way that it could not be seen by the interviewee. Two grey boxes filled it; these displayed the results of the two sets of monitoring equipment that were humming quietly away on either side of Lieutenant Marshall’s chair. After a millisecond or two, both boxes turned bright green. She nodded.

      “Please answer the following incorrectly,” said Kate. “State your gender.”

      Marshall smiled, slightly. “Female.”

      Both grey boxes turned red.

      “OK,” said Kate. “Let’s get started. Are you a member of Department 19?”

      “Yes.”

       Green.

      “Do you currently hold the rank of Lieutenant?”

      “Yes.”

       Green.

      “Are you currently assigned to the Surveillance Division of said Department?”

      “Yes.”

       Green.

      “Do you understand that your position involves the acquisition and analysis of data that is classified above Top Secret?”

      “Yes.”

       Green.

      “Have you ever used your position for any purpose other than directly specified in your orders?”

      Marshall tensed with anger. “No,” he said.

       Red.

      “I would ask you to think very carefully about your last answer,” said Paul Turner. “Lieutenant Randall is going to ask you the question again.”

      Marshall’s face began to colour a deep crimson. “This is absolutely—”

      “Lieutenant Marshall,” interrupted Kate. “Have you ever used your position for any purpose other than directly specified in your orders?”

      “Yes,” spat Marshall. “You obviously know I have.”

       Green.

      “Please explain the circumstances that led to your last answer,” said Kate.

      “My girlfriend and I were having problems,” said Marshall, his face burning red, his voice like ice. “She was acting weird, being secretive, lying about stuff. So I listened in on a couple of her phone calls.”

       Green.

      “When did this incident take place?” asked Turner, taking over the questioning as Kate sat back in her chair. Marshall stared at her with eyes full of hatred, then turned his attention to the Security Officer.

      The first interview, thought Kate. The very first one and I’ve already made an enemy. Jamie told me they were going to want my head if I did this.

      She had no idea how right he was.

      6

      CIVILISED MEN

      CHÂTEAU DAUNCY AQUITAINE, SOUTH-WESTERN FRANCE

      “More wine?” The voice was smooth and full of quiet authority.

      Admiral Henry Seward nodded, raising his glass with one slightly trembling hand. A servant in immaculate black and white eveningwear, his eyes glowing a faint, respectful red, appeared beside him and filled his glass with wine that was a purple so dark it was almost black. The chateau’s cellar contained treasures that would have widened the eyes of even the most experienced sommelier, and bottle after stunning bottle was brought up and decanted every evening in anticipation of dinner, even though the diners never numbered more than three, and usually only two.

      Such was again the case this evening.

      Henry Seward sat at one end of a long table that could easily have seated twenty, while his dinner companion sat at the other. A small team of vampire servants attended to his every request, looks of devoted terror on their supernatural faces, although Seward knew full well it was not him they were scared of.

      The source of their fear was sitting at the other end of the table, a gentle smile on his narrow face.

      Vlad Tepes, who had later been known throughout Europe as Vlad Dracul and Vlad the Impaler, and who had eventually come to call himself Count Dracula, sat easily in his chair and regarded his guest. Valeri Rusmanov, who could not be faulted for his loyalty or his diligence, but often left much to be desired when it came to manners and etiquette, referred to Seward only as ‘the prisoner’, which was unacceptable to Vlad. It was factually accurate, but it created an atmosphere he considered unbecoming of civilised men, men who had commanded armies and fought for what they believed in. So he referred to Henry Seward as his guest, and treated him accordingly during the dinners they shared. The treatment the Director of Department 19 received in the long hours of darkness after the meals were finished was far less civilised, but was a regrettable necessity of the

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