LITMIR.BIZ

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so tightly packed together they were struggling to move. The bullets tore into them. Miller, whose young face bore the look of a man who had already seen more than he had ever wanted to, attacked the disorientated crowd with a fervour that bordered on mania, staking vampire after vampire, an inarticulate roar emanating from his wide open mouth. Turner sidestepped along the wall and drew his T-Bone. Calmly, without hurrying, he shot six vampires one after the other, letting the stake wind back in each time, then taking new aim and firing again. Carpenter ran to Frankenstein’s side, and the two of them pressed the howling, injured vampires back against the stone wall, then staked them in a flurry of sharpened metal.

      It was over in less than a minute.

      “Alexandru?” asked Carpenter, breathing deeply.

      Turner shook his head.

      “In there?” suggested Frankenstein, motioning towards the altar.

      They walked forward. Behind the altar, beneath the sculpted crucifixion, was the entrance to a short corridor. Carpenter leant down and looked along it. The stone passage was no more than twenty feet, and ended in what looked like a prayer room; he could see a kneeling board against the back wall.

      Frankenstein led them into the corridor, bending slightly to fit his large frame through the opening. He had replaced the empty MP5 on his belt and had drawn the silver and black riot shotgun he always carried with him; he loaded it with solid shot, and it could blow a hole through a tree trunk.

      They were almost at the door when something emerged from it, moving fast. Frankenstein pulled the trigger on the shotgun, and fire exploded from the barrel as a deafening noise filled the passage. The thing smashed against the wall, slid to the floor, and started to scream.

      As the smoke cleared, Carpenter stepped forward and looked at the shape. A beautiful female face, twisted into a grimace of agony, stared back at him.

      “Ilyana,” he said. “Where is your husband?”

      She snarled, and then spat a thick wad of blood into his face.

      “Too late, valet! He’s gone! Too late!” she shrieked.

      Julian’s boot thumped into her ribs, sending her crashing into the wall. An enormous hole had been blown in her stomach, and blood was gushing out across the stone floor.

      “Too late! Too late!”

      She started crawling again, screeching obscenities as she did so, and Julian walked back to the rest of his team.

      “He’s not here,” Carpenter said.

      “What do you mean, he’s not here?” asked Turner.

      “I mean he’s not here,” Julian snapped. “He’s somewhere else, he’s gone, he’s not here. Understand?”

      Turner didn’t reply, but nor did he drop his gaze. “I’ll finish her,” he said. “She’s a valuable target. It means the mission wasn’t a failure.”

      “Tell that to Connor,” said Miller.

      “No. I’ll do it,” said Carpenter, pulling the T-Bone from his belt. “You stay here.”

      He walked down the corridor.

      Ilyana had dragged herself into the room at the end, and Julian followed her in. Above the kneeling step, a carving of the Virgin Mary stared down at him as he entered, the door swinging shut behind him.

      At the other end of the corridor, the three Blacklight Operators waited. From behind the door came a piercing scream, a rush of air, then a wet splashing sound. The door opened and Julian Carpenter emerged, his uniform soaked in blood. Behind him, the walls of the room dripped red, and he left crimson footprints on the stone floor as he returned to his men.

      Chapter 27

      THREE’S A CROWD

      Jamie lifted his hands away from his face, and looked at Frankenstein. He had covered himself when the monster finished his story; he didn’t want to let him see his tears.

      “So that’s why Alexandru has my mother?” he said, his voice shaking. “Because Dad killed his wife?”

      “I don’t know,” said Frankenstein. “It would appear so.”

      “Why does it appear so?” said Jamie, anger filling his voice. “It seems pretty clear to me.”

      “I’m sure it does,” replied Frankenstein. His calm tone was maddening.

      “Why doesn’t it to you then?” he said, fiercely. “What aren’t you telling me?”

      The monster sighed. “There are a lot of people who, in light of what happened later, don’t believe your father killed Ilyana at all. Neither Major Turner or I saw her die. We just heard the shot.”

      Jamie stared at him. “You think he faked it.”

      Frankenstein slammed his fist down on the surface of the table. “I was your father’s closest friend,” he said, his voice like ice. “And I have stood at the side of your family for almost ninety years. And yet you sit there, and question where my loyalties lie? I have done things in the protection and service of your ancestors that would make your ears bleed, and you question me?”

      “I’ll question whatever I want!” yelled Jamie, standing up from the table and sending his chair clattering to the floor. He put his hands onto the surface, and leant towards Frankenstein. “Do you think Ilyana is still alive? That my father let her go? Tell me!”

      The monster slowly unfolded himself out of his chair, and rose to his full height. His shadow engulfed Jamie. “Listen to me,” he said. “I would have died for Julian Carpenter. I never doubted or questioned him, until a swarm of vampires brought the Blacklight jet down in a ball of fire on the runway of this base, killing eight good men in the process. It happened a quarter of a mile beyond the outer fence, on the edge of the most strictly classified and highly protected base in the country. A place that doesn’t exist on any map, a place that planes and satellites are not permitted to fly over. A place—”

      “A place where hundreds of people work every day,” interrupted Jamie. “Any of them could have told Alexandru where we are.”

      “No,” said Frankenstein. “They couldn’t. The civilian staff are flown in and out every day, on a plane with no windows, from an airport fifty miles away from here. They have no idea where they are. Only senior Operators are allowed to come and go.”

      “And there’s how many of them? A hundred? Two hundred? More?”

      “About two hundred. And you’re right, any of them could have told Alexandru where Blacklight is. But very few of them could have given him a map of the infrared sensors that fill the woods for ten miles beyond the fence. Only about six people in Department 19 have access to that information. And without that information there would have been time for the passengers to pull their chutes. But she was so low when they hit her, there was no time for anyone to do anything. She exploded, right out there on the runway. The investigation was still ongoing when your father died, ten days after the crash. He left base the night he died without warning or permission, without telling anyone where he was going. But he was still logged into the network when he left, and a duty officer saw something unusual on his screen. When they investigated, they found an e-mail your father had sent, to an unknown address. Attached to it were maps of the infrared sensor array.”

      Jamie walked stiffly away from the table, and slid down the wall to the floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees, and buried his head against them. When he spoke again, his voice was tiny. “Why would he do it? It doesn’t make any sense.”

      Frankenstein lowered himself back into his chair. “After he died, the data forensics team dug through every key had Julian ever pressed on a Blacklight computer. Buried way down in his personal folders, behind about a dozen passwords and layers of encryption, they found a letter he had written. In it, he claimed to be righting the wrongs that had been done to your family, the injustice

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