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JS: Whoa, whoa. You’ve never seen it?
AH: Not from the inside, Mr Supernova. It is the most highly classified organisation in the country. But there are traditions that concern the descendants of the original members, the founders. We are automatically given the chance to join when we turn twenty-one.
JS: And I presume you said no?
AH: I did.
JS: Why?
AH: Because I had no desire to spend my life chasing monsters. And because there are few things I have ever wanted less than to be anything like my father.
(pause)
JS: Why’s that, Albert?
AH: Because he was a bully, a sadist and a fraud, who played favourites. He loved my brother while he tolerated me, and made it abundantly clear to everyone.
JS: But when the time came, he still asked you to join this Blacklight?
AH: I have no doubt that it broke his heart to do so. But he was bound by the rules, by the traditions of the organisation he gave his life to. I’ve come to believe it was the only thing he ever truly cared about. So, yes, when I turned twenty-one, he asked me. I’ve never seen him happier than when I turned him down.
JS: So how does it work? You wake up on your birthday and your dad comes into your room and says ‘Hi, son, by the way, vampires are real, I’m part of a secret organisation that fights them and now you get the chance to be too’?
(Harker laughs)
AH: Pretty much. He used a lot more words than that, most of which were honour, and duty, and sacrifice. But yes, that’s about it.
JS: And so you said no. How did he react?
AH: He looked like the cat that got the cream. Then he shouted at me for about an hour, called me a coward and a baby, and told me he was embarrassed that I was his son. It went perfectly for him.
JS: How so?
AH: Because he was allowed to openly hate me, Mr Supernova. I finally gave him a good enough reason, by turning down his life’s work. And he didn’t have to have me there with him every day. I don’t know what he’d have done if I had said yes.
(pause)
JS: But you didn’t. So what happened then? He tells you this massive secret, and everyone normally says yes, but you say no. How does that work?
AH: He warned me not to tell anyone what I’d heard, said that they’d lock me up if I did, and that no one would believe me anyway. A couple of days later he brought me a form to sign, some version of the Official Secrets Act. And that was that. We never talked about it again.
JS: You mentioned your brother. He joined?
AH: Of course. Of course he did. He was my father in miniature. He couldn’t wait.
JS: So what did you do instead?
AH: Finished university. Moved to London. Discovered drugs. Became very, very fond of them.
JS: How did your family react to that?
AH: They cut me off the first chance they got. Said I was a stain on the family name, that I was no longer welcome at home. They turned their back on me, Mr Supernova.
JS: Bastards.
(pause)
AH: On several occasions I would be at a party, or in a bar, and I would catch someone staring at me, someone who didn’t look like they belonged with me and my friends. And a couple of times I got home and knew someone had been in my flat. Nothing was missing or out of place. It was professional work. But I knew. So I suppose they kept an eye on me, in their own way.
JS: Because they were worried you might talk?
AH: I don’t know. I imagine so.
JS: But you never did. Until now, at least. Why not?
AH: I wanted to forget everything. I didn’t care about their stupid little department, and I doubted anyone would believe me. So I tried to let it go.
JS: Why now then?
AH: Spite, Mr Supernova, as you said. And justice. And because I’m sick of carrying this around with me. I want to be rid of it.
(pause)
JS: This is good stuff, you know? The black sheep son of a noble family cut off and left to rot, heroin, homelessness, people following you, going through your stuff. It’s juicy, mate. Very juicy. But there’s still one problem.
AH: Which is?
JS: Vampires. Blacklight. I just… I can’t see a way that anything you’re telling me is the truth.
AH: I understand your position, Mr Supernova. Better than you realise, believe me. But it is the truth. I can tell you what my father told me, and that’s all. Beyond that, you’re on your own.
JS: Tell me.
AH: I’m afraid I can’t duplicate the pathetic awe in my father’s voice, but I can still remember most of what he said. I’ve already told you that Blacklight was founded in the late nineteenth century. Well, in the hundred or so years since, it’s changed rather a lot. My father told me it started out as four men in a house on Piccadilly, but now it’s more like the SAS, a classified special forces unit that polices the supernatural. I doubt you’ll find it mentioned officially anywhere, but you’re welcome to try and prove me wrong. As for the vampires? Nobody knows what made Dracula more than human, but what is known is that he was the first. After he died, he left a handful of vampires behind, vampires that he had personally turned. They turned others, and so on, and so on. The rise in vampire numbers is what prompted the expansion of Blacklight.
JS: What about the vampires themselves? Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m saying that word, but what are they about? They, what, swoop around in the night, changing into bats and wolves?
AH: No, Mr Supernova. The shape-changing was added by Bram Stoker for the entertainment of his readers, as was the susceptibility to crosses and holy water. They don’t work. Nor does garlic or running water. The rest of it, though, is true. They’re strong, and fast, and vulnerable to sunlight. Their eyes glow red. And they need to drink blood to survive.
JS: What kind of blood?
AH: Any, as far as I am aware.
JS: Human?
AH: Yes. Of course.
JS: So they bite people?
AH: They do. They bite people, and if their victim doesn’t die, they turn into a vampire as well.
JS: So why aren’t there thousands of them? Why don’t I see them on every street corner?
AH: As far as I understand, it’s because very few of their victims survive. And because Blacklight works very hard to keep them secret.
(pause)
JS: What do you want me to do with all this, Albert?
AH: I don’t understand the question.
JS: You’re a smart man. You know every editor in the country is going to laugh me out of their office if I write this up and submit it. Nobody is going to believe it. I’m sitting here looking at you and I believe you mean every word you’ve said, but even I can’t accept it as the truth. I just don’t see how it can be. How come nobody has ever broken ranks before? Why has no vampire ever come forward? Why aren’t the papers full of missing persons and bodies found drained of blood? You see what I’m saying?
AH: You are a journalist, aren’t you?
JS: Yeah.
AH: Then do your job. Everything I’ve told you is the truth. So dig, Mr Supernova. Find out what you can. If you can’t find anything to back up what I’m saying, then forget it, with my blessing. But if you can, if you can find any tiny little thing that corroborates what I’ve told you, you will find yourself in possession of the biggest exclusive in the history of humanity. Surely that’s worth a few days of your time, even if all it does is confirm that you were right about me all along. As for why nobody has ever broken ranks? I would imagine that the members of Blacklight would find it very difficult to speak to anyone without being monitored, and even if they did, I’m sure they would swiftly find themselves facing a court-martial. And the vampires? Why would they make themselves known? So that all their potential victims know they exist, so that the government can declare open war on them? And finally, Mr Supernova, I’m sorry to have to tell you that the papers are full of missing persons, and people who have had terrible things done to them. And that’s not even allowing for the hundreds of dead and disappeared who never make the pages of the tabloids.
(pause)
JS: I think we’re done here, Albert.
AH: I think so too.
JS: Where can I find you? If I need to follow up on any of this.
AH: You can’t. If I’m still alive in a few months’ time, if neither the vampires nor Blacklight get me, I’ll find you.
JS: This is ridiculous. You know that, don’t you? It’s nuts.
AH: Just do your job, Mr Supernova. That’s the only advice I have for you. Treat it like any other story and see what you can turn up. I wish you the very best of luck, I honestly do.
JS: Cheers. I think.
(tape ends)
Kevin McKenna dropped the transcript on to his desk and exhaled heavily; it felt like he had been holding his breath the entire time he had been reading. The dead cigarette fell from his lips, making him jump; he had forgotten all about it.
Jesus, Johnny,he thought. How desperate were you?
The transcript was nonsense, so much so that McKenna felt almost embarrassed for his former mentor. This kind of tattling, tabloid silliness was so far beneath the Johnny Supernova he had once known that it made him genuinely sad.
Things must have been so much worse than I realised. The Johnny I used to know would have laughed this guy out of his flat.
McKenna got up from his chair and flicked through the rest of the folder. It contained four or five pages of notes, written in Johnny Supernova’s distinctive sloping scrawl. He gathered them up, held them over the wire rubbish bin that sat beside his desk, then paused.
He left you this in his will. It’s disrespectful just to throw it out.
He put the folder back on his desk, grabbed his jacket, and walked quickly out of his office. A minute later he was in the elevator, checking his watch.
Should still be able to catch the second half,he thought.
Then a pang of sadness gripped his heart. He had not really thought about Johnny Supernova in a long time, not even when the obituaries ran in the newspapers and magazines. By then, they had long since ceased to live in the same world.
Goodbye, Johnny. Sleep well, you crazy bastard.
9
THE SHOCK OF THE NEW
STEVENAGE, HERTFORDSHIRE
“I’ve lost him!” shouted Alex Jacobs. “Next level up!”
Angela Darcy swore and ran for the concrete ramp, John Carlisle keeping pace at her side.
Operational Squad F-5 had been about to head back to the Loop when the call had come through from the Surveillance Division, informing them of a new target. Squad Leader Angela Darcy had asked no questions; she had merely told their driver to head for the new coordinates, as fast as possible.
She was tired, and knew her squad felt the same. They had taken down a vampire in the north London suburbs, a routine operation that had been perfect for Carlisle. The rookie had been with the SBS in Portsmouth until barely a month earlier, when recruitment to replace the men and women lost during Valeri’s attack had begun in earnest, and he had been summoned to Blacklight to begin his training. He was doing well under Angela’s tutelage; she had been encouraged by the poise and calm he had displayed on his two missions so far, characteristics that she had long since come to take for granted from Alex Jacobs. The quiet, experienced Operator had spent long spells in the Intelligence and Security Divisions, but had requested reinstatement to the active roster immediately after the attack that had hurt the Department so badly. Angela had watched him closely for the first few days, looking for signs of Operational rust, but quickly realised she had nothing to worry about; Jacobs had slipped into the black Operator’s uniform as though he had never taken it off.
They had found their target, a disoriented, raving vampire in his early twenties wearing the tattered remains of a white hospital gown, exactly where the Surveillance Division had told them they would: in a rail freight yard outside Stevenage station. Angela had led her squad towards him with their weapons drawn, ready to put one more vampire out of its misery before heading for home and the warm comfort of their beds. The target had backed away from them, his eyes glowing red, twitching and twisting like a cornered animal. Angela had been about to give the order to fire when the vampire, its eyes wide with confused panic, turned, sprinted across the metal rails, and leapt over a brick wall into the second level of the multi-storey car park that served the station.
Angela gasped. The vampire had been little more than a blur, a streak of white that had been gone before she could even tighten her finger on her T-Bone’s trigger.
“Jesus,” said Carlisle. The rookie was staring up at the looming concrete structure of the car park. “I’ve never seen anything move that fast.”
Jacobs said nothing; he simply turned, raised his visor and gave Angela a look whose meaning was clear.
Neither have I.
Angela felt the faintest flicker of unease in her stomach and pushed it down. “Follow me,” she said.
She led them back along the deserted platforms and out of the empty station. The car park rose tall against the night sky, an ugly lump of concrete, lit weakly from within by flickering yellow light.
“Do you think he’s still in there?” asked Jacobs.
“I don’t know,” she replied, her gaze fixed on the towering building. “Let’s find out.”
Angela’s boots thudded on the concrete as she ran up on to the car park’s uppermost level. They had chased the vampire up through the structure, getting little more than a glimpse of him on each floor, and she felt a surge of relief as she crested the ramp and surveyed the wide-open area.
No more levels, she thought. Nowhere for you to go.
Carlisle and Jacobs arrived beside her, weapons drawn, visors down. There were only a handful of cars parked on this level, spread out between the thick concrete pillars that supported the dilapidated structure. Water dripped steadily from numerous cracks in the ceiling, and the smell of petrol and grease was thick in the air.
“Where is he?” asked Jacobs.
“On this level somewhere,” said Angela. “Spread out and find him.”
