Uprising

‘The Trads and the Feds? Give me a break.’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe the time’s come, Harry.’

Chapter Seven

The mighty Thames river snaked through much of England, yet in places it was little more than a muddy stream crowded by banks of reeds.

Dawn wasn’t far away, and the riverbank creatures were beginning to wake. A solitary swan glided over the misty surface of the water; then swam for the refuge of the vegetation as a small rowing boat appeared.

Seymour Finch’s gnarled fists were tight on the oars, propelling the boat along through the murk with powerful strokes. The quiet, dark places were where he most loved to be, far from prying eyes. And he had a job to do, now that Mr Stone and his inner circle had retired to their rest.

Finch manoeuvred the rowing boat into the bank, so that it nestled among the rushes. He shipped the oars then reached down for the bundle that lay between his feet. He smiled as he thought about what was inside, wrapped in plastic and sacking cloth.

Mr Stone had let him do what he wanted, once the others had finished. Finch’s intense terror of his employer was matched only by his deep devotion. He was honoured to have been set the tasks he had. He would carry them out to the letter. He would have his reward.

Finch’s strong fingers closed on the folds of the sacking cloth. He hauled the bundle upright against the inside of the boat, then drew out the sheath knife from his belt and cut the rope so that the contents spilled out overboard and splashed into the water.

Finch watched the ripples, then reached for the oars. He was about to start turning the boat around to head for home, when he saw the swan a few yards away.

He stared at it. The first rays of the dawn were beginning to melt through the mist, and shone like gold on the majestic bird’s white plumage as it glided like a galleon across the water.

He wanted to tear its head off and eat its flesh.

Chapter Eight

You could cover a lot of distance very quickly on a bike like the Hayabusa, and Joel had been riding around for most of the night. His route had taken him all around Oxfordshire, and, as the fog had lifted in the hours before dawn, he’d sought out fastest, twistiest sections of country A-road where he knew the speed cameras were few and far between. His advanced police motorcycle course had made him a very quick and very safe rider. He knew exactly how far he could push the machine before he reached the very limit of his concentration and reflexes – and the faster he sliced through the countryside bends, the further from his mind he could drive the haunting remnants of the nightmare’s memory.

The first light was creeping over the horizon when he pulled up in a layby on the edge of a sleepy village. He killed the engine and sat back in the saddle, taking a few moments to soak up the tranquil silence. Feeling much better now, restful, clear headed and ready for another day, he peeled back the sleeve of his leather jacket to check his watch.

It was time to go to work. He fired the Suzuki back up and pointed it towards Oxford and Thames Valley Police Station.

As Joel walked in off St Aldates and into the station foyer, the blonde station duty officer gazed admiringly at the Detective Inspector’s lean six-foot frame. But he was too deep in thought to notice the look she was giving him. He waved distractedly as he walked past the front desk and headed for the staff canteen.

The place was nearly empty, just a few uniformed coppers coming off their late shifts and a handful of early-bird civilian personnel sitting at the plastic tables over tea and pastries. The police were always run ragged by the party mayhem and endless alcohol-related violence of Hallowe’en night. It got worse with each passing year, and today most of the officers looked pale and tired and ready for their beds.

Joel knew the feeling. He ignored the trays of doughnuts and Danish pastries, grabbed a coffee and went over to a corner table. The coffee was the same old thin, insipid brew that only came to life after the fourth sugar. He sat sipping it, gazing out of the window at the rising sun.

At a table a few yards away, three constables, two male and one female, were relaxing over a pot of tea. Joel knew them all well. The balding skinny guy was Nesbitt, the woman was Gascoigne, and the one doing all the talking was Macleod. Big Bob Macleod, two years from retirement, a pork pie of a man, a wheezing, red-faced heart attack waiting to happen. He was coming to the end of some anecdote or other that had the other two grinning broadly. Far away in his thoughts, Joel hadn’t caught a word of it.

‘Give me a break, eh?’ Macleod chuckled in his gravelly voice. ‘I mean, like we didn’t have enough bollocks to deal with in this job.’ He flipped his fat wrist over and winced at his watch. ‘Look at the time. I’m off home for some kip.’ He heaved himself up from the table, grabbed his hat and started off towards the exit.

‘Hey, Bob,’ Nesbitt called after him. ‘Watch the Count doesn’t get you.’

‘Better start eating garlic,’ Gascoigne said.

Macleod’s face twisted in disgust over his shoulder. ‘Bugger that.’ He reached the exit, then turned suddenly and did a comic snarl at them, showing yellowed teeth. ‘Yaarrghhh!’ There was no mistaking the Christopher Lee Dracula impression. The other two constables fell about laughing as Macleod left the canteen.

Joel turned to them. ‘What was that all about?’

Gascoigne stared for a moment, as though surprised that the DI was taking an interest in their jokes.

‘Nothing much, sir. Bob was just talking about the suspected drug driving incident out near Henley last night. Teenager wrapped his car around a tree, sprained his wrist. Seemed to be off his face when we found him. There were pills in the glove compartment. Looked like ecstasy to me, we don’t know yet.’

The police procedure in a case like this was pretty straightforward. The pills would be tested, along with a sample of the suspect’s blood. When the lab results came through after a week, maybe two, they’d know whether they could press forward with possession and drug driving charges. But that wasn’t Joel’s interest.

‘I don’t get it. What’s with the Dracula thing?’

Gascoigne snorted. ‘Oh, just daft. When we brought him in, he kept rambling on about ghouls and vampires. Wouldn’t stop talking about them.’

‘Vampires?’

Gascoigne looked perplexed. ‘You really want to know?’

Joel nodded.

‘Well, apparently, the reason he crashed his car was because he was running away from a vampire lair that he and his girlfriend stumbled on. She was taken by them, needless to say.’

Joel frowned. ‘Not reported missing, though.’

Gascoigne shook her head. ‘Course not, sir. Tucked up safely in bed at home in Wallingford. I talked to the parents myself.’

Joel nodded thoughtfully. Hallowe’en and ecstasy pills. A lethal combo for an overactive imagination. The drug was well known for its ability to produce all manner of wild hallucinations. But still, the mention of vampires had pricked up his ears.

And sent a tingle down his back, too. It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t fight back his curiosity. ‘Do we have him in custody?’

‘I wouldn’t waste my time on it, sir. He’s spent the night in the JR.’ JR was what Oxford locals called the John Radcliffe hospital. ‘Probably be out sometime today, if he gets the all-clear. Then all he has to worry about is whether we’re going to book the silly sod for drug driving or just for possession.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Declan Maddon. But like I said, sir, I wouldn’t waste time on it.’

Chapter Nine

VIA HQ, London

The sun was slowly rising over the city as Alex and Harry Rumble finished her debriefing. She stood up and walked over to the window. Watching the orange glow of the sunrise creeping across the skyline made her think of her Solazal. She quickly reached into the back pocket of her jeans and slipped out the tube. Popped a tablet in her mouth and felt it sizzle sweetly on her tongue.

Rumble leaned back in his chair, took another worried glance at his screen and then shuffled some notes on his desk.

‘Anyway, whatever the hell’s happening, VIA business goes on as usual. Another job’s come in for you.’

She turned away from the window, chewing the Solazal tablet. ‘I just got back from Romania, Harry.’

‘This is just routine. Shouldn’t take long. Are you carrying?’

‘Just my backup.’ She flipped back her coat to reveal the stainless steel, short-barrelled .44 Magnum Smith & Wesson riding behind her right hip.

‘You call that thing a backup piece?’ Rumble handed her a sheet of official VIA notepaper from his desk. She snatched it from his hand, scanning the words with quick green eyes. The name on the sheet was Baxter Burnett.

‘The movie star?’

Rumble nodded.

‘I didn’t even know he was one of ours,’ Alex said.

‘He was turned back in the late sixties, but it wasn’t until the nineties that he got bored and tried his hand at acting. It turned out the big moron had talent.’

‘I should have guessed. I’ve been watching his movies for years and he’s never aged a day.’

‘Yes, well, that’s exactly the problem,’ Rumble said. ‘We can’t allow him to go on drawing attention to himself. I want you and Greg to go and have a word. Nothing too strong. Just refresh his understanding of the situation.’

Alex blinked. ‘Excuse me? And who is Greg?’

‘I should have mentioned it,’ Rumble said with a sly grin. ‘Greg Shriver. That’s Lieutenant Greg Shriver, formerly US Marines, just flown in. Your new partner.’

She groaned. ‘Don’t do this to me. I work alone, for fuck’s sake.’

Rumble gave her a stern look. ‘Hey. Don’t give me that “I work alone” crap. There isn’t an agent on this team I cut more slack to, but even you shouldn’t push it.’

‘Jesus Christ, Harry.’

‘He’s a fresh recruit, so he’s going to be a little raw. Show him the ropes, train him up. I know he’ll learn fast, and he’ll be learning from the best. I’m counting on you, all right?’ Rumble slid a file across the desk at her. ‘Read it. He’s good material for us.’

Alex flipped through it. Like all vampires, she could read ten times faster than a human. ‘And when do I get to meet wonder boy?’

‘Right now.’ Rumble stabbed a button on his phone and talked to the speaker. ‘Jen, show him in, will you?’

A few seconds later Rumble’s secretary, Jen Minto, ushered the new recruit into the office. Greg Shriver was about thirty-five, lean, dark and extremely nervous-looking as he walked in.

Alex stuck out her hand as her boss introduced them.

‘Special Agent Alex Bishop.’

When they shook hands, she noticed that his palm felt a little damp with sweat. Some very fresh vampires retained those kinds of human attributes for a while.

‘They tell me you and I are going to be working together,’ Greg said.

‘Yup. Lucky me.’

‘Baxter’s taken the Trafalgar Suite at the Ritz while he’s in town promoting the new Berserker movie,’ Rumble said. ‘He’s expecting you, but you’d best get going.’

‘Is that Berserker 6?’ Alex said. ‘I saw the fifth one. Complete piece of shit.’

‘Did you see him in Raptus, though?’ Rumble said. ‘Now that was a pretty damn good movie.’

‘We’re going to see Baxter Burnett?’ Greg asked, wide-eyed.

‘Let’s move, new blood,’ Alex said.

Back down in the car park behind the S&S building, Alex bleeped the locks of her black Jag XKR. She slipped into the driver’s seat and Greg got in beside her. He moved like an overgrown puppy, clumsy and too full of energy, and slammed the door so hard it made the glass shake.

She threw him a hard look. ‘Break my car, I’ll slice your head off.’

‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I keep forgetting how strong I am now. Like the night-vision thing, too. I feel pretty weird, still kind of dazed.’

‘That’s hardly surprising,’ Alex said, allowing him a smile. ‘One minute you’re getting on fine with your human life, the next thing some vampire’s sticking their teeth in you. Kind of changes things.’ She started the car and pulled away aggressively, the acceleration pressing them back in the leather seats.

‘That how it was for you?’ he asked.

‘Etiquette lesson one. You never ask anyone how they turned. Unless it’s me, your superior, asking you.’

He mumbled an apology.

‘What’s that accent? Tennessee?’

‘Raised in Memphis. You’re good.’

‘I’ve done a lot of moving around in the last century or so,’ she said. ‘But never mind my story.’ She glanced sideways at him. His shirt was open three buttons, and she could see the slim chain around his neck and the pressed tin tags nestling against his chest. ‘Love the dog tags.’

He reached up and touched them. ‘Keepsake, I guess.’

‘So you were in the Marines. What happened?’ As she talked, she was speeding the Jaguar through the London traffic, darting through tiny gaps between buses and black cabs.

Greg took a breath. ‘Yeah, I was doing okay. Made lieutenant younger than my father did, things were looking good. There was this guy on my squad, his name was Tadd. Always screwing around with weapons, kind of obsessive about them. Anyway, one day we’re out on manoeuvres with an armoured vehicle division and Tadd is playing around with the Browning .30 cal on one of the Hummers. I was standing talking to my captain when, bang, Tadd lets off an accidental shot. Caught me right between the shoulder blades.’

‘Hero’s death. Nice.’

‘You said it, after I was decorated in Iraq and all. Anyway, I’m lying there in the military hospital and the pastor’s just read me the last rites. I haven’t got long to go. Then, when nobody’s looking, this doctor that’s been hanging around me giving me the eye comes over and whispers in my ear, “Psst! Wanna live a little longer?”’

Alex gave a short laugh.

Greg went on. ‘First I thought it was the morphine, fucking with my head. But now I see it’s for real, the guy’s telling me how he’s going to bite me and turn me into a vampire. Said something about recruiting me. I figured, why not, I’d nothing to lose. Only a jackass would turn down an offer of eternal life. Anyway, then I woke up and I was at the Federation rehab centre with my gunshot wound healed up like I’d never taken a bullet. That was two weeks ago. And here I am.’

‘I’ll bet the Feds had their eye on you the moment you were brought into the hospital,’ Alex said. ‘Good army record, no wife or kids, they’d have had you down as an ideal VIA recruit. That vampire doctor was there to pick out the right candidates. When the opportunity comes up to grab someone who looks like they’ll be an asset, they haul them on board. You know about the probation period, don’t you?’

‘A year, right?’

She nodded. ‘To see how you shape up. Then the Federation Board decides whether you can stay.’

‘And if I can’t?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

He sighed. ‘The only thing that really bugs me is that I’m never allowed to see my folks again, my sister, my friends.’

‘Yeah, well, think about it. One minute they’re weeping over their dear departed’s coffin, the next you show up on the doorstep. That’s why you were posted here to London, to keep you far out of temptation’s way. That’s how the Federation works. We can live among humans, that’s fine. But we can’t get too close to them, can’t get emotionally involved in any way. It’s too big a security risk, in case someone spills the beans. Strictly forbidden.’

‘So let me get this right,’ Greg said. ‘Since the Federation was formed in, what?’

‘Nineteen eighty-four.’

‘Since then, it’s been illegal for vampires to actually turn anyone else into a vampire, correct?’

‘Unless it’s an official recruitment, sanctioned by the Federation authorities. That’s to keep out what you might call undesirable elements. The kind of vampires that give vampires a bad name, draw the wrong kind of attention to us. The twentieth century changed everything. Internet, communications, surveillance. The world’s a pretty small place now. That’s why the Federation was created, to maintain a low profile for the community.’

‘And to protect humans?’

She glanced at him. ‘Protect humans? That’s our food resource you’re talking about. We’re not doing this because we love humans. This isn’t some politically correct thing. We’re doing this to survive.’

‘What happens to vampires that don’t play by the rules?’ Greg asked.

‘That’s where VIA comes in. Basically we go after them and kick their arses into line.’

‘We kill them?’

‘Destroy them. Already dead, remember.’

Greg made a face. ‘Right.’

‘Only if we absolutely have to, the ones that won’t listen to sense. Mostly they end up cooling their heels in the Federation Detention Centre for a while. But if they’ve done something really bad, or really stupid, sometimes the Ruling Council will vote for a termination. There was one last year. Rock star. Found out that this guy was a vampire, offered him five million quid to make him into one too. The vampire went for it. Two days later the rock star rose up as one of the Undead and the vampire walked off with the five mill.’

‘Oh, boy.’

‘Everyone’s happy, until the day after that, the rock star forgets what he’s become, walks out onto his balcony at sunrise and – whoosh. He went off like a magnesium flare. Some journo got the shot of him burning up. There was a whole thing in the press about human spontaneous combustion.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I remember that. That was Bobby Dazzler, the lead guitarist of Wild Boys.’

‘He certainly dazzled everyone that day. Of course, Bobby’s name wasn’t on the Federation register and we soon tracked down the guy who had turned him, who was now suddenly spending like a sailor and renting a yacht down in St Tropez. The Council didn’t waste time on him. He got zapped. Lethal injection of Nosferol. That’s one of the special drugs that the Federation produces. We have our own fabrication plant in Italy.’

‘I know about the drugs,’ Greg said. ‘Got the whole lecture already. Like this stuff here, for instance.’ He dug a plastic bottle out of his pocket and gave it a shake. The thick green liquid inside clung to the glass.

Alex glanced at it. ‘That’s that shitty blood substitute they give out to newbies like you who aren’t able to juice for themselves yet.’

‘Tastes pretty bad, but it seems to keep me going. What is it, anyway?’

‘Synthetic crap, kind of vampire baby food. But you can’t stay on it forever. You’re going to have to learn to feed naturally.’

He pulled a face. ‘I’m not looking forward to that part.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s easy. When you get hungry enough, it’ll come naturally. What about your Solazal? You got your supply of that too? I don’t need to be worrying about you?’

He looked blank. ‘My what? Oh, right. Those little white pills.’

‘Shit. When was the last time you took one?’

‘Uh, sometime yesterday, I think.’

Alex slammed her foot on the brake and the Jag skidded to a halt in the traffic to an angry chorus of horns.

‘You think? Have you any idea what’s going to happen when the effect wears off and you’re still out in daylight? Fizz, it’s over, just like Bobby Dazzler. And on my champagne leather seats?’ She reached into the glove box and handed him a packet of pills. ‘Get one down you right now.’

She took off again as he sucked on the pill. ‘Get this in your head. Solazal is a photosensitivity neutraliser, and it’s the centre of your life from now on. You take one every twelve hours without fail, or you’ll fry.’

‘Kind of a departure from tradition, isn’t it?’ he said sheepishly.

‘Modern age, babe. Got to keep up with the times.’

Chapter Ten

Kate Hawthorne was awoken by the sound of her mother coming into her room.

‘Come on, young lady. Can’t lie there all day. It’s nearly ten past eight and you’re going to be late for school.’

Kate groaned and crawled in deeper under the duvet. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘That’s what you get for all this late night cavorting about,’ her mother snapped. She ripped open the curtains and then marched over to the bed to yank back the edge of the duvet. Kate flinched as the pale autumn sunlight hit her in the face. It was hardly bearable. She tried to grab the duvet back from her mother but fell back, half blinded and gasping.

‘Look at you. What on earth’s the matter with you?’

‘Please, Mum. I’ve got a terrible headache.’

‘You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?’

‘I haven’t been drinking.’ But the truth was, Kate realised, she could hardly remember a thing about the night before. She vaguely recalled being with Dec, then the argument. Storming off down the road; the big posh Rolls stopping for her.

And that was it. The rest was a big, yawning blank. How had she got home? Had the man brought her back? Who was he? And where had she seen his face before?

Kate squinted up at her mother. The expression of tight-lipped disapproval made it perfectly clear that her daughter had not been driven home to 16 Lavender Close in a Rolls-Royce. That would have been cause for celebration for Mrs Gillian Hawthorne.

‘You don’t have to look so sour.’ You old cow, she wanted to add. She kept it back, but it must have shown in her eyes, because the disapproving look on her mother’s face deepened a couple of tints.

‘The police called here earlier about your boyfriend.’

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ Kate protested.

‘That’ll be why your neck is covered in lovebites. Little tart.’

Kate put her fingers to her neck and winced. Did Dec do that? ‘What about the police?’ she murmured.

‘He crashed his car last night. Drunk, no doubt.’

Kate tried to sit up in bed, and the ache thudded through her head. ‘What? Is he all right?’

‘He’ll survive. That’s what cockroaches do, isn’t it? Why couldn’t you go out with Giles Huntley?’

‘I hate Giles Huntley. He’s a creep and he has bad breath.’

‘At least he has a good education and a future ahead of him when he goes to Cambridge. He’s not going to spend his life poking around in filthy grease under a car bonnet. Have you seen the state of Declan Maddon’s fingernails?’

Please make her shut up, Kate thought. The pain felt like a blunt chisel blade being hammered into her skull and then twisted from side to side. Her vision was exploding with it.

And still her mother went on. ‘You know what’s going to happen if you keep this up, my girl, don’t you? Pregnant. That’s what happened to Chardonnay Watson, isn’t it? Going around with lowlifes. Next thing, a bun in the oven. What a disaster. Mind you, with a name like Chardonnay it was to be expected and it’s probably all she was good for anyway…’

Kate watched her mother ranting on. The words faded out in her ears. For a brief instant she felt a rush of emotions surging up inside her, momentarily blanking out the pain in her head. Feelings she’d never had before, and a sense of power that was almost overwhelming.

Before she knew what was happening, she had her mother by the throat. Shaking her like a terrier with a rat. Screaming, ‘Shut your fucking mouth!’ Her mother’s tongue hanging out, her face turning blue as she throttled the life out of her.

But then she was back on her bed and her mother was still standing there, going on at her.

What was happening? Was she going crazy?

‘—should have done a long time ago. St Hildegard’s will be a far better environment for a young lady. You’ll make proper friends, with the right type of people.’