has temporarily activated all the trainees. They go back to the Playground as soon as this is dealt with, but as of right now, they’re officially Operators.”
Frankenstein poured himself another glass of whisky. “Are they ready?” he asked.
“No,” said Jamie, honestly. “But I think they’ll do OK. And, to be honest, they’re going to have to. This is pretty much the definition of in at the deep end.”
The monster took a sip of his drink. “Keep a close eye on them.”
Jamie forced a laugh. “Both of them are older than me; one was some kind of SIS assassin and the other was a Para on the verge of SAS selection. I’m hoping they’re going to keep an eye on me.”
Frankenstein put his drink down and leant forward.
“I’m serious,” he said, his voice rumbling like an earthquake. “I don’t care what they did, where they did it, or for how long. They’ve never seen the things that you and I have seen. So I’ll say it again: keep a close eye on them. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah,” replied Jamie. “OK, sure, I hear you. I’ll be careful.”
Frankenstein sat back. “I’m sure you’ll try,” he said. For a brief moment, his eyes seemed to sparkle with laughter and Jamie felt the atmosphere in the room lift. “Now let’s talk about something less gloomy. How is Matt enjoying being asked to save the world?”
Jamie opened his mouth to answer, then felt his console vibrate once in its loop in his belt. It was the alarm he had set for himself, to make sure he had enough time to do everything he wanted to do before meeting up with his squad.
“Matt’s fine,” he replied, standing up. “I’ll tell you next time, I promise.”
“You have to leave?”
“I do,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“I thought you weren’t heading out for an hour?”
“I’m sorry,” repeated Jamie, noting the expression of sadness that had flickered across the monster’s face. “I’ll come down tomorrow, OK?”
“All right,” replied Frankenstein. “Good luck with the op. Be careful. And remember what you promised me. Stay away—”
“I know,” interrupted Jamie, a smile breaking out across his face. “I know what I promised you. You remind me every time I see you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“All right,” said Frankenstein, the sad ghost of a smile on his face. “Tomorrow.”
“Really?” asked Valentin Rusmanov, placing two cups of tea on the low table that sat in the middle of his cell. “That’s really what he made you promise?”
“Stay away from Valentin,” said Jamie, grinning. “He reminds me every time I see him.”
“How perfectly lovely,” replied Valentin, settling easily on to the chaise longue that stood against one of cell’s bare concrete walls. “Under normal circumstances I would not consider myself easily flattered, but I must confess it gives me a rather warm feeling to know that the monster considers me worthy of such warnings. Has he explained why you should stay away from me?”
“He says you can’t be trusted,” replied Jamie, sipping his tea. “He doesn’t believe your reasons for being here.”
“Well, I suppose I can’t really blame him for that,” said Valentin. “Although I am glad you choose to ignore his warnings. And I do rather resent his hypocrisy.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jamie, glancing round the cell as he spoke.
Lamberton, Valentin’s long-serving butler, was in his own cell next door, but was liable to appear at any moment. The ancient vampires could pass through the UV walls that were supposed to contain them with casual ease, and did so whenever they chose to. Jamie assumed that Lamberton was providing the illusion of privacy while his master spoke with his guest, although he knew full well that the servant would have been able to hear every word from a far greater distance than the neighbouring cell.
Several items had been added to the room since Valentin had arrived at the Loop, offering to help Blacklight defeat both his former master and his older brother. The elegant chaise longue, the rosewood coffee table, the matching pair of green leather chairs: all were new additions. Jamie didn’t know where they had come from; they were presumably the result of discussions between Valentin and Cal Holmwood, discussions that Jamie would have loved the opportunity to listen in on.
The vampire was still a deeply polarising figure within the Department, even after his actions during his brother’s attack on the Loop. He had fought Valeri to a standstill in front of everyone, and had given his own blood to help Larissa in the moments before the base’s final defence mechanism, a ring of incredibly powerful ultraviolet bombs, had reduced them both to little more than burnt husks.
But to many Operators, he was still nothing more than a vampire, an old and incredibly dangerous one; he had been turned by Dracula himself and they simply could not bring themselves to believe that he was truly on their side. Some act of betrayal was widely expected, and the prospect contributed greatly to the oppressive air of anxiety within the Department for a very good reason: no one inside Blacklight was remotely confident of stopping Valentin if he decided to turn on them.
Jamie was unsure of his own feelings regarding the ancient vampire. Valentin was unquestionably a provocateur, and it was not in his nature to provide reassurance; he had refused all requests for some form of collateral to back up his words, whether it be wearing a limiter belt, allowing the insertion of a locator chip, or anything else. He maintained that his word should be sufficient, taking great delight, Jamie was quite sure, in the knowledge that there was no good reason for it to be. But he had fed Larissa his own blood after Valeri pulled her throat out, and for that Jamie would always be grateful. He wasn’t stupid; he knew it was highly likely that Valentin had merely seen an opportunity to increase his standing within the Department. But there were so many potential levels of bluff, double bluff and counter bluff that it would never be possible to know why he had done what he did with any degree of certainty. Jamie had decided simply to take Valentin at face value, while never lowering his guard for a second or letting his hand drift too far from the grip of his T-Bone.
Doing so had proved easier than expected, because above and behind and beyond all the rational analysis of the situation lay a simple truth, a truth that it would have broken Frankenstein’s heart to hear.
Jamie liked Valentin.
He liked him a lot.
The vampire was supernaturally full of life: cheerful, arrogant, funny, and endlessly charming. His appetite for the world around him was infectious, even though it had led him to commit atrocities that turned Jamie’s stomach, and he found his spirits lifted merely by being in the vampire’s presence. The same, he noted with a mixture of sadness or guilt, could not be said of Frankenstein.
“The monster has done things over the course of his long life that even I would have thought twice about,” replied Valentin. “I know he’s a loyal little Blacklight puppy now, but he wasn’t always so tediously wholesome. So for him to judge me seems rather hypocritical. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I don’t know,” replied Jamie. “He regrets the things he did. You don’t. Isn’t that a pretty big difference?”
Valentin smiled broadly. “Touché, Mr Carpenter. But answer me this. Do his regrets undo any of the pain he caused?”
Jamie shook his head.
“Quite right,” said Valentin. “Regrets and guilt and self-flagellation are all well and good, but they cannot change what has already happened. A murderer may find God in prison, or undergo therapy and come to regret his crimes. It may well mean he never kills again. But it won’t bring his victims back to life.”
“True,” said Jamie. “But