Authors: Will Hill

Department 19: Battle Lines (75 page)

BOOK: Department 19: Battle Lines

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He had been lying on his bed, trying, and failing, to get some sleep. The flight back from Nevada had been short, but remarkably uncomfortable; the physical pain in his wrists had been bad, as had the sense of claustrophobia that came with the hood he had been forced to wear, but the humiliation of being taken back to Britain like a common criminal had been worse. He had been loaded on to the plane in the dark, warned not to say anything to anyone, sealed inside a soundproof cell that he couldn’t even see, then walked off at the Loop with Operators holding his arms. He had been on the verge of despair until he had heard Cal Holmwood’s voice welcome him back; the familiar, friendly tone had been enough to allow him to keep his composure as he was taken down to the cell he was now sitting in.

His handcuffs had been removed and he had taken off his hood as soon as the door was closed behind him. The cell was slightly larger than the one he had spent the last three months in, but was just as sparsely furnished: bed, toilet, sink, chair. He was exhausted, but sleep would not come, for a single reason that pressed against the inside of his skull; somewhere, perhaps no more than a few hundred metres away from where he lay, were his wife and son.

The cell door opened and Cal Holmwood stepped through it. He nodded, and Julian gave him a thin smile in return; it was all he could manage under the circumstances.

“Julian,” said the Blacklight Interim Director. “How are you?”

“What do you want me to tell you, Cal?” he replied.

Holmwood shrugged, and sat down in the plastic chair. Julian pushed himself across his bed and leant his back against the wall.

“I am sorry about this,” said Holmwood. “I hate seeing you in here. I know it’s not fair.”

“There’s an easy solution, Cal,” he replied. “If you hate it so much.”

“No,” said Holmwood. “There isn’t.”

Julian felt his insides turn to water. “What’s going on?” he said. “Tell me.”

“Nobody can know you aren’t dead, Julian,” said Holmwood. “It causes too many problems. At least for the moment.”

“Nobody?” asked Julian, quietly. “Including—”

“Including Marie and Jamie,” said Cal. “I’m sorry, Julian. You died a suspected traitor and I can’t afford to have all of that dragged back up. Not now. Thomas Morris admitted framing you, but faking your own death looks suspicious, Julian, you have to see that. There will need to be an enquiry, testimonies, interviews and investigations. And I cannot authorise that use of time and manpower. Not with everything else that’s happening.”

Julian felt numb. This was the possibility that Bob Allen had warned him about, had tried to prepare him for, but hearing the words emerge from Cal’s mouth still felt like a punch to the gut.

“You’re telling me I’m not allowed to see my family,” he said, slowly. “Am I hearing you right? I want to be very clear on this.”

“That’s right,” replied Holmwood. “As I said, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Is that meant to be a joke?”

“It’s meant to—”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” interrupted Julian. “Not then, and not since. I faked my death because I could see how well someone had framed me and I couldn’t let Marie and Jamie pay for the things I’d supposedly done to this Department. In the years since then, I told nobody who I was. I told nobody anything about us, or the vamps, or anything else that’s classified. I only broke cover when I believed my son was in danger, and since then I’ve been sitting in prison cells. So explain to me how your being sorry is supposed to mean anything to me?”

Holmwood said nothing.

“They’re my family, Cal,” said Julian, his voice on the verge of breaking. “My wife. My son. Please don’t do this to me.”

Holmwood looked at him. His eyes were bloodshot and the bags beneath them were dark and heavy. “It’s done,” he said, softly. “I’m sorry. But the decision is made.”

Julian felt cold creep through him. It felt as though something inside him had died as his friend spoke, some essential part of himself. “So what now?” he said. “I stay here and hope you change your mind?”

“It’s up to you,” said Holmwood, sitting up in his chair. “You can stay here, in this cell. You’ll be safe, and looked after, and I’ll see about getting you some things to make it a little more bearable, some furniture, some entertainment. But nobody apart from me will know who you are, and you’ll be forbidden from talking to anyone else.”

“Or?” asked Julian.

“You can leave,” said Holmwood. “We’ll give you a new name, and a new life. But you can never come back. You can never attempt to contact anyone from this Department or any of our counterparts around the world. You’ll be under surveillance for the rest of your life and the slightest transgression will see you arrested. But you
can
have a life. We owe you that much.”

“Without my family?” asked Julian.

Holmwood nodded. “Yes. Without them.”

“What kind of life would that be, Cal?”

“One that’s better than you can have locked inside this room,” said Holmwood. “One where you can go outside, see the sun, choose what you want to eat. Take it or leave it.”

“Take it or leave it?” asked Julian. His mind seemed to be slowing down, as though the enormity of what his friend was telling him was cutting power to his vital systems. The cell seemed to be becoming even greyer, clouding at the edges of his vision and shrinking in on him, reducing his perspective to a dark tunnel.

“I’m afraid so,” said Holmwood. He stood up from his chair, made his way across to the door, and banged on it three times. “I’ll give you some time to think about it. And like I said, I really am—”

“Just get out, Cal,” said Julian, and lay back on his bed.

The door unlocked and swung open. Holmwood looked at him for a long moment, then turned and walked out of the cell, slamming the door behind him.

Julian stared up at the ceiling, his friend’s words pounding through his head.

Take it or leave it.

Take it.

Or leave it.

46 DAYS TILL ZERO HOUR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My agent Charlie Campbell and UK editor Nick Lake, without whom these books wouldn’t exist.

My lovely US editor Laura Arnold, for her endless transatlantic enthusiasm.

Everyone at HarperCollins and Razorbill, for everything they do.

My wonderful publishers around the world, for spreading the word in so many languages.

Sarah, for putting up with me.

My friends and family, for their understanding and encouragement.

And most importantly, everyone who has spent their time and money on these books. It never ceases to amaze me, and I will never take your support for granted. Thank you.

Will Hill

London, February 2013

Copyright

First published in hardback in Great Britain by HarperCollins
Children’s Books
in 2013

HarperCollins
Children’s Books
is a division of HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd,

77-85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith, London, W6 8JB.

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Source HB ISBN: 9780007354511

Source TPB ISBN: 9780007469550

Will Hill asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.

Ebook Edition © March 2013 ISBN: 9780007354528

Version 1

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