Peter led them inside. Voices were speaking only yards away; in moments, they had joined the rest of the Mirovar force team in a large room. The room was dominated by an oval table, surrounded by a dozen, mostly empty chairs. In the middle of the table were a pair of trays with sandwiches, bottles of water and glasses.

  The room held a lot of empty space and four thick wooden columns supporting the ceiling. Peter leaned toward Anton and whispered, “Ex-dojo. We replaced it with the barn. You’ll see it tomorrow.”

  Anton nodded.

  Peter smiled, sitting down opposite the trays of food and declared gustily, “Perfect.”

  Anton and Li followed, sitting down next to him.

  Francis stood in front of a large whiteboard, making notes. There was a list of abbreviated bullet points on the board; penetrate police lines, capture RHIB, attack Shadowstone on the dock, kill nightfalcons. Juliette sat nearest to him, a laptop open in front of her, her fingers occasionally flashing over the keyboard as she took notes.

  The serious-faced young man with roughly cut, dirty-blond hair from the van reported, “The stingers just dropped dead like hitting a wall about thirty yards back from the black helicopter.”

  “Electronic warfare; must have been her personal nightfalcon,” Juliette Mirovar noted.

  Peter snorted. “Definitely not standard issue tech.”

  Francis frowned at him, and Peter adjusted his position in his chair as if he could not find a way to sit comfortably.

  A young woman with long coppery hair tied back into a ponytail and warm blue eyes, sitting next to the first speaker reported, “We fired as we landed on the dock and managed to hit one of the praetorians.” She glanced at Li and continued speaking matter-of-factly, “The one that Li was fighting froze, and she took his head off.”

  A smile flitted across her face. “A praetorian came out of the river, catching us by surprise, and then one of the Shadowstone operatives fired a grenade and emptied his clip, but everyone evaded, and no one got hurt.”

  “Ahh…” Peter uttered, scratching the side of his head. “I beg to differ; I caught a piece of shrapnel.”

  Juliette looked up from her laptop and inquired with a frown, “You didn’t mention this before.”

  “Well, I thought it would be okay - it’s really just a scratch.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Juliette declared, reaching for the medical kit bag at her feet.

  All business, Juliette stood up and walked briskly around to where Peter continued to squirm uncomfortably in his chair.

  “Where were you hit?”

  “… In my butt.”

  Juliette blinked, raising her eyebrows she asked, “Which side?”

  Francis sighed. “Okay everyone - take five minutes.”

  While Peter submitted to the attentions of Juliette, the rest of the team started on the sandwiches and water. Anton realized how hungry he was, helping himself, he bit into a ham, cheese and tomato sandwich with gusto. Anton thought to himself, I need some names here, everyone already knows Li, and I’m at a loss. Finishing the sandwich, he determined to introduce himself.

  “Hi guys,” he stated. They all stopped talking amongst themselves and looked at him. “I’m Anton Slayne.”

  Silence dropped over the room, and everyone stared at him.

  Okay - what? Have I suddenly grown a second head?

  * * *

  Jay Creeley dropped his half-eaten sandwich back onto his plate. Putting his hands on the edge of the table, he pushed his chair back hard and stood up. He smacked the table with an open hand, and it shook fit to break.

  “Jay!?” the copper-haired young woman next to him half-shouted in sudden alarm.

  “If I’d known we were picking up a Slayne tonight,” Jay ground the words out with barely restrained fury. “I wouldn’t have bothered.”

  “Steady on Jay, he’s not committed a crime,” Juliette asserted as she closed her medical kit bag.

  “Not yet. But why should we give him a chance?” Jay asked incredulously.

  “He’s fought bravely against vampires, he is one of us,” Li declared.

  “He’s not a member of the Order,” Jay spat the words angrily, “and neither are you.”

  “Not yet, but we both will be,” Li promised, fire igniting behind her eyes.

  “I’ve got nowhere else to go. I know too much. What do you expect from me?” Anton asked, his face filled with shock and dismay.

  “I’m sure a second grave can be dug tomorrow,” Jay declared with a sneer.

  “Enough!” Francis roared - his voice cutting through the room like a knife. “Jay Creeley, I have invited Anton to join us and prove his worth to the Order, and that is the end of it.”

  Francis looked directly at Anton. “I realized who you were as soon as I met you, you’re the spitting image of your grandfather when he was younger.”

  Jay stared at Anton, his face flushed, his mouth a grim slit.

  Francis looked at Li. “I was a little mystified as to why your father didn’t mention Anton’s family name in his communiques.”

  Li shrugged her shoulders.

  Francis turned to Jay and noted, “Now I know why. Jay, I understand your feelings, but you have to let this go. Anton is not his grandfather.”

  Jay’s eyes flicked back and forth between Anton and Francis, and Francis stared back - a hard uncompromising light behind his eyes.

  Jay lowered his gaze. “… Yes, Sir,” he conceded flatly. His face rigid, his mind burning with righteous anger. He would rather die than see a Slayne confirmed in the Order.

  * * *

  Maybe I should just leave.

  Anton was gripped by sudden nausea, his emotions churning chaotically.

  Francis called the meeting back to order. Li sat down on Anton’s right and Peter on his left.

  Francis addressed the young woman with coppery hair sitting next to Jay, “Yvette, please continue your report.”

  “Well, there were two vampires left on the dock - both wounded at that point. I saw Jay clean up the one that you had slashed as you ran past him, then Juliette and I killed the blond one that came out of the river. They were all dead, except for a Shadowstone operative who disappeared back into the warehouse.”

  Anton wondered what happened to the suit leading the Shadowstone forces. He hoped he’d stepped on a mine as he escaped back through the warehouse. But there had been no explosions.

  He probably got away. Anton thought bitterly.

  “Thanks, Yvette,” Francis offered. He turned his attention to another young woman with lustrous dark wavy hair, olive complexion, and large brown eyes. “Chiara, what have you got to report.”

  Chiara reported, “I was first on the RHIB. I manned the MGL and later the .50 cal. I was the one who shot Armitage. I watched her helicopter drop into the river. I’m sure that it landed on top of her.”

  Francis nodded. “Very good, Chiara.”

  “Did she die?” Anton asked hopefully.

  “Without a body - we can’t be sure she’s dead,” Francis observed.

  Anton murmured in pain, and everyone in the room looked over at him.

  “Anton, you have something to add?” Francis asked.

  “No … nothing,” Anton noted. His heart sank, certain that against all hope - Chloe Armitage was still alive.

  Jay snorted disdainfully.

  Francis looked around the group, and addressed the team, “Thank you for your work tonight. We lost a great warrior in Gang Wu, but we have won a victory against the Vampire Dominion. Get some rest, we start a new training cycle tomorrow at 08:00. I expect to see all of you in the training barn fit and ready. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Sir,” the team members chorused. Anton and Li assenting a moment later.

  “Peter and Chiara. Anton and Li can share your rooms. That is all - good night.”

  The team dispersed around the house. Li smiled briefly at Anton before she got up to leave with Chiara.

  Peter tapped Anton on the shoulder and directed, “Hey, Anton, follow me.”

  Anton followed Peter down a hallway and up a flight of stairs. At the back of another hallway was their shared room. Inside the room were a pair of wardrobes and double beds.

  “Our bachelor pad, not much to it. The bathroom is down the hall on the right, just before the stairs and your bed is that one over there,” Peter instructed pointing to a neatly made bed with a simple, gray cover. He pointed at the wardrobe nearest to Anton’s bed. “You can put your stuff in there.”

  “Li and I have nothing, just our swords and the clothes we are wearing. Everything else was lost in the fight.”

  “We have spare clothes here, I’m pretty sure we will find some that will … kinda fit you. Li and Chiara are very similar in build; Chiara will have some clothes to share. As for equipment, we can always get more, that’s not a problem.”

  “Thanks,” Anton offered, slumping down on the bed. His shoulders sank forward, and he asked, “Do I belong here?”

  Peter cocked his head, sitting down on his own bed opposite Anton. “That depends on you.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “I’m certain.”

  Anton looked down, brushing his right hand through his thick dark hair and rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Trust me - things will improve,” Peter affirmed.

  “I can’t help who my grandfather is.”

  “Precisely - which is why Jay will come around. He’s not stupid. Besides which, Francis more or less endorsed you. He would not have invited you to join us if he didn’t believe that you could make it.”

  “Why would he endorse me? He doesn’t know me. Why would he care?”

  “Francis has never said a bad word about your grandfather, mind you, he has never said a good word about him either, but Arthur Slayne was his force leader and his weapons instructor. There must be some sort of bond between them. Given that you look just like your grandfather it’s no surprise that he recognized you. Now I’ve never met Arthur Slayne or even seen a photograph, so who you are was news to me. But I don’t care about your past. I’ll make my own judgments based on what you do, and you fought vampires tonight which is good enough for me.”

  “Thanks, but you know what? I don’t think I killed any vampires tonight. I think at most, I chopped half a foot off.”

  “Better than me, I didn’t hit anything.” Peter shrugged his broad shoulders and grinned broadly. “I just got hit in my butt.”

  Anton half grinned.

  The room fell into silence. Peter looked thoughtful for a moment and observed, “It kinda begs the question you know, who else is going to recognize you? Anyone who knows your grandfather will be struck by the similarity and are likely to draw the obvious conclusion that you are related.”

  “Not much I can do about it.”

  “Except be prepared for more reactions like Jay’s.”

  Anton nodded. “Sure.”

  “Look, you’re probably feeling a bit lost with everything that has happened, so I’ll fill you in with a bit of history about us all. My parents were killed by the Red Empire when I was ten years old. Francis and Juliette took me in and raised me as a member of their family. I still remember my parents well, and of course, I still love my parents and miss them, but the Mirovars are like a second set of parents to me, they’re family.”

  “What of the others?”

  “Well there’s Jay Creeley, his father has been dead for a long time, his mother was killed at the same time as George Madison - apparently by your grandfather.”

  Anton remembered Gang telling him that Mary Creeley was killed with George Madison.

  “So that’s why he’s so pissed off at me,” Anton noted quietly.

  “Yep, then there is Yvette Mirovar.”

  “Their daughter?”

  “Adopted. Her parents were killed by unknown assailants when she was eleven. She has been with us ever since; she is a year younger than I am.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty, and you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “We’re a young crew. Jay is the eldest at twenty-four.”

  “So, he would have been about five when his mother died - and his dad was already dead. It’s harsh, no wonder he’s angry, I get it.”

  “Everyone has lost someone they love.”

  “What about the last one, Chiara?”

  “Ahh… the lovely Chiara Romano. Italian-American heritage, a runaway from an abusive family. She started her training late. She would have been about nine when she arrived, which is pushing it to start Ramp training. But, she has progressed really well, a quick study, a strong talent. You wouldn’t know she only started at nine. She is very good, especially with edged weapons, almost as good as Jay.”

  “How good is Jay Creeley?”

  “Every force team has a premier warrior, someone who is the best, baddest, most dangerous fighter - in our team - that is Jay Creeley.”

  “He’s better than Francis?”

  “Just a touch better, he will be a force leader one day, and a great one at that. He is definitely being groomed for the role.”

  “Great. I have really dangerous people wanting me dead.”

  Peter shrugged. “Look, Jay’s a good man. Give him time, he’ll come around.”

  Anton muttered dejectedly, “What if he is right? What if my grandfather was a murderer and a traitor? I don’t know what happened back then.”

  Peter paused contemplatively for a moment. “Why don’t we set out to find the truth.”

  “Can we?”

  “I’m sure of it. I will help you find out what really happened on the night George Madison died.”

  Peter put his hand out, and Anton shook it. Peter’s handshake was powerful, there was clearly a reserve of strength within Peter beyond anything he’d met before. He assessed his roommate with fresh eyes; Peter was perhaps an inch taller, about six feet two with a shock of red hair adding another inch of height. Built like the proverbial brick wall. He was thick of calf and thigh, with a low center of gravity through the hips, broad shouldered, deep chested, with long muscular arms that ended in big powerful hands. However, there was no hint of being musclebound or overdone in the easy, confident way he carried himself.

  Peter chuckled. “So, you noticed.”

  “Just how strong are you?”

  “Sometimes you will find someone in the Order who has a capability beyond what is normal for a Ramp master, some are faster, some are stronger. I’m stronger - a lot stronger.”

  “You look like you could go hand to hand with a vampire.”

  “Yes,” Peter smirked. “But it’s not recommended.”

  “Is there anyone else like you?”

  “Just one, Justin Blake. He’s the force leader covering the South West of the US. He’s a true badass. You will meet him when we get to the Order conclave for your confirmation.”

  “Cool.”

  “Look, it’s been a long night. Time to get some sleep, we have a big day tomorrow.”

  “Right, thanks for filling me in.”

  “No problem.”

  Anton and Peter made their preparations for going to sleep. Anton managed a quick, hot shower in the bathroom down the hall and in minutes was lying in his bed in a darkened room. He sighed, no longer tired. He tossed and turned for close to an hour, his head buzzing with thoughts before he finally began to drift off. His mind ebbed away with a fading sense of indignation, unfairness, and loss.

  Gang is dead, and she’s alive.

  These thoughts continued to disturb him as he fell into a restless sleep.

  * * *

  James looked at the clock, it read 06:30. He’d been awake for over a day, and there was still work to be done. Yawning fit to dislocate his jaw, he rubbed his eyes and stared harder at the large computer screen a foot in front of his face.

  He tapped fluently at the keyboard, hesitated, backspaced with a flurry of clicks and tried again.

  “C’mon, almost done,” he whispered.

  James hit the enter key, and the computer responded with a stream of command line outputs across multiple windows on the screen. He glanced at the large coffee mug to his left, its interior stained brown from use. There was no decision to make, he stood up, walked to the nearby kitchenette and refilled it from a pyrex jug filled with lightly steaming filtered coffee. When he got back to his desk, the computer windows were still scrolling text output.

  He blew gently on his hot coffee before taking a sip. He put the cup down and checked a written list of tasks on an A4 pad to the left of his keyboard, most had been ticked off. Three tasks remained, verify the new Anton Smith ghost identity, purge the main physical backups at the Panopticon hub in Utah, and purge the offsite backups at Fort Dix.

  James stared at the list, feeling decades older than his thirty-eight years.

  The act of swinging his Glock 9mm up from behind his back and leveling it at his wounded men haunted him. He’d emptied the clip before they could properly react. Their expressions were vivid, the shock, the terror, the hate - some had lived just long enough to hate him. His years of training and specialized skills had meant quick deaths for them all, but he knew that he would never forget their faces.

  Murderer, he thought.

  The shocking self-accusation quickly succumbed to a wave of bitter acceptance.

  The light in his soul was fading, and in its place, a creeping darkness had begun to take hold.

  He rubbed his scalp hard with both hands, his short dark hair was slick, grimy with old sweat. In front of his eyes, the screen continued to writhe with lines of output as windows opened, ran their programs and exited. Only a tiny fraction of the quantum processors of the Panopticon were recruited for this work. They processed their commands at the speed of light. Other, much older systems out in the world beyond Shadowstone responded far more slowly. The programs ran, data was subtly altered, networks traversed, and the original identity of Anton Smith was transformed in place.

  The windows on the screen all came to a halt. James started a Panopticon verification program, and twenty seconds later it displayed a dashboard covered in green ticked checkboxes. The old Anton Smith had become a forgettable memory, in his place was a new doppelganger, a ward of the state of Massachusetts with no connection to Anna and William Smith.

 

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