Renegade (Ministry of Paranormal Research & Defence) (11 page)

Still, they did have radio, and someone coming from the south could only be trouble they'd want to stop. Just ahead was an exit. I slowed slightly, tore up the exit ramp, and slid off of the seat to take the corner onto the overpass. I fought the temptation to get my knee down: my combats didn't have sliders so it would have been more than a little painful. I straightened up, crossed the overpass, and hung off the other side to take the exit ramp back onto the wrong side of the southbound lanes, opening the throttle wide and pushing the bike hard.

Within twenty minutes I blew past a roadblock consisting of a few police Range Rovers and some patrol cars, the thugs in uniform struggling to move their vehicles out of each other's way as they saw me. I was a little surprised at how fast they had put a roadblock together. Someone had beefed up security.

My little trick would only work once, however. Even now they would be scrambling to block both sides of the road.

It was maybe ten minutes before I was proven right. Ahead was a blaze of flashing blue lights and I knew they were between me and the next exit. Oh well.

The bike's engine wound down as I guided it onto the hard shoulder and came to a halt. I flipped up my NVGs. It was probably still too dark for them to see me but, lit up as they were by I could see them clearly. A Range Rover blocked each of the lanes on each side of the central divider, officers with assault rifles crouching between them. Blocking the hard shoulder, in an unusual display of competence, was a police van on this side, a patrol car on the other.

Even if I wasn't operating on the thin edge of rage I wouldn't have much problem taking out these uniformed bully boys.

Strapped to the top of my backpack was a pair of green tubes: M72 High Explosive Anti-Tank rockets in their beautifully designed, one-shot, disposable launchers. Albert's cave had been well stocked.

I reached behind my head and yanked one free, then I  pulled the back out, flipped up the sights, and flicked off the safety. I sighted on the center Range Rover and squeezed the rubber-coated trigger. The HEAT rocket shot from the tube with a sudden 'whoosh' and accelerated towards the target on a narrow tail of smoke. The sharp explosion shattered the night; lighting up the sky even through my tightly closed eyes and when I opened them an evil grin crossed my face. The center Range Rover had been swatted backwards by about twenty feet and now lay on its roof, a burning, twisted wreck. The force of the explosion had slammed the Range Rovers on either side outwards. I now had enough room to drive a bus through, never mind the bike. On the northbound lane the coppers were cowering from the rain of burning shrapnel. They'd joined up expecting to do nothing more strenuous than kick people when they were down. Facing a maniac with anti-tank weaponry hadn't been in the job description. The closest Range Rover was on its side, the one in the center lane had a burning wheel halfway through the passenger side window and the third was sitting on a pair of flat tires.

The vehicles from the previous attempt at a roadblock were coming into view behind me so I tossed the empty launcher over my shoulder, kicked the bike into gear, and accelerated through the newly opened gap. Some of the cops on the other side had recovered enough to squeeze off a few shots but I was already a dwindling speck, and it wasn't long before I was off the A1 altogether.

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23

The incessant noise roused me to brief consciousness. I opened my eyes and managed to look around. I was in an enclosed, dark space that smelled bad. Maybe inside a truck. The vibration might be an engine, but it sounded odd. And I was in a cage. A big cage with a thick wooden floor and roof and strong looking metal bars. I barely had enough room to lay flat and the cage was small enough that if I got to my hands and knees my back would be brushing the top.

Just the effort of keeping my head up exhausted me and my chin hit the floor with a thump.

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24

Oh, how I love vampiric ego.

Havelock Manor had been rebuilt and was now occupied again. Vampire guards patrolled the grounds and there were even some vamps on the roof. Someone was learning from their mistakes. Not that I cared. I'd hidden my bike a little way back from the tree line and skirted the road to the wall. It took me only a few seconds to pull myself up and over into the darkness. I pulled out my MP7 and spent a few seconds pulling out the front grip and stock before attaching the suppressor to the barrel. I slipped through the cover provided by the same fir trees I'd used last time. Déjà vu all over again, as the old joke goes.

The patrols were regular—big mistake—and most of the guards looked bored—bigger mistake. I suppose the explosion on the motorway hadn't shaken their world yet.

As I said, I love vampiric ego.

I let the patrol get out of the way and then shinned up the drainpipe to the balcony. I wasn't going to the roof this time. I crouched in the shadows and checked around the large glass balcony doors, looking for alarm wires.

After allowing the next set of guards to amble past I used a slim piece of metal to lift the latch on the doors. With a barely audible click the door came open in my hand and I was inside.

The room was an opulent bedroom, obviously belonging to the mistress of the manor. Large expensive furniture was scattered about and the bed looked like it could happily sleep six. Although, judging by the large, heavily veined dildo on the bedside table, the vampire that slept here slept alone. Next to the rubber penis was a paperback novel, face up and open. I picked it up and smiled briefly at the cover. It was
Defend Our Island
. Pagan and his vampire sex. Figures. A bookshelf on the wall held the complete collection, all well read, all battered, all with their spines broken.
Defend Our Island
was open to Pagan's first sex scene with Colette the vampire. I put the book back how it had been and prowled the rest of the room.

Framed on the wall was a picture that made my jaw drop. It was the original artwork for the cover of
Blood In The UK
—the first Pagan movie. A muscle-bound lunkhead who was supposed to be me was standing against a backdrop of the Houses of Parliament, FAL held at port arms, legs apart, a grim look on his face.

This was starting to get creepy.

I took off my backpack and dropped it by a chair before sitting down. I was in deep shadow, with a good view of the door. It took me about five seconds to collapse the MP7 and fit a suppressor to the SIG. With the two silenced weapons in my lap I settled down to wait.

I went over the information that the stricken vamp had eventually given up.

There was, apparently, two new Private Members' Bills coming up before the House of Commons. The first was a law that would repeal the Emergency Separation Act of 2008, the act which specifically severed all political ties with the European Union. In effect it would bring us back under the authority of the EU, especially its laws and courts. Hunting vampires would become illegal. The second would grant full citizenship rights to vampires. It was disguised as an equality law, granting rights to vampires, werewolves, or other “as yet undiscovered so-called 'undead'”. The fact that werewolves aren't even 'so-called' undead was conveniently ignored.

According to the dead vamp, if I kept my nose clean and did not oppose whichever of these two bills passed, Marie would be released unharmed.

It was, of course, pure bullshit. It sounded like a scheme made up by someone who didn't really understand British Parliamentary procedures.

Private Members' Bills rarely even made it to the floor of the Commons for debate, and even if the bills made it that far there is almost no chance they would be voted through to the House of Lords. And even if they made it
that
far, the Lords would never pass either bill. That much was well-known. And even if the the bills
did
have a chance to pass, what could I have done about them? What was I being warned away from doing? What behavior was Marie's kidnapping supposed to prevent? Nothing. Nothing at all.
So what was the real purpose of all of this?

Two hours had passed, by the clock on the wall, by the time I heard footsteps in the corridor. The door handle turned and Lady Lucia stepped into the room. She was wearing a black ball gown with red decoration that left her shoulders and arms bare. Her long, dark hair was loose around her shoulders and, apart from a touch of lipstick, she was wearing no makeup.

She seemed irritated about something. She tugged at the laces that held the bodice of her dress closed and loosened them. The dress slithered to the floor with an expensive silken noise. Underneath she was wearing a pair of loose red silk shorts and nothing else. If you're not expecting anyone to get a look under the dress you might as well be comfortable rather than sexy, I thought.

“You might want to put some more clothes on,” I said quietly.

She turned towards me, her face registering shock, her hands clapping over her naked breasts.

“Jack?” she said. “Is that you?”

I nodded.

“When I phoned you and said you should come to see me I
had
thought that you might let me know you were on your way up,” she said tartly.

“
You didn't know I was coming?” I asked.

“
How would I? And how did you get here?”

“
Well, apparently your communications network is as shit as your security force.”

“
That was you? What am I saying? Of course it was you. Only
you
would use a sledgehammer to crack a walnut that was already open! The officers weren't there to stop you. They were an escort!”

While she was talking she had first dropped her hands to her sides, then put them behind her back.

“Put some clothes on,” I said quietly.

She drew her shoulders back, putting herself on display.

“You sure, Jack?”

I picked up the SIG and, holding my hand in my lap, pointed it at her—a very phallic display, my mind supplied sarcastically.

“Taking the opportunity to shove your tits in my face is a poor reason to die,” I said coldly.

Her hands crept back up to cover her breasts.

“Sorry, Jack,” she said with, in my opinion, zero sincerity. “I didn't think. You're not in the mood.”

“
I'm never in that kind of mood,” I said.

I stood up and Lucia took a step back, one hand going to her mouth. Lucia, I realized, was afraid of me. No, not just afraid, she was terrified and, seeing as she couldn't control me with her mind she was trying to control me with her body.

“My mate,” I said, biting off each word, “was kidnapped by a bunch of suckheads. I am not in the fucking mood to play games. Put some fucking clothes on.”

She nodded and hurried over to a giant walk-in closet, where she grabbed a short, dark blue silk robe and wrapped it around herself.

“You know, Jack,” she said as she tied the belt, “I don't think there's more than a handful of people in the world that would dare talk to me like that?”

“
I don't care,” I said.

“
Okay,” she said, pouting slightly.

“
You said you had information about the vamps who took Marie.”

It was not a question.

“Why yes, I do,” she replied.

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25

I was woken by a bump. The cage was being carried. Loaded from one vehicle into another.

“Be careful!” yelled someone.

I didn't hear a reply.

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