Darkest Night. Will Hill

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      Paul Turner was reading through a requisitions order from the Security Division for fifty new MP7s and fifteen thousand rounds of ammunition when somebody hammered on his door.

      He frowned, and pushed the form to one side. An unscheduled knock on his door was highly unusual; anyone who wanted to see him was required to send a message first, and a Security Operator was stationed outside his quarters for the express purpose of preventing people from turning up unannounced. Turner reached out and pressed the TALK button on the intercom that connected him to his protection detail.

      “Gregg?” he said. “Report in.”

      There was a burst of static, and then the Security Operator’s voice appeared; the young American sounded out of breath, as though he had just finished a long run.

      “I’m sorry, sir,” said Gregg. “They pushed past me, but I have the situation under control.”

      Turner’s frown deepened. “Who pushed past you?”

      “Karlsson and Browning, sir,” said Gregg. “I told them you weren’t available, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer, and Browning jumped me from behind, the little shit. I’m waiting for Security to come and collect them, sir.”

      “For pity’s sake, Operator,” said Turner, getting up from his desk and walking across the room. “Your enthusiasm is admirable, but do you really think that arresting two senior members of the Lazarus Project is in the best interests of this Department?”

      There was a long pause. “I don’t know, sir,” said Gregg, eventually. “It was a clear breach of protocol.”

      Turner rolled his eyes. “Call off your alert and go back to your post, Operator. I’ll see Karlsson and Browning now.”

      “Yes, sir,” said Gregg, instantly. “I’m sorry, sir.”

      “It’s fine,” said Turner, and pressed his ID card against the black panel beside the door. The heavy locks disengaged, and he pulled the thick metal hatch inwards to reveal Matt Browning and Robert Karlsson standing in the corridor outside. Both looked dishevelled, and Browning was bright red in the face. Beyond them, he could see Tom Gregg peering along the corridor, a nervous look on his face.

      “Gentlemen,” said Turner, “Operator Gregg was right, this is a breach of protocol. You couldn’t have sent a message telling me you needed to see me?”

      Karlsson shook his head. “I didn’t want to run the risk of anyone reading it, sir.”

      Turner smiled. “You’ve been here less than a year and you’re more paranoid than me. I suppose you’d better come in.”

      “Thank you, Director,” said Karlsson, and stepped into the room. Browning followed him, casting one last dagger-eyed stare in Gregg’s direction. Turner closed the door behind them and gestured towards the armchairs that sat in front of the wall screen.

      “Take a seat, gentlemen,” he said. “Let’s hear what’s so important that it was worth taking on my Security detail to tell me.”

      “We’ll stand, if that’s all right with you,” said Karlsson. “But I would suggest you sit down, sir.”

      Ten minutes later Turner’s mind was spinning, and he was glad he had taken the Professor’s advice.

      “Does it work?” he said, gripping the arms of his chair. “Does it actually work?”

      Karlsson looked at Browning, who took a step forward.

      “It works in the computers, sir,” said Matt. “And it works in a test tube. We’ve carried out a thousand data runs in the last two days, using living vampire tissue. Every single sample has been clear of the vampire virus after we introduced our engineered gene.”

      Turner looked at the young Lieutenant. Matt’s face was still flushed from his encounter with Operator Gregg in the hallway, but his eyes were clear, and his mouth was a straight line of determination. The Director had often dreamt of this moment, of a day when his scientists would walk into his quarters and tell him they had found a cure, but, now that it was happening, he found himself unable to fully process it. The scale of the Lazarus Project’s discovery – if it’s real, he reminded himself, don’t get carried away, for God’s sake, not yet – was scarcely comprehensible; if it did prove to be real, it would quite literally change the world forever. He ordered himself to stay calm, when what he really wanted to do was jump up from his desk and wrap Karlsson and Browning in a bear hug of sheer gratitude.

      “And СКАЧАТЬ