“There won’t be any,” said Allen. “They’re not really hostages. They’re a human shield.”

Guérin nodded. “Has NATO decided on a response?”

“As of this moment, the priority remains evacuation. We get the city clear before the deadline, then reassess the situation.”

“Has a tactical strike been ruled out?”

“For now,” said Allen.

“I saw what was done to Château Dauncy,” said Guérin. “Is a similar result not possible here?”

Allen smiled. “Château Dauncy was a unique situation, Captain,” he said. “There was only a single non-vampire inside, and he was a serving member of Blacklight who was aware of the risks. Here we have more than a hundred civilians at the primary location, plus thousands more in the surrounding area. Neither NATO nor the government in Paris think our first response should be to flatten a city, and I can promise you that Beijing and Washington agree with them, at least for now.”

“I understand,” said Guérin.

“General?” shouted a voice.

Allen turned, and felt his smile widen into a grin. During the five minutes he had been talking to the French Captain, a large grey building had appeared in the centre of the field, seemingly out of nowhere. The woman who had shouted, a Technical Division Specialist named Luisa Ramirez, was standing in front of it.

“Yes, Operator?” he asked.

“We’re up, sir,” said Ramirez. “Ready for your inspection.”

Allen nodded. The compound would eventually sprawl far beyond the single structure that had been erected so far, but getting the nerve centre up and running, less than ten minutes after landing, was outstanding.

“Excellent,” he said, and turned back to face Guérin. “I’m going to ask you to be part of my command team, Captain. Can you handle that?”

“Yes, sir,” said Guérin, and smiled proudly. “Thank you.”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll keep you informed. Dismissed.”

Guérin saluted, turned sharply on his heels, and strode away towards the white tents. Allen watched him go, then walked across to the grey building, and pushed open the door.

The majority of the wide room was piled high with boxes and cases and coils of wires, but a space at the far end was immaculately tidy. There, a wide bench had been bolted to the metal floor, upon which sat five networked terminals and a dozen screens showing satellite images of Carcassonne, rotating feeds from the city’s CCTV network, French and American twenty-four-hour news channels, various comms windows, and the remote-access screen for the NS9 network.

“Everything’s hot,” said Ramirez, emerging from behind the bench with a soldering iron in her hand. “Secure lines in and out, radar and radio and satellite surveillance. All the comforts of home, sir.”

Allen grinned. “Great work, Operator,” he said. “Let me get settled in.”

Ramirez nodded and exited, closing the door behind her.

Allen dragged a chair across to the bench, sat down, and cycled quickly through the CCTV feeds; he knew what he was going to see, but needed to check for himself. The screen showed a series of monochrome images of the shopping streets of Carcassonne, train and bus stations, bars and restaurants, then turned black for almost a minute. He noted the numbers of the cameras until the screen came back to life with a shot looking up the hill towards the medieval city, and checked their locations against the list that had been loaded on to his desktop.

As I expected, thought Allen. All the cameras in the old city are down. He doesn’t want us watching him.

He looked back at the screen. The walls of medieval Carcassonne reared up, thick and wide and seemingly impenetrable, topped with impaled bodies that were even more gruesome in grainy black and white. Had it not been for the parked cars visible at the bottom of the frame, he could have easily believed he was looking at an image that was hundreds of years old; a medieval castle, bristling with ghastly trophies, ready to repel invaders.

The NS9 Director sat back in his chair and pulled his radio from his belt. He keyed in a frequency, pressed SEND, and held the handset to his ear.

“Sir?” said a voice, instantly.

“I need to see you in the command centre,” he said. “Right away.”

“On my way, sir.”

Allen cut the line, and got up from his chair in time to see Danny Lawrence step through the door.

“Everything OK, sir?” asked the Operator.

“Fine,” said Allen. “Did I see you send the squads to check the camp?”

“Yes, sir,” said Danny. “I told them to report back at 1430.”

Allen checked his watch. Forty-eight minutes from now.

“All right,” he said. “I want a security perimeter in place as soon as possible, including a strict no-fly zone. News helicopters hovering overhead is the last thing we need. I doubt we can confiscate the cellphone of every resident of Carcassonne, but I want it made very clear to them that they are part of a military operation, whether they like it or not. I don’t want to see any photos of Operators on Twitter. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” said Danny.

“Good,” said Allen. “Bring me the compiled reconnaissance reports when you have them, then take a squad into the city and assess the situation on the ground. There are still four hours of daylight left, so don’t go anywhere near the old city, just get a sense of what’s happening in there. Clear?”

Danny nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

“How are you feeling about this?” asked Valentin, as the lift doors closed.

“About what?” asked Matt.

“Lining up your friends and colleagues to let me bite them.”

He grimaced. “How do you think I feel about it?”

The vampire shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said. “I would assume that you find the concept unpleasant, but that you intend to stiffen your upper lip and bravely carry on in the name of the greater good. But you seem largely unperturbed.”

“Of course I don’t like it,” he said, “but it’s necessary.”

“Necessary,” repeated Valentin, and nodded. “That word has been the justification for many of the worst things that have ever happened.”

“Can you just shut up?” he asked. “Please?”

Valentin mimed zipping his lips closed. Matt sighed, and stared at the wall of the lift, silently urging it to hurry. He hated spending time with the youngest of the Rusmanov brothers; it felt like walking a tightrope over quicksand, where one wrong step might cost him dearly. He was a scientist, a believer in facts and hypotheses, and the only certainty when it came to Valentin was that he could not trust a single word the vampire said.

Of course he didn’t like PROMETHEUS; it bothered him greatly, far more than he would have admitted to anyone other than Natalia and Paul Turner. He really did believe it was necessary, that it might be the Department’s only chance to face Dracula on anything like a level playing field, but he understood all too well the moral and ethical issues the project raised, especially the decision to make it mandatory. In the Zero Hour Task Force briefing that had just finished, he had refused to let Jack Williams back him down; he had stood his ground, as shock and disappointment rose on to the faces of his colleagues and friends, but the hail of shouted questions and protests had hurt him deeply. He would have had to be a monster for them not to.

He winced at the memory of the look on Jamie’s face as he realised that Matt had deceived him. It had been disappointment, rather than anger, which had been far worse; the look of someone whose heart was hardening behind his eyes.

Can’t think about that now, he told himself. You can fix things with Jamie later, if he lets you. Right now, you need to focus.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Mr Browning?” asked Valentin.