“None, my lord,” said Osvaldo, his voice thick with devoted fervour. “It is exactly as you say.”

“Your agreement is unnecessary,” said Dracula, as they reached the door of the Basilica. “What of the hostages?”

“Physically, they are fine, my lord,” said Osvaldo. “They are scared, and they want to go home. Their fear keeps them well behaved.”

Dracula pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into the church, relishing the cold air and the scent of long-extinguished candles. The wooden pews had been piled against the walls, creating a wide empty space; he walked down the long aisle at the centre of the nave, his footsteps loud on the tiled floor, Osvaldo following a deferential distance behind him. A large wooden cross stood in an alcove on the left and an elevated stone chancel rose at the far end, beneath panels of bright multicoloured glass. A large chair had been placed at its centre; it faced down the cavernous building, and it was from where Dracula issued orders and dispensed judgements.

“Of course they want to go home,” he said. “Make sure they continue to believe it is a possibility.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Osvaldo.

Dracula nodded, and floated up on to the chancel. “Leave me,” he said.

The vampire bowed, and walked quickly towards the door.

“Osvaldo,” said Dracula, just before he reached it.

“Yes, my lord?” said the vampire, turning instantly back to face his master.

“Have Emery torture one of the hostages when you return to the hotel. I do not want them becoming too comfortable.”

Osvaldo nodded. “Of course, my lord. Any one in particular?”

“It makes not the slightest bit of difference to me,” said Dracula. “Let Emery choose, but do not let him kill them. I want their suffering to serve as a warning.”

Osvaldo nodded, and exited the Basilica, closing the door behind him. Dracula settled himself into his chair and allowed his mind to return to its most constant topic: exactly when his enemies would make their inevitable move against him.

Surely no more than two days, he thought. Three at the very most. Any longer and I will have to give them fresh motivation.

There were few things in the world that Matt had less wanted to see when his console beeped in his pocket than a message summoning him to see the Director.

The influx of data from PROMETHEUS was overwhelming the Lazarus Project, and he was trying to find more than a stolen moment to spend with his girlfriend while also trying to ignore the part of his brain that was constantly telling him that he was a bad person, and a worse friend for what he had done to Jamie; he was stretched as thin as he thought he ever had been, and felt like he had no more capacity to absorb surprises or bad news, both of which were the likely result of a summons to see Major Turner.

He walked down the short corridor on Level A, pushed open the door, and froze.

The Director was in his usual position, in the chair behind his desk. But standing in front of him, her head turned to look at Matt with an expression that was entirely unreadable, was Larissa Kinley.

He merely stared at her; a jumble of emotions were jostling for position, momentarily paralysing him.

What else? he managed to wonder. What else is there left to go wrong?

“Shut the door and come in, Browning,” said the Director. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, for heaven’s sake.”

It feels like I have, thought Matt.

He forced his body into action, closed the door, and walked slowly across the room, his gaze fixed on Larissa.

“Hello, Matt,” she said, and gave him a tiny smile.

“Hello, Larissa,” he said, his voice unsteady. “So you’re back?”

“I’m back,” she said. “I got in last night and—”

“I’m sorry,” interrupted Turner. “I know you probably have a lot of catching up to do, but I have to leave for France in thirty minutes and I have something I need to tell you both. I’m afraid it’s bad news, but I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.”

“I’ve been back twelve hours and you’ve already got bad news for me,” said Larissa, her smile disappearing. “Nothing changes around here, does it?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Turner. “You are both aware of what has taken place in Carcassonne over the last twelve hours?”

“Yes, sir,” said Matt, as Larissa nodded her head.

“When the fires were started, a Red Cross team was trapped inside the city,” said Turner. “General Allen sent a squad in to get them out, but they were ambushed by vampires and both the volunteers and the Operators were killed. The NS9 squad was led by Danny Lawrence.”

For a long moment, neither Matt nor Larissa responded; they simply stared at the Director.

“Danny’s dead?” said Larissa, eventually.

Turner nodded. “I’m truly sorry. I know you both knew him.”

“Yeah,” said Larissa. “He was my friend.”

Matt felt anger, sharp and cold and painful, trickle through him. It wasn’t fair that Danny was dead; he had been good, and brave, and kind, and it just wasn’t fair.

“What happened?” he heard himself ask. “Do we know?”

“Vamps brought their helicopter down,” said Turner. “Danny survived the crash, but he was badly injured. General Allen scrambled another squad to go in after him, but Danny told him not to send them. He said it was too late.”

“Oh God,” whispered Larissa, her eyes glistening with tears.

“He didn’t want anyone to risk their lives trying to save him,” said Matt. “Did he?”

Turner shook his head.

Of course he didn’t, thought Matt, a lump lodged in his throat. So brave. Right to the end.

“General Allen asked me to tell you, Matt,” said Turner. “He doesn’t know you’re here, Larissa, but he said you’d both want to know.”

Larissa nodded, then grimaced as the tears brimming in her eyes spilled down her cheeks. Matt didn’t respond; he didn’t know how to.

“Danny Lawrence was a fine Operator,” said Turner. “And he’ll be missed by everyone who knew him. I wish I could spend more time discussing this, but I’m due in a meeting in France that simply will not wait, for anything. If you want to talk to me when I get back, send me a message and I promise I’ll find some time. But right now, I’m afraid you’re both dismissed.”

Matt nodded, and turned towards the door. Larissa didn’t move; she was staring at the ground, her cheeks wet with tears, her face crumpled in an expression of profound misery.

“Larissa,” said Matt, gently. “Come on.”

She looked round at him, and slowly nodded. He made for the door again, and this time she followed him. They walked in silence past the Security Operator and out into the main Level A corridor, where they stopped and faced each other.

“Does Jamie know you’re back?” he asked. “I’m sorry to ask, but, well, you know …”

Larissa wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and nodded. “He knows,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I saw him this morning. We talked.”

“OK,” said Matt.

“Do you want to come to the canteen with me?” asked Larissa. “I’d really like to talk about Danny with somebody who knew him. If you’ve got time?”

Matt grimaced. “I can’t,” he said. “I have to get back to work.”

Larissa nodded and gave him a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course,” she said. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” said Matt. “I really am. I just … I just can’t.”

He turned and fled down the corridor, almost breaking into a run, so desperate was he for the safety and security of the Lazarus Project lab, where he could throw himself into work and not think about anything else, not Danny or Larissa or Jamie or the pain and misery that seemed to be crowding in on him from all sides.

Turner watched the door close, then grabbed his radio as it buzzed on his desk.