A vampire. She’s been turned into a vampire. What does this mean? What’s going to happen to her?

“We can look after her,” said Frankenstein, as though he could read minds. “At the Loop. We can keep her safe, keep her fed.”

“Like we did Larissa?” asked Jamie.

Frankenstein nodded, and the teenager looked at the ground.

“Why?” he asked. The word came out like a sob. “Why would Alexandru do this?”

“It’s just one more way to hurt you,” said Frankenstein. “Even though it would never have occurred to him that you might defeat him. I’m sure he intended to tell you before you died.”

“But she never . . . she didn’t do anything.”

“It doesn’t matter,” replied Frankenstein. “To Alexandru that would have only made it sweeter. But he won’t get to do it to anyone else. Because you killed him.”

A savage smile flickered briefly across Jamie’s face.

“I did, didn’t I?” he said, quietly. “I killed him.”

Then he started to cry, and Frankenstein put an arm around him and led him away from the rest of the survivors, who were looking at each other as though no one knew what they were supposed to do next.

Jamie and the monster stood near the edge of the cliff, the waves roaring and crashing far beneath them. Frankenstein held Jamie until his tears came to a heaving halt.

“I didn’t shoot,” said Frankenstein, softly. “That night, with your father . . . I didn’t fire. You have to believe me.”

“I do,” said Jamie. “I should have believed in you all along, like my father and my grandfather did. Instead I doubted you, and it almost cost me and my mother our lives.”

“I was there that night,” said Frankenstein. “But I went there to try and bring him in alive. I didn’t want what happened to happen.”

“I believe you,” said Jamie.

Then there was a snarl from a clump of bushes, and the second of Alexandru’s werewolves launched itself at Jamie from the undergrowth.

Frankenstein didn’t even hesitate.

He shoved Jamie to the ground and caught the snarling, snapping wolf out of the air, holding it at arm’s length, keeping the razor-sharp teeth away from his throat. Jamie yelled for help and heard the thud of footsteps as the survivors grabbed their weapons and ran toward them.

But it was too late.

The two huge creatures staggered back and forth along the lip of the cliffs, the wolf on its curved hind legs, its yellow eyes gleaming in the pink light of the horizon, the monster straining to stay upright, forcing the wolf’s head back and up. Then blood flew in the air as the wolf’s teeth closed over Frankenstein’s fingers, severing one completely and sending blood running down the monster’s arm. He didn’t make a sound; he just gritted his teeth, and bore down on the squirming creature in his grip, forcing it backward, toward the edge. They teetered there, seemingly defying gravity, then the wolf lunged and snapped its frothing jaws shut on the monster’s neck. This time Frankenstein did make a sound, a deep rumbling bellow that shook the ground beneath Jamie’s feet. The werewolf roared through its teeth, a sound of wicked triumph, then slowly, agonizingly slowly, the two creatures fell backward over the lip of the cliff, and disappeared from view.

“No!” screamed Jamie. He ran to the edge and looked down at the crashing white foam that sprayed into the air a hundred feet below him.

There was no sign of either the wolf or the monster.

Frankenstein was gone.

He craned his head forward, stretching his neck muscles, his arms reaching out behind him for balance, trying to get a better view, hoping to see his friend, to see some sign of the man who had saved his life—again.

The slick grass at the cliff’s edge moved beneath his feet, and he felt his center of balance pitch forward. He looked out at the horizon, at the pink light blooming above it, and realized he was going to fall. The ground slid away beneath him, sods of earth and clumps of grass tumbling down the sheer rock wall, and he felt himself tumble forward. Then a hand grabbed the back of his collar, lifted him into the air, and pulled him back onto solid ground.

Jamie fell to his knees, and looked up into Larissa’s pale, beautiful face. She knelt down in front of him and put her arms around him. He embraced her and laid his head on her shoulder, overcome with more grief than any one person should ever have to bear.

They stayed that way for a long time.

Sometime later, Jamie could not have guessed how long, a gentle rumble began to vibrate through the ground beneath him. He raised his head from Larissa’s shoulder and looked out across the sea. A speck of black was approaching on the horizon; as he watched, it grew larger and larger, the rumbling increasing. Less than a minute later, Jamie got his first look at the dark shape that he had seen beneath the hangar on the day he arrived at the Department 19 Base.

The Mina II blasted above the surface of the North Sea, raising two columns of white water a hundred feet high in its wake. It decelerated as it approached the wall of cliffs, Cal Holmwood firing its vertical thrusters and pulling the control stick backward, guiding the supersonic jet up and over the lip. The thrust from the powerful engines swirled dust into the air and sent the survivors running for the cover of the helicopter, with the exception of Jamie and Larissa, who held each other at the edge of the cliff and watched the plane slow to a halt, then begin to descend.

The Mina II was a huge black triangle that seemed to hang in the sky in front of them. Its rear edge was longer than its sides, making the wings curved as they reached their tips, and its underside was absolutely flat, painted a bright, featureless white. As the jet lowered itself toward the ground, Jamie saw the small bubble of the cockpit appear above the sharp nose, followed by the thick, angular fuselage. Then three sets of landing gear slid smoothly out of the plane’s belly, and the Mina II was on the ground. A wide ramp descended, and then Admiral Seward was running down it, followed by a small group of black-clad operators.

“B Unit, secure the monastery,” yelled the director.

Four of the operators split away from the group, their weapons drawn, and ran toward the ancient stone building. Seward scanned the group of survivors, until his eyes rested on Jamie, and he ran to him.

Over the shoulder of the oncoming admiral, Jamie saw one of the operators lift his helmet to reveal Paul Turner’s glacial face. Then he saw something that qualified as one of the most unexpected sights of this strangest of days; he saw the major smile at him.

“Morris,” said Seward, slowing to a halt in front of Jamie and Larissa, and looking at the teenager with an expression of immense regret on his face. “It was Morris who betrayed us. I knew it as soon as I discovered he had accessed the codes for the Russian vaults. It was Morris. Not your father. I’m so sorry.”

Jamie looked at him, his expression unreadable.

“Where’s Alexandru?” asked Seward. “Did he escape?”

The teenager shook his head. “I killed him.”

Seward paused and looked carefully at Jamie, admiration blooming on his face. “You killed him?”

Jamie nodded.

“Where’s your mother?” asked Seward, looking around. “And Colonel Frankenstein? I don’t see them.”

Jamie looked at him, his face streaked with tears, and didn’t answer.

48

THE END OF THE TUNNEL

“ You’re not putting my mother in a cell,” said Jamie. They were standing in the Ops Room—Jamie, Marie, Admiral Seward, Larissa, Kate, Paul Turner, and Terry.

Jamie’s heart was being pulled in what felt like a hundred directions. The euphoria of destroying Alexandru and rescuing his mother was tempered by the loss of Frankenstein and the discovery of his mother’s fate; Alexandru’s last cruel, spiteful attack on the Carpenter family. Pride and guilt and terrible, empty loss fought for control of his exhausted mind and body, and then Admiral Seward had pulled his radio from his belt and asked the person on the other end to prepare a cell for an immediate occupant.