Yolanda raised the gun, targeting the nose of the Glock straight at Colby’s back. She scowled down the barrel and her sharp voice echoed through the station like broken glass. “Mister Flynn! You will stand down immediately or so help me, I will shoot you in the back!”
Flynn stopped, and slowly lowered his gun. He glared into the blackness, trying to ignore the itchy sensation between his shoulder blades. He could practically feel the green dot from Yolanda’s sighting laser. She probably wouldn’t shoot him, he knew that. Well, probably. Possibly. Actually? Thinking about it, she might squeeze the bloody trigger just to prove a point, the crazy bint. But that was just Yol’s way. And that’s why he loved her. It was nothing personal, just Yol trying to save his stupid, hot-headed idiot self from dying a wasteful, pointless death.
She was right, of course.
The Jaeger family had been hunting and killing vampires across Europe for generations. Even the name meant ‘Hunter’ in German. There was also the small technicality that when they were on duty Yolanda Jaeger was Flynn’s CO too.
So he complied. Not doing so would mean the mother of all arse-kickings in the training gym later. The bloody woman fought dirty. But she’d also stayed alive by knowing which battles to pick, and which to walk away from. It was a lesson he was finally starting to understand. And this was definitely one of those ‘walk away’ times, no matter how much that pinpoint of fury currently burning its way through his chest told him to chase his quarry down and end this once and for all.
Colby stood motionless, staring into the black of beyond. The clustered eyeshine of at least a dozen Taints winked and twinkled back at him, taunting him, daring him to run away from the safety of the bright platform and into their dark, death-ridden world. A pulse of warm air throbbed down the tunnel, indicating that he had about fifteen seconds to get back to the platform before thirty tons of London Underground rolling stock really fucked up his day.
"Vlad?” Colonel North’s voice was sharp.
“Yes, sir.” Yolanda nodded. She paced the platform with the phone pressed to her ear. Colby sat on the bench, glowering at the darkness. Micky Cox had got a reluctant official to close the station due to a ‘suspect package’, so the team were currently alone in a deserted tube station. All Northern Line trains were at a standstill. Gary Parks stood sentry at one end of the platform, a fully loaded shotgun pointed at the north tunnel, while Micky patrolled the south end.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In the middle of the bloody day?”
“Well, technically, it was the morning rush hour, but yes, sir.”
“You’re absolutely certain it was him?”
“Yes, sir. I’d know that bastard anywhere. It was him. And I’m pretty sure he knew who we were too. His lieutenant hopped back onto the train before it left. We couldn’t contain both of them. I’m sorry, sir.”
“You did what you could, Captain. This was supposed to be a rekko, not a damn meet and greet. The fault is not yours, Yollie. It’s Vlad’s. Always remember that.” Colonel North sighed. “Okay. So what’s your appraisal of the situation?”
Yolanda answered quickly and succinctly. “The tunnel between Highgate and Archway is infested, sir. Looks like it’s ground zero for this particular nest. London Underground is uber-pissed about us limiting access to the Northern Line between the two stations, but we’ve pulled our usual ‘national security’ number on them, so they’ve been forced to comply. We’ve got a lot of angry, inconvenienced commuters, but that’s nothing new.”
“Good. I’d rather they were annoyed and alive than happy and dead.”
“Nobody who travels the Northern Line is happy, sir.”
“True. Right then. Solutions?”
“We’re already on the ground. The station’s closed and we’re ready to go in and evict the little buggers with extreme prejudice. If you could have Terry Warner and Bravo Unit suited up for a bug hunt and to us with supplies asap, we can try and do a seek and destroy right now. I’d like to keep Vlad off balance by hitting hard and fast. We may not be able to take Vlad out now, but we can certainly show him we’re not just going to roll over…”
Yolanda’s report was interrupted by a loud bang. She instinctively flinched then spun to face the southern end of the tunnel, where Micky Cox was pointing the smoking barrel of a 12-bore pump-action shotgun into the darkness. Yolanda rolled her eyes. “Jesus! What the hell, Micky?”
Micky turned, grinned, and re-primed his shotgun, ignoring the screaming, thrashing, heel-drumming Taint behind him. “Sorry, boss. Little bugger got a bit lunge-y at me.” There was a ‘wuuumph!’ sound and a cloud of ash floated gently down onto Micky’s shoulders. He casually brushed it off and shrugged.
Yolanda shook her head. “Eyes on, Mick.” She returned her attention to the Colonel. “Sorry about that sir.”
“Everything all right, Captain?”
“Yes, sir. Just Micky getting trigger happy with a Taint. But that just goes to show how bold they’re getting.”
“Hmm. They are getting a bit cheeky, aren’t they? Anything else?”
“Yes, sir. I’d like permission to go after that damn lieutenant of his if possible, too. I don’t like the look of that bastard.” Yolanda paused. “Sir, we need to move quickly on this if we’re going to keep it under the radar. If the press get hold of it we’re going to face an epic shitstorm, and right now I’d rather keep this on a need to know basis.”
Colonel North responded with a grunt. “Agreed. I’ll have Corporal Warner and Bravo Unit en route to you in fifteen. Good hunting, Yollie.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll keep you updated.” Yolanda ended the call and put the phone in her pocket. She glanced up. “Upstairs, chaps. We’re meeting Terry and Bravo team in the ticket area.” A nasty smile crept over her face. “We’ve got ourselves a bug hunt, lads.”
Micky and Gary grinned back. Colby merely stared into the blackness of the tunnel and glowered at the blinking, winking eyeshine.
He wanted that lieutenant. He wanted him bad.
There was something about that nasty little bastard that made Colby’s skin prickle…
Outside the tube station’s locked metal gates a throng of commuters milled about. A single London Underground employee, resplendent in a hi-viz jacket and with absolutely no clue as to what was really happening, tried to shepherd the muttering masses towards the nearest bus stop. A scribbled note stuck to a sandwich board apologised for the inconvenience, while the hi-viz employee reassured passengers that yes, the station would probably reopen shortly. Even he didn’t believe that bullshit line.
Terry Warner walked up to the guy and flashed an ID. “Clean up crew. Open up.”
The man — currently engaged in telling an officious, besuited commuter that no, he didn’t have any further information and no, he didn’t know or in fact care who the man was, he’d have to wait like everyone else — flickered his attention towards the ID. He puffed up his chest and looked as ‘official’ as he could. “Suspicious package. Security alert. Nobody gets in.”
Terry carefully pulled his boilersuit open so hi-viz guy could just see the butt of a Glock 17 tucked under his armpit. He made damn sure the stroppy commuter couldn’t see anything. His blue eyes hardened and he stared intently at hi-viz guy. “Listen, fella. I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you in any detail. I said, clean… up… crew. Translation, open the damn gate. Now.”