Vigil (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

That day always stayed strong in my memory. I remembered the pain of betrayal and the hatred that I felt so strongly for Mihai Viteazu, known as Michael the Brave. I healed soon after, almost as good as new but with pale white flesh where I had been healed. I vowed to take my revenge when I could. I dreamed of ways to sneak into the capital that Mihai ruled from and take his head between my powerful hands, crush the life from him and suck his bones dry of marrow.

There was no longer a place for my kind in what for a short time became
Romania, for the first time in history. We were hunted without mercy, destroyed by fire and sword, chained with silver or buried for all time.

I wondered if Radu faced that fate, but this, too, I would never know. All I know is that I never heard of him again.

I had known hunger, but that no longer drove me with its unforgiving lash. I had known fear, but it was not fear that drove me then.

I left
Romania because I was weary. So weary.

I went into the forest and did not come back for many, many years. It was there that I would meet Mihaela and learn that the world is not ruled by hate.

Hate fades. It is fleeting, destroyed by death. But love lingers. Love is everlasting. It lives on in me.

*

Chapter Twenty-Five

Year 0046

Fallon Corp Research Facility

When Tom was a boy he had been sent to boarding school, one of the best
England had to offer. His father, John Fallon, had been old, even then. Tom remembered his father telling him that he had to go away. It was
a better environment
. He would
learn to love it
.

It wasn’t the first lie his father had ever told, but it was the first one Tom had recognised. In truth, John Fallon had no time for his son. Tom had been born when the elder Fallon was already an old man. 65 years of age was too old to be fathering children, even in the 21
st
century. Medical advances meant that life expectancy had rocketed in the years before the fall, but living longer didn’t make it any easier for the old to relate to the young. John hadn’t understood his son. The young boy had been a foreign country to the old man.

All of which was true, but the only inescapable fact was that John Fallon had never
cared for his son. So he had sent the child to live and learn somewhere else. Somewhere he wouldn’t have to deal with the unreasoning love of a child for his father.

John Fallon could not afford the distractions. Science filled his heart. There was no room for any other love.

Tom’s sixtieth birthday had come and gone without celebration but he still remembered that first betrayal. The pain may have passed, but the insult had lurked in Tom’s heart for many years. It had coloured his early life in shades of bile.

The younger Fallon’s education had been excellent. He had studied at
Oxford University, and obtained a dual honours degree in Chemistry and Biology. When he finally graduated and completed his post-graduate studies he returned to work for Fallon Corp. His father had found a good place for Tom, working in the very institution that now protected him from a world in the last twists of a spiral into oblivion.

As Tom searched the vast complex he remembered his father, aloof and cold for all the years he had known him. That betrayal was a fresh wound again. There was so much he had never known about his father. Because his father had never taken him into his confidence he had no idea of the extent of the research that was carried out in the bowels of the research facility. His lack of knowledge could cost him his life, and the lives of those people he had come to care about.

These people sat on something the vampires wanted. There was no doubt in Tom’s mind. It wasn’t their blood the creatures hungered for. There were no doubt many living above ground that they could feed on. Attacking them here was like trying to eat a turtle when there were fish for the taking.

Could it really be a particle accelerator, like the Large Hadron Collider at the CERN institute? Were the rumours really true?

You could hide one underground, but to build one in secret? All that material lowered deep underground. Thousands of people working on the project - People would have known. Contractors. The scientific community. The materials, the equipment; all had to be highly visible. It just couldn’t be done.

But perhaps it had. If anyone could pull off the greatest vanishing trick in history, it was John Fallon.

John Fallon had been a man with many secrets and untold power.

Tom and the others had searched for weeks now, deep into the bowels of the complex. But nobody knew what to look for. How could they? For such a vast secret surely there would be an equally impressive hiding place for the entrance.

Some of those searching had already given up. Many believed it was hopeless. The majority believed it was fool’s gold. Tom was just an old crackpot. They only joined the search because Jean had ordered it. People respected Jean. Tom’s words held little sway.

And the fact that they held no sway was no one's fault but his own.
He knew that. He was too quick to anger, too quick to patronise. Tom lacked what Marie called 'people skills'.

But for the first time in many years, Tom had purpose. Just a short time ago he had been ready to give in. Ready to die. Now he wanted to live.

So he walked, Marie by his side. He walked each level, time and time again. He checked each room on every floor. It was the last sweep of the day.

‘Just one more look down corridor 16E,’ he told Marie. She was the one member of their community he was never short with.

‘Just one more look, Tom.’

Tom smiled and gently moved her hair from her face
like a father would to a daughter. ‘I know it’s down here, Marie. I’m not going crazy. I promise.’

‘I believe you, Tom. You knew your father better than anyone else.’

‘That may be true, but only because nobody else knew him at all. But this is just pure logic. Flawed, perhaps, but it’s all we have to go on. The Hadron Collider would have to be below us. The entrance would be somewhere on the lower levels.’

Marie sighed. Tom didn’t think she’d realised she made the noise. He understood she was tired. She didn’t believe they would ever find it. She didn’t
think it was really there. It was just one more wild goose chase but Marie would never say that. For that, he was thankful. He needed someone to believe in him, even if only on the surface of things. If he stood alone in the complex he might begin to convince himself the search was pure folly. Should that happen the risk of destruction was all too real.

They searched for another thirty minutes until Marie took Tom’s arm. He stopped with a smile.

‘We’re wasting our time, are we?’

‘No, Tom, I don’t think that. It’s just that we’re going over the same old ground. We’re not doing anything new.’

‘I guess I know that. I just can’t think what else we can do. We have to go over and over the whole complex. Go back to the plans, look for inconsistencies. Look for things that are out of place. We need to search harder. They’re going to come for us, Marie. And we need to find some way of stopping them, or we’ll all die down here.’

‘But we’re not doing anything new, Tom. Just stop a minute. Where would he hide something? His office is the smart place to look.’

‘We’ve gone over his office with a fine tooth comb. There’s nothing there. The entrance wouldn’t be close to him. He wasn’t sentimental.’

‘Well, then, think! What do you know about your father? I think that’s the key.’

‘I’ve told you already, time and time again, I barely knew him. I worked here, sure, before the fall, but I didn’t know him as a man.’

‘Start with what you do know.’

‘Jesus, Marie. Now who’s going over the same old ground?’

‘We tried your way. Try mine.’

‘Fine. Come on, we might as well be comfortable.’

He pulled a door open and peered inside. It was an office.
Just standard fare.

Untouched since the fall, an old coffee cup sat on the desk. It was not furred with bacteria. There were no bacterium in the complex but those brought in from the outside. Every room was on independent purifiers, and the complex had been sealed after it had been deserted. It was only open now because some of those who had fled the initial cataclysm had returned to the one place they knew well and knew was safe. The older people that had set up this community, the ones who had worked here and survived, had understood that this was a safe haven from the vampires.

‘Pull up a chair,’ said Tom with a smile. ‘Grill away.’

‘I’m serious, Tom. Tell me, what did John like?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, what sort of things did he have in his house?’

‘All sorts of things. Artwork, sculptures. Lots of old books. He had a huge library. He collected first editions. But all of that was just a hobby, I think. I don’t think I ever saw him reading anything but manuals and files and articles in scientific journals. He read a lot of reports. He was always working. I think the rest of it he didn’t care about.’

‘Yes, that’s the kind of thing. What was important to him?’

‘Work.’

‘You always told me that when you were thinking of a password, trying to hack a computer, that you should understand something about the person. We need to understand him. Get into his mind. You’re not helping.’

‘I’m telling you everything I know!’

‘Did he have one thing…you know, one thing. Did he have anything personal, anything at all?’

‘I don’t know, Marie. I just don’t know. We weren’t close.’

‘What about in his house?’

‘I stayed there, sure, but I was away most of the time.’

‘Well, try to remember.’

Tom stared into the distance for a long time. Neither spoke. Marie watched his eyes. Finally the light returned.

‘A picture. Of a woman. He kept it i
n his bedroom. It faced the bed. It would have been the first thing he saw when he woke. The last thing he saw when he went to sleep. It was always there. I only ever went into his bedroom when I was a very small child and once when I grew up. But the picture was there. The same picture for twenty years or so? I think that’s it. That’s the only thing I can think of. I don’t see how that helps us, though.’

‘It’s all we’ve got. We have to go there.’

‘No, we don’t,' said Tom, shaking his head. 'He had a reproduction made. He wouldn’t let the original leave the house. But he had a copy made. The artist worked out at the house. I think he wanted to make sure that if anything happened the picture would survive.’

‘Where would he keep the copy? Just in case?’

‘Somewhere safe.’

‘Like where?’

Tom smiled. ‘You’re good at this, Marie. You could have been a policewoman. Where would be safer than here? This place was designed to withstand Armageddon. It did, after all. I think it’s here. He’d want it somewhere he could look at it whenever he wanted to.

‘His office.’

‘It’s not there, Tom. We’ve looked. This is a dead end.’

‘Ah, Marie. Are you going to give up so easily, after badgering me so hard? No harm in looking one last time, is there?’

Marie shrugged. ‘Why not? It’s not like we have anything better to do.’

‘Yes, that’s the spirit that made this world great. The greatest scientific minds of the world, sitting around and thinking ‘I’ve got nothing better to do, I know, I’ll create a plague to wipe the slate clean
'.’

‘Don’t get yourself started, Tom.’

Tom grinned and took a walkie talkie from his belt.

‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, you’re the only one willing to listen to an old man ramble.’

‘That because I know I won’t have to put up with it much longer.’

‘Ouch.’ He depressed a button and buzzed Jean. ‘Jean, we’ve had an idea. Meet us in John’s office. Out.’

‘You know, people might like you more if you said ‘please’ from time to time.’

‘Sorry. Now,’ he said, holding out a hand, ‘Please can we get going?’

*

Chapter Twenty-Six

John Fallon’s Office

Third Floor

Tom stood in the centre of his father’s office, looking around, feeling a vague sense of sadness, as he had done so many times over the years.

The office was larger than was strictly necessary, but then as one of the most powerful men in the western world there was such a thing as image.

His father had maintained three homes in different countries, a huge yacht, cars beyond count and his own fleet of jets. His research and development foundation, Fallon Corporation, was worth billions at the time of the fall. It wasn’t really strange that he had such a vast office.

But then, Tom thought, he spent most of the time reading reports. All he had really needed was a comfortable chair and good light. Perhaps when he had been younger he would have had need for all the trappings of wealth, but when Tom had known him, as
an old man, he lived for his work. It had been an obsession. Even when he was in his eighties he worked long hours, dealing with many issues that he hadn’t needed to. He never let the corporation run away with him.

The office wasn’t important. It was the chair. The placement of the chair. Why hadn’t he seen it before?

Because he was getting on. The old brain cells had taken a few knocks over the years. He just wasn’t as sharp as he used to be.

Jean, Marie, and Samson were all watching him.

Tom paced the room slowly, then sat in his father’s chair. It was extremely comfortable. It didn’t feel like stepping into a dead man’s shoes. It had been vacant for decades. There were no echoes of the dead in this room, but one…he hoped.

‘What is it, Tom? We’re all busy.’

He smiled at them, but Marie was the only one who returned his smile, and hers held more hope than warmth.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong with this picture?’

‘That’s what you’re supposed to be telling us,’ said Samson.

‘The picture, Sam. The picture. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before. My father faced his desk, but the picture is on the wall behind us. He would never have looked at it. What’s the point of a picture if you never see it?’

‘Well?’

‘It’s camouflage. It’s just there as dressing. My father didn’t need any dressing. He was a straightforward man. But if there was something he wanted to hide I’ve no doubt that he could. But the picture is stupid. It’s not even a very good picture. For a man worth billions, why would have a lacklustre picture in his office?’

Tom held his hands up to stall Jean’s question.

‘Why would he put a picture in his office for other people?’ Tom asked the others. They shrugged.

‘To make them ignore the real one. The one that was for him. He had one picture he loved. An old painting. A simple picture. Just a painting of a woman.’

Tom stood and examined the picture on the wall behind the desk.

He began feeling around the edges. He had done it all before, when he first began to suspect that there might be something hidden in the research complex.

There was nothing there. The frame was unremarkable. As expected. He hadn’t missed anything obvious.

Jean was getting impatient. Tom didn’t blame him. He was more than a little worried himself. He felt like a magician trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat, not knowing if it was really in there himself.

Nothing. Nothing at all. He tried lifting the painting but it was firmly fixed to the wall. Like it was never expected to move. Now what would the point of that be?

He pushed on the frame. Nothing happened. No click. No revolving wall.

‘Do we really need to be here to watch this, Tom? I’m sure you think that you have something, but we’ve been over this room time and time again. I think it’s time we admit what we all know but you, Tom.’

Jean’s voice was kind. It riled Tom more than harsh words. It was the voice people used for their elderly relatives. Tom had used it himself a time or two with his own father.

‘No, Jean, I don’t think it’s time we admit anything.’ He stood back and stared at the painting. Then he stepped closer, peering intently at the point of the subject’s eye. The pupil on the left eye was slightly discoloured. It was an old painting. It could just be the painting’s age. But Tom didn’t think so.

He pushed on the eye with the tip of his finger. There was a soft click.

A section of steel flooring slid smoothly to one side. A panel rose from the floor. The painting of the woman was there. It rose to eye height for someone sitting in this chair, facing the desk.

‘Oh,’ said Jean. He wheeled himself closer to the painting and stared at the woman.

She was beautiful, but not in the classical sense. Her skin was dark, her hair almost jet black although there was some fading. Her eyes had a slightly absent quality, like she was staring off into the distance at something just out of reach. It added to the mysterious nature of the subject.

Tom imagined that very few people had ever known of the existence of the painting. There was no signature on the painting. He had no idea if the artist was famous or not. It was a good quality painting, but the artist himself wasn’t technically proficient, but he had managed to convey a haunting quality in the subject.

The forger who had painted the copy had somehow managed to reproduce it exactly, even down to the cracking in the oil paints. Tom imagined that the artist had even gone as far as recreating the oils used and the canvas. John Fallon could afford the best.

‘My father’s favourite painting,’ Tom told them. ‘I think we’re one step closer.’

He walked across the office and stood in front of the painting. Seeing it now, after all these years, he understood its allure.

But there was no time to sit and stare at the painting. He could not tell if it was the original or the reproduction, but he guessed that his father would have kept the original close by. It was too important to him to let it leave his sight for long. The original would be at his home, perhaps destroyed by now, perhaps hanging, facing his father as he died.

Tom stepped up to the painting and tried to lift it from the raised panel. That didn’t work so he pulled down on it and it shifted. The door to the office clicked locked and the glass turned opaque. The floor began to rise. Jean was forced to wheel his chair back swiftly or he would have fallen.

An elevator rose up. Tom looked at the three people waiting for him and risked a smile.

‘Good start,’ granted Samson.

Tom stifled a laugh. Samson had no sense of humour.

‘Shall we?’ he said.

The doors opened and they stepped in.

The mechanism that slid the door shut was silent. Even after all these years everything in the complex was in perfect working order.

There was a slight sense of movement. It only lasted for a moment. Nobody spoke. There were no buttons in the elevator. It would go to only one floor.

The doors slid open before they had realised that the elevator had stopped.

Tom stepped out first. The lights clicked on with his motion, and he took a deep breath.

He didn’t need to say anything. There were three paths from a central hub. One was labelled Genetic Research. One was labelled Nanotechnology. The other bore the simple acronym LHC.

The Large Hadron Collider.

*