Ruth Steiner-Hope. He smiled at that.
‘Read it,’ she said.
The letter was brief and straightforward, an offer to reinstate the original contract with Rupert Shannon and his team. Ben read it twice, then looked up at her with a frown. ‘But you don’t need them any more. Especially as they weren’t much use in the first place.’
She chuckled. ‘Shannon will be so keen to grab the dough, he won’t read the small print of the new contract that’ll be attached when this is posted in the morning. It basically states that they’re being hired for general duties. No specific mention of bodyguarding. Which means we’re going to put them to work mucking out the new stable complex I’m building, mowing the golf course and sifting out the swimming pools. If they refuse, it’s their choice. Either way, you’re off the hook.’
Ben folded the letter back into the envelope and handed it to her. ‘Thank you, Little Moon.’
‘There’s a condition. Something I want you to do.’
‘Name it.’
‘I want you on a flight to London. You’ve got to go and see Brooke.’
Two hours later, cutting northwards over the Channel on board his sister’s personal jet, he dialled Brooke’s number.
‘It’s me,’ he said.
‘At last. Where have you been?’
‘I’ll tell you about all about it when I see you.’
She was quiet for a second. ‘I don’t know when that will be, Ben.’
‘It’ll be within the hour,’ he said.
She said nothing, but he could hear the smile in her silence.
‘You and I started something,’ he said.
‘Yes, we did,’ she replied after a beat.
‘How would you feel about picking up where we left off?’
‘You and me?’
‘You and me.’
There was a pause. ‘See you in an hour,’ she said.
Read on for an exclusive extract from the first book in the
thrilling new VAMPIRE FEDERATION series coming
from Scott in summer 2010.
SINCE THE DAWN of civilisation, vampires preyed on human beings, drank their blood and regarded them contemptuously as an inferior species, a mere disposable resource. For aeons, the vampires ruled.
But things have changed. With the birth of the modern age and the explosion in human communications and surveillance technologies, many vampires realized that they could no longer carry on the old ways. Something needed to be done, if the ancient culture was to survive.
In the last quarter of the twentieth century, the powerful World Vampire Federation was founded to control and oversee the activities of the vampire community. No longer would vampires prey unrestricted on human beings and turn them into creatures like themselves. New biotechnologies enabled the Undead to walk in daylight, living among us, in our cities, our streets. Strict laws were imposed to control vampire activity and allow their community to carry on. Quietly. Unnoticed. Undisturbed.
These laws were enforced by the Federation’s Vampire
Intelligence Agency, or VIA, with a licence granted by the
Ruling Council to hunt and destroy transgressors.
But not all the vampires were willing to obey …
Pockets of thick autumnal mist drifted over the waters of the Thames as the big cargo ship cut upriver from the estuary, heading for the wharfs of the Port of London. Smaller vessels seemed to shy out of its way. With its lights poking beams through the gloom, the ship carved its way westwards into the heart of the city.
On the approach to the docks, the beat of a helicopter thudded through the chill evening air.
Eight sailors of mixed Romanian and Czech origin were assembled around the helipad on the forward deck, craning their necks up at the sky at the approaching aircraft. At their feet lay a pair of steel-reinforced crates, seven feet long, that had been wheeled up from the hold. Most of the crew preferred to keep their distance from them. The strong downdraught from the chopper’s rotors tore at the men’s clothing and hair as its pilot brought it down to land on the pad.
‘Okay, boys, let’s get these bastard things off our ship,’ the senior crewman yelled over the noise as the chopper’s cargo hatch slid open.
‘I’d love to know what the hell’s in there,’ said one of the Romanians.
‘I don’t fucking want to know,’ someone else replied. ‘All I can say is I’m glad to be shot of them.’
There wasn’t a man aboard ship who hadn’t felt the sense of unease that had been hanging like a pall over the vessel since they’d left the Romanian port of Constantza. It hadn’t been a happy voyage. Five of the hands were sick below decks, suffering from some kind of fever that the ship’s medic couldn’t figure out. The radio kept talking about the major flu pandemic that had much of Europe in its grip. Maybe that was it. But some of the guys were sceptical. Flu didn’t make you wake up in the middle of the night screaming in terror.
The crewmen heaved each crate aboard the chopper and then stepped back in the wind blast as the cargo was strapped into place. The hatch slammed shut, the rotors accelerated to a deafening roar, and the chopper took off.
A few of the ship’s crew stood on deck and watched the aircraft’s twinkling lights disappear into the mist that overhung the city skyline. One of them quickly made the sign of the cross over his chest, and muttered a prayer under his breath. He was a devout Catholic, and his faith was normally the butt of many jokes on board.
Today, though, nobody laughed.
Crowmoor Hall
Near Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire
Forty miles away, the gnarly figure of Seymour Finch stepped out of the grand entrance of the manor house. He raised his bald head, peered up at the sky. The stars were out, seeming dead and flat through ragged holes in the mist that curled around the mansion’s gables and clung to the lawns.
Finch couldn’t stop grinning to himself, even though his hands were quaking in fear as he nervously, impatiently awaited the arrival of the helicopter. He glanced at his watch.
