“Are you OK?” he mouthed.

The woman smiled, and gave him a thumbs up with her free hand.

“I’ll come back later,” he whispered. “When they’re awake.”

She nodded, and returned her attention to the sleeping baby. Jamie watched them for a moment, then walked on down the corridor, feeling pretty pleased with himself. His squad had safely extracted the family of vampires from a chaotic situation, and had managed to do so without any loss of life; he had woken to a message on his console informing him that the man Ellison shot would survive. All in all, it had been a pretty satisfactory night.

Jamie stopped outside the last cell on the left and looked through the purple barrier. When he didn’t see his mother, his first thought, strangely, was that she must be hiding, so he crouched down to look under the bed, feeling slightly silly as he did so.

Nothing.

He frowned. His mother occasionally left her cell for medical and physical tests, but she hadn’t mentioned anything about a new round having been scheduled.

Although, whispered a voice in the back of his head, you didn’t exactly part on good terms yesterday. Maybe she didn’t feel like telling you.

Jamie grimaced with guilt. He had not come down to the cellblock to apologise to his mother, as he didn’t think he needed to be sorry for not automatically agreeing with her views on a potential cure, but had done so with the genuine desire to put things right between them. He didn’t like arguing with his mum, and he hated the thought of her worrying about whether or not he was angry with her.

For long moments, Jamie stared into the empty cell. Then he turned on his heels and headed back along the corridor, far quicker than he had come. He stopped outside Valentin’s cell; the youngest Rusmanov was in his usual position on his sofa, one ankle resting on the other knee, a newspaper open in his hands. It hid his face, but Jamie knew the ancient vampire would be entirely aware of his presence.

“Valentin?” he said.

The seated figure didn’t move a muscle.

“Valentin?” he repeated, increasing his volume. “Don’t ignore me.”

The newspaper was lowered, and the vampire smiled at him with eyes that flickered red, sending a shiver up Jamie’s spine.

“I wasn’t ignoring you, Mr Carpenter,” said Valentin. “I was attempting to decide whether I could be bothered to spend my precious time talking to you. I suggest you make this quick, while my decision remains unmade.”

“Fine,” said Jamie. He allowed heat to rise into the corners of his own eyes, hoping to show Valentin that he wasn’t scared of him. “My mother isn’t in her cell. Did you see her leave?”

“And what if I did?” asked the vampire.

“I hope you would tell me.”

“Really?” asked Valentin. “Why would you hope that? Because you and I are such good friends, who converse with each other and confide in each other and keep no secrets from each other? Or because you are an Operator of Blacklight, and I am a prisoner who should do as he is told?”

“Whichever you prefer,” said Jamie.

“I prefer neither,” said Valentin. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No,” growled Jamie. “There’s nothing else.” He backed away from the purple barrier, determined not to lose his temper and give the old vampire what he wanted, and headed for the airlock.

“You know,” called Valentin, “I did see something last night that might be of interest to you. How silly of me to have forgotten.”

Jamie turned and stared at the vampire. “Are you going to tell me what it was?”

“Of course,” said Valentin, and smiled. “I’m not a monster, Mr Carpenter. As it transpires, I do remember seeing your mother last night.”

Jamie’s heart accelerated. “Where did you see her?”

“Right where you’re standing now,” said Valentin. “She walked past, accompanied by two of your colleagues. It was around ten thirty, maybe eleven o’clock, if I had to guess. And I haven’t seen her since.”

“Are you telling me the truth?” asked Jamie.

The vampire shrugged. “If you don’t believe me, I see little point in trying to convince you. Have a lovely day, Mr Carpenter.”

Valentin raised his newspaper again. Jamie stood frozen to the spot, a deep frown creasing his forehead.

Maybe there was some kind of problem, he thought. Maybe she needed to talk to the Director, or ask him something. Maybe—

His heart stopped in his chest.

No. They wouldn’t. Surely they wouldn’t do that to her.

The thought, sudden and terrible and all too plausible, charged his limbs with life. He flew along the corridor, dropped to the ground outside the cellblock guard post, and knocked on its thick plastic window. The Duty Operator jumped and spun round, a look of shock in her wide eyes.

“Lieutenant Carpenter,” she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear—”

“Was my mother taken off the block last night?” he interrupted.

The Operator frowned. “I wasn’t on duty last night,” she said. “I can check the log—”

“Do it,” growled Jamie, and felt heat flicker behind his eyes. “Quickly.”

The Operator swallowed; she looked very pale as her fingers tapped her keyboard. A voice in the back of Jamie’s head was yelling at him, reminding him that whatever had happened was not her fault, but he barely heard it; his mind was full of a possibility so awful that he could barely contemplate it.

“Ten fifty-two last night,” said the Operator, looking up from her screen. “Marie Carpenter escorted off block by Captain Williams and Lieutenant Browning. No absence parameters.”

“What the hell does that mean?” asked Jamie.

“It means they didn’t list a time for when she’s expected back, sir.”

He stared at the Duty Operator, but he was no longer really looking at her, or anything else; the names she read out had hit him like a punch to the stomach.

Captain Williams and Lieutenant Browning. Jack and Matt.

My friends.

Everybody in the laboratory jumped when somebody hammered on its metal door.

It was a phenomenally rare occurrence; the Lazarus Project was off-limits to all but the most senior members of the Department, and unauthorised visitors were prohibited, especially now. But the noise that was echoing through the cavernous room was loud and relentless; it sounded like someone was very determined to gain entry to the lab.

“Matt?” asked Natalia. Her voice was low and tight, and she was looking over at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he replied. He had spun his chair round and was staring at the door. “I’m sure everything’s fine.”

“What is going on out there?” asked Professor Karlsson. “Somebody check the cameras.”

Matt sighed deeply and typed rapidly on his keyboard, his head thudding with stress and tiredness; he had been working all night, ever since Marie Carpenter had been taken to the infirmary, and he doubted that he was going to see the inside of his quarters any time soon. The modifications to the sealed rooms were now complete, the next three test subjects would be arriving in half an hour, and the pressure inside the Lazarus Project, which was crushing at the best of times, was only going to increase as the trial progressed.

The security grid appeared on his screen, and he opened the live feed from the corridor. It showed an Operator pounding on the metal door, their fists little more than a blur. Matt stared, concern twisting in his stomach, until the figure raised its head and looked directly into the camera with eyes full of dark red light.

“It’s Jamie,” he said. “What the hell is he playing at?”

“Are you expecting him?” asked Karlsson.

“No, sir,” he said. “I don’t know why he’s out there.”

“Should we let him in?” asked Natalia, her voice low.

“He’s Zero Hour cleared,” said Matt. “If we want to let him in, we can.”