“I can’t,” said Pete, his voice trembling as he spoke. “You know I can’t. What are you doing, Greg?”

His friend grimaced. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t include you. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand what?” asked Pete. “What in God’s name is there to understand about this?”

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” said Greg, lowering his gun so it was no longer pointing at Pete’s chest. “It’s going to be all right. Come over here where I can see you.”

Pete walked across the litter-strewn ground, aware that the second Night Stalker had not moved his weapon so much as a millimetre, and stopped beside the open rear doors of the van. From his knees, the old man looked up at him with tears brimming in his eyes.

“There’s a war going on,” said Greg. “That’s what you don’t understand, mate. The vamps we take out are scum. They’re the worst of the worst, they say so themselves. They brag about it. This, what we do? They know it’s what they deserve. They’re glad when it comes.”

An awful piece of the puzzle slotted into place, and, for a moment, Pete thought he was going to throw up.

“Oh God,” he said, his voice thick with horror. “The SSL helpline. The vampires who call in and confess what they’ve done. You’re using the helpline to pick your victims.”

Greg shrugged, the faintest flicker of a smile on his face. “There’s no room for morality in war,” he said. “We do what needs doing. That’s why the public backs us, because they get it. They know that every dead vamp means a world that’s a little bit safer for them and their families. They thank us, mate.”

“You’re going to kill this man for things he confessed on the helpline?” said Pete. “How do you know he even did them? What if he was lying?”

“Maybe he was,” said Greg. “It doesn’t matter either way.”

“So you’re just going to execute him?” he asked, his voice rising as anger overwhelmed his fear. “No trial, no evidence? You’re just going to put a stake through his heart?”

Greg didn’t respond, but his eyes had narrowed, and he was staring at Pete with an expression that looked a lot like disappointment.

“Have you forgotten about Albert Harker, Greg?” he continued. “Have you forgotten how scared we were, how helpless we felt? How can you do the same thing to someone else?”

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” said Greg, his voice low and dangerous. “Not a bloody thing, mate. I remember exactly how it felt, and I’ll die before I let anyone make me feel like that again. I don’t care whether this piece of shit did the things he bragged about on the helpline or whether he made them up. He’s a vamp. That’s enough. If there were no vamps in the world, Matt and Kate would be safe at home right now.”

You bastard, thought Pete. Oh, you hateful bastard.

“Don’t you dare use my daughter to justify this,” he said. “She’d be appalled by what you’re doing, and so would Matt.”

“Maybe,” said Greg. “Maybe not. But we can’t ask them, can we? And that’s the point.”

“So what’s the plan then?” said Pete. “You and your friends kill every vampire on earth, one at a time?”

“No need,” said Greg. “We’re a lightning rod, mate. We show people that they don’t need to be afraid, that they can take matters into their own hands. We lead, the rest follow.”

“You’re talking about a civil war,” said Pete. “Humans versus vampires. Is that what you want? For thousands of people to die fighting each other?”

“Want has nothing to do with it,” said Greg. “It’s inevitable. Human beings can’t share the world, mate, we’ve never been able to. It’s obvious. We’re at the top of the food chain, and when another species threatens us, we take them out. This is no different.”

Realisation struck Pete like a bucket of cold water. “That’s why you refused to help after the Prime Minister’s announcement,” he said. “You don’t want them cured. You want them destroyed.”

“Damn right,” said Greg. “An amnesty? So animals like this can be let off the hook for everything they’ve ever done, and be allowed to be normal again? To be like us? Does that seem fair to you?”

“Yes,” said Pete. “It does.”

“Not to me,” said Greg. “Not to the rest of us. And not to our backers.”

“Backers?”

“You think I can afford all this on my SSL salary?” asked Greg, and laughed. “You sign the payroll every month, just like I do.”

“So who’s backing you?” asked Pete.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” said Greg, a cruel smile on his face. “The same people who’re backing you, mate. The SSL board.”

Pete stared at his friend.

No, he thought, his mind reeling. It can’t be. It can’t all have been about this.

“Greg,” said the other Night Stalker. “We’ve been out here for too long. Let’s finish it.”

“Shut up,” said Greg, shooting a narrow-eyed glance in the masked man’s direction, then looking back at his friend. “You shouldn’t feel bad, Pete. You’ve done good work, you and the others. You really have. You just didn’t know the whole story.”

“What are you saying?” asked Pete. He could hear how thick his own voice sounded, how audibly on the verge of tears. “That SSL was never real? It was all just a cover for this?”

“I’m sorry,” said Greg. “I really would’ve told you if I thought you could have handled it. I wanted to. We’re making a new world, mate. A better world. I just wish you were going to be there to see it.”

The gun came up so quickly and smoothly that Pete barely saw it move before it was pointing at his chest. Panic exploded through him, and he hurled himself to the left as Greg pulled the trigger.

The gunfire was deafening metallic thunder as he crashed to the ground beside the black van. He scrambled to his feet as he heard Greg bellow something incoherent behind him, and took off along the canal bank, sprinting for his life. Dust and shards of tarmac exploded around his feet as the night was shattered by a second burst of gunfire, but he kept running, not risking a look over his shoulder to see if they were coming, his mind empty of anything but the desperate, primal instinct to survive.

His feet pounded across the concrete as he accelerated; in the gloom ahead of him, a distant wrought-iron bridge led into the towering maze of buildings on the other side of the waterway, and he fixed his gaze on it. If he made it across, he might be able to lose them, double back to his car, and make it out of this alive.

Gunfire roared behind him for the third time, but he thought it sounded quieter, as though it was coming from ever so slightly further away. He still didn’t risk a backward glance, but his heart surged with sudden, savage hope.

I’m getting away, he thought.

Something punched him in the shoulder, harder than he had ever been hit by anything in his life. He spun round, saw blood fly in the dark air, blood that a distant, detached part of his brain understood was his own, and felt his balance fail him. His legs tangled, he pitched to his right, and tumbled over the low rail into the dark canal below.

The water was shockingly cold, and he sank instantly, his legs slamming painfully into the uneven bottom of the canal. For a terrible moment, one of his feet caught on something and wouldn’t move; Pete thrashed, bubbles erupting from his mouth, and hauled for all he was worth. He hung, suspended below the surface, until slowly, agonisingly slowly, his foot came free, like a cork escaping from a champagne bottle. He dragged himself upwards, clawing at the water with one arm as the other hung uselessly at his side. He broke the surface, took a huge, gasping breath, then was sucked back under again as the current pulled at him, sending him tumbling downstream as his head began to pound and black and red spots swarmed at the edges of his vision.