Irradiated by Hartley James

A supernatural task force is sent to Manhattan to silence an existential threat.

Image generated with OpenAI

Bon leaned his head back against the metal panels behind him, feeling the throb of the four turboprop engines through his skull. Bonaparte Cage, you have been judged. He could almost feel the words running through his head, traced in half-formed fire. He opened his eyes a crack and shifted his heavy-lidded gaze to Katya. She was watching him, a look of - it was hunger, and something more, longing? - etched across her face. He didn't need to look to know she was watching him. He could feel her, feel her presence. He'd made her after all. Yet another act to add to the litany ensuring his damnation. Katya had made her own choice, but what real choice was it? Anyway, he had other concerns than the morality right now.

The interior of the MC-130 echoed with the noise of the engines and the voices of Maklin and Duval. The occasional muttered consultation passed between the men up front. The smell of fuel and machinery filled the hollow space. The aircraft was designed to carry many more than the team. Up front, the crew steadfastly ignored them. Under their own orders, they were used to Special Ops. It was none of their business who they were ferrying to Northern New Jersey for a drop.

"Oh, man," said Maklin. "This just reminds me too much of 'Nam." He shook his head. "How long we going to sit here anyway?"

"Shut it, will you?" said Duval. "We've all been there." He gestured meaningfully with his head toward the cockpit. "Enough about the past." He glanced at Katya then over at Bon. "Well, most of us have been."

Bon's only response was to close his eyes again. He could scent the life of the military men up front, teasing his senses, undercutting his concentration with that ever-present taste of hunger.

"Hey, leave Katya alone," said Maklin.

Bon pictured Ed Maklin reaching across and resting a hand gently on the top of her thigh as he spoke, flashing her a supportive grin. Well, let him play. It wasn't such a bad thing that those two might continue to bond. They might need each other's support in this little exercise. On the surface, it looked like an easy enough assignment, but you never could tell. He ran the briefing over in his mind.

Peterson had been uncomfortable. The taste of fear literally oozed out of him as he gave them the rundown. Information had come to the agency that a group representing foreign interests had bought a New York apartment building. Somehow, they were converting that building into what amounted to a huge bomb. It wasn't just a bomb. What they were making inside was a nuke. As far as the Agency knew, the whole thing was nearly ready. Their information had simply come too late. The Agency itself couldn't afford an operation to take the cell out - there was just too much risk involved.

"You've got to leave tonight. Shut this thing down. We can't afford to have this device, whatever it is, triggered. It could take out half of Manhattan." Peterson had been visibly pale, the urgency apparent in his voice. "There's a military transport ready and waiting for you to drop you at Teterboro airport. There'll be a van on hand when you get there. The airport's twelve miles from midtown Manhattan and small enough not to attract too much attention. Take out the cell. Do it quickly and quietly. No survivors. We can't let them know what's happening, and we can't afford to let the locals know what's going on. There'd be too many questions, apart from the panic. Any overt moves against this group would risk them triggering the device."

"Aw, come on," Ed had said, laughing. "You really expect us to believe that? Yeah right. A bunch of terrorists have turned an apartment block into a nuke. What are you setting us up for?"

"I can assure you, Mister Maklin, I'm deadly serious. We see this as a viable threat. We must have this threat neutralized, and we can't let any information get out. As I said - no survivors."

"Mmmm," said Eddie, smacking his lips. "International cuisine."

Katya gave him a curious glance and Peterson swallowed and bit his lip, hesitating before he continued.

"What about the device?" asked Duval.

Peterson, seeming to regain his composure, turned to face him. "Agent Katya has enough information to know what needs to be done. You'll have to transport the fissile material out of there. We have to assume that you'll be immune to its effects."

It was an interesting question. Bon had never thought about it before. What did radiation do to a vampire? It was something he'd never had to think about. Well, there was a time for everything.

On the surface, it was a simple enough assignment. Okay, there was the local population question, and the radiation, but there had to be something more. He'd looked at Peterson long and hard.

"What aren't you telling us? You don't call in the DC for nothing."

"I've already told you," said Peterson. "We can't afford to let this get out. Can you imagine what would happen if we had the place crawling with guys in radiation suits? Think about it."

He'd thought about it, but his guts were telling him there was something more.

The plane engines changed their pitch, and he could feel the beginning of their descent. Bon opened his eyes staring across at Duval.

"I don't like it," said Duval, his lip curled. "Something doesn't feel right."

Bon simply nodded slowly in response.

"What about this device? What are we supposed to be looking for?"

Bon lifted a finger in warning. "We'll talk about it in the van."

The plane bumped down to a landing, and with a sudden rush and roar of the turboprops, circled to a stop. Moments later, they were out and, on the ground, far away from any buildings on a flat expanse of tarmac. The crew had said not a word to them. A blacked-out van sat waiting for them, looking slightly sinister in the reflected airport lights.

"Eddie, you're driving," said Bon.

Maklin grunted and clambered up front, Duval sliding in beside him. Bon and Janus took the rear seats. The keys were in the ignition, a thin laminated map sitting on the front seat.

"We can talk on the way. Katya, what can you tell us?"

Eddie gunned the motor and headed out toward the exit.

Katya licked her lips before starting. "Well, it's technically possible to make a nuclear device. All you need is a large containing tube, long enough to get the velocity going, a couple of pieces of polished plutonium, and a priming charge. You set off the charge, the explosion drives the top piece down the tube, the polished surfaces are forced together for long enough to spark a reaction and then... bang." She spread her hands.

Duval swiveled his head in the front seat to look at her. "So why do they need an apartment building?"

"It's in a center of population. You have to have enough space to conceal the tube. Maximum effect without discovery; it's high enough up to increase the effect. They've probably drilled down through the floors to hold the cylinder in place and set the charge at the top."

"Damn. Build your own nuke right in the city," said Maklin, keeping his eyes on the road in front. "Nice."

"Yeah," said Katya. "Theoretically possible, but I don't think it's ever been done before."

"So, it's simple," said Duval. "We go in the top and take them out, making sure they don't get a chance to set it off."

Bon turned to look out at the lights flicking past outside the window. What if they did set it off? The number of lives he had taken over the centuries would pale into nothing next to that. How many dead? How many walking dead? Walking dead, yes, but that was a different form of walking death. It wouldn't matter to the team if they did set it off. Incineration had to be a quick way to go. Bon suppressed the thought.

"So where is it?" said Duval.

"Spanish Harlem," said Maklin.

Katya leaned across and grabbed the map, tracing a finger over the area. "Enough coverage to take out a good slice of the population, but it would be the fallout that would be the real thing. They'd probably wait for the right weather conditions for maximum damage."

Katya glanced into the back. "Yeah, we've got containers to transport the stuff out. Lead-lined, secure. All we have to do is get them in there. And looks like they've been kind enough to supply us with tools too."

"Hmmm, hmmm. Party tonight," said Maklin, bouncing slightly to a noiseless soundtrack running in his head. Duval sat quietly, watching the road in front.

They knew what they had to do, and the rest of the team lapsed into silence as Ed focused on getting them there, negotiating the George Washington Bridge and across town to the streets leading to the Upper East Side.

They passed shuttered storefronts, row after row of squat blocks of buildings, and then pulled up in a back street and sat, watching the surrounding area for movement. It was already 1:30, and the neighborhood appeared quiet. Up ahead, a dog nosed at some trash spilled across the pavement.

"Which one is it?" said Duval.

"Fourth one in," said Maklin, indicating with his chin.

"Hmmm, doesn't look special," said Duval.

And it didn't. Unremarkable. Four floors. Flat roof. Brick, painted brown from what they could see in the vague streetlight. The outside of the building looked moisture-slick like the black streets around them. Well, they'd want it to look unremarkable, wouldn't they?

"They're not going to put up a sign," said Bon. Duval merely grunted.

"So, when do we move? Let's get this party on the road," said Maklin.

"Wait," said Bon, holding up a hand to still him. He narrowed his eyes. The feeling was back, and it was stronger.

"What is it?" asked Katya, leaning forward, watching his face.

He waved her back.

"Wait," he said.

Despite the sense in his guts, there was nothing out of place here. He signaled to the others to get out, and then stepped out of the van himself. He stood for a moment, trying to catch scent of what it was he was feeling, but there was the faint taste of people, a hint of old trash, not much else.

"Duval, Janus, you take the containers. I'll take the tools. Ed, you go up first. Look for an easy way in. If it's clear, we'll join you."

"Don't worry, baby, I'll look after you," said Maklin, addressing the statement to Katya with a grin.

"Enough of the 'baby' crap, Eddie," said Katya, moving around to the back of the van to join Duval and grab the containers.

Bon watched her. She was a baby. She'd be a baby for a long time to come. She'd barely been born into her new existence, but there was a hard edge about her, speaking of something else. He shook his head and looked away.

Further down the street, a group of youths dressed in baggy street clothes appeared from a connecting street and sauntered toward them. This they didn't need. Five. Hispanic. As they neared, Bon stepped to the front of the van. The lead youth stepped forward a pace.

"Hey," he said. "What you all...?"

"Disappear," Bon hissed, loud enough to be heard.

The young man hesitated, looking to the others for support. He started reaching for something at his belt.

And Bon was in front of him, lifting him from his feet by the throat, looking deep into his eyes, the change upon him.

"I wouldn't do that," he said quietly, the threat clear in his voice. "You and your friends should just go away now. Quickly. Quietly."

Duval had appeared around one side of the van.

Bon dropped his burden. The young man blanched. There was a moment of indecision there, and then fear.

"Hey, man. We didn't mean nothing. Come on," he said to his companions. "We outta here."

"But what..." said one of the others.

The first cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Shut up," he said. "We going."

Seconds later, the street was as empty as if they had never been there. They wouldn't be back.

Bon walked calmly back to the van, ignoring Duval as he shook his head, the accusation clearly on his face. He knew what he was thinking - Duval would have ripped the young guy's throat out. "Come on, there's work to do," he said, reaching for his throat mike and earpiece, settling them in place.

Duval and Janus hefting a square container each, Bon carrying the tools, the group walked along the opposite side of the street to the apartment building. No lights, no sign of life at all, the place looked quiet. The street was truly deserted.

Maklin sauntered across the road and launched himself into the air, landing lightly on the flat roof above, crouching slightly to ease the impact of his landing. He paused, looked both ways up and down the street, then disappeared from view. Moments later, he was back, gesturing them to join him.

"It's clear," his voice came over the comms channel.

"You don't expect me to..." whispered Katya.

"Just do it." There was nothing forgiving in Duval's voice.

Quickly, the three of them crossed the street, launched themselves and landed just as lightly on the lip of the roof above. Bon glanced at Janus. She wore a half-disbelieving grin. He raised a hand in warning. He pointed at the container she was carrying, indicating she should put it down, just out of sight. They'd retrieve them as soon as they needed them. She nodded her understanding, and both she and Duval gently placed the containers down.

Maklin was halfway across the roof, beckoning them forward. He was hunkered down by a flat metal access hatch, set almost flush to the roof surface. Silently, they padded over to where he waited.

"This is our way in. Let's do it," he said with a grin, flexing his fingers, then slipping the ends of them beneath the metal lip.

"Wait," said Katya, her voice tense. "Any trigger mechanism is likely to be on the upper floor. We have to make sure of it as soon as we get in there. It's going to be centrally located. We can't afford to let any of them get to it."

"Duval, you and Maklin go in first," said Bon. "We'll be right behind." He nodded.

Maklin flexed his shoulders, and with a heave, wrenched the hatch open, with the sound of protesting metal. Then he was through the square opening, dropping through the darkness below. Duval leaped through after. For a second there was nothing. Then light. Too much light.

"Damn," came Maklin's voice.

Without a pause, Bon was through the hole. He sensed rather than saw Katya following him. As he dropped to the floor, Bon took in as much as he could, struggling as his vision adjusted to the bright light battering his senses. The walls had been knocked out. A large central cylinder reached almost to the ceiling, capped at the top by a solid rounded plug. Harsh actinic light glared from all four corners. He dropped the toolbox at his feet, gesturing to Katya, and acted.

A hollow-cheeked Asian man was pointing an automatic weapon at Maklin, his features picked out in sharp relief in the bright light. A quick burst of fire slammed into Maklin, and he snarled, advancing quickly, his face already written with his true nature. There was no time to see what Katya was doing, whether she'd taken the tools or not. Duval was over in one corner, dealing with another. Bon whirled, launched himself across empty floor, slamming a third against the wall and snapping his neck before he had the chance to get off a shot. This one was Asian too. Not what he'd expected, but he didn't have time to think about it. The sound of feet was pounding up the stairs from below.

"Katya, have you got it?" he said, not bothering to look, heading toward the stairs.

"It's not here," she said. "It's not here. There aren't any controls." There was a note of panic in her voice.

Duval dropped the body he was holding, blood smearing his chin.

"We have to stop it!" said Katya.

"Duval, help her," said Bon. Maklin was advancing toward the stairs. Bon crossed the space in an instant to join him. There was too much noise - far too much noise. They had to shut this down and quickly.

Two more figures appeared at the top of the stairs, weapons at the ready. As they took in the scene, saw Maklin's face, saw Bon's transformed features, fear took the place of determination. They knew! They started backing away, brandishing their weapons in front of them.

Time. They were running out of time.

There was no time to catch them retreating down the stairs. They had to keep this contained.

"Maklin, go over the roof. Cut them off."

"Right," he said and launched himself up through the open square above them.

Bon glanced over at the central cylinder. Katya was busy working on the bolts that sealed the cap in place. He turned for the stairs.

A muffled thump came from above, then Maklin's voice. "Oh great. Just great."

"What is it?" said Bon.

"Um, I think we have a problem."

Bon gestured at the stairs, and Duval, needing no further prompting, headed down. Duval could cover whatever lay below.

"Katya, how are you doing?"

"Nearly there," she said. "But there's still no sign of any mechanism. It has to be remote."

Bon snarled his frustration. He knew there was something wrong about this. In the next instant, his suspicions were more than confirmed. Ed Maklin's form tumbled through the hole from the darkness above and slammed heavily into the floor. He was followed by a new figure, someone who landed lightly on his feet, whirled to take in the scene, his arms held in a fighting stance. Maklin tried to lift himself to his feet, but received a quick kick for his trouble, and fell back flat and crumpled on the floor. Bon took a step forward.

"Katya, keep working," he said quietly.

Sharply defined Asian features, but they were more than sharply defined. The face that looked at him, a sneer of triumph etched across the features was too familiar. The face was one of their own. This one was vampire. The room's new occupant stood with legs spread, hands upheld in a stance familiar from a hundred movies. Bon stopped where he was, assessing. How could there be another of their kind here. Peterson had known!

A quick burst of weapons fire came from below, and the sound of further violence. Duval was doing what he did best. Bon took a cautious step. This new opponent he faced was clearly skilled, but more than that, he was a vampire. He was one of their own. It made perfect sense. Why assume that only one country's government would be trying to use the strength and power of their kind? The Germans should have taught him that.

Then all space for thought was gone because Bon was fighting for his existence. His opponent leaped across the intervening space, one foot extended in a vicious kick, meant to connect with his throat. Bon read the move, stepping to one side, but as he did so, an elbow slammed down into the back of his neck, driving him to one knee. He slipped sideways, aiming a blow upward that connected with empty air. The black-clad Asian had landed lightly on his feet and spun, aiming a kick at Bon's head. Bon swayed to the side and scurried backward. Who was he? Chinese? Korean? It hardly mattered as he rolled out of the way of flying fists and feet.

"Damn! There's nothing here," said Katya. "Nothing!"

"I need help here," said Bon. And he did. The vampire strength and force were something he could deal with, but this guy was fast. He was too good. A foot slammed into him and drove him back into a wall.

Over to one side, Bon saw Maklin struggling to his feet, and nearly collected a face full of boot for his lapse in concentration.

His assailant had seen Katya, because he reached behind himself and a blade flashed across the room. It clattered against a wall. Clearly, he'd missed.

Bon scrambled to one side, barely avoiding another kick, and tried to regain his feet, but a blow caught him on the side of his face, quickly followed by another that slammed his head back into the wall.

"You!" Katya's voice.

The man turned, hissing.

"Come on," said Katya. She held a large screwdriver in one hand, her face transformed, her teeth bared. She advanced.

And was met halfway with a flurry of blows. She ducked past each of them, dancing out of the way. Her assailant kicked and she swayed out of the way, her legs braced. A fist shot toward her face and she ducked beneath it, grabbed the arm, and drove the screwdriver up with all her force into the underside of his chin. He collapsed back, hands clawing at the makeshift weapon. Katya leapt, throwing herself after him, slamming the heel of her hand up into the handle, driving the screwdriver home.

A moment later and Maklin was on top of him pinning him to the floor as Katya continued to rain blows against his throat.

"What the hell is this?" said Maklin, his face echoing his shock as he fully registered who - no, not who - what he had pinned beneath him.

The noise from downstairs had subsided. Duval appeared at the top of the stairs, a semi-satisfied look on his face, the marks of his work on his face and hands, calmly surveying the scene.

"Well, that's interesting," he said, a frown rapidly replacing the look on his face.

"What is this?" said Maklin. "How can there be another one of us... here?"

"Don't look at me," said Duval. "I'm not the sushi fan."

Bon had pushed himself to his feet, supporting himself with one hand on the wall. "This is what Peterson wasn't telling us."

For all the slightness of his frame, the Asian was strong, and he sensed his opportunity as Maklin turned his head. Wresting one arm free, he arched his back, throwing Maklin off. He kicked out, sending Ed sliding away across the floor to slam into the central cylinder. With his free hand, the attacker tore the screwdriver from his throat and rolled to one side, out from beneath Katya, and in an instant was on his feet again, screwdriver held menacingly in front of him. He launched himself at her.

It was too quick. Where was Duval? He'd disappeared down the stairs, only to return an instant later with a jagged piece of wood, torn from the staircase.

Three paces and Duval was beside the struggling figures on the floor.

"Wait," said Bon, but his words came too late.

"Now it's your turn," said Duval as he drove the length of wood down hard into the Asian's back. A strangled cry and the struggle ceased. The bloody screwdriver clattered to the floor. Their opponent was no more.

Maklin, who'd just regained his feet, staggered back, averting his face. "Oh man. Did you have to do that?"

Katya stood, looking slightly pale, seeing her own potential fate written in the traces on the floor. "Th-thanks," she said.

"Is that it?" said Duval turning away from her.

Bon pushed himself from the wall. "Downstairs?"

"Clear," said Duval. "What about what we came for?"

Bon shook his head. "There never was anything. Not yet, anyway. That's not why we were here. Peterson knew damned well the reason we were here. No survivors. Well, he got what he wanted."

"Hunh, imagine that," said Duval. "Very nice."

"Damn," said Maklin.

There might have been plans to build a device, and everything he could see told Bon that it was the real purpose of this place, but that's not why Peterson had sent in the Specials. That much was now crystal clear.

He glanced over at Katya, calmer now. Maklin looked across at her too, still averting his gaze from the place on the floor.

"You handled yourself pretty well, Katya," he said, dusting himself off. "Even impressed Eddie."

"Yeah, well, you don't think they didn't train me in the Agency?" she said. She glanced up at the square of blackness leading to the roof. "Do you think there's any more?"

"No," said Bon. "They would have been here by now." Besides, the feeling of unease that had been nagging at him within was gone. Now he knew what that feeling had been. He should have suspected. "I'm sure that's it."

He glanced around the room, then at the faces of the other team members. "We need to get out of here. Grab our stuff. We don't want to leave any traces."

"So much for a nuke," said Katya.

"Yeah, more like simply taking out the competition. Who would have thought? I suppose we should have expected them. Another team from another place."

Duval nodded. "Yeah. Makes sense. Why wouldn't the opposition have their own? One less to worry about though. And it's about time we went and had a few words with Peterson," he said. "Let's give him something proper to worry about, shall we?"

Duval looked pointedly at each of them. "Teach him the true meaning of a viable threat."

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