Department 19: Zero Hour by Will Hill Page A

he spoke. “I’ve threatened to have you court-martialled more times than I can remember. Don’t make me actually go through with it.”
    “Sorry, sir,” said Jamie. He walked across the room and stood at ease in front of the Interim Director’s desk. “You wanted to see me?”
    “Yes,” said Holmwood. “That’s why I sent you a message telling you to come and see me. Was that too subtle for you?”
    Jamie’s smile widened. “Apparently so, sir.”
    “I’ll use shorter words next time,” said Holmwood. “I’m going to activate your squad today, if you tell me they’re ready. That’s why I wanted to see you.”
    “They’re ready, sir,” said Jamie, instantly. His stomach had already contracted into a tight ball of excitement at the thought of returning to the active roster, of being back out there helping the Department instead of stuck in the Playground watching Ellison and Qiang being run ragged by Terry, the fabled Blacklight instructor.
    “Glad to hear it,” said Holmwood, his smile fading ever so slightly. “What about you?”
    Jamie frowned. “Me, sir?”
    “A member of your last squad died, Jamie,” said Holmwood. “It wasn’t your fault, but it’s the kind of thing that can stay with an Operator for a long time. I need to know that you’ve let what happened to John Morton go.”
    An image flashed into Jamie’s mind, unbidden; Morton, dead, his face a mask of agony, his guts piled beneath him as he hung suspended in a room soaked with petrol. He pushed it away, back into the dark corner of his memory where it was stored, never to be entirely forgotten.
    “I have, sir,” said Jamie. “Morton was a good man, but he was a rookie who was a bad fit as an Operator. I tried to save him, and when I failed, I mourned him. Ellison did the same, and then we moved on, sir. Like we had to.”
    Holmwood stared, his pale green eyes fixed on Jamie’s. “I hear what you’re saying,” he said. “And I have no doubt you mean it. But there’s still—”
    “I’m sorry, sir,” interrupted Jamie. “But you’ll recall that I tried to have John Morton removed from the active roster several times. He was an unhappy ending waiting to happen, sir.”
    The comment was a pointed one, and Jamie saw that its sharp edge had not been lost on the Interim Director; it had been Holmwood who had refused Jamie’s initial request to deactivate Morton, and who had only grudgingly agreed after a civilian girl had died. His smile disappeared entirely and his eyes narrowed.
    “Is there something you want to say to me, Lieutenant?” he asked.
    “Yes, sir,” Jamie replied. “Qiang Li has been a PBS6 Operator for three years, with a flawless record. He’s nothing like John Morton, who was a man trying to prove he could handle something he couldn’t. I’m fine, sir, Qiang is good, and Ellison is great, really she is. She’s going to sit in your chair one day.”
    Holmwood grunted. “She’s more than welcome to it,” he said. “Tell her she can start tomorrow if she likes.”
    “I’m afraid I need her, sir,” said Jamie, smiling at his commanding officer.
    “Fair enough,” said Holmwood. “So you’re telling me I have nothing to worry about. Am I hearing you correctly?”
    “Yes, sir,” said Jamie. “I mean, there’s still Zero Hour and Admiral Seward and the Broadmoor escapees and the regular vamps getting bolder every day because Kevin McKenna told the whole world they exist, but as far as my squad is concerned, you have nothing to worry about.”
    Holmwood burst out laughing, and Jamie joined in; sometimes there was nothing else to do but let the darkness be damned. Jamie would not have given good odds on himself, the Interim Director, or the building they were standing in, still existing in six months’ time, let alone a year. But he was certain of one thing: that his friends and colleagues, and all the other men and women who wore the black uniform of the Department, would give everything