Free Red Eye - 02 by James Lovegrove Page A

shuffling, echoing. The camera swung. Tina’s voice, a whisper: “What the fuck...? Oh, God. Oh, shit. Someone’s coming. Who?”
    The image veered about wildly, incomprehensibly.
    “That’s me hiding,” she told Redlaw. “There was this place beside the track, like a room at the top of some steps, a refuge for people working down there, they could sit and have their lunch in it or something.”
    The image stabilised again. On-camera, Tina whispered, “Oh, my God, I hope they aren’t vamps. Maybe they’ve heard me.”
    “I thought the whole point was you were looking for vampires,” Redlaw said.
    “Yeah, but on my terms. I didn’t want to get caught by them.”
    “And for what it’s worth, they’re far more likely to have smelled you than heard you.”
    “Thanks for that, Mister Expertise. I’ll have you know I wash regularly.”
    “Makes no difference.”
    Now figures came into view on the screen. They were moving in a line along the track. Six, no, seven of them. Silhouettes, only just discernible in the gloom. Chunky outlines. Bulky clothing. Guns.
    Tina’s camera jumpily panned right to left, following them as they tramped by. The focus wavered in and out. On the soundtrack, above the marching of boots and soft clanking of equipment, frightened, shallow breaths were audible—hers.
    The figures filed out of sight. The camera dipped, almost with relief. Tina’s voice said, “Jesus, that was a pretty—”
    And there, abruptly, the clip ended.
    “I can’t remember how I finished that sentence,” Tina said. “‘A pretty close call,’ maybe. Freaked the hell out of me, as you can tell. I mean, I suppose technically I was trespassing, and my first thought was those guys might be transport employees or something. I didn’t dare move for about another hour, in case they returned or there were any more of them further back along. Then I just sort of crept out. Didn’t much feel like doing any more vampire chasing after that. Oh, and apologies for all the God and Jesus stuff. It just comes out. I don’t mean anything by it.”
    “That’s the trouble, no one does,” said Redlaw. “Run the clip again.”
    She did.
    “And again.”
    Twice more, and then yet again for good measure.
    “So what do you think?” she asked. “Who are they?”
    “Can’t tell that much about them. Not enough detail. But they definitely look military.”
    “Exactly. Since seeing the playback, that’s my thoughts exactly.”
    “Helmets. Assault weapons. That looks like military-grade body armour they have on. Ballistic vests, elbow and knee pads. But also the fact that they’re going single file, evenly spaced. Smacks of training to me. Drilled-in discipline. And that’s not all. Can you wind it back? Freeze-frame on the clearest shot you’ve got, one where you can see the whole of one individual, head to toe.”
    Tina obliged.
    “See that?” Redlaw said, pointing to one of the silhouetted figures. “See how he walks? The way he’s putting his feet down?”
    Tina frowned. “So what?”
    “There’s something about it. It’s not how a man carries himself ordinarily. No, scratch that. It’s not how an ordinary man carries himself.”
    “I don’t get.”
    “I wouldn’t expect you to,” said Redlaw. “I could be imagining it, but... If you’ve been around Sunless as long as I have, you become familiar with certain aspects of their behaviour. The body language, for instance. Vampires may not look like much, but they’re surprisingly graceful when they want to be. They go on the balls of their feet, a bit like dancers. This fellow”—he tapped the screen—“has almost that exact same walk. All seven of them do. If only we could make out their features better...”
    But the figures’ faces remained hidden throughout the duration of the clip, lost in impenetrable shadow.
    “What are soldiers doing down in the New York subway? That’s what I’d like to know,” Tina said.
    “Down in the subway