Absolution - The First Book Of The Vampire Immortalis Trilogy by Elizabeth Mitchell Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Mitchell
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no ties. Nobody would miss them when they were away on Sabbatarian business and nobody would miss them if they didn't come back. Most low level operatives never did come back. Most importantly, both men were born on a Saturday. Tradition dictated that all vampire hunters are born on a Saturday.
The two men had never met before joining the Sabbatarians despite living only a few miles away apart in South West London. Apart from each other, they had also never met any other Sabbatarians, although they had discussed at length the possibility of them being one of maybe hundreds if not thousands of small sleeper cells scattered throughout the country, and probably the world, waiting for orders from Battalion HQ. Only when they received orders to travel 350 miles north to Scotland did they guess that there might not be many other cells after all. Or, as Nick had suggested during the drive up, maybe they had been specifically chosen for this mission from those hundreds or thousands of cells. That idea appealed to both of them, especially Nick.
From the vantage point of his window, Nick could see from one end of the High Street to the other. It was perfect for seeing all the comings and goings. “We need to get out there, Miller. Catch ourselves a vampire.”
In the three months that the two men had known each other, including meeting up every Tuesday without fail for a drink and a chat at the Dark Horse on Merton High Street, they had always addressed each other by their first names. Now that they were on what Nick called “manoeuvres”, he insisted that he address Walter by his surname. Walter in turn was to address Nick as sir. The exception to this was when the two men were in the company of others, when such formalities might arouse suspicion. Nick claimed that the handler from the Sabbatarians had placed him in command and had instructed him on how they should address each other while on manoeuvres. In fact, their handler had said nothing of the sort. He had spoken only briefly to Nick by phone to tell him that he was to go to Melrose accompanied by Walter Miller, that they were to keep their ears to the ground, report back anything suspicious, and await further orders. A package had then arrived by post as promised. It was the contents of the package that gave Nick the excuse to pull rank. It was he who had been entrusted with the Beretta Bobcat pocket pistol and the solitary silver bullet, not Walter. It was obvious who was in charge.
“I'm bloody knackered, Nick, I mean Mr Webster, sir. Any chance of a little rest and recuperation before we get started?”
“Plenty of time to sleep when you're dead, Miller. We're here on official business and that business is out there on those streets. Come on, you can buy us both a coffee while we take a look around the town.”
* * *
Although she lived within a five minute walk, Lisa had never really noticed the house before, tucked away behind a screen of trees in the grounds of what was the old Dingleton Hospital. The hospital had opened as a lunatic asylum for the counties of Roxburgh, Selkirk, and Berwick, in 1872, but had closed down in 2001. The developers then quickly moved in, converting the main building into flats and selling off the other smaller properties scattered about the extensive hospital grounds.
The house that Lisa was approaching had been bought by the Immortalis through an offshore company in 2005. It was one of three houses they owned in Melrose, the other two being rented out to ordinary people until such times as they were needed by one of their own. The Immortalis always liked to have options.
As Lisa walked up the empty driveway towards the front door, she thought to herself that the house looked unoccupied. The garden was neat and tidy, contractors saw to that, but curtains were drawn across all the windows. She pressed the doorbell, but heard no evidence that it was actually working. She was just about to knock on the door when it swung
The two men had never met before joining the Sabbatarians despite living only a few miles away apart in South West London. Apart from each other, they had also never met any other Sabbatarians, although they had discussed at length the possibility of them being one of maybe hundreds if not thousands of small sleeper cells scattered throughout the country, and probably the world, waiting for orders from Battalion HQ. Only when they received orders to travel 350 miles north to Scotland did they guess that there might not be many other cells after all. Or, as Nick had suggested during the drive up, maybe they had been specifically chosen for this mission from those hundreds or thousands of cells. That idea appealed to both of them, especially Nick.
From the vantage point of his window, Nick could see from one end of the High Street to the other. It was perfect for seeing all the comings and goings. “We need to get out there, Miller. Catch ourselves a vampire.”
In the three months that the two men had known each other, including meeting up every Tuesday without fail for a drink and a chat at the Dark Horse on Merton High Street, they had always addressed each other by their first names. Now that they were on what Nick called “manoeuvres”, he insisted that he address Walter by his surname. Walter in turn was to address Nick as sir. The exception to this was when the two men were in the company of others, when such formalities might arouse suspicion. Nick claimed that the handler from the Sabbatarians had placed him in command and had instructed him on how they should address each other while on manoeuvres. In fact, their handler had said nothing of the sort. He had spoken only briefly to Nick by phone to tell him that he was to go to Melrose accompanied by Walter Miller, that they were to keep their ears to the ground, report back anything suspicious, and await further orders. A package had then arrived by post as promised. It was the contents of the package that gave Nick the excuse to pull rank. It was he who had been entrusted with the Beretta Bobcat pocket pistol and the solitary silver bullet, not Walter. It was obvious who was in charge.
“I'm bloody knackered, Nick, I mean Mr Webster, sir. Any chance of a little rest and recuperation before we get started?”
“Plenty of time to sleep when you're dead, Miller. We're here on official business and that business is out there on those streets. Come on, you can buy us both a coffee while we take a look around the town.”
* * *
Although she lived within a five minute walk, Lisa had never really noticed the house before, tucked away behind a screen of trees in the grounds of what was the old Dingleton Hospital. The hospital had opened as a lunatic asylum for the counties of Roxburgh, Selkirk, and Berwick, in 1872, but had closed down in 2001. The developers then quickly moved in, converting the main building into flats and selling off the other smaller properties scattered about the extensive hospital grounds.
The house that Lisa was approaching had been bought by the Immortalis through an offshore company in 2005. It was one of three houses they owned in Melrose, the other two being rented out to ordinary people until such times as they were needed by one of their own. The Immortalis always liked to have options.
As Lisa walked up the empty driveway towards the front door, she thought to herself that the house looked unoccupied. The garden was neat and tidy, contractors saw to that, but curtains were drawn across all the windows. She pressed the doorbell, but heard no evidence that it was actually working. She was just about to knock on the door when it swung
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