Uprising

Chapter Seventy

It was a dull early afternoon and clouds were scudding low over the airport terminal as Alex stepped out into the damp Brussels air. She popped a Solazal. Three left in the tube.

She’d been expecting to see Harry Rumble waiting for her in the lobby, but no sign. Then she spotted the gleaming black Mercedes SUV with mirrored windows across the tarmac. The back doors opened simultaneously and two figures she knew instantly were VIA agents stepped out across the car park to meet her. One was tall with thin white hair, the other dark and ruddy. Both were wearing long black coats over grey suits, like bad imitations of police detectives. They weren’t smiling.

‘Where’s Rumble?’ she asked them.

They didn’t reply. She shrugged and followed them to the car. The driver had the engine running and didn’t glance back at them in his mirror as they got in. Alex sat sandwiched between the two sullen agents.

‘So I suppose this is meant to intimidate me,’ she said. ‘The whole silent act.

What do I call you guys?’

The two agents stared fixedly ahead and said nothing.

‘Have it your way. I’ll call you Chico and Harpo. How about that?’

‘He’s Agent Bates,’ the tall, white-haired one muttered out of the corner of his mouth. ‘I’m Agent Verspoor.’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you boys,’ Alex said. She wasn’t expecting a reply, and spent the next few minutes staring out at the drab scenery as the Mercedes sped around the outskirts of Brussels. Belgium. Land of chocolate and chips, and not much else.

The Hotel Grand Châteauneuf sat secluded in twenty acres of its own wooded grounds a few kilometres from Brussels. The high level of luxury and even higher security made it perfect for the big-shot conferences and summits that were regularly held there. Bilderbergers, global business cartels, now vampires. The Mercedes was halted at the barred gates and the driver showed his paperwork to the armed private security guard that stepped up to meet them. A nod and a wave, and they glided on through the gates and into the rolling grounds. The hotel appeared through the trees as they came closer, all steel and glass and concrete. To Alex’s eye it looked slab-like and postmodern, but she guessed the brutal architecture appealed to the powermonger types. The main building could have been a grounded space station, with a giant glass dome in its centre that caught the dull sunlight.

Up ahead, a procession of other vehicles was filing up towards the car park as vampires arrived from all over the world. Their driver slotted into a parking space and Bates and Verspoor escorted Alex from the car. As they followed the crowd funnelling towards the entrance of the main building, she could see the limos of the top Ruling Council dignitaries parked in a cordoned area. More agents were milling about, some of them conspicuously armed and glancing about nervously. Whatever stocks remained of Nosferol were sure to have been diligently reserved for VIP protection, Alex thought.

Her two goons shadowed her every step of the way as she walked into the hotel lobby and glanced around for Harry Rumble. She spotted him through the crowds, standing in conversation with Xavier Garrett. Rumble didn’t seem his usual self-possessed self as she approached him.

‘I like the way you sent this double act to pick me up,’ she said. ‘Am I under close arrest or what?’

Garrett smirked. Rumble shifted nervously and looked down at his feet. ‘I wouldn’t put it that way exactly.’

‘Then exactly how would you put it, Harry?’

‘We can talk about it later,’ he said. ‘It’s just about time for us to go in.’ The crowd was beginning to break up and drift towards the stairs leading to the main conference room. As they walked, Alex noticed the grim look on Rumble’s face.

‘What’s the matter, Harry? It can’t just be because of Solomon, can it?’

He shook his head. ‘There have been more incidents. While you were in Italy the field stations in Bombay, New York and Tokyo were hit. Nosferol grenade attack. No survivors. Late last night there was another attempt, Paris this time. If the grenade hadn’t failed to go off, every one of our agents there would have bought it, too.’

‘Stone,’ she said. ‘He’s tightening the screw.’

‘And we don’t know what we can damn well do about it. The bastard has us by the balls.’

They entered the conference hall and Alex glanced up at the high glass-domed ceiling she’d seen from the car. The banked rows of plush red velvet seats could seat up to five hundred, and they were filling up quickly. A host of ushers with Federation insignia on their smart red uniforms were running back and forth, attending to the delegates, smiling and shaking hands, offering glasses of blood. The elegant classical music piping into the room from hidden speakers was all but drowned out by the buzz of conversation. Rumble was whisked off to join a contingent of VIA section chiefs seated in the front row among other Federation leaders, while Bates and Verspoor steered Alex up the sloping side aisle towards a seat in the row second from the back, looking down from on high at the broad stage below. She got the distinct feeling she was being sidelined. They pointedly sat behind her, spaced two places apart as though that seemed more intimidating.

There was nothing she could do except sit back and watch the conference hall fill up. She could feel the sense of anticipation building in the room as the event ticked steadily closer, but the overall atmosphere was downbeat. Many faces were frowning.

Some of the conversations taking place among the rows of seats and in the aisles were more like arguments. Whether the Federation leaders liked to admit it or not, Gabriel Stone’s uprising had everyone deeply rattled.

The buzz halted abruptly with the first signs of movement down below and, one by one, to a thunderous applause, the dignitaries hosting the conference filed out from behind the curtain and made their way to the long, curved podium. Alex had never seen them in the flesh before but, like every other vampire in the place, she could put names to the faces that appeared on the big screens flanking the stage. Hassan. Borowczyk.

Korentayer. Goldmund. Mushkavanhu. Behind them followed the rotund figure of the FRC Number Two, Gaston Lerouge. The Supremos took their places, three to a side.

The seventh, central, seat remained empty; and then the applause intensified and there were shouts as Olympia Angelopolis burst out from behind the curtain. She swept across the stage, dressed in a flowing white gown that shimmered under the lights, mirroring the silver of her hair. The imperious, unsmiling features of the Vampress filled the screens over the stage. She paused graciously to acknowledge her reception and raised a hand. The applause died away.

Then the great Olympia Angelopolis spoke.