In the IT office on the second floor of the wolf shifters’ manor, Alistair typed a simple Google search into the computer as Baron and Caroline watched. “I’ve already put the word out to some of our contacts in the area. I said they’re not to announce anything uninvited, but if they get asked, they can say they saw us in either Kendal or Lancaster. Ah, here’s the map,” he said to Baron as the page loaded, a few clicks of the mouse zooming in on the region they were interested in. “Preston would be too far south of the Lakes District, I think, but there are plenty of small towns and villages to choose from where we could make some noise and get the Noturatii’s attention. Somewhere that’s far enough from here to give us some breathing room.”
“Not too much noise, though,” Baron cautioned him, taking the mouse and fiddling with the map on the screen. “The Noturatii know we’ve lured them into traps in the past. Anything too obvious is just going to make them nervous, which is exactly what we’re trying to avoid.”
“You did a similar thing, ten years ago, though, didn’t you?” Alistair asked. He hadn’t been a member of the Den at that point, having been recruited a couple of years after the infamous raids. “Could we use similar tactics to what you did then?”
Baron shook his head and rubbed his beard. “Times were different then. The Noturatii believed they’d all but wiped us out. They thought that signs of shifter activity meant two or three stragglers who would be an easy target. It took them a little while to figure out we weren’t going down that easy. These days, they know what we’re capable of. And they know that we know that they’re looking for us.”
“Would it be worth sticking to the larger towns?” Caroline asked from Alistair’s other side. Her short hair was mussed, as if she’d been running her fingers through it repeatedly. “More civilians around means it’s less likely they’ll actually start shooting at us if we happen to make any mistakes.” It was a valid point. For all their careful planning, mistakes in an operation as complex as this one were almost inevitable.
But Alistair shook his head. “Larger towns are safer, but if you’re going for authenticity, quiet villages are the way to go. Rumours discussed between neighbours over the back fence. We could just park ourselves in the middle of the countryside and have a howling session, but based on what Baron just said, they’re going to see straight through that. If we’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, then any snippets we feed them have to look like genuine accidents.”
Quite a crowd had gathered around the discussion by now. Caroline and Baron had decided they were well past the stage where it was worth hiding anything from their pack; it was now a widely known fact that the Noturatii were looking for them and that their estate was compromised as a result, so trying to be all hush-hush about planning a counter-attack wasn’t going to fool anyone. Besides which, more participants meant more ideas and insights, which made it more likely they’d pick up on potential problems and avoid anything going wrong.
Skip was sitting at the next computer over, wearing her usual fluorescent pink t-shirt, ready to dig up any information they needed. Andre and Silas were lurking in the background, both looking like thugs-for-hire, offering sporadic suggestions. Raniesha was sitting pertly in high heels and a short skirt, ready to give advice on explosives, in case they decided they needed to blow anything up (which was a more common occurrence than one might suppose, given who their enemies were). Kwan and Aaron were slouching in chairs behind Baron, presumably having shown up purely for the curiosity value.
“One thing I’m going to need to know here,” Alistair went on, “is what our ultimate goal is. Is it just to let the Noturatii know we’re further south than they thought, to give us some space to move, or is this more of a ‘lure and kill’ thing? Set a trap, try to take down some of the bigwigs?”
“No fights if we can avoid it,” Andre said, from where he was leaning against the back wall. “The more time goes by, the less likely we are to win one. Weapons and technology keep advancing, and from this point on, it’s a safe bet that the Noturatii are always going to be a step ahead of us on that front.”
Baron nodded. “We’ve seen from experience that even if we got really lucky and took out the entire British Division, they’d just replace them from their other offices across Europe, and we’d be back to square one. At this stage, our resources are better spent creating distractions and keeping our heads down until the Council comes up with a more long-term plan.”
“Does the Council actually have a long-term plan?” Kwan asked carefully, no doubt worried about overstepping his bounds. “I don’t mean to be rude, but the Endless War has been slowly heating up for decades, and so far, they’ve never really taken any decisive action on it.”
Alistair watched Baron as he waited for an answer... and the suddenly guarded look on Baron’s face told him everything he needed to know. So, there was something in the works, after all. Interesting.
“There is a plan,” Baron said finally. “I can’t give you any of the details yet, but they have reached a firm understanding that current strategies are not going to save us. But anything new is going to be about ten years in the making, so the most important thing we’re doing at the moment is buying time. We make a few splashes down south, get the Noturatii chasing their tails a bit, then let it all go quiet.”
“Just for the sake of clarity,” Silas said from where he was pacing the room, “the only thing that is truly going to save our species is to end the war. Are you saying the Council-?”
“If their plans work out, then yes, the Endless War will be over. But that’s a mighty big ‘if’.”
A weighty silence followed. No one bothered asking what this marvellous plan was. If the Council had told Baron not to tell them, then he would take the secret to his grave. But the fact that it existed at all was the first ray of light they’d seen in the longest and darkest of nights.
“Okay,” Alistair said, pulling them back on track. “The first thing I would suggest is getting Miller out there and showing his face to a few people. So far, we only know they’ve been targeting Tank, but they’re still going to be seriously pissed off about losing Miller, so I think it’s a safe bet that tracking him down is going to be a high priority for them.”
As a journalist, Alistair’s primary role in the Den was subverting news stories – either by debunking real ones, or by creating fake ones – in order to maintain the Den’s secrecy. He wasn’t a particularly skilled warrior, though he could hold his own in an average fight, and he wasn’t a genius with technology like Skip, but when it came to understanding the way people think – and manipulating them to think something else – there was no one in the Den who was his equal. Which was why Baron and Caroline had come to him, when subtlety and subterfuge were emerging as key elements in their strategy.
“Skip, I’ll need to have a chat with you about what you found on that database you hacked a while back,” he said, thinking aloud as his mind started churning through ideas, “and Kwan and Aaron, if you’ve got a couple of hours free, I could use a hand researching the towns in that area. Let me do a little work on other things we can use,” he told them, jotting down a few details on a pad of paper. “Subtle enough that they look natural, but not so subtle that the Noturatii are going to miss them. I’ll do some digging, make some notes, and get back to you.”
In a spacious conference room in the Noturatii’s main British base, Melissa Hunter sat at the head of the table with a team of a dozen field agents seated before her. Leon, the Head of Security and her attentive bodyguard, sat on her right, and on her left was her personal assistant, Jill, a woman in her mid-fifties who hardly ever spoke, but was nonetheless brilliant at organising just about anything Melissa could throw at her.
“Okay, sightings,” Melissa began the discussion. “Latest results, times, dates, and, of course, which particular shifters you were tracking.”
Steven Chu was the first to answer. “The captive has been spotted three times between Kendal and Lancaster, but no one’s seen him in the last three or four months. Sightings were once in a hardware store in Lancaster, once in a supermarket in Kendal, and one gentleman simply said he’d seen him ‘around somewhere’, but couldn’t remember where.”
“Just about enough to confirm we’re on the right track, but nothing like enough to start creating any patterns. What about Miller?”
Another man spoke up. “Twelve people confirmed they recognised him, but I suspect quite a few of those were from before he left the Noturatii. Here’s a full list,” he added, sliding a sheet of paper over to Melissa. She glanced at it, then passed it over to Leon. “Most of them couldn’t remember exactly where they’d seen him, or for those that could, then it was ‘quite a while ago.’ I can’t definitively confirm that anyone’s seen him since he left us.”
“That’s not really a surprise,” Leon pointed out. “He’d have known we’d be trying to trace him, and from what I hear, he’s smart enough to just keep his head down.” Leon had a habit of being right, which was equal parts reassuring and annoying. He had also assembled this team by hand, and so far, despite the less than glowing results, Melissa had been completely impressed with their dedication, training and efficiency. And the results would come in time, she assured herself. The shifters were definitely out there, after all. They just had to get their strategy right to find them.
“Okay, moving on then. Jill’s been scouring the database, and we’ve got a few more profiles for you. This,” she said, passing around the first of the photographs, “is Caroline Saunders. We had her on file about fifteen years ago, when we suspected the shifters were trying to recruit her. I’m fairly sure I also saw her during the raid on the lab last year. The only photo we had was from her recruitment days, but IT has digitally aged her face, so we have a reasonable approximation of what she’d look like today.”
The men each took a copy of the photograph and studied it carefully, before turning their attention back to Melissa.
“Next we have Mark. He was recruited twelve years ago and is known to still be a member of the Lakes District pack.” Melissa didn’t mention how she knew that. Truth be told, even those with high level security clearance wouldn’t find much more than a photograph of Mark and a few notes on his early life in the file. But what Melissa alone knew was that Mark was her natural brother. Not that she would acknowledge any family claim anymore. Twelve years ago, on the verge of dying from leukaemia, he’d somehow faked his own death and run off to join the shifters. When Melissa had discovered the truth, it had been a betrayal she had never recovered from, and she’d joined the Noturatii not long afterwards, determined to wipe the vermin from the face of the planet.
“Dee Carman we all know about,” she said briefly. “The first, and as yet, the only successful subject to survive the Conversion Project. And, finally, we have this gentleman,” she said, passing out copies of a sketch of a man with long hair and a goatee, drawn by their forensic artist. Both Melissa and Jack Miller had got a good look at the man back in the lab explosion – in the days before Miller had turned traitor and joined their enemies– and the way he’d handled himself during the standoff between them and the shifters in the hallway had been impressive. He was a danger to their cause, that much was certain, and he was also the sort of man who was likely to leave an impression on anyone who saw him, making him a clear choice for their little research expeditions.
“Head back out to your designated locations and get started on the new profiles. Remember to keep notes on anyone you suspect of lying, as well. If there are humans protecting these abominations, I want to know who they are. Get them to give you their name, if possible. Or if not, see if you can get a licence plate from their car, or get a photo of them, if you can be subtle enough about it.”
“Not to burst your bubble,” Leon said rather sharply, “but head office has some fairly strict policies about not harassing civilians. We’ve run into plenty of trouble in the past because of overzealous operatives, and the powers that be are not keen to go down that road again.”
Damn the man. He was gorgeous when he got riled up, the way he stared her in the eyes, the way the muscles on his arms stood out when he was making a point. Melissa liked strong men, and the fact that he was so willing to stand up to her was both tantalising and infuriating. “I’m not talking about stalking them all the way back to their house,” she said, managing to sound impatient, but not condescending. Leon could always tell when she was humouring him. “A simple picture is all, then we can run it through facial recognition and see if we can come up with a name, a place of work, a home address. There need be no further contact with the person at all. But if we’re going to work out exactly where the shifters are living, we need to start building patterns, and with more information than that someone saw them ‘around somewhere’.”
“I’m just saying we need to be cautious,” Leon reiterated, a touch calmer this time. He turned to the field team. “Keep that in mind. Civilians have complained about our activities in the past, and on the whole, they’re not supposed to know we even exist. So, by all means, do a little snooping, but be delicate about it.” The team made various noises of agreement, and Leon seemed satisfied that his point had been made.
“Moving on then,” Melissa said, “I’ve spoken to HQ, and they’re willing to lend us the use of their satellite for a short while. Jill, speak to Technology. I want to know what we can get in terms of aerial images of the area. Imaging resolution is getting better all the time, and we should be able to get some decent information about where these animals might be hiding.” Jill nodded, scribbling frantic notes in her diary. “The rest of you, we’ll be in touch with results, so be prepared to be reassigned depending on what comes up.” More nodding and murmuring from the field team.
“Now, finally, I’d like to spend a little more time focusing on Jack Miller. He’s a simpler target than the others, to a certain degree, because up until he cut and ran, we had a detailed knowledge of his movements and his contacts. I believe we can aim to be a little higher-profile with him than with the others. He’s only been gone a couple of months, so he’ll have had significantly less time than the others to build new alliances with people who might be inclined to protect him.”
“Um... with respect, Ma’am,” Chu said anxiously, “is that entirely wise? One of the primary tenets of the Noturatii is that we avoid exposing either ourselves or the shifters to the public. I was of the understanding that our current activities were already pushing the envelope.”
“True enough,” Melissa agreed. She felt both annoyed at being questioned and pleased that Chu was showing a commitment to protecting their organisation. “But so long as we don’t actually reveal to the public that he’s a shifter, we should be in the clear. As far as the general population are concerned, he’s a government agent gone rogue, who is now suspected of having joined a high-level terrorist organisation. That should be more than enough to get a few concerned citizens to call in and tell us what they know.”