Alpha

by Greg Rucka

  “No,” Bell says.

  “You don’t want to fuck around.”

  “You’ve got to give me something here. A good faith gesture, something.”

  “I’m going to give you the bomb.”

  “Not enough. I let all of you walk, that’s me having a very bad day, here. You’re asking me to fail. You’ve got to give me something.”

  “What I have is your daughter,” Gabriel says. “And that’s what I’ll give you if you do what I say.”

  He shuts off his radio before he can hear the response, stuffs it back inside the front of his Pooch costume, hooking it onto his belt. Carefully, he climbs out the open door at the side of the giant baseball, makes his way down the steps, feeling naked and exposed, his eyes on Dana in the Betsy costume the whole time. Her back is to the attraction, to him, and he wills her not to turn, not to see him. He’s almost at the bottom when the giant head begins to swivel, and there is a horrible moment when Gabriel thinks it’s all lost, it’s all for nothing.

  Then her head tilts, dips, and even in the costume, Gabriel can see her fatigue and her fear, and that is almost worse.

  Almost.

  He drops off the stairs, recovers his headpiece and the gloves. Vladimir as Kurkur looks his way, and Gabriel gives him a nod. Vladimir, and Sonny in a Gordo costume and Oscar in an original Clip Flashman outfit, nudge the rest of the group forward, and together, they begin making their way toward Wilson Town.

  Gabriel pulls his headpiece back on, tucks the gloves into his costume, falls into line at the back. He’s behind Bell’s daughter, dressed up as Agent Rose. She’s walking beside the Dread Flashman with the bandanna over his face. Gabriel can feel his submachine gun pressed against his side, where it’s hanging from its strap over his shoulder, feel it digging into his hip, trapped by Pooch’s ample padding. Dread Flashman is walking a little slowly, and Jonathan Bell’s deaf daughter now puts a hand out to help him, and Gabriel opens his mouth to tell her not to do that, to keep her hands hidden, but stops himself. She’s deaf, she wouldn’t hear him anyway.

  But Dana can. Dana could.

  He moves up between them, forcing them apart. His ungloved left hand settles on Bell’s daughter, her shoulder, and she looks at him from behind her own mask and beneath her fedora. He can see her eyes, and the hatred in them, and he doesn’t care. Uses his other hand to push Dread Flashman along, forcing both kids to keep pace.

  If everything works right, if everything works the way he has envisioned it, then Bell and his people will be forty feet off the ground and almost three hundred feet from where Gabriel and the others will line up. Three hundred feet and no long guns, anybody takes a shot, they’ll have to be damn sure and damn lucky. Bell and his others will be out of play. He’ll send Dana up in the first group, to keep her safe, then the rest of the hostages, leave Bell’s daughter for last. Then it will be just his people, Vladimir and all the rest.

  Then Gabriel will shut down the ride, trapping Bell and the hostages up top for as long as it takes them to make their way down the ladders. By the time they’ve done that, Gabriel will have his own people out of there, into the tunnels. He’ll do a head check, tell them to get out of the costumes. When they’re all doing that, he’ll take the submachine gun digging into his side, and he’ll shoot each and every one of them dead.

  He’ll ditch the Pooch costume with the bodies, leave it behind for the last time, and head north. Even if Bell is telling the truth about his team and how they entered and their vehicle and all of it, Gabriel isn’t interested. Too risky, too easy to be tricked, and Bell lied, anyway, Gabriel is sure of it. So Gabriel will head north, and come out near Lion’s Safari, and he’ll wait until it’s clear, and then he’ll just walk out of the park much the same way the others walked in. Exit to the northeast employee lot, and get as far away as fast as he can.

  That’s his plan, and he believes in it. Despite everything, he believes in it.

  He still believes in his dream.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “CAN YOU take them?” Ruiz is asking.

  “Not once we’re on that platform,” Bell says.

  “Shit,” Wallford mutters. “They made all of you?”

  “Not sure. He knows we’re at least three, maybe four. Don’t think he knows about our Angel.”

  Wallford raises his head to look across the conference table to Ruiz, over the speakerphone between them. “Cue HRT? Try to flank them?”

  “Same problem.” Ruiz is leaning, hands on the table. “Warlock? Nothing about the device?”

  “Presumably he’s holding that back.”

  “How do you want to proceed?”

  “We go up there, they can do whatever they want,” Bell says. “They can kill the hostages, anything, and we won’t be able to stop them.”

  “They see you’re not there, they’ll do it anyway,” Wallford says.

  “Know your targets, Warlock,” Ruiz says.

  “Sniper one-oh-one.” Bell’s voice drops, almost muttering, perhaps only to himself now. “Costumes. Costumes, costumes, the key is the costumes.…”

  The conference room door opens, a harried and excited Matthew Marcelin entering. From the looks of him, he’s been dancing for the media again, but now he’s loosening his tie with one hand, holding a sheet of paper up for them to see in the other. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it without a word as Ruiz looks a warning to him.

  “Warlock?” he asks.

  Bell doesn’t respond, and Ruiz realizes the line has gone dead. Whatever witchcraft Warlock is planning, he’s already casting the spell. Wallford reaches out, closes the call.

  “You know who takes the hit on this if the hostages die, right?” he asks.

  Ruiz nods. He takes the hit. Takes it hard and straight, and goes down from it, too.

  “No different from any other day at the office,” Ruiz says. “Mr. Marcelin?”

  “Personnel finished their list.”

  Wallford checks his watch, purses his lips, impressed. “Fast. Thought it would take until tomorrow, at least.”

  “They were motivated.” Marcelin lays the sheet on the table, starts reading off the names. “There are five park employees unaccounted for. One of them, Sarah Koos, was assigned to play Xi-Xi today. We think she was the woman who was murdered. There are two more who were in costume: Gabriel Fuller was playing Pooch, and Steven De Rosario was playing Hendar. Cassie Zurrer was on concessions at the Tropical Treats stand at Wacky Wharf. Last one is Dana Kincaid, she was called in late, to act as an ASL interpreter for a special-needs group.”

  “Only two men,” Wallford says.

  “Do you have personnel files on Fuller and De Rosario?” Ruiz asks.

  “I can bring them up.” Marcelin moves down the table to its head, sits, and opens the laptop sitting there. Ruiz looks to Wallford, who nods, takes out his phone.

  “Wallford,” he says. “Word of the day is ‘buzzsaw.’ Run the following, do it fast. Fuller, Gabriel, and De Rosario—two words—Steven. Call me back.”

  Ruiz is watching as Marcelin seems to assault the laptop’s keyboard with his fingers. The stress of the day is taking its toll, and he hunches as he works, shoves his glasses back up his nose with an angry thumb, typing again, faster, clumsily. Swears, retypes.

  “Here they are,” Marcelin finally says. “Fuller has been with us since the beginning of summer, hired on near the end of May. Qualified for Pooch, passed his security screening, student at UCLA. Prior job experience, U.S. Army.

  “De Rosario, he’s been with us for four and a half years. High school education, previous experience is all acting. Did a couple of commercials, and worked at a theater up in Portland, Oregon.”

  “Want to take a wild guess?” Wallford asks as his phone starts to ring again.

  “I don’t have to,” Ruiz says.

  In three minutes, they learn the following.

  They learn that Gabriel Fuller has no criminal record.

  They l
earn that Gabriel Fuller served a 4YO with the United States Army, and went to Afghanistan for two tours.

  They learn that he left the army as a sergeant.

  They learn that he was born in Culver City, California, on the seventeenth of March, and that he’s twenty-four years old.

  They learn that he has seventeen thousand three hundred and twenty-seven dollars plus some change in his account at Bank of America.

  They learn that he lives in Westwood, but that he’s rented an apartment here, in Irvine.

  They learn that he signed the rental agreement with Dana Kincaid.

  They learn that, prior to eight years ago, Gabriel Fuller doesn’t seem to have existed.

  “Long-term sleeper,” Wallford says.

  “For who?” Ruiz wonders.

  “Iran?” Wallford grins, and Marcelin, still seated, looks alarmed. “Joke.”

  Marcelin doesn’t seem to think now is the time for jokes.

  “Dana Kincaid,” Ruiz says.

  “Think she’s in on it with him?” Wallford asks. “Dana Kincaid?”

  Ruiz considers. Thinks about what Marcelin said, about the woman being brought in as an ASL interpreter. Knows exactly why, and knows, too, who it was who brought her to the park. He shakes his head.

  “Then she’s in for one hell of a surprise,” Wallford says.

  Chapter Thirty

  BELL LOWERS the radio, and Nuri, who heard it all, says nothing. Nuri, who has heard the soft-spoken man say that he has Bell’s daughter, that he has Athena, says nothing at all.

  What she does, she takes the radio from him, sets her fingertips on his cheek, only for a moment. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t offer platitudes. She just touches him, like that, and Bell knows she is with him.

  Then Bonebreaker is coming up on their position, followed by Chaindragger and Cardboard, and Bell takes a breath, lets himself feel it, then lets it go, and tries to let the emotion he is feeling go with it. Watches as Nuri hands over the MP5K she’s been carrying to Board, who nods his thanks, and then all eyes are on him. Bell pulls his phone, makes the call, and tells Brickyard the news.

  When the call is done, Bell says, “Costumes. We have ten minutes. Costumes. Target selection, target identification. Costumes don’t mean a thing, the way their hazmat and Tyvek didn’t mean a thing. They’re coming from the east, heading toward the Terra Space ride, we know that, we know which way they’re coming, which way all of them are converging. Watch them walk, hear them talk. They’ll have to put at least one guard at the front of each group, the other will be in the middle or at the back.”

  “Ambush,” Board says.

  “You better fucking believe it.” Bell looks at Nuri. “You have five minutes, most, to get into costume.”

  She blinks. “And do what?”

  “Infiltrate. The group we were going to take, they’re coming down from Fort Royal. There’s tunnel access north of the Terra Pad.”

  “One of the dressing rooms,” Chain says, nodding.

  “Fall in the back, find out who is who, kill the ones who don’t belong.”

  Nuri hesitates. “I’m not trained for this, Warlock.”

  “You are, you are trained for this. This is intelligence gathering. Shoot the ones you’re sure are wrong in the head. Any doubts, drill them in the leg. They try to return fire, you know they’re hostile.”

  She needs a half moment to accept this, and then she’s gone, sprinting for the nearest tunnel entrance.

  “Angel of Death,” Bonebreaker says.

  “Who has optics?”

  Bonebreaker pulls a monocular from his pocket. Bell indicates Chain with his head, watches the handoff.

  “Find a high hide, take overwatch,” Bell tells him. “Don’t let them see you. Pick out the targets.”

  “Nova’s Tower.” Chaindragger turns the monocular in his hand, makes it disappear into a pocket of his wrinkled coveralls. Then he’s sprinting away as well, north, the opposite direction that Angel took.

  “What I said to Angel.” Bell looks at Cardboard, at Bonebreaker. “Any doubt, take the leg. No doubt, two to the head.”

  “Done deal,” Cardboard says.

  They move.

  Bell is ducking beneath one of the on-ramps at Race for Justice, moving fast and low, making for the faux garage, when Brickyard calls him up on coms.

  “We have an ID on your inside man,” Ruiz says. “Fuller, Gabriel. U.S. Army, Tenth Mountain, Third Brigade. Was on Operation Mountain Viper, left after his second tour as a sergeant. Prior to that, a model citizen, and before that, he doesn’t exist.”

  “Sleeper.”

  “That’s the read. No idea who placed him.”

  “Understood.”

  “The woman you brought into the park today, the ASL interpreter. Dana Kincaid.”

  “What about her?”

  “Any reason you picked her?”

  “ASL-certified and at the top of the call list. Why?”

  “Her name’s on a rental agreement with Fuller. We don’t know their relationship.”

  For a moment, Bell flashes back to all his paranoia, the Hollyoakes visit and his inability to keep it from coming to pass. A trip planned almost a year in advance of today. A trip planned before Jad and Amy had divorced, and ages before Bell himself knew he would be asked to live his lie in WilsonVille. Rotten fucking luck.

  He’s really hoping he’s seen the last of it.

  “She can’t be in on it,” he says. “There’s no way whoever put this in play knew I’d need an ASL interpreter today. She wasn’t ever scheduled to work today.”

  “Unless this goes deeper and darker than we think.”

  “One conspiracy at a time,” Bell says.

  “Agreed. Out.”

  In the Race for Justice garage there’s a miniature Formula 1 car with WilsonVille characters painted all over it, and a similarly sized NASCAR racer on the lift. There are also fake tools, fake engine parts, and a collection of fifty-gallon oil drums, scaled down to perhaps hold twenty-five, stacked in a pyramid by the entrance. Bell takes his position there, clear lines of sight in almost every direction, including toward Terra Space.

  Chaindragger’s voice comes into his ear. “I have eyes on three groups, repeat, all three groups. Converging, ETA two minutes. White, nine. Red, eight. Green, eleven.”

  “Bone, Board, take Green,” Bell says. “Four Tangos, the rest are friendlies. Remember, they’re deaf, they won’t respond to verbal.”

  Board comes back, says, “Understood.”

  “Angel, I have eyes on you. Hold.” Chain pauses. “Red is crossing the bridge at Wild Horse Valley. Hold.”

  “I’m going to throw up,” Angel whispers.

  “You will not,” Bell tells her.

  “Hold on Red. Warlock, White, Soccer Betsy is a Tango, repeat, is a Tango.”

  “Soccer Betsy is a Tango.”

  “Angel, Red, Lola is possible Tango. Cannot confirm.”

  In his ear, Bell hears Angel whisper something about shooting a giant toucan in the leg.

  “Angel, Red, they are off the bridge, turning to Green. Recommend you join when they pass the restrooms opposite Warlock’s position.”

  “Jesus,” Angel says. “This is not going to work. This is not going to work, they’ll spot me.”

  “And do what?” Bell says. “Their whole plan relies on them not revealing themselves. They spot you, they won’t be sure you’re not one of them.”

  “You believe that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Liar.”

  “Never to my friends.”

  Chain cuts in. “Cardboard, Bonebreaker, I have no positives on Green, repeat, no positives on Green. Angle is bad. Warlock, two more possibles, White, Pooch and a Flashman.”

  “Which Flashman?” Bell asks.

  “It’s the armored one.”

  “Valiant Flashman,” Cardboard says.

  There is a pause.

  “I used to collect the comics,” Cardbo
ard says.

  “Contact imminent,” says Chaindragger.

  “We have no targets.” Bell can hear the anxiety in Bonebreaker’s voice. “We have no possibles.”

  “We have no time,” Bell says. “Do it.”

  And God help us if we miss, he thinks.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  THERE’S SOMETHING really wrong with Joel.

  He’s having trouble walking, and where Athena can see his eyes above the bandanna mask they’re making him wear, there are tears, and sweat is running down his face. She tries to hold his hand again, but the man walking between them, the one in the Pooch costume, he won’t let her. He keeps separating them. Athena tries signing to him, but Joel doesn’t even acknowledge her.

  They’re about halfway through Wilson Town when Athena suddenly pushes forward, past Lynne in the Smooch costume, trying to get to Dana. She reaches out and catches Dana/Betsy’s arm, and then feels that hand again, grabbing the back of her trench coat, yanking her back. She’s still holding on to Dana’s costumed arm, and Athena won’t let go, pulls her around as she’s jerked back herself, and suddenly Pooch’s grip on her is gone, and the whole group comes to a stop.

  Help him! Athena signs rapidly to Dana/Betsy, then points to Joel. Needs help!

  Hands concealed within Betsy’s, Dana can’t answer. Her head inside Betsy’s, Dana can’t even look directly at Athena. Vladimir/Kurkur pushes Dana with his left hand, his right beneath his cloak and holding his gun, Athena is sure. Dana/Betsy turns around slowly, and Pooch pulls Athena back again, and she tries to shake off his grip, but he just tightens it around her arm.

  They resume their march, coming out of the square, and Athena is watching everything, her eyes moving from Joel to the others and beyond them, flicking quickly. Using her vision to supply what her ears cannot. There’s a kiddie ride on their right, Rascal’s Tailspin; it’s like a teacup ride except instead of cups there’re bowls. The lights are flashing, even though nothing is moving, and Athena can feel a thrum coming from it, too, what she suspects is music. On her left, there’s Smooch’s FunHouse, which is like three different things all at once—a bounce house, and a ball pit, and something else she doesn’t even know what it is. It looks like it has something to do with skydiving, maybe, or blowing air, but she’s not sure.