Hardbingers

27

Davis left Diana in her bedroom in the private quarters. He knew he should be thinking of her as the Oculus now, but he'd known her since she was seven. Hard to think of her by any name other than Diana.

Hard to imagine that this girl, barely into her teens, was going to be their new conduit from the Ally.

He put all that aside as he called the off-duty yenigeri to give them the awful news and tell them to pack and report to Home: They were moving.

While he was on the phone, Miller, Jolliff, and Hursey began the grisly task of prying the former O's body from the wall and hiding the pieces under a bedspread.

After finishing the last call, Cal leaned his elbows on the monitoring console and rubbed his temples as he tried to get a grip on the situation, on himself.

What's wrong with me?

He should have felt grief, terror, rage, something. Instead he felt empty, damn near dead inside.

He thought he knew what it was: The cold-blooded killings recently ordered by the Ally had put him on the down slope, and now this. It wasn't so much that the 0 was dead, or the appalling manner of his death, it was the ease with which it had been done. It seemed as if the Adversary had simply strolled in, slaughtered everyone, and then strolled out.

He heard a noise to his left and looked up to see Miller dropping into a nearby chair. He was drying his hands on a paper towel. He looked as empty as Cal felt.

"Where are we in the cleanup?"

Miller jerked his head toward the stairs. "Last one coming down now."

Cal looked and saw Jolliff and Hursey maneuvering a sheet-covered body down the steps. Blood had seeped through in a couple of spots.

"Who?"

"Kenlo."

"Shit."

He'd liked Kenlo. Cal remembered his easy laugh—the guy had never heard a punch line he didn't like. He'd been their computer geek. Probably the brightest guy in the whole crew.

"What are we going to do with the hearts?"

Cal thought about that. "Stick them back in their chests."

"But we don't know which belongs where."

"I know, but we'll do it anyway. Better than leaving them in a baggie somewhere, and sure as hell better than leaving them arranged in a circle up there on that desk. Each of our guys deserves to be buried with a heart, even if it's not his own."

Miller nodded. "Yeah. I suppose you're right."

The door chime sounded. He checked the monitor and saw Lewis, luggage bags flanking his feet, giving the all-clear sign at the front door. Cal buzzed him in.

He heard Miller sigh and glanced at him. "You okay?"

"Not even close." Miller shook his head. "I mean, is it worth it to move her to the safe house? Will it make any difference? I mean, this guy seems to pick us off as he pleases."

His words mirrored Cal's thoughts.

"The safe house is a little different. You've been there. It's on an island, it's got water on two sides, and only one access road. Nobody's going to be sneaking up on that place."

Cal didn't mention that the location's biggest asset—its isolation—had its downside. At this time of year it offered no distractions for the men during their down time. Cabin fever—or island fever—would set in pretty quickly.

Well, no one had said the job would be easy.

"I wonder," Miller said. "Don't you get the feeling this guy's playing with us? Like he could take us all out any time he pleases but he'd rather play cat and mouse?"

"You mean like leaving Diana alive."

"Exactly. And if he can take us out when he wants, then everything we're doing is useless. We're not even delaying the inevitable because he's got us plugged into his calendar, and when the time comes"—he drew a finger across his throat—"we're cooked."

"Maybe that's why he didn't kill her. To get us thinking it's all an exercise in futility but keep us on the string. He feeds on hopelessness. Maybe we're snack food. But maybe not. Maybe—"

The chime again. This time it was Geraci. Cal buzzed him in, then turned back to Miller.

"You ready to give up?"

Miller gave him a hard stare. "Me? You should damn fuck know better than that."

"1 do. Just checking."

Another chime. Cal looked and saw Zeklos. He'd called the little guy back in because they were so shorthanded. He'd meant to tell Miller in advance so he'd be prepared, but hadn't had the time.

He buzzed him in and then tapped the heel of his fist on Miller's knee.

"I called Zek in."

Miller stiffened in his chair. "You what?"

"We need every warm body we can get, so just put aside your—"

He shot to his feet. "No fucking way!"

Zeklos came through the door then, rolling a wheeled suitcase behind him.

"This is terrible, terrible!" he said. "How did such a thing—?"

"You!" Miller shouted, pointing at him. For a crazy instant he reminded Cal of Ralph Kramden. "Out!"

Zeklos stopped and stared, shock in his eyes and his expression.

"But Davis—"

"I don't give a shit what Davis said, I'm not working with you ever again!"

"Easy, Miller," Cal said. "We need him."

"Fuck we do! He's a Jonah! He loses his Oculus, then shows up here and we lose ours."

Zeklos stood his ground.

"The other day you say to me, 'the fact remains that your Oculus is dead and you are not.'" He held up his index finger. " 'Strike one.' Remember? Well now / say to you that your Oculus is dead and you are not." Now the index finger pointed at Miller. "Strike one on you."

Cal couldn't believe his ears. Neither could Miller, apparently, because he stood staring at Zeklos with a slack, drop-jawed expression.

Cal recovered first. Knowing what would happen next, he grabbed Miller's upper arm with both hands and held on as Miller started toward Zek.

"Why you little piece of—!"

"Cool it!" Cal shouted. "We just lost seven brothers and our Oculus! This is not the time to start fighting among ourselves! This is exactly what the Adversary wants. You're playing right into his game."

Miller dragged him a few steps, then stopped, red-faced, panting.

"He's not coming along!"

"We need—"

He whirled on Cal. "If he comes, I stay. And I'm pretty sure I won't be the only one."

"You'd sabotage our whole operation over some personal vendetta?"

"It's not personal. He's a menace. And I mean what I say. Him or me and others. Choose."

Miller knew damn well he'd left Cal with only one choice.

The door chimed again. Cal glanced at the monitor, saw Portman, and hit the button.

"Well, what's it gonna be, Davis?" Miller said.

Cal was looking for a way out when Portman walked up and dropped a newspaper on the monitoring console. The headline of the Post's late edition leaped out at him.

HIT & RUN HORROR!

The subheading read: MOTHER AND DAUGHTER MOWED DOWN BY RED-LIGHT RUNNER.

Cal's stomach clenched as he looked up at Portman. "Yeah, we know. We were there, remember?"

Portman had a funny expression. "Check out page three."

Cal did just that. He recoiled at the grainy black-and-white photo of EMTs loading a small figure on a stretcher into an ambulance.

"So?"

Portman tapped a fingertip on one of the paragraphs.

"Says here she's still alive. Looks like we missed again."

Cal felt a burst of elation.

He heard Miller mutter, "Shit."

Behind Portman, he saw Zeklos raise two fingers.

"Strike two, Miller."