Alpha

Chapter Seventeen

Chain cracks the service door on the east exterior wall of Valiant Keep while Bell covers their rear, his weapon in both hands, constant scan of overwatch. But there’s been nothing, no movement, no contacts since the four hostiles they burned on the bridge. Bell’s counted the cameras as they’ve made their way, thought about dumping a round into every one he saw, but two things speak against that tactic.

First, as of this moment, ammunition is precious.

Second, he wants his command post back, and there’s no point in reclaiming it only to be blind.

“Clear,” Chain says, and slips through the doorway, pivots, gun raised, covering Bell as the larger man ducks past, into the deep shadows of the still-under-construction keep. Chain shuts the door, moves past him, motioning to be followed.

They shadow the outer wall of the keep for twenty feet, then down a short flight of faux-stonework stairs to a large “oak” door that is neither oak nor large, the actual access being concealed in its face. Again Bell covers their backs as Chain checks, motions them through.

Bell backs in, still weapon-ready, feels the sudden temperature drop that comes from moving from above ground to beneath it. He’s starting to turn when he hears the movement, feels Chain snap his weapon up, catches the glimpse of movement.

“Friendly,” Nuri says. “Buzzsaw, friendly, friendly.”

He turns to see the woman emerging from one of the side tunnels, clinging to shadow, gun in hand.

“Took you fucking long enough,” she says.

Bell and Chain move forward, holstering their weapons as Shoshana Nuri does the same. Subdued tunnel lighting makes her skin and hair seem that much darker, part of the shadows she’s been hiding in.

“We made contact,” Bell says. “Four down, no idea how many left to go. Tried raising you, no response.”

“Make it five,” she says, reaching out with her free hand first to Chain, then to Bell, dropping an earbud into each man’s palm before falling into line with them. Chain fits the bud to his left ear, stepping ahead to lead the way. “I was in your office when they hit the command post. Had to take one of them down to get out, headed straight into the tunnels.”

Bell taps the earbud he’s just fitted. “And out of coms. No reception down here.”

“No radios, no phones. No way to contact you unless I went above ground. Staying put for the moment seemed wisest.”

“No question.”

“There’s one benefit. No cameras down here.” Nuri digs into the pocket of her blazer, comes out with a broken, warped piece of plastic that she offers to him. “Take a look.”

Bell does, fragments of plastic and circuit board, with a strip that curls up and away from the underside. A cell phone, he thinks, and he holds the pieces up to one of the light fixtures for a closer examination. Maybe a plastic wrap or a bag that fused to it, melted, and there’s a cloudy, off-white film adhering to it. He hands the pieces back to Nuri.

“That how they did it?”

She nods, barely. “Think it is, at least. Cell-phone IED, inside some sort of wrapper or container holding the botulinum spoof. I could smell the plastic when I got down here, found it near one of the air-con compressors.”

“If it’s not botulinum, what is it?” Chain asks.

“It probably is botulinum, just not weaponized. Maybe derived from Botox. The toxin has seven distinct subtypes. If you’re not actually weaponizing it, just making it look like you have, it’s conceivably a relatively easy task to make something that would spoof the Spartan.”

“Easy?” Chain shakes his head. “You Company girls.”

“Relatively easy, I said.” She looks to Bell. “What do we know?”

“Minimal. They’re coordinated, and they’ve taken hostages.” He indicates the remains of the IED in her hand. “They’re resourced, and smart enough to do that and to fake weaponizing botulinum.”

Nuri makes a small noise, almost approving. “Hostages to keep the assault force at bay.”

“Big park, lots of places to hide people.”

“And by the time any team breaches and locates where they’re being held…”

“The hostages could be dead and cold.”

Chain has moved on, taking it slower now. Bell is feeling calm, methodical, and while all their guard is still up, the cool and dim of the tunnels is welcome. For the time being, at least, for these next few minutes, they all know what they need to do.

There’s a door along the west wall, and Chain unlocks it with a key he takes from around his neck. Pushes it open and reaches along the inside wall, and a weak energy-saver bulb comes to life, too-white light in the small room. Packed with merchandise awaiting the opening of the Keep, boxes labeled for posters, jackets, action figures, comic books. Chain pops his knife and slices one open, scatters a handful of T-shirts before freeing the first of their gear bags. Bell takes it as he digs out the second, and both men drop to their knees, Nuri watching, as they begin breaking out their gear.

“You cached these when, exactly?” Nuri asks.

Bell doesn’t need to look up to see her expression; it’s all in her tone. “Does it matter?”

“It matters if your people were sitting on intel they didn’t see fit to share.”

Chain mutters something about the Catskill Institute for Acne, continues pulling equipment from his bag. He’s got their long guns out, M4 Commandos, is assembling them with almost magical speed. Bell sits back on his haunches, shucking off his suit jacket, looks up at Nuri. She’s watching them with half an eye, the rest of her attention on the tunnel, gun still in hand.

“You with me?” he asks her.

“Of course I’m fucking with you. I’m standing here.”

“You geared?”

“Not hardly.”

Bell pulls the vest from his gear bag, hefts it up and into her hands. She exhales sharply, taking its weight, thirty pounds of personal protective equipment.

“Put that on.”

“You have one for yourself?”

“I will endeavor not to get shot,” Bell says.

Chain hands one of the assault rifles to Bell, then begins donning his own vest. “First time for everything.”

“Last time I got shot, it was because of you, I recall.” Bell finishes checking the rifle, a cursory, automatic survey that has nothing to do with faith in Chain and everything to do with twenty years of habit. He leans it against the wall, begins removing his necktie.

“Blue on blue,” Chain says. “I barely touched you.”

“How much do you know?” Nuri asks. She hasn’t put on the vest.

Bell begins tucking magazines into the pouches of his combat harness, then moves to slip it on. “Right now? Hostiles in the park, and they have hostages.”

“I’m talking prior knowledge.”

Bell stops, harness open, looking at the woman. “You think we’ve been banking our intel?”

“There’s an inside man.”

“That’s a given.”

“You identified him. One of yours KIA.”

Bell shakes his head. “You think we let this ride? I knew who killed Vesques, I’d never have let things get this far. You’re thinking like CIA, sweetheart, you’re thinking of acquiring assets. You’re thinking little fish leads to the big one, but that’s not our game. Our game was to keep this from happening, and when that failed, to do what we do now. We shut it down.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Bell finishes his gear check. “FB?”

Chain holds up two of the flashbang grenades.

“Makes four,” Bell says, showing two of his own.

“That’s the next move?” Nuri asks.

“They took our eyes. We’re taking them back.” Bell stuffs his coat and tie into the bag, then stows it back in the box it came from. He reloads his pistol. “Contact Brickyard once we’re in coms range, get the Sitrep, proceed from there.”

“You want to take the CP back,” Nuri says. “We take the CP back the hostiles will know, Master Sergeant. They’ll know, and they’ll drop the hostages.”

“I am informed two of our brothers are en route. We’ll wait until they’re in position before we move. Once we have the CP, we’ll be able to locate the hostages. Do what we do.”

“One hundred and fifty-six acres of park, you’re not going to be able to hit anything fast and hard. You’re not thinking this through. We don’t know who they are. We don’t know who we’re up against.”

Chain shrugs, now in his own rig, wearing it over the Star System Alliance Defense coveralls. Bell sees it’s still damp from the plunge Chain took, wonders if Chain has even noticed. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.” Nuri is almost hissing. “We have no idea of their assets, their capabilities, their agenda.”

Chain glances to Bell, raises an eyebrow. Bell notes it, doesn’t return it, still locked up on Nuri. She does not look like a woman who is having a good day, though Bell knows the same goes for the rest of them. Battle banter aside, all of them are aware of the stakes, and more, how many variables are still in play. They all know how much they don’t know. And the woman has a point; if these men who have launched their very coordinated, very smart assault on WilsonVille believe their hostages are of no further use, then they’ll no longer view them as hostages. Rather, they’ll view them as target dummies.

“They want something,” Bell says. “You see that? If this was straight-up terrorism, they wouldn’t have cleared the park. They’d have just suicide-bombed us and been done with it. But they have the hostages for a reason, because they want something.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Nuri brushes hair back from her cheek. “Moving on them before we know what they’re after, that doesn’t track smart to me. There’s a larger play.”

“Whatever they want, that’s going to keep them holding their fire.”

“That’s a leap I’m not comfortable making.”

“It’s the one we’re taking.”

“And you’re sure of it, are you, Master Sergeant?”

“Sure as I can be.”

“And if-just if-what they actually want is to make us look like fools, to humiliate us in front of the world? To wait until we make our move and then murder those same people we’re trying to save? What then? AQ tactic is to deliver a first strike then follow up when the responders are on the ground, you know that. Maybe they’re just waiting for us to make our move before they make their next one.”

Bell considers.

“We move faster,” he says.

They stick to the tunnels, cutting south, common sense dictating that they not emerge where they entered. Moving more slowly now, more cautiously, and the minutes continue to tick. Chain on point with his M4 up and tucked at his shoulder, Nuri, now wearing the vest, center, her pistol in both hands, and Bell watching their backs with his own assault rifle high and ready. They pass abandoned maintenance carts and toppled trash bags, dressing rooms with discarded costumes scattered here and there, left where they were dropped in the evacuation; makeup tables with cosmetics and prostheses on them. The scent of soda pop, caramel corn, hot dogs, and burned plastic mixes with the recycled air.

“How we doing this, Top?” Chain asks.

Bell defers the answer, asks Nuri his own question. “Angel? What route did you take?”

“You mean from your office? Used the access in the service area behind the facades.”

Bell considers. The row of buildings that border Wilson Town on the east and west sides are designed to look like individual structures to park guests, but in truth are one enormous building each. Long hallways, hidden from public view and use, run along the rear of both structures, facilitating movement of staff and goods, and each hallway has tunnel access.

“They made your egress, they might have someone watching it.”

“And a welcoming committee,” Chain adds.

“Problem. All other approaches require covering open ground. Puts us on camera, they move to intercept.”

“There’s another option,” Nuri says. “We have mission coms.”

“Effective only above ground. Hold.”

They come to a stop, and Bell lowers his rifle, hands it to Nuri, then removes his combat harness. He offers it to her, takes the rifle back while she puts it on, then returns the M4 to her hands.

“I’m not the expert at clearing a room,” she says.

“I’ll give them something else to look at while you do it. Follow Chain’s lead, you’ll be fine.” Bell checks his watch, the hands faintly luminous in the subdued light of the tunnel. “I have twelve forty-seven. Mark me thirty minutes, move at thirteen seventeen. Contact when you have the CP.”

“Thirteen seventeen,” Chain echoes. “Hey, Top? Don’t get your old-man ass shot again.”

“You won’t be with me,” Bell says. “Think I’ll be all right.”