Alpha

Chapter Twenty-three

The call with the Uzbek goes like this:

“Status?”

“Status?” Gabriel echoes. “Status is fuck-awful, that’s the status. I’m down another four and lost the second group of hostages. The whole damn thing is falling apart.”

“Calm down. Explain.”

“We’re fucked. We were waiting to ambush them when they came out of the tunnels, but they got around us somehow. They must’ve split up or, fuck, maybe there are more of them, but they hit the command post and one of the groups. I’m down another four.”

The Uzbek makes a clicking noise into the phone. “Very interesting. I thought I’d told you to take care of the problem.”

“Why do you think we were waiting in ambush, damn it? You think I’m just letting them fuck us like this?” Gabriel is practically shouting into the phone, and Betsy, still examining the bodies, looks up at him in alarm, gives him a look like he’s cursing out a priest.

“Do not lose your nerve.”

“My nerve is solid, it’s the plan that’s fucked, don’t you get it? There’s at least two of these guys in the park, at least two of them, you understand me? They’re serious shooters, special forces, I don’t know. Don’t talk to me about my nerve, your plan is in fucking goddamn pieces!”

“The plan is a good plan, and we will abide by it,” the Uzbek says complacently. Gabriel thinks he can hear water running in the background, an open tap, maybe a sink or bathtub, he’s not sure. “We are entering the final phase.”

Gabriel squeezes his eyes tight shut, tries to calm himself, can’t manage to diminish what he’s feeling, the yawning lack of control. “The plan never accounted for resistance in the park. That was never part of the plan you gave me.”

“There was always the possibility that one intelligence service or another would get wind of our designs. It’s immaterial now, and too late as well. Remember who you are and who you work for.”

“I don’t fucking know who I work for,” Gabriel reminds the Uzbek.

“You know enough. Just as you know that names mean nothing. Power, reach, expertise, those are everything. It’s all been accounted for, even this. You must trust me. Do you trust me?”

“I’m trying to,” Gabriel says, thinking that this might be more honesty than is prudent.

The Uzbek laughs softly. “We have always done well by you, always taken care of you. Do not despair now. Keep your nerve.”

“My nerve isn’t the problem here.”

“Your faith, then. The hostages were only ever to buy time, to prevent a full-scale assault. They continue to serve their purpose. If the opposition has the command post, use the hostages to draw them out and deal with them.”

“You mean shoot more of them.”

“That is what they’re there for. Have your old friend handle it. You have another task to manage.”

“We need to talk about the exfil.” Gabriel looks to Betsy, sees that the other man is nodding in agreement. “We need to move up the timetable to get us out of here.”

“Soon. Not yet. I need you to arm the device. The timer is already programmed. Just arm it, then contact me, and I will initiate exfil.”

He can feel the sweat from his ear wet against the phone. Betsy still looking at him expectantly, waiting to hear how the fuck they’re getting out of this. Gabriel turns away from the other man.

“Did you hear me?”

Gabriel lowers his voice. “I heard you.”

“The device is still under our control?”

“Yes.”

“You are certain?”

Gabriel thinks, says, “Yes, I placed it out of sight. They can’t have found it. Even if they’ve got detection equipment, there’s no way they could’ve found it.”

“Very good.”

“I do this, do what you say…how much time does that give us for exfil?”

“You’re worried you’ve become expendable, is that it?”

“That’s exactly it.”

The Uzbek chuckles. In the background, the sound of running water stops abruptly. Gabriel thinks he hears a woman’s voice, indistinct and faint.

“Let me reassure you. You are not. The others are. All of them. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Gabriel thinks he does. Gabriel thinks the Uzbek is saying that he is worth time and money and potential to the Uzbek and his shadow master, even now, even after this; or, perhaps, because of all of this. But the others, Vladimir and Betsy and Charlie One and Charlie Two and the twenty-one remaining hostages in the park, they’re all meat for the block. Intuitively, he sees that it’s those bodies, those lives, that will buy Gabriel his escape.

“I understand.”

“Very good. Arm the device, then contact me. I will have the details of your exfil then.”

“Wait,” Gabriel says. “You didn’t answer my question. Once it’s armed, how much time do we have?”

“Enough.”

The Uzbek hangs up.

“He’s going to fuck us, isn’t he?” Betsy says.

They’re tracking north, above ground, through Wild World, but staying as close to the trees as possible. Gabriel doesn’t want to risk the tunnels for the exact same reasons he avoided going into them after Bell earlier, and now, above ground, they’re certainly going to be showing up on camera. But he has no intention of making it easy for anyone who might be watching. Each time he spots one, he stops and raises the submachine gun, switches it to single-shot, then puts a round through the housing.

“He says we’re almost through,” Gabriel answers. “Just have to do one more job and then we contact him for exfil.”

“What job is that?”

Gabriel ignores the question, stops, pulling back. He indicates yet another camera emplacement. Betsy sights and drills a round into it, then a second for good measure, and they continue on, hopping the rail that guards the slope down to the river. It’s a gentle enough drop, but it puts them five feet or so below the pathways, will make it that much harder to be spotted on any cameras they might miss.

What job is that? Gabriel is thinking, It’s my fucking job. It’s the job where I kill God knows how many people. I’m just supposed to do my job.

The Uzbek is going to burn them, he knows this. Perhaps he will not burn Gabriel himself, he wants to believe in his value to the man. But now he is all but positive that the others will be sacrificed to whatever end the Uzbek is advancing. They will all die. Bullets or bomb, the Uzbek will spend their lives freely.

Pushing past a fern, he spots another camera, shoots it out, and as he feels the weapon kick in his hands, has a realization.

He cannot do what the Uzbek is asking. He will not do what the Uzbek is asking. It is not in him to do it. Perhaps once, a lifetime away, he was the man who could do it. But that man did not have his life, did not have his dream, did not ever imagine a woman like Dana, who would love him, too. His job? He is the wrong man for this job.

He will leave the dirty bomb as it is, unarmed, inert. The Uzbek is a liar, and nothing he says can be trusted. As much as Gabriel wishes to believe the Uzbek’s assurances, and through them believe that he matters, that loyalty matters, he knows better. Loyalty matters little to men like the Uzbek, and perhaps even less to the Uzbek’s master. They are men from that other lifetime, and there, in Odessa, only one thing ever mattered.

Money.

There is no money to be made in getting them out alive. That is an expense, that is not a profit. The Uzbek has never intended for them to leave the park. That is enough to make the decision for him. Gabriel has promised himself he will get through this day, he will put all this behind him, and he will reach Dana again. He will return to his dream, and then he will contact the Uzbek through their secret e-mail account, and he will tell him it is over, it is done. He will tell the Uzbek that he wants nothing more of him or his master, and that he knows enough to know too much. Leave me alone, Gabriel will write, or else everything I have done, everything I know of you, I will give that information to the authorities.

I’m done, he thinks. Done with all this.

Gabriel fishes out his radio, hesitates before keying it. Jonathan Bell took the radios from the bodies back at Wild World Live! — he knows that. Any transmission he makes, it could be overheard. They have to switch the coms.

Abruptly, Gabriel breaks right, sprinting toward one of the clusters of mushroom houses near Smooch’s Park. Betsy stays on him, helps him at the locked door, the two of them kicking at it together before they manage to snap the lock free of its plate. It’s warm and still inside, and Gabriel is almost frantic, urgent.

“What are you looking for?”

“Phone, there’s a park phone. Here.” He scrabbles the molded plastic box open, pulls the handset free, puts it to his ear. There’s a dial tone, and on the inside of the box’s door, a listing of numbers. Running his finger down it until he finds Hendar’s Lair, and he pulls out his radio again, jabs the transmit button twice, then twice more quickly, hoping everyone listening in understands. Hands the radio to Betsy.

“Get the cameras, make sure there aren’t any cameras,” Gabriel says, and then he dials Hendar’s Lair, listens to the phone ring.

And ring.

And ring.

Until finally, Vladimir answers. “That you?”

“It’s me. Our coms are compromised, nothing on the radio, you understand? We use the landlines. You have a cell phone?”

“I have a phone.”

Gabriel rattles off his number. “Call me back.”

He slams the handset down. He feels out of breath, tries to shake it off, to calm himself. In his pocket, his cell phone begins to vibrate. He frees it, answers.

“Matias, what the fuck is going on?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain in a bit. What’s your status there?”

“Everything is good. These deaf kids know how to stay quiet.”

The satisfaction, the new confidence, the resolve, all of it trembles, threatens to collapse. Gabriel feels as if his throat is knotted, the adrenaline flooding his system. The beat of his heart speeding, the hunger of his quickened breathing. He is abruptly, acutely aware of the muscles in his right forearm, how they control his hand, how his hand holds the phone, how his thumb rests at the side, along the volume control.

“What did you say?”

“They know how to stay quiet.”

Gabriel swallows. “How many of them?”

“Six.”

“You have seven.”

“Yeah, there’s a park girl with them, knows how to sign. She’s a mouthy one, I keep telling her she doesn’t shut up, I’ll give her something else for her mouth to do.”

Heat blazes up Gabriel’s neck. He is aware of Betsy just outside the door, scanning for more cameras, listening.

“We don’t…” Gabriel begins, doesn’t trust his voice, stops. Clears his throat, then tries again, saying, “We don’t have time for that bullshit.”

“Fuck, I know that. Maybe we can keep a couple of them for later?” Vladimir laughs.

“I’m en route. Keep your hands off them. I mean that.”

“I was joking,” Vladimir says.

Gabriel thinks maybe he isn’t.

It takes another fourteen minutes before they’re at the mouth of Hendar’s Lair, another seven cameras dead along the way, with Gabriel taking just long enough to reach Charlie One and Charlie Two separately over the park phone, telling them that their coms have been breached. From here on out, Gabriel tells them, we use the park phones or our own cell phones.

Now Gabriel ducks the chain, climbs over the treasure chest-themed carts stacked in a line at the platform. Music plays, variations of Hendar’s theme, much louder than Gabriel has ever heard it before in the absence of crowds and the running of the ride. At the entrance of the tunnel, multicolored lights swirl and yellow, wicked eyes shine in the darkness.

“Tell Vladimir to come out here,” Gabriel says. “Take over for him inside. I’ll keep watch.”

Betsy says, “That Uzbek shit, he’s going to fuck us, you know that?”

“I know that.”

“You’re going to let him?”

“I am not. No, I am not. Go get Vladimir. Don’t touch the hostages. We’re going to need them.”

Betsy nods in understanding. “Yeah. That’s good.”

The man heads down the tunnel, following the ride’s track, disappears into the darkness. The music breaks, Hendar growling, his voice rising, seductively dripping poison into the ear.

I smell you…I hear you…I see you…always nice to have someone drop by for a bite to eat.…

Another growl that turns into a rich, sinister laugh.

Come in, come in. There’s so much I want to show you…so much I want to teach you. Why else would you dare enter my domain? I know what you want, and I will give it to you. I will teach you of power. Come…if you dare.…

A growl, then a roar, and screams that Gabriel always assumed were from guests, and now realizes are also part of the sound track. He turns to the control console, wondering if there’s a clearly marked way to shut it off, just to mute it for a moment, and his eye catches on the flickering black-and-white images relayed from inside. Like all the enclosed attractions, Hendar’s Lair has on-site monitoring, similar to the surveillance out of the security office, but local to each ride.

Gabriel looks at the tiny square images, the whites too bright to accommodate the dimness within, and of the eight screens, six show him nothing, just empty trackway. But two of them have angles on the hostages, and he can see Betsy now speaking to Vladimir, gesturing. The cameras are nowhere near as high-resolution as the ones he left in the command post, but he sees what look like six teenagers, seated on the floor and in a line, and a seventh at the end, knees drawn to her chest and an arm around the shoulders of a young woman beside her.

Dana.

Of course Dana. It had to be Dana, and even though the video is blurry, void of detail, Gabriel is certain it is she. The way he was certain the moment Vladimir said the kids were deaf.

He looks at her on this monitor, thankful she cannot see him. Thankful that she does not know he is here, his part in all this.

Fuck the Uzbek and his bomb, Gabriel Fuller thinks. Fuck him, his plan, his devil master, fuck them all. We are done, we are getting out.

“Hey,” Vladimir says, emerging from the tunnel, the other side, where the cars would exit were the ride in operation. He’s got the submachine gun slung, but his pistol is in his hand, and for a second Gabriel wonders if old loyalties count more than new ones, if Vladimir will be with him or against him.

“We lost the command post,” Gabriel says. “We’re down to eight men now, including you and me.”

“Sonny said.”

“Sonny?” It takes a half second before Gabriel understands that Vladimir is talking about Betsy. “He tell you anything else?”

Vladimir digs around in his pockets, finds his pack of cigarettes. Unlike Betsy, he doesn’t bother to offer Gabriel one. He gets his smoke lit, exhales. When he speaks again, he uses Russian.

“That it’s going wrong, badly wrong. That there are shooters in the park, at least two and maybe more. That the Uzbek fucker is maybe hanging us out to dry.”

“That’s what I’m thinking, too.” Gabriel slips into Russian, finds the language stiff and old on his tongue. “I’m thinking he was planning on doing it all along. These shooters, they knew we were coming, Vladimir.”

“You think the Uzbek warned them? Why would he warn them?”

“Fuck me if I know. Does any of this make sense to you? He keeps saying there is a plan, but he never tells me what the plan is. I don’t even know why we’re here. Take the park, hold the park, plant a bomb but don’t arm the bomb. Nothing makes sense.”

“He said-”

“I know what he said. But he told me little more than he told you.” Gabriel turns to face the man full-on, meets his eyes. “Who are you with? Are you with me or are you with him?”

Vladimir blows smoke, eyes Gabriel. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple. We stay here, we die here.”

Another jet of smoke. “You don’t know. The Shadow Man has a long reach and a long memory, Matias. You left and the Uzbek moved in, some of our boys, they got ideas, tried to do their own thing. And the Uzbek, he said that sure, they could do that, good luck with that.

“And they all died, Matias. Not all at once and not fast, but all of them ended up dead. Adam Nikoleyavich, you remember him? You were gone two years, maybe, he got a wife and new baby boy, they found them all dead. What they had done to the baby not even I want to talk about. That is what this Shadow Man does to those who break with him.”

“And you are willing to die for him? For a man who maybe doesn’t exist?”

“You tell me if he doesn’t exist. You were picked by him, that was what the Uzbek said. You were picked to do his work.” Vladimir takes a last pull, flicks the butt away.

Gabriel shakes his head. “I have never seen him, never heard him. Only ever was it the Uzbek. For all these years, only ever the Uzbek.”

Vladimir’s mouth works, lips together, frowning as he thinks. Looking out along the pathways again, and from the corner of Gabriel’s eye, he sees the man’s fingers open and close around the grip of his pistol.

“We betray these men, we will die.”

“We stay here,” Gabriel says, “we will die sooner.”

Vladimir grunts, perhaps in agreement.

“So what do we do?”

“We make a deal,” Gabriel says.