Alpha

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 learn 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.