Greg Rucka - Alpha

“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.”