Greg Rucka - Alpha

She’s not surprised that Vladimir chooses Kurkur the Unending. Athena doesn’t know anything really about the Flashman stuff, but she knows who Kurkur is; he’s the worst of the worst, the only villain to have ever killed any of the Flashmans, and now he hunts down every incarnation of them throughout time and space. He wears a helmet that has horns coming out of the mouth, like an insect’s, and large red eyes, and a big black cloak, and his is the only costume that, once it’s on, looks like it should be holding a gun.

Pooch with the Gun points Dana toward Betsy.

Athena picks Agent Rose.

They’re putting on the costumes, and Dana has half of Betsy on, the lower part, and she moves to help Lynne with the Smooch body. She’s signing when she can, checking with them, Okay? and of course they’re not, how can they be, but everyone nods. When she reaches Joel, she signs Stomach?

Hurts .

Dana tries to smile at him, helps him with the Dread Flashman coat. Athena thinks Joel is looking a little pale.

Then Dana is in front of her, holding the comedy-tragedy mask, and she hands it to Athena, then signs.

Hold on they’ll let us go.

Athena gives her the look that says, Bullshit tell me another one .

Those were bad words you said. Dana tries to smile at her. Where did you learn to swear like that?

Athena grins. Uncle Jorge taught her to swear like that, helped her out, would do it whenever Mom and Dad weren’t looking or listening. Teach her to swear like a soldier, deaf or not, he’d said.

Dad and friends.

Dana grins, helps her put on the mask, then settles Agent Rose’s fedora atop Athena’s head. Athena doesn’t move. She can see just fine through the mask, but her breath bounces back against her face, makes it hot and damp.

Dad coming, Athena signs quickly.

Dana raises an eyebrow.

He will kill them.

Dana throws a quick glance over her shoulder, to where Pooch with a Gun and Kurkur the Unending and now Gordo with a Gun are watching them. She looks back to Athena, pretends to adjust Agent Rose’s trench coat, and signs.

Good.

Eighteen minutes left, and Bell tells Amy, “I need you to stay here, stay with Michael and his family. Don’t let them leave, nobody leaves until someone comes for you.”

Amy says, “Freddie is right, Jad.”

It knocks Bell out of his stride for a moment. “You’re going to give me operational advice, Amy? Really?”

She simply stares up at him, what she thinks and what she feels all too apparent to Jad Bell. Then she turns away, down the hall, back to the conference room. She doesn’t look back and she doesn’t wish him luck, and that’s no different from any other time he’s gone on mission. Personal and professional kept separate, a distracted soldier is a dead soldier, keep your head in the game, all the cliches and watchwords run through his head.

He moves back through the command post, where everyone is gearing up. Ideal deployment would be a squad of four targeting each hostage group, primary shooters with secondary to sweep and clear. That is impossible here and now, and Bell’s original intention was to pair Bone and Board, Chain and Angel, and take the group holding Athena by himself. The admonition echoes, makes him doubt, and that is enough, because if there is doubt, there is no doubt.

Much as he wishes it could be so, he cannot ride to his daughter’s rescue alone. In point of fact, he shouldn’t ride to his daughter’s rescue at all.

“Freddie, Isaiah, you two take Group Three,” he says. “Nuri and I will take Group One, Jorge takes Group Two.”

Freddie Cooper, Cardboard, looks Bell in the eye and nods once. “Right call, Jad.”

“We’ll bring her home,” Chain says.

Nuri says nothing, any objection she has to being paired with Bell not one she wishes to share with the room. Instead, she finishes checking the MP5K that Bell brought back with him from Wild World along with his wounds, then throws a glance to the surveillance bank, to the increasing number of charcoal-blank screens. She checks the Spartan again.

“Anything?”

“Dick-all,” she says, and Bonebreaker laughs.

Bell finishes his check, surveys the team, reads their commitment. Even Nuri has brought her game face, and Bell once again wonders what she’s capable of. The CIA lies, it’s their job, and they’re good at it. She killed an armed man who had taken her by surprise in his office with her bare hands, he reminds himself. She can put the bullets where they belong.

“Time to go to work,” Bell says.

Without the need to avoid surveillance there’s no reason to use the tunnels. The confusion of WilsonVille: at this time, on a normal day, going underground would be the only way to cross the park quickly, efficiently. Today, with the landscape barren and hostile, Bell and Nuri cover the distance from the Sheriff’s Office to the border between Wild Horse Valley and Pirate Bay in just over four minutes. With crowds, it would have taken four times as long, easily.

Bonebreaker runs along with them, keeping pace. The two target locations are relatively close together, and even though Jorge has studied the map, Bell wants to guide him to target as best he can. At the bridge west of Nova’s Tower, Bell puts up his fist, and they all slow to a stop.

“That way,” Bell tells Bonebreaker, pointing south, past the Race for Justice. “There’s a bridge, crosses from Terra Space north into the valley.”

Bonebreaker nods. “And if I get lost, there are signs.”

“Don’t get lost. Call it in when you’re good to go.”

“Roger that.”

Bonebreaker takes off, weapon in hand, and Bell begins moving again, feeling the weight of his own pistol in his grip. Bone and Board brought a resupply, and with knowledge of the map, with determined points of entry, this is a by-the-numbers operation. They do what they do, and it should come off without a hitch.

That nagging doubt again, and Bell knows it isn’t going to be that easy.

“You did the right thing,” Nuri says.

They’re skirting the Old WilsonVille Railroad, where the original steam engine that used to run on the track circumscribing the park was decommissioned. Now it’s an attraction of a different sort-a restaurant, a shop, and a play area. Heading north, toward Fort Royal, and Bell can feel the humidity in the air, rising from the man-made Pirate Bay.

“The right thing is doing this, now,” Bell says. “There isn’t anything else.”

Bell pulls into cover behind the ticket booth at Royal Hunt. They’re in the shade from Mount Royal, the sun now having descended far enough to be blocked by the imitation Everest. Nuri stacks close to him, almost touching, and he feels her turning, covering their back.

“It was a hard call, that’s all I’m saying,” she says softly. “I can’t imagine having to make that choice.”

“What choice?”

“Between your job and the people you love.”

Bell looks at her, suspicious, unsure if he’s being mocked and truly not in the mood for it. Instead, he finds that she’s watching him, her expression somber. There’s sympathy, and something else, and for the first time in almost two months of knowing this woman, Bell can see something aside from the professional demeanor, the park mask.

“My whole life has been that choice,” he says.

He leans back against the kiosk, peers out, checking his lines, seeing nothing. Ahead of them, to the north, is Fort Royal, built to resemble a seventeenth-century Caribbean fortress on one side and an early pioneer trading post on the other. This side, facing south and the Wild Horse Valley, is the more rustic. He starts to turn to Nuri once more, to give her the run, direct her where she should go, when he sees movement. One hand goes to her, pulls her back with him, presses her into cover at his side.