Alpha

“Vesques.”

“What about him?”

“He was moved before he was murdered.”

“That was our conclusion as well.”

“Moved out of the park.”

“What I’d do.”

“What I’d do, too, if it came to that. But if you had to move him out of the park, that means you initially neutralized him in the park. Which means you had a reason to do it. Which means it’s an internal threat, not an external one.”

“Find the reason he was moved.”

Bell uses his chin to indicate where Ruiz has set the comic. “Chain’s been looking, been looking six weeks now, almost. Negative result so far. If there’s something hidden inside the park, neither of us can find it.”

“Find the reason.”

“I’m light.”

“Yes, you are.”

“But you’re moving people elsewhere. This is the lead. Vesques is the lead. But you’re moving people elsewhere. Unless you’re telling me there’s something hard that’s come up elsewhere.”

“There is not. What there is, Jad, is over five hundred theme parks in this country. Did you know that? Over five hundred theme parks in the United States alone. Add the politics and the interservice bullshit and you’re lucky you’re not working this alone with your dick in your hands.”

“This is the lead. If this goes down, it’ll be on a big park, not on fucking Happy Oaks in Peoria or wherever. Everyone thinks you hit these places from outside, it makes sense, I know that. Wear a vest, take a walk, ruin everybody’s day who’s buying a ticket. I know that. But Vesques was killed inside. This is something else, this is not looking like the playbook scenario. This is the lead.”

Ruiz empties his glass, sets it on the table, rocks it back and forth between his palms. He’s stopped watching the game, brown eyes on Bell. His age is starting to show, the hard living beginning to present its bill. Mostly, it shows around his eyes, crow’s-feet that never go away, a slight sagging of flesh at his cheeks.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Soon.”

“Soon.” The glass stops dancing between his hands. “Anything else?”

“Wallford and Porter.”

“See also: politics. Porter was high in the Company.”

“Wallford?”

“Don’t worry about him. Porter, he’s an asshole, not an enemy.”

“Enemies have assholes.”

“Then don’t stand behind him.”

Bell grins at that, enjoys the joke for a second before letting it fade. “Anything for me?”

“If it rolls, it’ll roll before the end of the summer. Makes the most sense.”

“Only whispers?”

“We had concrete, we’d shut them down. You’re not the only one who’s seeing the scenario as you describe it. But ‘better safe than sorry’ is not a phrase that parses well when billions of dollars are at stake. You can’t just shut these places down on a rumor. Too much money could be lost, and money, always, talks loudest.”

“They’ll lose billions more.”

“They’ll lose more than that,” Ruiz says. He digs his wallet from his pocket, throws a twenty on the table. Grabs his jacket and the comic book. “Keep your powder dry.”

Bell watches him go. Finishes his beer as his phone chimes, a text message incoming. It’s from Athena; it’s from his daughter.

Can u talk?

He smiles, the conversation with Ruiz forgotten for the moment, types his response.

Give me half an hour.

Asshole, Athena tells him.

Do not talk to your father like that, Bell answers. Where is your mother does your mother know you talk to me like that?

She’s grinning at him on the monitor, shakes her head. Bell thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world, his daughter, that somehow she got the right genes, all from Amy, no question.

So guess what? Athena asks.

I cannot begin to guess what Gray Eyes.

I am going to see you.

Her smile is self-satisfied, filled with the pleasure of knowing she’s brought joy to someone she loves.

Do not tease me, Bell tells her. You should not tease your father.

Athena mocks a pout, then shakes her head. Her hands fly. No really no teasing!

When?

Next weekend Saturday Mr. Howe and Mom on a class trip.

Bell shakes his head at the same time as Athena reads his expression, her own falling, confusion turning into hurt.

You do not want to see me?

“That’s not-,” Bell starts, stops, then starts again, this time with his hands. No you know better than that I always want to see you.

You could have fooled me the way you look!

Bad timing Athena the timing not great.

She glares at him, hands out of sight. Then they’re up again, and she’s signing so quickly he’s in danger of losing her words. The hurt has turned into anger, but Bell can see the edges of its desperation, see his daughter reaching for it to hide the pain he’s just inadvertently caused her.

You know what? Athena says. Fuck you and fuck timing you never have time always bad time or something or you go someplace or something I thought you would be happy excited to see me but always the same and you left you are the one who left-

They’re signing over one another, now, Bell trying to make himself understood.

I did not leave you your mother and I-

— always did you go and came back and-

Bell gives up. Watches his daughter yelling at him through her hands, waits until she runs out of steam, until the tears are welling in her eyes. She blinks angrily, and then they stare at one another, and Bell is again caught by the power of his daughter’s gaze. Absolute attention, a focus that would make a sniper jealous, and he’s getting it full force now, even across the Internet.

Can I say something now? he finally asks her.

She blinks, cocks her head. Flashes an angry smile, reaching out toward the monitor, toward him.

The screen goes dark. She’s gone, and Bell is thinking that technology has made the whole act of hanging up on someone a much more painful process than ever before.

“What’s this about Howe taking the class to WilsonVille?”

“What the hell did you say to her?” Amy says.

“Are you coming to the park? Athena said you’re coming Saturday.”

“We fly in next Friday, leaving late on Sunday. What did you say to her, Jad?”

Bell stares past his reflection in the window. The sun is setting on the Pacific, golden glare off the water burning his eyes. He turns away, adjusts the phone against his ear.

“I need you to talk to Howe. I need you to postpone this trip.”

“You need? Jad, they’ve been planning this all year. You have any idea how many bake sales your daughter and I made brownies for? How many quilt squares we sewed? This is a class trip; I can’t just tell him it’s suddenly off.”

“Postpone it.”

“We’ve already bought the tickets, Jad!”