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.
Chapter Thirty
Bell lowers the radio, and Nuri, who heard it all, says nothing. Nuri, who has heard the soft-spoken man say that he has Bell’s daughter, that he has Athena, says nothing at all.
What she does, she takes the radio from him, sets her fingertips on his cheek, only for a moment. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t offer platitudes. She just touches him, like that, and Bell knows she is with him.
Then Bonebreaker is coming up on their position, followed by Chaindragger and Cardboard, and Bell takes a breath, lets himself feel it, then lets it go, and tries to let the emotion he is feeling go with it. Watches as Nuri hands over the MP5K she’s been carrying to Board, who nods his thanks, and then all eyes are on him. Bell pulls his phone, makes the call, and tells Brickyard the news.
When the call is done, Bell says, “Costumes. We have ten minutes. Costumes. Target selection, target identification. Costumes don’t mean a thing, the way their hazmat and Tyvek didn’t mean a thing. They’re coming from the east, heading toward the Terra Space ride, we know that, we know which way they’re coming, which way all of them are converging. Watch them walk, hear them talk. They’ll have to put at least one guard at the front of each group, the other will be in the middle or at the back.”
“Ambush,” Board says.
“You better fucking believe it.” Bell looks at Nuri. “You have five minutes, most, to get into costume.”
She blinks. “And do what?”
“Infiltrate. The group we were going to take, they’re coming down from Fort Royal. There’s tunnel access north of the Terra Pad.”
“One of the dressing rooms,” Chain says, nodding.
“Fall in the back, find out who is who, kill the ones who don’t belong.”
Nuri hesitates. “I’m not trained for this, Warlock.”
“You are, you are trained for this. This is intelligence gathering. Shoot the ones you’re sure are wrong in the head. Any doubts, drill them in the leg. They try to return fire, you know they’re hostile.”
She needs a half moment to accept this, and then she’s gone, sprinting for the nearest tunnel entrance.
“Angel of Death,” Bonebreaker says.
“Who has optics?”
Bonebreaker pulls a monocular from his pocket. Bell indicates Chain with his head, watches the handoff.
“Find a high hide, take overwatch,” Bell tells him. “Don’t let them see you. Pick out the targets.”
“Nova’s Tower.” Chaindragger turns the monocular in his hand, makes it disappear into a pocket of his wrinkled coveralls. Then he’s sprinting away as well, north, the opposite direction that Angel took.
“What I said to Angel.” Bell looks at Cardboard, at Bonebreaker. “Any doubt, take the leg. No doubt, two to the head.”
“Done deal,” Cardboard says.
They move.
Bell is ducking beneath one of the on-ramps at Race for Justice, moving fast and low, making for the faux garage, when Brickyard calls him up on coms.
“We have an ID on your inside man,” Ruiz says. “Fuller, Gabriel. U.S. Army, Tenth Mountain, Third Brigade. Was on Operation Mountain Viper, left after his second tour as a sergeant. Prior to that, a model citizen, and before that, he doesn’t exist.”
