Gordo takes out the coms first, the woman, the one wearing the headset, before she’s even finished turning toward them, just as her eyes go wide. Then the gunshots, soft snaps from the suppressed pistol, and she slumps in her seat, topples to the floor at the same moment as one of the men, balding and gray, falls backward against his bank of monitors, collapses like overcooked pasta. The third one, he opens his mouth, and then Gabriel sees his body jerk, both Stripe and Gordo putting shots into him, and then this man, too, falls, sinking to his knees before pitching facedown to lie on the floor and twitch.
Stripe steps in, takes a position to the left of the door, on one knee, as Gordo mirrors the movement. Betsy and Hendar follow, remain standing, their weapons out and ready, swinging a slow track about the room, searching for the next target. There’s silence but for the whirr of the machinery, the bleat from one of the monitors. Then Stripe raises a hand to Gabriel, motions him forward.
“Sweep,” Gabriel says, voice dulled by the gas mask. “Make sure we’re clear.”
Stripe nods, gets to his feet, moves off toward the door at the back of the room, the flight of stairs that leads to the third floor. Gordo is up just as quickly, moving from body to body, pausing only long enough to dump a round into each head. Gas masks start coming off, and Hendar takes one of the headsets from the communication console, presses it to his ear. Listens for a moment, then nods to Gabriel, gives a new thumbs-up. He drops the headset, hoists his duffel, pulls a slim black box from inside, and sets about connecting it to the radio set on the desk.
Gabriel takes another half second to absorb the room. His only visit prior to this had been during orientation, on his way up to the second-floor conference room, down the hall from here. It’s an impressive array of surveillance equipment, almost overwhelming, and it takes several more seconds before he can decipher the layout, before he understands what he’s seeing on multiple screens. Coverage is comprehensive, and if there are gaps anywhere, he certainly doesn’t see them. Exterior views from the gates, all the exits, are showing crowds milling about outside, still being shepherded by WilsonVille Friends. The parking lots seem to be the main gathering points, and Gabriel sees a couple of new fire engines arriving.
On one camera, the one covering the northeast access, there’s already an engine parked, just as planned. That was Vladimir’s element, and on an adjacent monitor, he can see what must be Vladimir’s group entering the park, dressed in their Tyvek. They’re just coming through the gates, and people are giving them a wide berth.
Gabriel removes his own gas mask. Gordo is already settling himself in front of the surveillance monitors, and Betsy is helping Hendar. One of the machines is bleating, and on its screen Gabriel can read the botulinum alert. It takes a couple of seconds before he can figure out how to silence the machine.
“We have their coms,” Hendar says. “Secure and scrambled.”
“Contact all elements, tell them we have control.”
“We still have people in the park,” Gordo says, indicating several of the monitors. “Stragglers.”
Gabriel looks over his shoulder, can see clusters of park guests still making their way to the gates. More Tyvek suits, too, and he sees that Vladimir’s group has taken hostages already, is moving southward, crossing one of the bridges that spans the Timeless River. On another monitor, he can see a Lilac trying to encourage a small group of people to follow her, another element in Tyvek closing on their position. A man in a suit is jogging past the camera by Nova’s Tower, roughly in the same area, and he can see still more staff, this one in a Terra Space mechanic’s suit, walking quickly by the now-stopped Race for Justice.
The one in the suit earns a double take. Nobody comes to WilsonVille wearing a suit, not like that. Navy coat and tie, park-?approved wear, but a business suit on a ninety-degree day at the end of July? The only people who dress like that while in the park are management, upper management.
“That one,” Gabriel says, pointing at the monitor. “Can you give me a better view?”
Gordo takes a moment, flicking through monitor settings, and then manages to pick up the same man again, now turning north. He’s still jogging along, looking around, clean-shaven, early forties, perhaps. No radio, no flashlight, but with a phone to his ear. Then he’s out of camera, the next view distant, devoid of detail.
“Hey,” says Betsy. “Where’s Dmitri?”
They find him upstairs, the man Gabriel had named Stripe.
He’s lying on his back beside the desk in the largest office on the floor, his tongue swollen between blue-tinged lips, his cheeks puffed and his eyes open, wide and staring, broken blood vessels painted in dead white orbs. His gun is gone. One hand is at his throat, and when Gabriel moves it away, he can see that the man’s trachea has been crushed, or, more precisely, cracked.
He feels the pistol in his hand, turns and looks at Betsy, is about to speak, when his eye catches a photograph on the desk. He steps closer, sees the same man he saw earlier, the one on the monitor. It’s a picture of him with a woman and a girl, all of them smiling, the girl a strawberry blonde, the woman with hair the same shade. He casts an eye over the desk, the paperwork that has been scattered there, and it doesn’t take long to find the name, the name of the man who belongs to this office. Bell, Jonathan, Deputy Director of Park Safety.
Then he sees something else. An authorization form, signed, granting Dana Kincaid time and a half for today’s work.
This may be a problem, Gabriel thinks.
Chapter Thirteen
Bell’s phone bleats at him, the two-tone alert that says Brickyard is calling. He doesn’t break stride as he answers. “Go for Warlock.”
“Sitrep.”
“Biotoxin alarm in the park, evacuation in progress.”
“Can you confirm?”
“That’s negative.”
“Assessment?”
“I think we’re dealing with something else. Trying to figure out exactly what right now.”
There’s a flicker of a pause, long enough for Bell to hear the background static-and-whine characteristic of secured communications. Then Ruiz says, “I’m en route to Marcelin. Let me know as soon as you have something. Out.”
Bell lowers his phone, rounds the south side of Flashman’s Laser Light Show. Ahead, working along the path that’ll take them to the northwest exit, he can see a Lilac trying to rush a group of three along with her. They’re just kids, two boys and a girl, and as he comes closer he can see that all are near tears, their meerkat companion trying to comfort them.
“We’ll find them once we get outside,” Lilac is saying. “I’ll stay with you the whole time, I promise. And you know I always keep my promises!”
“You lied to Hendar that time,” the girl says through snuffles.
“That was different. I did that to save Lavender.” Lilac sees Bell, stops. “They were on the carousel, got separated from their parents. We’re going out the northwest, is that way still open?”
Bell slows, falls into walking with them. All the kids look at him, and one of the boys, the older one, dark-haired and dark eyes shining with tears, reminds him of another boy, playing soccer in a dusty square. He gives them his most confident smile.
“Should be,” Bell says. “I’ll keep you company.”
“See?” Lilac tells the kids. “You find friends everywhere you look.”
“Everyone okay?” Bell’s phone is still in his hand, and he brings up Chain’s number with a glance, thinking to tell him that there’s a change. “Everyone feels all right?”
“It’s a little scary,” the youngest boy says softly.
“Why is the park closed?” This from the older boy, who cannot hide his disappointment. “You guys never close.”
“You know what a gas leak is?” Bell asks. “Natural gas? It’s not dangerous alone, but you have to be careful.”