Bell and Chain move forward, holstering their weapons as Shoshana Nuri does the same. Subdued tunnel lighting makes her skin and hair seem that much darker, part of the shadows she’s been hiding in.
“We made contact,” Bell says. “Four down, no idea how many left to go. Tried raising you, no response.”
“Make it five,” she says, reaching out with her free hand first to Chain, then to Bell, dropping an earbud into each man’s palm before falling into line with them. Chain fits the bud to his left ear, stepping ahead to lead the way. “I was in your office when they hit the command post. Had to take one of them down to get out, headed straight into the tunnels.”
Bell taps the earbud he’s just fitted. “And out of coms. No reception down here.”
“No radios, no phones. No way to contact you unless I went above ground. Staying put for the moment seemed wisest.”
“No question.”
“There’s one benefit. No cameras down here.” Nuri digs into the pocket of her blazer, comes out with a broken, warped piece of plastic that she offers to him. “Take a look.”
Bell does, fragments of plastic and circuit board, with a strip that curls up and away from the underside. A cell phone, he thinks, and he holds the pieces up to one of the light fixtures for a closer examination. Maybe a plastic wrap or a bag that fused to it, melted, and there’s a cloudy, off-white film adhering to it. He hands the pieces back to Nuri.
“That how they did it?”
She nods, barely. “Think it is, at least. Cell-phone IED, inside some sort of wrapper or container holding the botulinum spoof. I could smell the plastic when I got down here, found it near one of the air-con compressors.”
“If it’s not botulinum, what is it?” Chain asks.
“It probably is botulinum, just not weaponized. Maybe derived from Botox. The toxin has seven distinct subtypes. If you’re not actually weaponizing it, just making it look like you have, it’s conceivably a relatively easy task to make something that would spoof the Spartan.”
“Easy?” Chain shakes his head. “You Company girls.”
“Relatively easy, I said.” She looks to Bell. “What do we know?”
“Minimal. They’re coordinated, and they’ve taken hostages.” He indicates the remains of the IED in her hand. “They’re resourced, and smart enough to do that and to fake weaponizing botulinum.”
Nuri makes a small noise, almost approving. “Hostages to keep the assault force at bay.”
“Big park, lots of places to hide people.”
“And by the time any team breaches and locates where they’re being held…”
“The hostages could be dead and cold.”
Chain has moved on, taking it slower now. Bell is feeling calm, methodical, and while all their guard is still up, the cool and dim of the tunnels is welcome. For the time being, at least, for these next few minutes, they all know what they need to do.
There’s a door along the west wall, and Chain unlocks it with a key he takes from around his neck. Pushes it open and reaches along the inside wall, and a weak energy-saver bulb comes to life, too-white light in the small room. Packed with merchandise awaiting the opening of the Keep, boxes labeled for posters, jackets, action figures, comic books. Chain pops his knife and slices one open, scatters a handful of T-shirts before freeing the first of their gear bags. Bell takes it as he digs out the second, and both men drop to their knees, Nuri watching, as they begin breaking out their gear.
“You cached these when, exactly?” Nuri asks.
Bell doesn’t need to look up to see her expression; it’s all in her tone. “Does it matter?”
“It matters if your people were sitting on intel they didn’t see fit to share.”
Chain mutters something about the Catskill Institute for Acne, continues pulling equipment from his bag. He’s got their long guns out, M4 Commandos, is assembling them with almost magical speed. Bell sits back on his haunches, shucking off his suit jacket, looks up at Nuri. She’s watching them with half an eye, the rest of her attention on the tunnel, gun still in hand.
“You with me?” he asks her.
“Of course I’m fucking with you. I’m standing here.”
“You geared?”
“Not hardly.”
Bell pulls the vest from his gear bag, hefts it up and into her hands. She exhales sharply, taking its weight, thirty pounds of personal protective equipment.
“Put that on.”
“You have one for yourself?”
“I will endeavor not to get shot,” Bell says.
Chain hands one of the assault rifles to Bell, then begins donning his own vest. “First time for everything.”
“Last time I got shot, it was because of you, I recall.” Bell finishes checking the rifle, a cursory, automatic survey that has nothing to do with faith in Chain and everything to do with twenty years of habit. He leans it against the wall, begins removing his necktie.
“Blue on blue,” Chain says. “I barely touched you.”
“How much do you know?” Nuri asks. She hasn’t put on the vest.
Bell begins tucking magazines into the pouches of his combat harness, then moves to slip it on. “Right now? Hostiles in the park, and they have hostages.”
“I’m talking prior knowledge.”
Bell stops, harness open, looking at the woman. “You think we’ve been banking our intel?”
“There’s an inside man.”
“That’s a given.”
“You identified him. One of yours KIA.”
Bell shakes his head. “You think we let this ride? I knew who killed Vesques, I’d never have let things get this far. You’re thinking like CIA, sweetheart, you’re thinking of acquiring assets. You’re thinking little fish leads to the big one, but that’s not our game. Our game was to keep this from happening, and when that failed, to do what we do now. We shut it down.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Bell finishes his gear check. “FB?”
Chain holds up two of the flashbang grenades.
“Makes four,” Bell says, showing two of his own.
“That’s the next move?” Nuri asks.
“They took our eyes. We’re taking them back.” Bell stuffs his coat and tie into the bag, then stows it back in the box it came from. He reloads his pistol. “Contact Brickyard once we’re in coms range, get the Sitrep, proceed from there.”
“You want to take the CP back,” Nuri says. “We take the CP back the hostiles will know, Master Sergeant. They’ll know, and they’ll drop the hostages.”
“I am informed two of our brothers are en route. We’ll wait until they’re in position before we move. Once we have the CP, we’ll be able to locate the hostages. Do what we do.”
“One hundred and fifty-six acres of park, you’re not going to be able to hit anything fast and hard. You’re not thinking this through. We don’t know who they are. We don’t know who we’re up against.”
Chain shrugs, now in his own rig, wearing it over the Star System Alliance Defense coveralls. Bell sees it’s still damp from the plunge Chain took, wonders if Chain has even noticed. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.” Nuri is almost hissing. “We have no idea of their assets, their capabilities, their agenda.”
Chain glances to Bell, raises an eyebrow. Bell notes it, doesn’t return it, still locked up on Nuri. She does not look like a woman who is having a good day, though Bell knows the same goes for the rest of them. Battle banter aside, all of them are aware of the stakes, and more, how many variables are still in play. They all know how much they don’t know. And the woman has a point; if these men who have launched their very coordinated, very smart assault on WilsonVille believe their hostages are of no further use, then they’ll no longer view them as hostages. Rather, they’ll view them as target dummies.
“They want something,” Bell says. “You see that? If this was straight-up terrorism, they wouldn’t have cleared the park. They’d have just suicide-bombed us and been done with it. But they have the hostages for a reason, because they want something.”