Page 9 of Gamma

I don’t let him see anything on my face. “Let her go.”

He gestures around—the warehouse is a massive, echoing, empty place. Drips echo,plink-plink-plink—weak light filters in from the broken windows up near the roofline; there is a catwalk near the ceiling, several men pacing along it in various places. “You see any girl? I do not. Hey? Your friends out there, they are watch us. Did they see us bring this girl here? No, they did not. You want the girl?” He lashes out with a fist, the barrel catching my forehead and cutting me open, blood immediately sluicing down my face. “Shut up and do as you are said to do.”

I keep silent, let the blood run. Ignore the sting and the ache. I catalog his face. The scar on his eyebrow, the scorpion tattooed on his throat under his Adam’s apple. He’s a no one. A lackey. But he’ll be the first to die, when the killing starts.

I’ve tried my damndest to leave the Karahalios in me behind. I never liked killing people, even if they deserved it. But this time around…

I think the Karahalios in me will revel when this asshole’s blood stains the ground at my feet.

I just hope the demon will go back in his box, when it’s all over.

Because it’s time to let him out.

4

The Vanisher

Uncle Harry’s mobile command center is a tractor trailer parked in an alley a mile or so away from the meeting site, flashers on, actors with dollies coming and going with prop boxes, pretending to unload goods from the false rear opening. Within, on the other side of the fake wall near the rear of the trailer, is a bank of computer monitors, a rack of automatic rifles and magazines, and an array of other gear and equipment I’m less familiar with. Lear Winter sits at the center of it all, wearing a microphone headset, fingers flying on at least three different keyboards—he’s tall and lean, with sandy blond hair going gray at the temples and pale green eyes, wearing dark-rimmed glasses reflecting distorted images from the various monitors.

“Anselm, report,” Lear says.

I hear Anselm’s voice from a small speaker in the ceiling. “I count at least a dozen tangos. No sign of the girl. I don’t see any automobiles, either. So far, I think we have made the correct play.”

“Copy,” Lear says. “Colin. Report.”

A young male voice, then. “I match his count. Twelve, at least. All over the place, too—covering all approaches. No gaps in coverage identified. Infiltration is not advised at this time, Command.”

“Copy that,” Lear says again. “Stand by.”

Harris is beside me. “You have him, Lear?”

One hand continues to move on the keyboard, various readouts shifting as he taps and types. The other hand touches a screen, and a red dot. “This is him.”

I watch with my heart in my throat. “Can that tell us if he’s…if he gets hurt?”

“Negative,” Lear says. “Geophysical location only.” A pause. “Although…hold on, I might be able to…”

Lear goes silent and turns to a different screen and a different keyboard, the keys clicking and clacking in a rapid-fire staccato. A black screen pops up, white text filling it, shifting as he types.

“Therearesensors in that thing,” Lear says. “Used for monitoring axial movement, mostly. But I might be able to tweak the programming…” he trails off, muttering under his breath.

He abruptly turns away back to the screen with the marker dot, a satellite view showing the maze of warehouses. A new array of information pops up—numbers, mostly, with letters which seem to indicate, to Lear at least, what the numbers mean.

“I have bio readout,” Lear announces. “Heart rate is high, but within normal range. Body temp normal. Damn, I’m good. I even have ground speed—currently, zero, meaning he’s standing still.”

“Great work, Lear,” Uncle Harry says. “Do we have any kind of visual on the building?”

“Thermal,” Lear answers, bringing our attention to a side screen—a field of blue, with pink and orange-red splotches. Some of the splotches are moving. He taps one splotch, one of the unmoving ones. “This is our boy, here.”

“No satellite?”

“Not that it would do any good.” He holds up a finger. “Aha, I do have something. Anselm, you copy?”

“Ja, of course,” comes Anselm’s voice.

“We’re going to try out the new feature on your scope.”

“Ah, ja. A moment, please.” A brief pause. “Pairing. You have it?”