Bennie got on his train, and ten minutes later I caught mine. I hadn't been lying about my normal SUV being in the shop for a tune up, but more importantly I wanted to have the time to think as I walked from the RIST back to Mount Zion. Vanessa could hold down the office at MJT for the day, and probably do a better job than I could in handling certain things. I needed to clear my head.
As I walked, I mentally prepared myself for the stress of the night. Sophie had insisted on going with Mark and Patrick, which meant that if everything went to hell, I could be the only member of our little group that lived to see the next day. I knew what I had to do if that happened, Mark had given me all the passwords and documents just the night before. Disappearing out West, probably Arizona or New Mexico where there were large areas with few people and a lot of cactus, I'd use the fake papers on Andrea to get her a passport while the fake passport I already had would do. I'd get the papers I needed, buy tickets and then cash out, disappear anywhere in the world I wanted to go. I prayed that didn’t happen.
I turned up one of the hills that gave the Heights their name, still thinking. In any other circumstance, there'd be no way I'd be able to go on. Before, I would have insisted to go too, even if only to act as eyes and ears. But there was Andrea to think of. My goddaughter, whose smile was magic and whose little chubby fists contained the strength of her father and mother. She would need me, not only to raise her, but to teach her who her parents were. It was a heavy burden to shoulder, and I wasn't sure if I was strong enough to do it by myself. But I had to.
I saw the driveway to Mount Zion and turned, seeing the bell tower rising above the trees. I knew they were up there, at that moment, preparing. I paused for a moment and just looked at the clear early spring sky, so blue it made my eyes water. The bell tower's peaked roof stabbed upward into the impossible blue, stalwart and resolute. I thought about the people it contained, and my role with them.
I remembered talking with Sophie about how when she and Mark first got together, she told him she wasn't going to play Alfred to his Batman. But as I stood there, I realized that there was nothing wrong with that role. Alfred served as Batman's conscience, as his helper, and as the steady rock he could depend on. In the months of living with Mark, Sophie, and eventually Patrick, I'd read my fair share of Batman comics. Throughout his years, Batman had lost partners, had others leave him, but Alfred was always there.
I decided if that was my role, then so be it. Besides, more than once Alfred did his own little bit of ass kicking from time to time, and was always good for a ironic observation or sardonic comment to break the heaviness of everything. I headed up the driveway, and walked inside. Opening the door to the bell tower, I headed up to my family, finding the three of them hard at work assembling their gear, Andrea in her play seat looking around with big eyes. "He agreed."
"Great," Mark replied, "that means we can take out the Kings."
"He had one request though," I continued, looking over the array of weaponry on the tables and work spaces. "He wants you to minimize casualties if you can. Understandable, considering who he is."
I expected them to stop work, to at least be a little surprised or put off by my words. Instead, nobody missed a beat, even Andrea not pausing in her looking around and enjoying the new sights and sounds.
"It is," Sophie replied to my comment, running a lightly oiled rag over the inner workings of her rifle, her favorite, a heavy caliber AR-15 with magnifying scope. "But he knows that there won't be a guarantee of that. What can he expect?"
"Well, do you guys have rubber bullets?" I asked, and Mark stopped what he was doing, setting down his own guns to look at me. I blushed, feeling childish. "Sorry, stupid question."
"No.... it wasn't," Mark replied. "Because I think I actually have something. In one of my old Snowman hideouts, I took in a crate of unique rounds. It was for a Confederation operation, where Sal Giordano wanted it to look like I made a hit on someone, but we were only making him disappear. So instead of real lead, the bullets were made of a lead and plastic powder polymer. When they hit, they basically vaporize, but the energy goes into the body, shocking the system if you hit someone in the right place."
"Where's the right place?" Patrick asked. "And what caliber rounds do you have?"
"If you hit them in an arm or leg, the whole damn thing goes numb for three to five minutes," Mark said, "leaving the affected area paralyzed and unable to move if I remember right. A hit to the stomach will paralyze the diaphragm for a good minute, they'll pass out from lack of air. But, there's also areas you can hit and drop them permanently."