by Paul Tassi
“Ethan, I’m so sorry about your wife,” Nolan said, dropping the smile. “Is she coming this weekend?”
Ethan nodded.
“She is, bringing the kids, too. The doctors gave her the green light. She’s very mobile, considering.”
Nolan gave an empathetic nod. “I can’t wait to meet them.” He turned to Aria, who was eyeing a limo rounding the driveway. “And Miss Rosetti,” Nolan said, bending his knees slightly and kissing her hand. “I watched a re-stream of your MBC performance of Swan Lake last week. I was in tears. Absolutely stunning.”
Aria smiled.
“Thank you, Nolan. You’re as charming as your husband.”
“He wishes,” Moses said with a belly laugh, and put his arm around Nolan. “Alright, I have to show him the statues.”
Nolan rolled his eyes.
“And the history lessons begin,” he said as they veered away. “Nice to meet you all, see you later.”
They waved good-bye and Aria turned back to a parked limo. The doors opened, and a familiar-looking man and woman got out. Mark recognized them from the news. Her parents.
“No, no, no,” she stammered. “I told them not to come. I specifically told them not to come!”
Mrs. Rosetti gave a weak-wristed wave. Aria glared at her, tears forming in her eyes. She turned around and stormed straight back to the manor. Mark made a move to follow her, but Ethan put a hand on his shoulder.
“She’s gonna have to figure all that out herself,” Ethan said. “Trust me.”
Mr. and Mrs. Rosetti looked sad and bewildered as their luggage was unloaded from the trunk. Mark would have felt sorry for them if Aria hadn’t told him what she had that night at the lake.
Another elderly woman got out of a limo, and Mark was surprised to see that none other than Matthew Michael Easton walked down to meet her and immediately took her two huge suitcases into his arms. As they walked up the path toward the manor, Mark saw her eyes widen and point at him. Easton looked confused, but she shuffled toward him and he was forced to follow.
“Is that Mark? Mark Wei?” she said, squinting through an ancient pair of glasses. Mark guessed she was at least eighty-five, possibly older. “I’m Miriam Easton, Matthew’s grandmother.”
She extended a wrinkled hand adorned with costume jewelry, which Mark shook gently.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said. Easton stared daggers at him from behind her.
“I just wanted to say, what were you thinking the other night?”
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
“You and Aria at the lake. That was the most romantic thing I’ve seen on TV in a long time! Why didn’t you kiss her, you big dope?” She swung her purse so it bumped Mark lightly on the arm.
“Uhhh,” Mark said, at a loss for words. Ethan was snickering.
“You’re young! You only live once. You’re not married are you?”
Mark paused for a beat too long.
“I’m not.”
“Or a gay like that Moses?”
“Nope.”
“Then don’t let that slip away again,” Miriam said, shaking her crooked finger in his face. “A girl like that only comes along once. Oh, and maybe you can help my poor Matthew here. He’s never been able to find the right girl either! I think that black girl could take a shine to him. Kelly, I think is her name. Don’t you think?”
Mark was trying not to burst out laughing picturing Easton and Kells together.
“Sure, ma’am, most definitely.”
It seemed pretty clear the poor woman either knew nothing about Easton’s crimes, or had decided to erase them from her mind entirely.
“Anyway, nice to see you in person. Outside of Matthew, you’re my favorite stream to watch!”
She hobbled away with Easton in tow, who shot Mark a glare. When she was far enough away, both he and Ethan erupted in laughter.
“Oh wow,” Ethan said, finally composing himself. “That might be my favorite moment of the summer.”
He was still catching his breath, he’d been laughing so hard.
“So yeah, Mark, why didn’t you kiss her?”
“Please don’t make me kick your ass before your family gets here.”
The energy in the compound was dramatically changed, with the guests lightening the mood of combatants and staff alike, despite the deadly tournament beginning in just a few days. Crayton himself was popular, shaking hands and literally kissing babies in some instances, and he invited everyone to the re-opened main dining hall for a massive brunch that featured metric tons of gourmet food lining the walls and long tables that sat everyone and their visitors comfortably. Mark had been unable to pry himself away to go train, and sat with Moses, Nolan, Ethan, and his family. Aria and her parents were nowhere to be seen.
Across the way at another table, Ja’Von Jordan’s family roared with laughter about something, and they made an odd mix with Rusakov’s menacing Russian clan, who didn’t laugh at anything and seemed pretty drunk even at 11 a.m.. Easton eyed Soren Vanderhaven’s cousins hungrily as his grandmother chatted away with Rakesh Blackwood’s mother, a pretty woman wrapped in an expensive-looking sari.
Ethan’s wife’s name was Lily, and the three children she had in tow sat more still during their meal than Mark would have imagined. Caden was seven, Sadie was five, and Kellan was three and a half. All were picture-perfect adorable, and Sadie especially made Mark’s heart ache.
Asami would be a few years older than her now, he thought, as he tried not to stare and freak the girl out. The Callaghans were a friendly but rather quiet bunch, seemingly intimidated by the situation at hand. It was hard to blame them.
Lily was exceptionally pretty, like a former Miss Whatever State She Was From, though she looked skinnier than was healthy, and was quite pale as well. But still, she looked far better than Mark anticipated, supposedly having six months to live. He still didn’t quite grasp the disease corroding her brain, but it was obviously not appropriate brunch conversation.
“I feel like I know you two already,” Lily said, “I watch the stream so often. The kids loving seeing their dad every night before bed, even if he is getting his ribs wrapped up by a doctor.”
“Ah,” Moses said. “I believe I am to blame for that.”
“I believe if my husband was using his shield correctly, he might have avoided that, so I’ll blame him,” she said, and the whole table laughed.
“Isn’t Daddy brave on the TV?” Lily asked Caden who nodded emphatically.
“Yes,” the little boy said. “He looks like a knight.”
“Fights like one too,” Mark said, rubbing his shoulder. “I can attest to that.”
More laugher. Mark noticed a camera drone hovering around their end of the table specifically.
“I’m going to grab some more pancakes before Moses eats them all,” Mark said.
“Please do,” Nolan said, “with my thanks.”
Mark walked over to one of the side tables where servers were standing around at attention, waiting for any tray to get even a little bit low so it could be immediately replaced. The food was incredible, like a buffet thrown for royalty. Mark scooped up his pancakes and turned around. Standing at his knee was little Kellan.
“Hey bud,” Mark said, crouching down. “Looking for some more bacon?”
There were tears in Kellan’s eyes.
“I don’t like it here,” he said. “It’s so loud.”
“Yeah, it is,” Mark said. “We’ll go outside soon, and that will be better. There are a lot of fun parks here.”
Kellan looked back toward the table.
“I want my daddy!”
“Okay, sure,” Mark said, extending his hand down to the little boy. “Let’s go back and see him.”
“No!” Kellan yelled, stomping his foot. “I want my daddy!”
“We can go to him, he’s right there!”
The table was a little far; perhaps Kellan couldn’t see him. Mark made the executive decision
to pick him up, and Kellan promptly burst into tears.
Lily sprang up as he approached the table.
“Sorry,” Mark said sheepishly. “He said he wanted his dad.”
“I’m right here, Kellan, don’t worry!” Ethan said, but Kellan was inconsolable.
“Looks like someone needs a nap,” Lily said. “Do you have kids, Mark?”
She cringed right after she asked the question. If he did, their absence during visitation was obvious.
“Not yet,” Mark said, forcing a grin. “And it’s looking unlikely.”
That was the closest anyone came to mentioning the looming deathmatch all meal. This weekend was supposed to be an island of happiness in a sea of dread. All the blood and death on the horizon wasn’t real yet, but Mark knew it would be very soon.
After the meal, the groups separated and began taking in the grounds at their own pace. The joy of seeing their loved ones was starting to give way to a sense that they might not see them again after this. By the end of the following week, the sixteen-person tournament would be down to eight. A culling by half. It was hard to believe, and the shock of it was starting to sink in, it seemed, judging by the tears Mark saw around the estate.
All he felt was frustration. Crayton was too careful, too slippery. Despite mounting evidence, there wasn’t enough to move on him. Mark knew the CIA didn’t actually care about whether the tournament happened or didn’t. They weren’t going to try a half-assed takedown just to possibly save the lives of eight people who had more or less volunteered to die. Their endgame was Crayton and Crayton alone.
Mark watched Moses and Nolan wander into the park and saw Ethan and his family retreat to his mansion. He thought maybe he should try to track down Aria, but Ethan was right, he probably shouldn’t overstep. Elsewhere, he’d be a third or fifth wheel anywhere he went at this point, so he headed to the gymnasium to grab his sword and train. He could smell death in the air, and it frightened him. After what had happened in China, it was easy to feel invincible, but he’d never faced anything like this. This was a twisted nightmare of a mission in ways he was still only beginning to comprehend.
As Mark turned to head to the gym, he saw another autolimo pull up on the pavement. A late arrival? Maybe Tagami or Manny did have a visitor after all.
The limo parked and the outer door opened before an attendant could grab it.
Out stepped Brooke, her curled blonde hair worn down and dancing on her shoulders. She wore a red sundress and a smile, probably caused by the look on Mark’s face.
“Uh,” Mark said as he approached the limo. She wrapped him up in a hug and whispered in his ear.
“They beefed up my girl-next-door cover. Just a friendly neighbor paying a pal a visit.”
“Alright, then,” Mark said, unable to stop smiling. “Wow. I just—”
“But I’m not your surprise,” Brooke said, stepping back and grinning wildly.
The door on the other side of the limo opened.
Before Mark even knew what was happening, Carlo was sprinting around the back of the car. As he cleared the bumper, Mark saw his legs were fully wrapped in a pair of mech-braces, their electric motors whirring, rebalancing from the rapid movement.
“Who’s a fuckin’ Terminator now?” Carlo said, beaming.
Mark embraced him like a brother, and tried his best to hide his tears from the camera drones.
24
WHAT THE HELL, GUYS?” Mark said as they walked around the grounds, Carlo keeping pace easily with his braces. From the back, Mark saw they were actually laced up under his shirt and into his spine.
“Sorry, sorry,” Carlo said, still smiling. “I told Brooke not to say anything. I wanted to surprise you and didn’t want to be video chatting your ass when I was still stuck in bed like a waste of space.”
“I can’t believe it,” Mark said, shaking his head.
“His recovery has been phenomenal,” Brooke said. “They’re putting him in the top 5 percent of all cases that sustained his type of injury. I’ve never seen someone bust his ass so hard at rehab therapy.”
“Yeah, well next year apparently I gotta get good at swords and nunchucks and shit if I’m gonna make it to the final tourney,” Carlo said.
“Carlo, you can’t seriously …” Mark began.
“Oh, don’t even start,” Carlo said. “I ain’t trying to get my mobility back so I can retire and play golf! I’m gonna be back and better than I ever was.”
“The doctors agree,” Brooke said, heading off a possible argument. “With enough time to heal, they expect a full recovery. The braces really help with muscle regeneration and stimulation, but he shouldn’t even need them in another month or two.”
“Expensive as all hell, though,” Carlo said. “Yet another reason to sign up next year. I’m gonna be paying these off the rest of my fuckin’ life.”
He tapped the metal.
“Anyway, now that I’m here I should probably thank you for murdering that Nazi dickhead for me. I was gonna do it myself until they told me you beat me to it. I bet that caused quite a shitstorm.”
“Not as much as you might think, actually,” Mark said.
“More to follow, right?”
“No doubt,” Mark said, meeting Carlo’s fist bump. He could tell Brooke knew the boast was hollow.
“This place is a trip, huh?” Carlo said, looking at the fake forest around them. “Give white dudes too much money and they just go crazy. Statues and jungles and stadiums and shit. But hell, I’d trade anything to be in your shoes right now.”
“You might not think so after this week,” Mark said.
“You better not die on me, Wei,” Carlo said. “I bet my last $100 that you’re going to win this thing. Even my brother is rooting for you over Max Rage now. Don’t disappoint him!”
Through the trees, Carlo spotted the Vanderhaven clan on a stroll, a gaggle of platinum blondes with deep tans, whose giggling could be heard from afar.
“Christ almighty,” Carlo said. “You have got to start making some introductions.”
Mark and Brooke laughed. It felt incredible to have him back, and Mark felt lighter than he had all summer. At least one thing had gone right.
After a lengthy tour of the estate, Mark let Carlo get settled into a room in the main mansion. Carlo deemed it “fuckin’ awesome” and spent ten minutes playing with the shower alone. Mark and Brooke retreated to his room, which earned a wink from Carlo, but in reality it was the only safe place they could talk away from the prying eyes and ears of the Crucible cameras. Mark couldn’t care less about the implication to the viewers at home.
“I’m guessing you’re here on business,” Mark said. “Not just as Carlo’s escort.”
Brooke reclined in one of the plush chairs that littered Mark’s room while he leaned against the wall opposite the TV. Out the windows, he could see the snipers on top of the walls that had been posted there since the “crazed Cassidy fan” break-in. Crayton was clearly rattled. Brooke noticed him eying the guards. The sun was starting to set behind them.
“Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m here,” she said. “I thought getting up close and personal with Crayton’s security systems would let me locate where they’re holding whoever they captured.”
“Sounds good,” Mark said. “When do we start?”
There was a dark look on Brooke’s face, and he knew whatever she was going to say next wasn’t going to be good.
“I actually found them a few hours before my flight left,” she said, pulling out a flexscreen. “This was recorded thirty-six hours ago, about six floors under where we’re standing in some deep, dark sub-basement. I couldn’t even route you there if I tried. The feed is video only. No mics anywhere near there.”
She played the video, which was grainy and warped. An old camera, probably not meant to even be recording.
Mark squinted and could make out a figure hung by their hands from the ceiling, a bandaged bullet wound near their ribs. As he looked
closer, for a brief second he saw Zhou’s scarred face in the fuzzed image. But he blinked again, and the visage was gone. Another illusion. The figure was actually a woman, Asian, with close-cropped hair and a lean, muscled frame. Her lizard suit had been stripped off and was shredded in a heap by her feet, her toes barely grazing the ground. She wore the bloody ruins of a fiber undermesh, which was riddled with burn marks and knife slits.
“They tortured her,” Mark said.
“I’ve already been going through the older footage from this,” Brooke said. “She never said a word. Didn’t even scream.”
“Has to be MSS,” Mark said. “She looks as Chinese as they come, and if they’re not supposed to talk, they don’t. Not ever.”
“She never did,” Brooke said ominously.
Another figure stepped into frame, and Mark recognized the scar on the back of his head immediately. Wyatt Axton. He barked something at her the camera didn’t pick up, but she remained stone-faced. Something in his hand flashed too fast for the footage to capture properly, but the end result was clear.
The woman hung dead, the hilt of a knife sticking from her neck as fresh blood poured down her chest.
“They take the body out and do God knows what with it,” Brooke said. “Probably burned. I really don’t think she gave them anything. I tried to ID her, but facial capture is useless.”
“They’re all ghosts,” Mark said, still staring at the screen after the footage cut out. He was slightly shocked by her execution, which was uncharacteristic for him.
“Can we use this?” he asked. “Crayton’s head of security killing in cold blood?”
“It’s in the file,” Brooke said. “But again, it’s not a smoking gun for Crayton himself. A lip-read complete confession would have worked wonders, but she never even opened her mouth.”
Christ, Mark thought. He certainly couldn’t say the same was true of him when Zhou ripped through him with his knives years ago.
THEY KEPT TALKING UNTIL the sun dipped down behind the wall, and the Glasshammer snipers were black dots against the pink sky out of the window. Mark heard a ripple of laughter from a floor down. Brooke put away the flexscreen and turned to leave.