The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  Everything about his boss made his skin crawl and being near him every hour of the day he wasn’t working was creeping him out in new ways. There’d been the time he’d come back to find Mr R laid naked on his bed, a roguish grin on his face. Max didn’t bend that way, the fact his benefactor did was something he had to swallow, just as he didn’t like to think about the tattoo Mr R had on his belly, a Burykian symbol extending down to his crotch. Yeah, that was something that he hadn’t managed to scrub from his mind yet. Nothing short of blowing his own brains out would probably do it. And he didn’t think things were quite that bad yet.

  He didn’t mind the exhibitionism. He just wanted the whole thing to be a lot more professional, something Mr R seemed sorely lacking in. How he’d acquired the capital he’d been spreading around for his expenses, he’d never know. But if he did any of the work he frequently drew attention to, then Max had never seen it. That whole thing at the hospital had just been needless, probably the point when he’d decided he needed to get out of this arrangement before it blew up in his face. Mr R had gone to see Ms Arnholt himself in the hospital, Max had his own private suspicions that whatever his intentions were regarding her, they were less than good.

  He suspected he’d tried to make a grab for her in the storm. He’d come back soaking wet and furious, muttering about some bastard getting in his way. Max hadn’t wanted to question it, but he’d soon pieced together the clues. The worst part of the hospital was having to stand in the corridor, wait for him to come back, see him be all friendly with her and just wanting to yell how he wanted to stab her in the back.

  Instead he’d settled for the debate with Mr R when they’d gotten back to the room, demanding to know what he was playing at with an act like that. Max felt he had a right to be annoyed, all the sneaking around over the last several days, keeping an eye on her and Mr R had just thrown it away and strode right in there. He’d wanted to know why. And Mr R had obliged him with an answer.

  “Because, my little package of cinnamon delight, it’s fun. It’s always more fun when you stop to enjoy it. When I act, the hurt in her eyes is going to be delicious. Betrayal always cuts deeper when you don’t expect it. And I intend to cut very deep indeed.” Max wasn’t going to forget that laugh any time soon.

  Maybe he was just going soft. He shouldn’t be feeling so sympathetic to someone like her. If she died, it was no business of his. Mr R was determined to get his overtly manicured hands on her, it undoubtedly spelt bad news for her. If she was lucky, he’d be out for blood. If she was unlucky… Well, Max just shuddered at the thoughts of what Mr R might come up with for whatever he deemed she needed punishment for. He’d wondered that more and more as the days had gone by but if he had the courage inside him to ask, it hadn’t manifested yet.

  He’d gotten himself into this situation, he couldn’t complain about it. He wasn’t in jail and that mattered a lot. Of course, when you looked at it in the cold light of day, he was in a whole different type of trouble now. The sort you didn’t walk away from. Better Mr R direct his frustrations at Mia Arnholt than at Max himself. That would be infinitely preferable, even if it was the coward’s way out, but nobody had ever told him to worry about other people. Far from it. Always look after number one, Max, he’d tried to abide by that. He’d tried to make himself numbers one, two and three, just to emphasise how he had to look after himself. Nobody else

  Maybe there was a way to try and do both, find a way of looking out for her and keeping himself out of the fire at the same time. After all, should she wriggle out of his clutches for a second time, Mr R could hardly blame Max, could he? Honestly, he didn’t know. Part of him didn’t want to know. And at the same time, he knew he was getting tired of wrestling with a conscience that should have long since died. Yet he knew it wasn’t that he felt sorrow or sympathy for the Arnholt girl. Far from it. It was the revulsion he felt for Mr R kicking into overdrive. He’d normally never give her a second thought. But despite how he felt about the man, he didn’t want to make an enemy out of him.

  He’d have to plan things carefully and see what could be done. There had to be something, some overt way of compromise between doing something and nothing. If he remained indentured to this maniac, it would drag him down. If he acted too overtly, the maniac would put him down. Max had always thought he was tough, but there was just something about Mr R that told him despite the mincing attitude and sense of over the top frippery, here was a man who wouldn’t hesitate to string him up if it benefited him. And then there was the small matter of his backers. Max didn’t know them, but he had to assume them even worse news. Mr R had spoken of being too busy to do this all himself, Max had seen how devoted he was to this task at hand, but if his other business was keeping him away then he had something to be worried about.

  Maybe he’d find out one day. For now, he’d watch and wait, see what chances appeared. If one turned up he couldn’t pass down, then he might have to take it. Sorry, Mr R, I appreciate everything you did for me but it’s just not to be. Goodbye.

  The smile played out across his face as he imagined holding the blaster to Mr R’s face, taking careful aim, seeing the look of panic men got when they were about to die. Betrayal always cuts deeper when you don’t expect it, boss. I’m cutting deep indeed. Goodbye.

  He’d never killed anyone before. In this instance, he felt sure he was happy to make the transition. Some people deserved to be killed.

  “We sent agents to Blut’s house recently,” Okocha said, the tiny holographic image of him flickering as he sat watching. “We wanted to find out what he’d been doing out here, see if there was anything there.”

  Nick Roper finished pulling his socks on and looked at him. “And what did they find? Anything or nothing?”

  Okocha shrugged. “Nothing of use. Looked like someone had already been there, taken everything of note. Lock had been broken, all his notes and files had been removed. We’re following up last known place of employment, all known haunts but it’s the same story across the lot of them. Nothing. Someone wanted Blut’s work hidden from us.”

  “That’s worrying,” Nick said. “Almost like they know he’s dead and they’re covering their tracks. They don’t want us following up on him.”

  “More likely they suspect and they’re taking precautions. I’d do the same thing in these circumstances. Whoever this mysterious ‘they’ are anyway.”

  Nick laughed. It wasn’t an amused sound. “You answer that question, you solve a lot of the riddle. Anything else, Will?”

  Okocha shook his head. “Our examinations into the triplets you and Wilsin shot dead didn’t show anything too unusual. They were genetically identical but no clue as to who the original was. Common consensus of our scientists is that they’re an amalgam, formed out the DNA of different people. Nothing enough to tie them to one person, three or four at most.” He clucked his tongue in frustration.

  “Shit, they can do that?”

  “You ask me before this whole thing, I’d have said creating actual functional identical clones was a stretch. I’d have said your story about that statue in the drains was a stretch. I think we’re playing with different rules than before. It sucks but what can you do.”

  “Amen to that,” Nick said. “Let’s see, what about the place of work? The university?”

  “They said they hadn’t seen Blut for some time. Described him as a real loose cannon, sounded like they wouldn’t be sorry to hear he wasn’t in the world anymore. A brilliant academic but…” Okocha sighed. “You know there’s a theory when you do work like that. You know when you’re focused on one specific thread in a woollen haystack. It becomes very easy to focus on that thread to the point little else matters. It’s very easy for that to become your whole life. Especially if the person isn’t that stable to start with. I mean I got Blut’s criminal records, drunken disorderly, assault, public disturbance, sexual harassment… Pretty much a stand-up fellow all around really.”

  Feeling his face set in
to a wry smile, Nick started to fidget with his shoes, careful not to let Okocha see the look. He still held guilty thoughts about how things had gone down with Blut. This didn’t assuage them completely, but it wasn’t like he’d thrown a decent human being to sacrifice. Then again, just because said individual was a cretin didn’t mean he deserved to die.

  It was going to be something he had to learn to live with. Very few other deaths he’d been the cause of in the line of duty had given him this much trouble, it being one of the final tests for Unisco agents upon being cleared for field duty. They had to perform a termination for the organisation. It had been a long time but that first kill was one you never quite forgot.

  “Anyone know what he was working on? Any students or staff he was close with?” The tiny figure of Okocha shook his head. “None willing to come forward. It seems that for such a giant of academia, he didn’t cast a very large shadow. Most people who want to talk about him disparage him. Only one lead, Professor Alvaro Stern said Doctor Blut told him he’d been approached by a benefactor with interest to proving the great mysteries of life.”

  “Well that sounds suitably mysterious. Shame he didn’t say more. Only mystery of life he found is whether he led a good one or not,” Nick said. “Anything on the benefactor?”

  Again, Okocha shook his head, a sight he was getting depressingly familiar with. “We’re powering back through university security footage just on the off chance, but it happened well over five years ago and it’s unlikely.”

  “Over five years ago?” Nick raised an eyebrow.

  “Well closer to seven but…” Okocha said before Nick interrupted him once more, rising to his feet in excitement.

  “Seven years ago, the tournament was awarded to this island. You think that’s a coincidence? He goes to work for a rich benefactor at the same time a small non-descript island is awarded the most prestigious tournament in calling history. The same island where he dies seven years later in very suspicious circumstances.”

  “That’s some hells of a jump, Nick.”

  “Yeah and maybe we’re looking at this from the wrong angle. Maybe we shouldn’t look at Blut. He’s important sure, but he’s only an oblique piece of the puzzle. Let’s start studying the box instead. How about you look at the bid bringing it here, who financed it, whose brainchild it was, all the people who’d gain from it. They should already be under investigation for the death of the natives. Just piggyback off that search.”

  “I don’t need you to tell you how to do my job, Nick. That’d be like me telling you how to kill someone.”

  “Nah,” Nick said. “That’s easy compared to what you do. You give us the platform to do our job and you can’t put a price on that.”

  “You do realise you’ve made a wild connection there, don’t you? Linking Blut to the bid to bring the tournament to Carcaradis Island. It’s tenuous at best,” Okocha said. “I’m sure he didn’t have any influence on the process.”

  “No, but someone wanted it here badly. And they got it. Don’t you want to know why? And maybe Blut, as a piece of the puzzle, only came into play after that. I don’t know. Investigate it anyway. The question needs to be answered. Tell you what, it doesn’t pan out, I’ll buy you a big bloody meal at the restaurant of your choice. How does that sound?”

  “Well how can I refuse?” Okocha smiled. “Yeah sure I’ll consider it. Lunch from Al, lunch from you, I’m doing well here. Hunches sometimes pan out, right? I’d say it’s plausible. If not perhaps probable.”

  “Still there’s one way to find out,” Nick said. “Thanks for keeping me updated, Will. I appreciate.”

  Okocha nodded before breaking into a grin. “Ha, there’s one more thing. Have you seen the media today?”

  “Nah, other than the reports from the tournament. I’m trying to get away from all that,” Nick said. “Why?”

  “Just something in the early pages. Some caller’s been having a go at Sharon.”

  He blinked. “Really? What, over the whole bout with her brother thing?”

  Again, Okocha nodded, the tiny holographic image bobbing its spectacled head. “That’s the one. Darren Maddley said she should be kicked out of the tournament for violating its spirit.” Nick burst out laughing.

  “Really? That’s a new one. I didn’t know the tournament had a spirit. Thought it was anything goes. Maddley, why do I know that name?”

  “Luke,” Okocha said and Nick nodded in sudden realisation.

  “Ah.”

  “He’s not been dead that long and already forgotten. What a legacy we do leave.”

  To that, Nick had nothing else to say. “Ah well he’s entitled to his opinion. It’s probably nothing Sharon hasn’t heard before either. Thanks for letting me know though.”

  This stuff happened sometimes. There was no other way of looking at it. Couldn’t do anything about it. Not with the way things had gone the last few days. He needed a few days of impeccable behaviour for appearances sake.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Pete said, leaning back on the grass, arms behind his head. Scott looked down at him and rolled his eyes. Pete didn’t look sorry. He looked more like a man focused on getting comfortable. “I really am. I know how much she meant to you.”

  “She did,” Scott corrected him. “Once upon a time. Well way back when. I loved her, but it hadn’t been good for a while. You may have noticed.”

  Pete let out a short bark of laughter and sat up, grass clippings stuck to his elbows, he moved to brush them off. “Yeah, I think I did. Jess always was a bit of a bitch in my opinion.”

  “A bit?” Scott asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s surprisingly understated for you.”

  “Okay she was a complete fucking whore who I’m amazed you stuck with as long as you did, and you’re better off without the aggressive moaning bitch in your life. That better?”

  “Much. At least you’re telling it like it is.”

  “Well I got to do that,” Pete laughed. “While we’re on the subject, my last bout? I can’t believe you went and missed it.”

  “Well while we’re blaming stuff on Jess… Pete, I miss her, man. I miss her a lot. I didn’t think I would, but I do. It’s like part of me’s missing now. Like there’s a void I need to fill but I’m not sure how.”

  “Oh, get over it man, there’ll be someone else along soon. What about Mia? She seems pretty into you. I think you could totally hit that if you wanted to.”

  It sounded casual, but immediately it dragged him back to memories of his earlier dream. Involuntarily he shuddered, rubbing his arm uneasily as he shifted on the spot.

  “Yeah, I’m not sure I’m ready. And she’s such a nice girl, she doesn’t deserve to be my rebound. Ah we’ll see what happens. I had a dream about her the other day,” he added the last part quietly while Pete was otherwise occupied.

  “Oh yeah, was it filthy?” Pete didn’t sound too worried, an absentminded grin on his face as he reached to pluck up something that had blown their way, a yellow flyer with black writing.

  Scott thought of the blood. “Little bit I think. But not in that way. It was more disturbing than sexual.”

  “You’re a disturbing man,” Pete said. “You don’t need me to tell you that. Hey, maybe you should take her to this.” He screwed the flyer into a ball and tossed it to Scott, the crumpled ball bouncing off his chest despite his attempts to catch it. He raised an eyebrow at the tutting Pete and shook his head.

  “Not funny, Peter,” he said, unfurling the crumpled bit of paper and straightening it out so he could read the contents out loud. “Carcaradis Island Celebration. Music and dance. Oh, come on Pete, I don’t dance.”

  “Neither do a lot of people but it’s just meant to be a bit of fun. You know how dancing was invented? There was some old duke or king or something about a few hundred years in Canterage. He was walking carrying a beer at a ball or something and tripped, he did like this little jig to try and avoid spilling it and soon everyone was aping it because they wanted hi
s favour. Or they were trying to stop him looking a cock or something, save his embarrassment, I don’t know.”

  Scott looked at him. “I really don’t think that’s true somehow. Where did you hear that?”

  With a shrug of his shoulders, Pete leaned back on the grass. “You don’t know that it isn’t true. I think it might be. It would be brilliant if it was. I saw it on a viewing screen some time ago. I’m full of interesting facts. I’m going. Seems like it might be fun. It’s for all the poor unfortunates who got kicked out of the tournament at the group stage…”

  “Yeah and you might be amongst them unless you pull a win out of your ass,” Scott laughed. “One lucky draw against your sister who threw it away might not save you.”

  “She didn’t though, did she?” Pete said listlessly in the tone of voice of someone who’d heard it more than once and was getting tired of it. “I just beat her down with pure skill. First person to knock down Gamorra in about eight months. Might as well face it, I rule. I really rule.” He raised both hands to the air and did mock crowd cheering in a manner that made Scott want to kick him in the ribs.

  “You’re not through yet, just remember that,” he said instead. “Neither am I. And I’ve got a tougher last bout than you.” He thought of Nick Roper and grimaced, he wasn’t looking forward to it.

  “Ah my future brother-in-law,” Pete said with a look of mock disgust. “Make sure you beat him, yeah?”

  “Might be easier said than done,” Scott replied, leaning forward on the bench to stare down at him. “He’s pretty tough. If it was that easy, I have a feeling…”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t supposed to do something against Sharon either,” Pete offered. “Let’s make it an unbeaten double against the damn lovebirds, shall we?”

  “I thought you liked him anyway,” Scott said. “You seemed pretty friendly with him when I saw the three of you having dinner that time.”

  “We did it once, I’ve barely seen him since. Hells, I’ve barely seen Sharon since. Other than when we fought. Mind you, I remember when she was younger, he’s better than some of the guys she used to show up with.”