The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  She decided she didn’t want to look past the fleeting glance she’d gotten. Still, there was no point revealing he’d unnerved her. More than that, there was something familiar about him she couldn’t place, a face without a name. She’d seen him before somewhere. The goons were still a mystery she couldn’t figure out, again not six single figures but rather an overlapping pool lacking any sort of individuality.

  “Welcome, welcome,” she said, rising to her feet. She’d cast her shoes aside long since and winced as she felt the circulation returning to her legs. “If I’d known you were coming here, I’d have tidied up a little. Maybe baked a cake.”

  He didn’t reply but shot her a mean little glance, his plump pale lips folding at the corners. “You’re quiet,” she said, folding her arms. “Not here to talk? You’re going to hurt my feelings.”

  Still he said nothing.

  “Silent treatment? Really?” She almost scoffed out the words. “I can do that with the best of them.” And yet, I’m still talking now. There’s irony for you. “If you’re not going to talk, I’m not going to pay you any attention.”

  She dropped into a sitting position and went back to meditation. At least she didn’t have to dwell on this fucking fool for long. Anger at him was good. It’d keep her strong, a razorblade of emotions to balance on. The right amount would keep her strong. Too much or too little would be disastrous. Maybe she should use the Kjarn to slam him face-first into the bars of her cage, laugh as she heard his bones break.

  Before she could go under, she heard the tap-tap-tap of metal on metal and opened her eyes in irritation. He’d leaned forward onto the bars of her cage, something tapping against them. She knew what it was without looking, it’d be a poor day when she failed to recognise her own weapon.

  “Interesting,” he said. “Very interesting weapon that you have here. How does it work?”

  It was a taunt, she knew. If she reacted now, it could be fatal. What chances she could snatch it from him, cut her way free and block the first flurry of shots that came her way without being hurt? It wasn’t impossible. In theory, she could do it. Of course, putting theory into practice was something entirely different.

  “Same as any weapon,” she said breezily. “In the right hands, it is lethal. In the wrong ones, it’ll take your hand off.”

  He probably already knew the answer. If she’d thought it’d work, she’d tell him exactly how to impale himself. Kjarnblades had undergone a radical design change in recent decades her master had once told her. Once they had only been able to be handled by those with a connection to the Kjarn. Now however, that was no longer the case. There were always opportunists in the world. Even so, it wasn’t a common weapon.

  “Nice to see you still have concern for my wellbeing.” His voice was sarcastic, mocking. Still he tapped the metal cylinder against the bars. “I was half expecting you to be rabid and to try and chew my face off.”

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “Wouldn’t get me anywhere, would it?” she asked evenly. “Where am I?”

  “You’re on death row,” he said simply. “As far as you’re concerned, this will be the last room you see. You’re going to spend your last days here and they’ll tick away one by one. You’re going to die in the most horrible way I can think of.” He smiled at her coldly, his eyes glittering with malice. “Something for you to look forward to, I think.”

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Kyra wondered once more if planning and patience were overrated in this situation. Playing placid was one thing but she wouldn’t have another chance like this. She needed to take what was being offered to her.

  “Maybe I’ll eat you.” He bared his teeth at her. “You look good enough to serve up for dinner.” He smacked his lips, wiggled his tongue at her, she studied him in disgust. Loathing filled her being, anger at being put in this situation.

  “And you might choke,” she said. “Hard to eat anything ever again with no teeth… Seriously where have I seen you before?” It was starting to bug her. “You like famous or something?”

  “Famous?!” He looked offended. “Dear little bitch, dear sweet soon-to-be dead harlot, I’m infamous.” He cracked his knuckles together. “I’m an artiste, my darling and the whole world is my canvas.”

  “Always knew there was something dodgy about all of you arty-types,” she said roughly. “Like you’ve huffed too much of your own paint.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’m more about cuttings and carvings to make my message.” His grin was almost charming in a way as he continued to tap. “There’s something so primitive about it. It’s delicious I must say. Nothing like it. I thrive on fear. Are you scared yet?”

  She found herself wondering if inviting the families for a part in her little enterprise had been a mistake. Like now, for instance. Here they were, she sat at the top of the room to leave them with no illusions as to how it was going to be, lest they forget, with Domis stood behind her along with the freshly cleaned and coiffed Wim Carson.

  Carson had a renewed vigour about him these days. He’d spent a lot of time with Sinkins, filling in the gaps in the doctor’s knowledge as well as considerable time alone, the purposes of which were a mystery to her. If he wanted her to know, he would tell her. He hadn’t fulfilled his part of the deal yet, leading her to what she wanted but he had repeatedly assured her he would do so once able, all very apologetically. He’d insisted he wasn’t about to waste her time when it was pointless. At least he didn’t seem to fear her. She was unsure if that pleased her or not.

  Now though, he was not the issue. Rather the man stood in the centre of the room was the focus of attention, having finished his report. John Cyris looked the most pleased about his presence for the man was known to the group as Silas and he was Cyris’ second-hand man. She held Cyria in contempt but Cyris had proved he could be a canny operator when at the head of it. He wasn’t someone you wanted as an enemy. He’d done a lot of good for his own profits and bad for many other people. She could respect that. And Silas had a legendary reputation for a sense of pragmatic ruthlessness rivalling even that of his boss.

  Silas was the one who had been selected to coordinate the attack on the Carcaradis Island hospital. If Cyris looked delighted, the Fratelli family looked furious with the way things had turned out, Giovanni and his older brother Giacomo sat across from the Montella family. Giovanni was balding, his head partly covered in dark fuzz, his most distinguishing feature a scar across one eye she supposed looked menacing. Giacomo was the head of the family, she’d found him to be a dapper gentleman in his middle years with a polished bald head and a sorrowful demeanour which he’d assured her was only temporary after his grandson had been defeated in the Quin-C. She didn’t mistake that claim for anything less than cold blooded ruthlessness.

  Privately she was glad Cyris had not heard of his sorrow at what had transpired in that ridiculous tournament for it wasn’t a secret his only son was still going strong in the competition. Doubtless wouldn’t have hesitated to say so. That his son hated him and hadn’t spoken to him since he was legally old enough to leave home and had foresworn the Cyris name, would likely not have been mentioned.

  Offspring!

  It almost came out as a snarl in her head, she was starting to think they were all ungrateful little bastards better off not being born. Let humanity thin its ranks. Something to consider for the future. Still she didn’t let her mask of impassiveness slip as Silas continued to regale them with his tale, how accurate it was she would soon see when the Unisco operating file found its way to her desk. Her man, Subtractor, was more reliable than anything Silas could tell her.

  “I left via the sewer hatches in the basement,” Silas finished. “The hostages had been secured and although the secondary task was a failure, my assessment is that when organised sufficiently, the groups present here can function efficiently in tandem. I left barely seconds before Unisco arrived on the scene, entering through my exit point. It was my mission to deliver this report
and here I am.”

  She was glad too many questions hadn’t been asked about the secondary task, the death of Wade Wallerington. It had been her primary reason for the attack, despite what she’d told those in front of her. Wallerington could potentially identify her. Despite her precautions, he might have seen her face. Silencing him was something she needed done and they’d failed. If he was killed in a terrorist attack, it would look less suspicious than if by an assassin. They’d accepted that he was to be an opportunity target in a training exercise. Undoubtedly, Silas loved being the sole survivor of the mission, she could see the smug look of glee in his eyes. Thankfully few else could or there might have been trouble. Both the Fratelli’s had already complained about the high number of their people killed in the attack, some of their most loyal figures who, as Giovanni had already pointed out, felt like they’d been strung out to dry. Already she knew this partnership would not survive long term. Someone would leave. Or die. She couldn’t do anything about that. But those that stuck it out long term would find the rewards great.

  “Thank you, Silas,” she said. “You did well.”

  A smattering of applause accompanied him as he sat, louder in some quarters than others. Cyris was particularly rapturous, both Fratelli’s looked ready to kill. She ignored their looks. Maybe she should start to favour the Montella family, the Fratelli brothers’ traditional rivals for supremacy. Let them know where they stood and that their petulance would not be tolerated on any level.

  “And with the announcement that together we can function as a unit, I hope that relaxes any further worries that might be held,” she said. “In-fighting does not do any good. What do individual loyalties matter when all are united under the great banner Coppinger. Gentlemen and lady…”

  That sole lady was Ahana Kirozama, representative of Kenzo Fojila, the infamous Burykian assassins. She’d decided that they should be involved. Nobody better to have on your side on a venture like this than highly trained professional killers. Maybe she should have sent them after Wallerington. Still could if she desired. “We are about to take the future from the masses and put it in our own hands. That is worth whatever cost we might be required to pay; would you not say? We will mourn our dead but know their sacrifice has been one of value. With their death, they will accomplish far more than they ever did in life.”

  Are you scared yet?

  Those words echoed through her mind and something snapped inside her. He thrives on fear? Thrives? Who the fuck does he think he is? I am something so much greater than fear, I am anger and passion unrestrained. I do not fear, I inspire it.

  “Not even in the slightest,” she smiled. “Not of you. I’ve seen things that’d make you piss yourself. A lot. I’ve done things that’d make you weep. I do not fear the likes of you!”

  The temptation was too great as she almost screamed the last word and sprang to her feet at the next series of taps on the bar, the hatred for rushing through her and Kyra didn’t pull in with the Kjarn to call her blade towards her, but rather pushed outwards. All her efforts spent weakening the bars came to fruition, they couldn’t hold against her as she pushed out with telekinetic force sending them exploding in all directions. The fat man suddenly looked worried as two of them clonked him in the face, her blade falling from his grasp. Even before it hit the ground, it was moving towards her hand as those guards that hadn’t been staggered by the flailing bars aimed their weapons.

  She ignited it, her blade sprang to life and she deflected the first two blasts. Unlike their co-workers in that cave, they were aiming to kill, and the blasts were easy to turn aside, back in the direction from whence they’d come. She saw them fall, felt their life forces fade. More came her way, her blade little more than a blur of pink and silver as she intercepted, deflecting them with ease.

  Six might have been hard. Four was tricky, suddenly it was three. And two. She cut the last two down with ease, running them through with no resistance. They winked out of existence and only in death did she feel them individually. A shot rang high over her shoulder, she turned and saw the fat bastard with a weapon in hand, a snub-nosed blaster he’d yanked from somewhere. She grinned at him and took a deliberate step forward. He fired again, this time with more accuracy and she deflected it into the ground.

  “Come on, I’ll give you a free shot!” Kyra smiled. “Come on, you can do it!” He emptied his power pack at her, eleven shots that never even came close to her. She was playing with him, she could see he knew that and the look of worry on his face was delicious. She could sense his fear. “I’d like to kill you. But…”

  She sprang forward, letting the Kjarn move her legs and suddenly she was in front of him, her kjarnblade at his throat. “I don’t think I will.” His eyes widened, and she saw another blaster in his hand suddenly and she didn’t think, just acted. Her blade flash, and she heard him scream like a stuck pig, his weapon clattering to the ground with four cauterised fingers. She drew back her fist and thrust forwards, smashing it square into his breastbone, the power of the Kjarn behind her and she saw him crash backwards into the wall, his body going limb as he landed in an untidy heap. She spared his fingers a quick glance, saw they weren’t getting reattached any time soon.

  “Enjoy the rest of your days, half-hand,” she said before turning to the door. “I’m checking out. Giving you four and a half stars in the book. Hospitality good, food, okay. Ease of escape, fantastic.”

  She didn’t look back.

  Silas was waiting for her as she exited the room, the last to leave bar Domis, a capricious grin on his face as she passed. “Madam Coppinger,” he said with a tidy little bow she saw was more for effect than respect. Still she acknowledged him.

  “Silas,” she said. Or should I call you Simon Lassiter? She decided against it, she didn’t want him knowing that she knew his true name just yet. “What do you want?”

  His grin grew. “I just wanted to inform you that I know.”

  If he was expecting some great reaction from her, he was to be disappointed. Her face remained impassive. “You know? Good for you. What do you know exactly?”

  “What you didn’t want anyone else to,” he smiled. “About the mission.”

  “Congratulations on getting out alive by the way,” she said. “It’s exactly what I’d expect from one of John Cyris’ rats.”

  “I think survivability is a skill,” he said listlessly. “And I was just following my orders. Well some of them anyway. I don’t think Cyris would like it if he knew you were playing him. Just like you’re playing the rest of the people in that room.”

  “Want me to break him in two?” Domis rumbled.

  She shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. You see, Silas, I think you’re obviously an intelligent man. You wouldn’t be making these statements to me unless you had ulterior motives. Now what do you want?”

  “You wanted Wade Wallerington dead,” Silas said, as if he’d not heard her. “You could have picked anyone in the hospital, you didn’t even have to pick a hospital when there’s hotels aplenty on that island, but you picked him. Now I can’t help wondering why. And at the same time, I can’t help but wonder why you wanted so badly to get rid of some Fratelli guys to the point you’d slip them defective weapons.”

  He was good, she had to admit that. The weapons had been defective. They’d been tampered with, shot counters fudged to look like they were loaded. The power packs had read as full when really, they had been mostly depleted. Killing hostages was not the priority. And she had known Unisco would come to kill the hostiles. Their lives would be enough. Maybe those who didn’t have defective weapons would take some agents with them. Still, she didn’t like the idea of needlessly throwing away the lives of hostages to be used as shields. It wasn’t their fault they’d been there. Sure, they might still be harmed. But it was eliminating some of the risk. Why, she couldn’t say. It wasn’t in her character. She didn’t care if they lived or not. But she’d gone with her gut and decided to give them more o
f a chance.

  Besides, he was right. It had been Fratelli’s people given those weapons. They were the ones she didn’t trust, a precaution she wasn’t unhappy to take. Nor would she shed any tears for them. “Those are some serious accusations,” she said. “I hope you’re prepared to back them up with something rather than just making them for the sake of batting your lips.”

  “You know, John Cyris and I are cut from the same cloth,” he said. “Once there were three of us, now there’s just me. Mara was arrested and turned traitor. Jenghis was killed by Unisco. He’s devoted a lot of time to me. He can read me just as I can read him. Maybe. See I know how this will go. He’ll use you and then stick you in the back the first chance he gets.”

  “Really?!” She sounded surprised, though she wasn’t. Whether her lack of bemusement was at the apparent betrayal Cyris wished to inflict upon her or that Silas was actively perpetrating it in her direction, she couldn’t say.

  “He has a habit for it,” Silas said. “He’s a snake. He’ll work you, you won’t even see it coming. Just when you think you’re safe…” He drew a finger across his throat theatrically.

  “She’ll have me,” Domis growled. “And no harm will come to her while I draw breath.”

  Silas regarded Domis with the sort of withering glance one normally reserved for something squelchy. “That’s adorable but what part of not seeing it coming do neither of you understand? Madam Coppinger, I like what you’re doing here. I can see it benefitting us all. If you promise me one thing, I will deal with Cyris. Cyria has floundered for far too long and I say time for a change. And in exchange, you will have my loyalty until the day I cease to draw breath.”

  She considered his words. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Nothing.” Silas grinned at her. “Absolutely nothing. Just let it be and I’ll arrange for Cyris to have an unfortunate accident. I’ll inherit the organisation. His son wants nothing to do with him. Nobody will miss him. I always dreamed of working for someone like you.”