The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  “Want to talk about it?” he asked. “You seem troubled.”

  “It’s classified,” Wilsin said automatically. “It’s that sort of troubling.”

  Nick nodded. “An internal issue?” He was still on leave, but he knew enough of what was going on to be interested. Okocha had sent him a mission report of the whole hospital-under-siege operation on the sly, and he’d read through. It made for troubling reading, might explain his friend’s mood. Especially since Wilsin had been involved in putting it down.

  “A confusing one. Look, maybe I’ll talk later. I don’t know how much you know. It’s a whole mess.”

  He shut up as Lucy Tait wandered over, a slender blond caller in her mid-twenties clad in a red dress. Instead he turned his attention to her and smiled.

  “Ms Tait. Or might I call you Lucy.”

  She shrugged. “Most people do, Mister Wilsin. Mister Roper.”

  “You ready for your bout?” Nick asked. He didn’t feel much like any sort of small talk beyond polite necessity.

  Lucy nodded. “I think I can beat her. I’m going all the way.”

  “Well good luck with that,” Wilsin said. “Long as you don’t come against me, I won’t have to disillusion you of that notion.” He grinned at her. “But even if I do, it’s nothing personal. Only business.”

  “That’s funny. You two are facing each other and yet you’re still being pally. How come? Shouldn’t you be like trying to secretly stab the other in the back.”

  “I wouldn’t stab him in the back,” Nick said absentmindedly. “He’d get it across the throat.” He winked first at Tait, then to Wilsin he made a throat-slitting gesture. Tait looked a little taken aback, he hid the smirk. “Joking, of course.”

  “It’s all fun until someone loses an eye,” Wilsin said. “Or their skin. Look, it’s serious but we’re not going to worry about it until the day. Then it’s every man for himself. Until then, I’m just going to keep an eye on my food and drink in case he slips something in it.”

  “And I’m just going to hang around until he gives me more ideas like that,” Nick said, glancing around the room at the other competitors. Kitti Sommer was chatting to Nwando Eliki and Yvette Martial, Scott Taylor and Harry Devine exchanging words with Kayleigh Chambers, Rei Renderson and Reginald Tendolini. Only Theobald Jameson stood alone, back to the wall at the rear of the room, a little moody. “It’s quite remarkable really, isn’t it? First there were two hundred and now there’s twelve. It’s brutal when you think about it.”

  “Feeling philosophical?”

  “No, I’d say lucky,” he replied. “Very lucky. We all are to be here. A little more luck and some will go further.”

  “Do you believe in luck?” Lucy Tait asked. She sounded surprised. “Seems like you wouldn’t. I didn’t think you’d hold so much on it.”

  “You remember Cryan Brough?” Nick asked her. “He was a spirit caller about twenty years ago, a good one. He once came out with this famous quote about luck.”

  “He’d rather be extraordinarily lucky than exceptionally skilled,” Wilsin said. “And to be fair to him, he did have a pretty good turn of fortune sometimes when he needed it. But what nobody remembers about him is that he was pretty good to start with. And a lot of the time, he made his own luck.”

  “That’s what I believe in,” Nick said. “Sometimes stuff falls for you. But you got to be able to make sure it doesn’t fall on you. Luck is a pretty cruel mistress; it can favour your opponent just as much as you. I wouldn’t go into a bout with it as your sole strategy. That’s just moronic. But sometimes it works as a tipping point.”

  Across the room, Ritellia must have said something supposedly funny for most of his entourage broke out into laughter. Nick and Wilsin looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

  “Wish I could make people laugh like that,” Wilsin said dryly. Some of the sounds really did give the impression of being forced. Nobody in their right mind could buy it as sincere but apparently Ritellia did. The mirth lingered for several seconds until Vazaran Premier Leonard Nwakili strode in, on his own unlike the array of cronies Ritellia had surrounded himself with. His bodyguard, a tall Vazaran woman in an expensively tailored suit the same colour as her skin, followed behind. He moved like a man without a care in the world. It was the first time that Nick had seen him up close and he was even more impressive in the flesh. He was widely regarded as one of the best callers ever produced by Vazara, a fighter and a gentleman and a rampant womaniser in his youth although that had soon calmed down after he’d married, settling for nothing less than one of the most desirable women ever to emerge from the kingdom.

  “Morning all,” Nwakili said, grinning his opalescent grin to the entire room. It was a smile anyone who’d been on the Vazaran mainland in the last ten years would have seen at least once. The Nwakili grin. That ‘everything’s going to go fine’ look that was so disarming and threatening simultaneously. “Nice to be back here. Everyone having a good time? I’m sure you are.” Ritellia’s entourage broke aside to reveal him stood in the middle of them all.

  Just for a moment, neither of them reacted and Nick wasn’t surprised. Nwakili was the most important man in Vazara but that didn’t matter to someone with Ritellia’s ego. He doubted the president of the ICCC would go to him, not without some sort of concession to his authority. He was pretty sure it was in the job description for being president, come lead us and think the sun shines out of your own arse, make yourself out to be the most important man in the five kingdoms when most wouldn’t trust you to run a corner shop…

  “Mr President,” Nwakili said. “A pleasure to see you again.” It was embarrassing, the height difference between the two of them, Nwakili towered over the much shorter Ritellia. He didn’t move. Nick wondered which of them would give first. A question answered when the doors opened again, and two men entered, one carrying a picture box and the other wearing a suit with an elaborate purple stole. In the presence of the picture box, the part of Ritellia that was a slimy little reptile intent on his own survival came into play and he strode to Nwakili and shook his hand vigorously.

  “Premier,” he said graciously. Of course, his type of grace sounded extraordinarily like condescension. Nick saw Nwakili’s grip tighten around Ritellia’s hand and he hid a smirk at the wince. “Indeed, it is. Welcome to the ceremony, we’re happy to have you.”

  Nwakili said nothing, just smiled in a fashion resembling a hungry panther. Ritellia backed away, Nick saw the discomfort in his eyes. “And to the president’s men and women.” Nwakili nodded at the entourage, moving around shaking hands. “Very nice to see you all as well. My thanks on putting on a superb tournament so far. Everyone does their part.”

  That was the difference between them, Nick supposed as he watched them. Ritellia gave the impression he was playing at being politician. Nwakili was a politician. Finally, the premier moved over to the two new arrivals and embraced them both.

  “A thousand welcomes,” he said. “Ladies and gentlemen, Grayson Fox, photographer, documenter and historian.” Fox was a dapper man with cropped close silvering hair and incongruously, an earring. The fingers clutching the picture box were delicate-looking, but he moved with an assured grace. His clothes were casual but not cheap-looking. Far from it. “And, last but by no means the least important man here, Raul de Blanco, the ICCC master of ceremonies…”

  “Reckon that means he’s corrupt or incompetent then?” Nick muttered out the corner of his mouth into Wilsin’s ear. “Or both.” de Blanco looked very much of the Ronald Ritellia school of politics. Move your mouth to the trough and shove everyone else out the way as quickly as possible. The only hair he had on his head grew in unkempt tufts around his ears, his eyes sunken in a face almost eighty percent jowl. Perhaps one of the strangest looking human beings Nick had ever seen.

  “I think both,” Wilsin agreed. “Something about him screams soul sucker.”

  “Soul sucker?”

  “You know? He’l
l draw your soul out through your body and then bill you for the act. Services rendered and all that stuff. Probably eats babies too.”

  “Dave, nobody eats babies.”

  “What about that Chicaran Baby Eater?”

  “Nope. That’s a Premesoiran myth incorporated by immigrants perpetuating bad things will happen to those who try oppressing them.” Nick’s voice remained deadpan.

  It felt like the whole thing was descending into farce as Fox tried to line them up for the photograph. Of course, Ritellia insisted on sitting slap-bang in the middle of the seating arrangement, one hand on the legs of Katherine Sommer and Yvette Martial sat to either side of him. Lucy Tait and Rei Renderson on the left and right of Sommer and Martial respectively. Nwakili stood behind Ritellia, looming high above him. A couple of times, Nick saw the Premier’s fingers flexing as if with desire to strangle the man in front of him. Kayleigh Chambers and Harry Devine stood at the ends, beyond Tait and Renderson, with Tendolini and Eliki inside the two of them, Nick and Wilsin next to them, only removed from Ritellia by the presence of Theobald Jameson and Scott Taylor. Fourteen people crammed into a small space, fourteen people who would probably never be so close together again.

  “Lovely,” Fox said. “Big smiles, guys and gals and… Boom!” The snap of the picture box echoed, followed by the flash and Nick did his best to keep the smile plastered across his face. He couldn’t be doing with this. Of course, Fox wasn’t done. They all had to hold their smiles for another few minutes as he took several more shots of them. “Just fantastic, people. Okay, you’re done. And relax.”

  Nick felt something in the small of his back, something nudging him. He kept his face straight, reached around and felt a slip of rough paper being jabbed there. He took it, didn’t react at all as he slipped it to his front and unfolded it. Fox continued to speak, Ritellia got to his feet and sounded like he was about to break into speech. He didn’t hear any of it, just glanced down at the message. It just consisted of five words in elaborate scripture.

  Wait Behind. Both of You.

  That sent alarm bells ringing, he glanced around. There weren’t too many who could have passed it, either Taylor or Tendolini. Or Nwakili. None of them seemed the type to set a trap. Still he’d play their game. On his own rules, of course.

  It didn’t take long for dispersal at the conclusion, Theobald Jameson straight out the door after a quick word with Premier Nwakili, he blanked Ritellia completely. That made Nick smirk, despite his earlier antipathy with the Jameson kid, he’d proved to be a talented fighter. He wasn’t entirely sure a rematch would go in his favour. Either that, or he needed to find out what Anne Sullivan was telling him. The look on Ritellia’s face as Jameson strode past him without a word was priceless.

  The distraction was enough to tell Wilsin to wait with him. They were needed. Some were more diplomatic with their exits. Sommer and Tait both had hugs for the ICCC president, Kayleigh Chambers kissed him although all three had looked a lot more enthused when offering the same gesture to Leonard Nwakili. Taylor and Tendolini and Devine left together, all thanking both President and Premier. Nwakili and Eliki had a moment together, exchanging words in their native Vazaran tongue, Nwakili all but putting an arm around his shoulder. Nick didn’t speak it, he saw Wilsin cocking his ear sideways as if listening.

  Finally, it was just him and Wilsin, Ritellia, Nwakili, Nwakili’s bodyguard, Fox and de Blanco in the room, the attention turning to them. “Good luck, the pair of you,” Ritellia said, offering them both handshakes before he strode out with de Blanco in tow. Fox bowed briefly, inclining his head before shaking Nwakili’s hand and exchanging the gesture to both Nick and Wilsin as well.

  “Same, guys. If either of you win, look me up. I’ll do you a great commemorative picture. Maybe release some sort of merchandise. It’s all about cashing in while you can. Just keep it in mind.” He looked at Nick even more pointedly. “If you need a wedding photographer too…”

  “That is Mr Fox for you,” Nwakili said. “His reputation precedes him even further than mine, it would seem. A man dedicated to his craft…”

  “You’re making me blush, your premiership,” Fox said, a red tinge coming to his cheeks almost on cue.

  “One who can sniff out a credit in a sandstorm,” Nwakili said. “I can think of worse people out there. This man photographed me for my inauguration. He’s worked countless times for me.”

  “You just pay so well,” Fox grinned. “Anyway, I’m going to be off. Pleasant days to the three of you.”

  As he left, Nwakili exhaled sharply and turned to them both. “I think we’re alone now, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Premier,” Nick said. “With the greatest of respect, what do you want? I’m not sure what either of us can do for you, your grace.” He inclined his head respectfully. Maybe he could have worded that better.

  “It’s amazing, you know,” Nwakili said, looking at him and Wilsin. “I’ve been out of Unisco nearly two decades and they still operate the same procedure… Hells, they even still teach you to stand the same way. Like a pair of doormen sizing up a situation. Made you both as I walked in. Only the old academy at Torlis taught people that.”

  “Good memories,” Wilsin said dryly, no doubt thinking of the time that he’d spent in Unisco training, which if Nick’s memory of the experience was anything to go by, was probably only matched in pleasantness by juggling scorpions. “Really good memories.”

  “Take solace. It was probably worse back in my day,” Nwakili said. “I need you to pass on a message to Director Arnholt for me.”

  “Best talk to him then,” Nick said, jabbing his thumb at Wilsin. “I’m currently on leave.”

  “You can both pass it on,” Nwakili said in his imperious tone, a voice that left no interpretation for argument. “It might be good for you to hear this.”

  “Premier, why do you need us to pass this on?” Wilsin asked. “Can’t you contact him yourself?”

  Nwakili shook his head. “This information is sensitive. I do not wish for it to be overheard by unfriendly parties. You know my palace is bugged? I know it is, some have been planted by my allies as well as my enemies. You know perhaps who my greatest enemy in Vazara is at this moment in time?”

  “Who’s that guy who wants to displace you?” Wilsin asked. Nwakili’s expression didn’t change. “Come on, there’s always someone who wants to knock the top man off his perch.”

  “Mazoud?” Nick asked. “By any chance.”

  Nwakili exhaled. “You’re right. It is Philippe Mazoud. There’s something going on there. My spies have been unable to ascertain exactly what, but I think it can’t be anything good. Mazoud was a good man once, but some of his decisions lately have become worrying. He and I were in Unisco once, we mustered out at the same time. I went into politics, I wanted to make my kingdom a better place. Mazoud on the other hand, he made different choices. He used what he knew to muscle his way to the top of the Suns. To be fair to him, he is better than previous leaders, not that that says much. I worked with him. I saw no choice. For all their flaws, the Suns do have their uses. I reached an agreement with him. The Suns were too powerful then to contain. But I spoke. I made it clear I would risk everything to topple him. I think I compared him to cancer. It was an impassioned speech.”

  He grinned lightly. “The oratory has always come easily to me. I told him that he could continue to do what he needed to. But if he stepped out of line, I’d squash him like a bug. The Suns did not always do their part for keeping the peace. Now they do. Things are better. But lately, Mazoud seems troubled. Conflicted. There was an incident in which he directed an attack on Unisco Wolf Squadron…”

  “That was the Suns?!” Wilsin exclaimed. “I heard about that. Didn’t know it was them.”

  “My home and office are not the only ones bugged. I saw Arnholt’s conversation with Mazoud myself. It was not pleasant viewing.”

  “I can imagine,” Nick said. “What is it that you want us to pass on t
o the director?”

  Nwakili smiled. Before, it had been light. Now it sucked all emotion from the room, a serious expression and he tightened his lips before speaking. “I wish to turn over all my files and footage I have of Mazoud’s contacts and conversations over the last several months. That was when he started to act weird. You understand I can’t openly declare war on him. The Suns are a lot more powerful and unfortunately, better organised than anything I can put together quickly. But that doesn’t mean I can’t act as a concerned citizen. If he is up to something a lot more untoward than usual, then who better than Unisco investigate the matter. If I know Terrence, and I don’t believe he has changed, then he’ll want an excuse to investigate the man. He wanted to know who paid for the assault on Wolf Squadron. Well this might be his chance to find out.”

  He held out a memory pack and Wilsin took it. “Thank you, Premier.”

  “Premier Nwakili,” Nick said. “This might answer a lot of questions.” And if we do get something on Mazoud, you get a Unisco hit team to take him out. Saves you a lot of trouble and effort. He didn’t bother to hide his smile. Every time he found out more about how the political world worked, he found he wished he hadn’t. “We’ll put it to good use. We’ll head straight over and see he gets his hands on it.”

  “Excellent. Well, I have places to be. Good luck in your bout, the pair of you. Although there can only be one winner, never forget what is important.” He shook their hands and then swept out, his bodyguard behind him.