The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  “Security would be tighter in the air though,” Okocha said. “How would you get a weapon through the aeroport checks?”

  “We don’t even know what this weapon looks like,” Nick shot back. “It might be one of those that you know when you see but I wouldn’t bet on it. Don’t forget there are very few instances of weapons like these on record. Who’s to say it’d even be picked up by a scanner?” Okocha’s search on a different terminal had come up with more instances a similar weapon had been used on a victim, none of them recently. Most of them were more than five years old. Quite a few were older than ten. There was one which went back fifty years to Nick’s home city of Belderhampton. Interesting but hardly relevant. “You know, compared to a blaster or a knife. And anyway, those scans aren’t fool proof. They’re only considered good until some idiot manages to fool them. And I know it hasn’t happened yet, but there’s always a way. Probably has happened before, we just haven’t heard about it.”

  Okocha shrugged. “You know, there sure are a lot of Reims flights incoming to this place,” he said. “Go figure that one out.”

  “Well they did pay for it…” Nick said, pausing midway through his sentence, his mind catching up with his mouth. “Hey, let’s have a look at the times. Was there one in on the day Sharon was killed?” Her name brought a stab of grief to his gut, he allowed himself a moment to find his composure.

  “Hold on…” Okocha hummed to himself as his fingers danced across the keyboard. “Oh yeah, there was actually. Landed in the morning, took off early afternoon. Two figures arrived and departed, in-kingdom flight so they didn’t have to show any documents. Departure location not registered, destination unknown. Trying to get images of them now…”

  Now visibly interested, Nick looked at Okocha’s screen, footage from the Carcaradis Island aeroport hangar cycling swiftly, until it lit up like a firework display for a good several seconds before returning to normal to show the Reims ship in a hanger on its own. Only a few aeroport staffed lurked, none of them really paying attention to anything other than their job. “Well that can’t be coincidence,” Okocha said. “Just like the hotel.”

  Nick leaned back in his chair, thinking about what it might mean. Okocha was right, of course. There was not a way in the hells this could be coincidence. Two men got off a Reims airship, nobody seemed to have caught an electronic glimpse of them, someone died and not long after, they departed. It screamed guilty. Okocha’s words echoed in his mind about plenty of Reims flights coming in and out. Surely if people were coming to watch from the company, it’d be easier for them to hire rooms and keep them there, rather than trafficking them in and out. Unless it was a rotation of people. Suddenly, he found himself thinking about all the other strange occurrences on the island since the tournament had started.

  “Let’s have a look at all the dates that Reims aircraft landed and took off,” he said. “See what we can find.” This had started by being about Sharon. Somehow now, he had the feeling it was going to turn into so much more, something that simultaneously terrified and excited him. Maybe, just maybe they’d stumbled on something. Maybe they’d caught a break. And if it did crack the whole mystery wide open, then he hoped wherever Sharon was, she’d consider it something they wouldn’t have done without her death. It might console her. It wouldn’t him though. The price would always be too steep from a personal point of view.

  It was still a few long moments before Okocha returned with the relevant information, putting it up on the screen in front of them in double quick time. “Okay, so here are the dates,” Okocha said. “Let’s have a look through them, see if we can attach anything meaningful to when they were.” He ran a finger across his screen. “Ouch! I remember that all too well. That was when the hospital was attacked. Came in with… Fifteen?! Bloody hell! An in-kingdom flight left with one man shortly before the siege was broken by Agent Derenko and Wilsin’s teams.”

  “Two occurrences don’t make a pattern,” Nick said. “What else we got?” He ran his eyes down the list, drummed the desk with his fingers. He was starting to tire, his body ached with weariness and his hand throbbed from unhealed cuts. “Just let me see… Oh crap!”

  He pointed to a date, grimaced and as Okocha saw it, he joined in. “Oh dear.”

  “Yeah. Starting to think this is a worrying pattern,” Nick said. He jabbed it with a finger, bringing the details up in front of him. “Arrived on the morning, one arriving passenger… The boss herself. Claudia fucking Coppinger. Ship left several hours later, minus Ms Coppinger. Where the hells did she go?”

  “Maybe she left by other means,” Okocha said. “Let me see…” He tapped at the screen and several long moments later, a video of Claudia Coppinger appeared, showing her stepping off the ship, the footage temporarily replacing the flight details from Reims marked arrivals and departures. Nick studied it, blinked several times and swore loudly as realisation dawned. It was like a light had been flicked on and he cursed himself for not realising sooner.

  “Son of a bitch, that’s her!”

  “Who?!”

  “The woman who attacked Maddley the first time. The one who had an offer for him. I’m almost certain. The one who injured Wade.” He was almost jumping up and down on the spot.

  “Seriously, you’re realising this now?” Okocha said. “How have you not seen a picture of her before now? We passed them around not long back.” He tailed off. “Her face was covered. So how do you…?”

  “It’s the way she holds herself,” he said. “You know how to tell the difference between a rich man and a poor man? A poor man lives on the streets. A rich man walks the streets like he owns them. And with women it’s even worse.” He pointed at the screen. “See that way she holds her shoulders back and stares at the world like it’s her own personal playground. Same body language. Don’t forget I saw a long-distance glimpse as well. I knew I’d seen her before somewhere!” He shook his head. “Plus, she’s wearing the same bloody clothes!” He pointed to the scarf around her neck, the same one he’d seen covering her face. “Fuck sake!”

  He strode back and forth, pacing frantically all while still squinting his eyes at the video. “Will, it’s her. I’m telling you. They make us study body language at the academy. Because sometimes you can’t see faces. I’m certain it’s her. But why? She wanted to make Maddley an offer. Why Maddley?” He’d wondered this before. Why Darren Maddley out of all the callers on the island?

  Except… Maddley had said no. It had backfired on him. That was the only reason they knew about it. Because he’d said no, she’d tried to kill him, and it had caused a disturbance. That had brought him and Wade to the scene. If he hadn’t said no, she wouldn’t have tried to kill him, nobody would have been any the wiser.

  “Says she attended Maddley’s bout versus Sharon,” Okocha said. “Hold on…” He dragged up Maddley’s statement about the whole thing, they both quickly read through and looked at each other. If it had answers, they weren’t going to be immediately clear. Nick had always heard that a tired mind was a focused mind and right now he was focused solely on the problem, his grief momentarily forgotten, even a little excitement within him, the thought that answers were just out of reach. He read the statement again, not sure what he was looking for. “Let’s see…” He started to read aloud in hopes of jogging his mind a little more. “Condolences. Offers. New world. Rage against the current one…”

  “Irony,” Okocha said. “Given she’s one of the wealthiest in this one.”

  “Think she might want even more in the new one,” Nick said. “Why Maddley?”

  “He has that tragic family history,” Okocha said. “There is that.”

  “Doubt it but maybe. He did have that run in with Sharon extending, but they made it up. I was there. It was touching.” Remembering that was more painful than he wanted to admit.

  “Yeah but Claudia Coppinger wouldn’t have known they made up. She at least implied it once or twice…”

  “Maddley went into m
eltdown too,” Nick said. “Remember after the bout?”

  “Oh yeah, classic. There’s been a few of them here this time huh?”

  Nick laughed along, nodding in agreement until suddenly he wasn’t, the bobbing of his head stopping as another thought struck him. “Harvey Rocastle was working for Reims, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah? What he claimed to Mia Arnholt.”

  “Looking for them to sponsor talent on the spirit calling stage.”

  “Yeah?” Okocha was starting to sound bored, like he’d lost interest in this track of the conversation. Either that or he couldn’t work out where Nick was going with it. “What of it?”

  “I always thought that sounded a flimsy excuse. I suspected, given what came afterwards, he was hunting Mia Arnholt. Her brother was here; she might show up to support him. What he tried with her might have been an opportunist attack. Suspected but didn’t pay much creed to, anyway,” Nick added. “What if, just humour me here. What if Rocastle was running the same deal to spirit callers as Coppinger offered Maddley?”

  “I think that’s a pretty big assumption,” Okocha said. “And do you have proof?”

  Nick shook his head. “Not right this moment. But it can be corroborated easily enough, I imagine. Consider she wanted to kill Maddley to stop him from talking. If someone did agree, she probably wouldn’t want them to be in touch with the people they know on a frequent basis. It might lead to awkward questions.” He pointed at the list again. “And they had to get off the island somehow. If you examine the passenger manifestos, I imagine…”

  “Holy crap,” Okocha said. “That’s impressive.” He paused for a moment, considering things in silence. “It also explains why they might have wanted Rocastle back. I wouldn’t want him telling us all this if he was working for me. It explains why he couldn’t pitch to Maddley either. He was on the run.”

  “Hello, is that Madame Ulikku?” Okocha asked into the caller. Between them, they’d gotten a decent list together of all the callers they’d either confirmed to have left on a Reims ship or who had taken some sort of swipe at the establishment, a competitor or the system following a negative result. There’d been a few over the tournament so far, though none recently. Privately Nick blamed the media, forcing the loser in front of the cameras when blood was still burning hot. Just because a lot of people took part in spirit calling didn’t mean they had the temperament for it. Nick was running down video footage, Okocha had made the call to the family of the most prominent name on the list.

  “Good, good. Yeah, this is Agent Okocha with the United International Spiritual Control Organisation, I just need to ask you a few quick questions… Yeah, it is a Vazaran name. Yeah, I do come from there. Nice place, I know. Madame Ulikku, it’s about your…” Nick glanced sideways at this bit. He wondered how Okocha was going to deal with it tastefully. Reda Ulikku, that crazed Varykian had had that androgyny thing going on and although his bio officially listed him as male, it was hard to tell what sort of reaction it would get. Word of mouth told you all sorts of things.

  “It’s about Reda Ulikku, a relative of yours I believe. The name came up in the context of one of our investigations and I just wondered if you’d heard from him recently?” Nick nodded his approval and settled back to watch his reactions. “No, no, he’s not in any trouble but we’re just taking precautions. Yeah, I’m sure he’s a lovely boy. Okay. Oh, that sounds nice. Yep. Yep. I see. Alright. Nice. Okay.”

  As he disconnected the call, Okocha let out a big sigh of frustration. “Bloody typical woman. Talk all day when it’s not her footing the bill. Anyway, she heard from him about three weeks ago after he was knocked out, he said he’d gotten an offer from some big company and he was going to be out of touch thinking about it.”

  “Well that sounds promising,” Nick said. “A few more?” He said it lightly, but he knew they had to. If they established a pattern, a series of connections, then they could take it to Arnholt. And then things would get interesting.

  “We have a comprehensive list of all these individuals who have gone off the grid following contact with Reims,” Nick said, looking his boss in the eye. “This isn’t including Darren Maddley, but we’ve got Reda Ulikku, Weronika Saarth, Sophie Black, Paul Foster, Emma Johnson, Stewart Platt, Buck Brady… None of them are available. Most of them were good enough to make it here but they were roundly spanked when they did. They must have had a tempting offer.”

  “We have passenger records from Reims issued ships,” Okocha said. “All of them left on them, all bar Ulikku and Saarth, in the company of Harvey Rocastle. All of them displayed a sense of agitation in the media a sense of dissatisfaction. Saarth complained her opponent beat her with a spirit he hadn’t even claimed and was clamouring for the rules to be changed. Ulikku claimed Arventino threw her bout against her brother. Sophie Black said the ICCC had given her a tough pot because her father had annoyed Ritellia in the past…”

  “Doesn’t bode well for any kids Kate Kinsella might have,” Arnholt said thoughtfully, before looking back across the files. “Anyway, I can’t…”

  “Reims ships were also on the island at the same time as the two major terrorist incidents, as well as one on the day Sharon was murdered,” Nick continued. “And there’s the little matter of Claudia Coppinger being the crazy bitch who tried to murder Maddley and Wade.”

  “You’re absolutely sure about this?” Arnholt said. “Because if you’re wrong…” He let it hang for several moments.

  “It’s her,” Nick said. “Can’t fake body language easily. It’s something you need to work at and she wasn’t even trying. Plus, what chance of two people wandering around in the same clothes. A dozen little things adding up to one picture.”

  “Huh,” Arnholt mused. “So, with all this in mind, what do we intend to do about it? I can have an arrest warrant issued but most of this is circumstantial at best and I’m not sure whether it would hold up. We don’t know her motives, other than some vagueness involving a mythical island and delusions of grandeur, neither of which are a crime. We’ll have tipped our hand for nothing.”

  “It’s a tricky one,” Okocha said. “We need a plan.”

  “Sir,” Nick said. “I didn’t want to spread this wide. Just in case. I think the fewer people who know about this the better. I trust Okocha. He was the only one who could help me here. If he goes bad, we’re all screwed.” He shot a sideways glance at him. “No offence.”

  “None taken.”

  “And I believe in you to do the right thing,” Nick said. “If I can’t put you above suspicion…”

  “I appreciate your loyalty, Agent Roper,” Arnholt said. “Still, I agree with you. The less people that know about this the better. Things can’t be accidentally leaked that way. I asked what we should do, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’ll flush her out.”

  “I’ll do it,” Nick said. “I’ll find some way of getting my displeasure at the current system across, do it in front of the media and see what happens. Based on current form, I should get an offer. It might get me through the door, I could get something we need to blow this whole thing open.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Arnholt asked.

  “Honestly?” Nick replied. “No idea.” He meant it too. “But I’ll think of something. It’s got to be natural and spontaneous. It can’t look staged or they might suspect something. If we’re right.” They’d trained him in improvisation as well. Time to put it to good use.

  “A big if,” Okocha said. “I think we might be on track, but I also think that we might be reading too much into stuff here we probably shouldn’t.”

  “Yes, it’s going to be one or the other,” Arnholt said. “Every gamble can be split down into that fifty-fifty chance. Keep all the odds you want, always remember it’ll either happen or it won’t. We’ve suffered too much here to brush it all off as coincidence. Agent Roper, I am giving you an order to do what you can to crack this whole thing open. Do whatever you need to.”

 
He paused, his expression softened, and he leaned forward in his seat. He almost looked father-like in his demeanour. “And one more thing, Agent Roper… Nick. I’m truly sorry for your loss. My condolences.”

  Nick bowed his head, grateful for the words. “Thank you, sir.”

  The twenty-ninth day of Summerpeak.

  Nick genuinely hadn’t known what he would do at the time. He’d mulled it over for at least a day after, had been the first thing he’d thought about on waking and the last conscious thought he’d held before trying to enter that troubled state. And it still hadn’t come until the day of Sharon’s funeral and the inspiration had hit him almost as hard as he’d hit Ritellia.

  Pulling a punch wasn’t an easy thing, not while making it look genuine. There was a way to hit someone without breaking a hand, elbows and forearms were better. The human hand contained some of the softest bones in the body, the fingers were quite delicate in comparison to the thick bone making up a human skull. But a simple spirit caller wouldn’t have known that and so he’d thrown a punch, trying to make it look as ungainly as possible. He’d seen the look on Arnholt’s face, he’d winked at him as they’d taken him away. It had been a gamble.

  And when Jake Costa had come for him, he’d known it had paid off.

  Chapter Ten. The Semi Finals.

  “I always find the semi-finals to be the last chance for shocks. Once it’s out the way, you’ve got a fifty-fifty chance between two callers who deserve to be there. You’ve got half a chance of calling the winner. Out here in the semis though, anything can happen. It’s all about who deals with the occasion the best.”

  Choksy Mulhern speaking from the pundit couch before the first semi-final bout between Theobald Jameson and Katherine Sommer.

  The thirtieth day of Summerpeak.