“And the crisscrossing lines?”
“There was some debate among the Council as to who actually won the fifth cycle—”
“Black did,” Ellie said flatly.
“Yes, so Eddie said, but Auldborne walked away from the docks too, and survived Shawnee. Until he showed up at the Black House, the victor was up in the air. Grey’s appearance there was seen as sufficient acquiescence, and Black was named champion. The wagers were released when that sconce was lit. That ticker you see at the bottom of the screen lists winnings, and the lines represent the flow of the winnings around the globe.”
“So it’s true then, it’s all for money,” Ellie said acidly.
Greer sighed and leaned heavily against the wall.
“Even a month ago if I spoke to you of this, you would have been ejected from the Tournament. Now... He gestured at the television and let his hand flop down to his side. “It’s right in front of you. All day. Every day.”
“It’s not like this should come as a huge surprise,” Tom said. “Everyone had an idea about the betting.”
“Yes, an idea. But this is different. This is a real time ticker.”
“So it’s accurate? Or just media speculation.”
“Mostly speculation, but that doesn’t mean it’s not accurate. It’s become a hobby in some circles. Data miners have matched up what they believe to be past Tournament fights with transfers of wealth and property that occurred around the same time. They’re not always right, but they’re close enough, and they’re getting closer.”
“Jesus,” Tom whispered. “Forty million dollars went from Italy to Ireland?”
“That’s four hundred million dollars that went from Italy to Ireland. Most likely the appraisal of an estate that exchanged hands, or a stock swap of some sort, or it could be cold, hard cash. And that’s just one of hundreds of individual wagers. It’s not even the biggest.”
Ellie shook her head. “Those people died for someone else’s money.”
“Not just money. Things were changing even before all of this, before your time. Look.”
Greer nodded at the screen as the ticker scrolled the letters: {NS: Gazpra Contract – Grey to Black}
“That’s a natural gas contract that the English government awarded to Gazpra Energy, the Kremlin’s energy consortium. The data miners are still trying to figure out how to value that one. They won’t come close.”
Another symbol scrolled by: {NS: Okinawa Base Extension – Red to Blue}
“When Blue won in Japan the White House and the Japanese Diet formalized an extension of the US military presence in Okinawa. I was surprised the miners picked up on that one as fast as they did, but there you go.” Greer turned to the three. “‘NS’ stands for matters of foreign policy between nation-states. These battles are shaping the way the world works.”
Ellie wiped her hands on her jeans and winced when she brushed her wound. The five of them were silent. Arthur looked up and paused in his preparations, then he slowly set down the gun. He was priming and waited.
“We had it,” Greer said. “We had the end of bully power, the end of rule by numbers, rule by money, rule by resources. We were on the cusp of creating the ultimate arbitration tool. Your three against our three. But Mazaryk stole it from us and twisted it and now it’s his to do with as he sees fit. He’s formed a kind of strong arm alliance with these teams, a global mafia. He wants to let the world know that if you want to get anything done, you come to him. They are the new world order, unless someone stops them.”
He turned back to Ellie. “He let you live, Ellie. He let all of you live. Don’t underestimate what that means. His thinking, it’s warped. If you posed no threat to him, he would have killed you. He’s playing a game where only the worthy can take the field. He sees value in you. If you want to beat him, you’re going to have to see value in yourself.”
“A line in the sand, huh,” Ellie said softly. Cy shifted where he stood. Tom looked down at his hands.
“He marked me,” Ellie said, running her hand over the ridges of the stitches on her face. “Like I was his property. He marked you too, Cy, right in the neck. And Tom right in the chest. He even marked Ian Finn. We are marked men and women, and nothing is going to change that now.”
“This,” she gestured dismissively at the television, “all the money, the favors, the politics, I don’t know what any of that means or amounts to, and I don’t care. All I know is that there is the potential for true freedom in this game, but it’s not where Mazaryk thinks it is. A man like him cannot be allowed to treat the world like his playground, and he can’t allow others to do it in his wake. I know it looks like we don't have a prayer, but I saw something at that school when you, Tom, you jumped into the fray, and you actually made a good and final goddamn decision for the first time in your life. And when you, Cy, you had that gun at your back and you ran towards us. Towards us, and not away!” She peered into each of them. “We can do this.”
Tom nodded and even managed a pale smile. Ellie lingered upon Cy, her eyes seeking him behind his sunglasses and under his hood. He had already lost more than either Tom or she had. She wanted to let him know that she recognized that.
“Cy?” she asked quietly. After a moment he nodded.
“Then it’s time we marked ourselves.” She unbuttoned her shirt down to her navel and tapped the pale, smooth skin over her heart. “Right here. A different kind of mark, for a different kind of team.”
Arthur smiled and picked up his tools once again. Greer pondered Ellie for a moment more and then stood. “I believe it’s time for me to get the keys to my office back.” He nodded, buttoning his coat. “I think you can take it from here.”
“Don’t go far,” Ellie said. “We’ll need your help. You, and your two men abroad. Mazaryk’s force is four teams strong. We’re just one, but there are three teams still out there with no love for the Black House. I think we need to pay each of them a visit. And I want to know everything about Mazayrk. It will matter, in the end. This started with him, and it’s going to end with him.”
Greer nodded once more, this time with a hint of a smile.
“Ah,” he said, raising one finger. “I nearly forgot.” He reached in the breast pocket of his coat and pulled from it three small pagers that he set carefully upon Arthur’s desk. Each had a pink screen: dark, waiting. “Keep these on you always. No matter where you are or what you’re doing, no matter if you have your allies or not, if these pagers buzz, you must answer.” He paused at the door.
“Welcome to the Tournament, Team Blue.”
Compendium of Characters
Aldobrandi, Lorenzo: Sweeper of Team Gold
Alvarez, Lilia: Striker of Team White
Andizzi, Ignazio: Striker of Team Gold
Auldborne, Alex: Captain of Team Grey
Auldborne, Madeleine: Alex Auldborne’s mother
Bernard: Assistant to Greer Nichols
Bell, Cyrus (Cy): Striker of Team Blue (Second Generation)
Brander, Goran: Striker of Team Black
Crocifissa, Tessa: Captain of Team Gold
Darby, Father Brendan: Team Green Administrator
Elrey, Tom: Sweeper of Team Blue (Second Generation)
Finn, Ian: Striker of Team Green
Fuse, Tenri: Sweeper of Team Red
Haulden, Max: Striker of Team Blue (First Generation)
Hix, Nicole (Nikkie): Sweeper of Team Blue (First Generation)
Hurley, Bailey: Pyper Hurley’s little sister
Hurley, Daniel: Pyper and Bailey Hurley’s father
Hurley, Pyper: Captain of Team Green
Jinbo, Amon: Striker of Team Red
Krueger, Falco: Striker of Team Amber (Unofficial)
Krueger, Felix: Sweeper of Team Amber (Unofficial)
Lockton, Allen (Lock): Tournament Courier
MacQuillan, Kayla: Sweeper of Team Green
Mazaryk, Edward (Eddie): Captain of Team Black
Nichols, Gree
r: Team Blue Administrator
Noel, Dominique: Striker of Team Silver
Noel, Tristan: Sweeper of Team Silver
Noel, Yves: Captain of Team Silver
Northern, John (Johnnie): Captain of Team Blue (First Generation)
Obata, Takuro: Captain of Team Red
Ortiz, Felix: Sweeper of Team White
Radomir, Ales: Sweeper of Team Black
Saslow, Natasha: Tournament Courier
Stoke, Christina: Sweeper of Team Grey
Sturm, Astrid: Captain of Team Amber (Unofficial)
Tate, Draden: Striker of Team Grey
Vega, Diego: Captain of Team White
Walcott, Dr. Baxter: Member of the diode development team
Walcott, Sarah: Dr. Baxter Walcott’s daughter
Willmore, Ellie: Captain of Team Blue (Second Generation)
Youngsmith, Frank: Claims adjuster with Barringer Insurance
Compendium of Characters by Team
Team Black (Russia)
Eddie Mazaryk: Captain
Goran Brander: Striker
Ales Radomir: Sweeper
Team Blue - First Generation (USA)
Johnnie Northern: Captain
Max Haulden: Striker
Nikkie Hix: Sweeper
Team Blue - Second Generation (USA)
Ellie Willmore: Captain
Cyrus Bell: Striker
Tom Elrey: Sweeper
Team Gold (Italy)
Tessa Crocifissa: Captain
Ignazio Andizzi: Striker
Lorenzo Aldobrandi: Sweeper
Team Green (Ireland)
Pyper Hurley: Captain
Ian Finn: Striker
Kayla MacQuillan: Sweeper
Team Grey (England)
Alex Auldborne: Captain
Draden Tate: Striker
Christina Stoke: Sweeper
Team Red (Japan)
Takuro Obata: Captain
Amon Jinbo: Striker
Tenri Fuse: Sweeper
Team Silver (France)
Yves Noel: Captain
Dominique Noel: Striker
Tristan Noel: Sweeper
Team White (Mexico)
Diego Vega: Captain
Lilia Alvarez: Striker
Felix Ortiz: Sweeper
Team Amber - Unofficial (Germany)
Astrid Sturm: Captain
Falco Krueger: Striker
Felix Krueger: Sweeper
BLACK SPRING
THE TOURNAMENT: VOLUME THREE
B. B. GRIFFITH
To Lara.
For her constant support
in every season.
The Wordly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes—or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two—is gone.
—Omar Khayyám
Rubaiyat
(Edward Fitzgerald, trans.)
Prologue
Moscow – 1984
AS THE HOUSE CAME into view, Harry Jessop took a final swig from his drink. He rattled the ice in his glass and eyed the crystal decanter of amber booze in the console of the sedan, then decided against it. He didn’t want to look like he needed it.
He plunked his empty tumbler into one of the car’s many cup holders and took a deep breath as they approached the driveway. The house stood as it had for decades: formal, somber. It was unusually ornate for an official building, but it sat heavily, like an anchor that pinned down the west end of the park arrayed before it. It was known in American diplomatic circles as Mynsk, for its address at 303 Mynsk Street. The Soviets called it a “people’s house”, one of several that the Politburo used as extensions of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Five of these “people’s houses” were spread throughout Moscow, but 303 was the most important. Harry had been inside of it only once before to prepare for this day.
It had been a long month. In fact, it had been a long six years, ever since the Soviets had marched into Afghanistan and the simmering kettle of the Cold War again started to boil. Even now Harry could see a cordon of stiff-necked soldiers ahead, dressed in gunmetal gray overcoats, their rifles glinting in the sunlight as they made their long, slow rounds about the house. He was tired of being afraid for his life in this place. Tired of wondering whether it would be his alarm clock that woke him up, or the cold press of a gun barrel. Tired of a war that almost was, and that may come again. The only thing that encouraged him these days was the knowledge that the man who sat across from him in the back of the sedan was as tired as he was.
“This is a brave thing you do. A good thing. Arriving together will inspire confidence in the other countries,” said his companion.
The man watched Harry with a calm, level gaze. He smiled softly and leaned forward. He was a slight fellow, and he had that paradoxical, striking mismatch of a full head of gray hair. Although his face showed age, it was in the smile lines around his eyes. He breathed steadily, hardly blinking.
“What if Gorbachev isn’t appointed?” Harry ventured, clearing his throat.
“Gorbachev will be appointed.”
“Well what if he isn’t?”
“He will be the next General Secretary of the Communist Party. Reform is coming.”
“How do you know?”
“I am his close confidant. His personal secretary. I know more about what is happening around us than anyone.” The man paused and watched the house as it approached. “Even more than Comrade Gorbachev himself,” he added softly.
Harry eyed the Russian warily. “That’s a bold claim, on both accounts. I’ve been assigned to this committee for ten years now, trying to keep the world from blowing apart. Why is it that I’m only now coming to know you, Mr. Mazaryk?”
“Please, call me Pollix,” he said, turning to the window and smiling again. “Do you have children, Mr. Jessop?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I asked if you’re a family man.”
“... I have a daughter, yes.”
“So do I,” Pollix said. “Two daughters, actually. And one son. It is for them that I do this.”
Two soldiers snapped to attention ahead of them, one on each side of the steps leading up to a large, covered portico where they would be received.
“You and I have served our governments since we were young men,” Pollix continued.
“Since fifty-eight for me,” Harry said, his eyes distant.
Pollix nodded respectfully. “And how many times have our two nations come within a hairsbreadth of destroying each other? Of destroying everything for our children?”
Harry became grave. “More than once. And once was too much.”
“Five times on our end,” Pollix said, his eyes flashing. “Five. I was there for two of them personally. In the room. I saw my comrades’ hands itching for the phones. For the buttons. For the end of the civilized world. People think they know how close we came to destruction. They have no idea.”
The car rolled to a slow stop and parked. Both men waited in heavy silence as the soldiers opened the doors, swinging them outwards and standing at attention as both men exited. Meanwhile, Pollix spoke as if they were still alone.
“That’s why we’re here today, Mr. Jessop. We cannot allow this to continue. I have a responsibility to my children. To one child in particular.” At this Pollix seemed to lose himself and he swallowed down a threatening wave of emotion. “This is my gift to her. We will make it a gift to your child as well. To all those who come after us.”
Harry turned back and saw that two more state cars were making the round towards the portico, their flags fluttering. Another was behind them, just making the turn.
“How many people are you expecting today?” Harry asked, tucking his shirt in and straightening his tie.
“Twenty-five nations have agreed to grant me an audience,” said Pollix. “Once the United States agreed,” he added, turning and smiling briefly at Harry. “And
for that I thank you.”
“Twenty-five? I wasn’t briefed for that.” More cars arrived, glinting black in the sunlight. “I was told this would be a conference, not a hearing for some sort of agreement. I’m not authorized—”
“This is no treaty,” Pollix said. “It is much more than a treaty. It is the future.”
“I don’t understand—”
“All will become clear, Mr. Jessop. In good time.”
Chapter One
Present Day
ELLIE SAW THEM COMING. She gave herself that much, at least. She did see them coming, but then she panicked and it was too late.
All she wanted was some milk, but by the time she got to the parking lot of the supermarket on the Cheyenne Plaza, too many people had recognized her. She kept her eyes on the ground, ignoring the murmurs even as they increased. She tapped the place on her right hip where her gun should be but wasn’t, since all she wanted to do was grab some milk. Tom Elrey did the same and pressed closer to her as a small crowd began to tail them, yelling out their names. He looked back towards Cy, who trailed them and watched the gathering crowd with detached interest, just like everything else these days. Tom shook his head.
“We should probably have our groceries delivered from here on out,” Ellie murmured.
“Come on. I’m tired of waiting for Mr. Stormclouds behind us. We’ve got to get in and out.”
The two of them took off at a jog down the street and towards the supermarket. Their sudden movements roused the crowd more. Ellie winced: the pain from her diode wound of almost three months ago still jarred her when she ran. She slowed up at the entrance, and Tom saw it.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll go get the damn milk. Be back in a flash.”
He jogged inside and down an aisle towards the back, and that was when they came for her. When she was alone.
She’d seen them running behind them, trying to keep up. She thought they were just gawkers like the rest of them, but she was wrong. The three stepped in front of the crowd at the entrance and stopped feet from her. They wore wide-brimmed baseball caps and thick chains of gold. The front man wore a bulky leather jacket, unzipped, and no shirt underneath. The other two wore sleeveless undershirts despite the early spring chill, baggy jeans and work-boots. All three wore tight leather gloves. She saw them eye her red hair, ponytailed but still down near to her shoulders. The front man cocked his head as his eyes traced the ridged scar on her face that ran from just below her eye to her jaw line. He nodded to the other two.
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