“Sofia!” He pulled her back forcefully, feeling guilty. She only wants to play, he thought indignantly, noting the look of outraged terror on the face of the middle-aged woman – who looked just like her wooly, feeble dog. People and their prejudices against Dobermans! Poor Sofia. They were all weak, ineffectual poodles ganging up on his beautiful princess. Why did that woman – and her silly dog – have greater rights over the stretch of road than Sofia?
You should be immortal, Sofia, he thought wistfully.
And here he was, about to enter the second game of the tournament, having extended his life by 24 Life Points He would not permit himself to fall into the trap of over-confidence. Apart from the senator, all the players were strong, and he had been replaced by Cat Trahan. Bruce felt a thrill at the thought of playing against the ex-governor. WildCat Trahan. The woman was in her seventies now, but he could not imagine a more worthy – or fun – opponent.
“We’re going home, Sofia,” he told his joyful companion. “I have to get ready for a big meeting this afternoon.” Sofia was simply happy to run next to him.
*
Storm was normally an early riser. Normally, he would take an early morning run or hit the treadmill. Before a race, it would be a light run, followed by a good breakfast – with enough protein and carbs to give him energy throughout the day.
It was a glorious, clear morning: 8:00 A.M. He had been waking up half an hour later than normal for at least a week now. He was not used to it. He could have gone for a run: the weather was perfect. He could have gone to the gym; it was down the hall.
By tonight everything would be normal. It had to be.
*
What a rose!
In the shadow of the early morning sun, it looked fragile, innocent.
Cat stood before the rose bed, thinking: I am playing against the woman who created this creature. How many years did it take? Was it luck or did she plan it? I have to know, because I am playing for my life against this woman.
And she also thought gazing at the flower: what if she loses?
“I’m looking forward to meeting you, Judge Martha Other,” she said softly, opening the side door to return to her rooms.
14
“Mrs. Catherine Trahan,” Diarmid Tanner announced to the room.
“Governor, what a pleasure.” Bruce was the first to approach the diminutive woman in the purple dress wearing a diamond brooch of an alligator, with tiny sapphire eyes, on her right shoulder.
“My dear Mr. Saber, the pleasure is all mine,” she countered. “You are ever so much more handsome in person,” she smiled in admiration. “You look even younger than your photograph,” she added with a sly, appraising look.
The lawyer threw his head back and laughed. “Thank you, governor, and please call me Bruce.”
“And you must not call me ‘governor.’ It’s much too formal. I’m just Cat.” Her smile was disarming.
“Well, Cat, you are familiar with everyone here I presume…”
“Yes,” she nodded, smiling at Storm, who had laid aside his review of the hand record from the previous game when she entered the room. “I have met Storm of course, as we are both staying here.”
“That’s right,” Storm nodded. “Did you sleep well, Mrs. Trahan? I didn’t see you at breakfast.”
“Thank you, dear, I did. I don’t eat much in the morning. I just made a pot of coffee in my room,” she continued. “How are you feeling today?”
“Fine,” Storm nodded.
Cat looked around at the occupants of the room with undisguised interest.
What an old woman, thought Sinclair Davis. Good. “Hello Mrs. Trahan,” he said warmly. “How is New Orleans these days?”
“We’re surviving, Mr. Sinclair,” she shook her head in a deprecating gesture.
He looks wary. Weary. She thought appraisingly. He will tell me he loves Mardi Gras, she predicted.
“The thing that has interested me most about New Orleans is the history of voodoo,” Sinclair said, with the sense that he was no mere dilettante, but had actually studied the subject in earnest. “I’m no expert of course,” he continued, with a humble wave of the hand.
My mistake. Voodoo. It would be Mardi Gras or voodoo… Cat smiled. “Yes, if we can’t kill people by traditional methods, we’re not afraid to resort to the occult,” she laughed lightly.
“I wonder if there’s anything in it,” Sinclair mused, wearing a contemplative look.
“This is voodoo–” Danny interjected from a table by the window. “Don’t you think?” he asked the room at large. “LiGa’s like voodoo. The cards tell you whether you’ll live or die…”
“As I understand it, that’s more fortune-telling than voodoo,” Father Griffith pointed out pedantically. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Trahan.” He moved towards Cat with a graceful fluidity. “I’m delighted to meet you.”
“Oh Father Griffith, how fascinating…” She took his hand in her old, bony one, feeling that it was incongruously strong and large for a man who moved with such effortless grace.
“What’s fascinating, Madam?” the priest asked with a friendly smile.
“You, Father Griffith,” Cat replied, returning the same engaging smile.
“Because I’m a priest.” It was a statement, not a question.
“That too,” she smiled. “We are a somber lot, aren’t we?” she continued archly.
“Good afternoon, governor,” the judge snapped. “If we’re silent it’s because we know that what we’re about to play is not a game. Perhaps we are more serious because we have been here before,” she concluded severely, looking forbidding in her dark navy blazer and matching skirt, accented with gold. Again, there was that indefinable sense of strength. Not the straight strength of muscle mass, but an inner vibrancy. A seductive strength.
“Of course it’s serious,” Cat said with a placating gesture. “Life is serious, but we still laugh don’t we? Otherwise what a dreary experience it would be.” She laughed lightly. “My dear judge–” she approached enthusiastically. “I’m so delighted to finally meet you.” Cat laid her hand lightly on the judge’s forearm. “Your rose…” she sighed, “Silver Dawn is such a beauty! Such a lovely flower.” She gave a further long, rapt sigh. “You are a genius, my dear judge. Truly, truly!” Cat clasped the judge joyously.
“Oh well, thank you–” the judge began, discomfited by the physicality of the touch. It seemed inappropriate in this place. She looked down at the thin fingers resting on her arm. “What– what an interesting color–” she managed.
Cat removed her hand. “What do you mean, your Honor?” Her blue eyes were turned innocently towards the judge.
“Your nail polish, Mrs. Trahan,” the judge replied in a distant voice. “It is an unusual color.”
“Oh do you think so?” Cat laughed, waving one hand daintily. “Do you know? I’ve decided to call it Thief in the Night.”
“How unusual,” the judge said coldly as she moved away. Cat looked at her retreating back looking sternly taut. Inwardly she smiled and regarded her nails with satisfaction. Yes, she had gotten it right. They were painted a creamy ivory with just the glimmer of a rosy dawn. “But surely–” she continued relentlessly, “you’ve made Silver Dawn commercially available haven’t you?”
The judge wheeled around. “Never!”
“Oh dear, dear…” Cat’s hands flew to her breast. So how did LiGa get your rose, judge? She wondered.
Danny drained his second can of Coke. “Is it game time yet?” he asked, ambling towards the buffet table.
“Fifteen minutes,” Peter replied. “You can take your seats as soon as your player rotations have been distributed.”
“Is it the same as last time?” Storm asked.
“No. Your player numbers have changed,” Peter said. “Mr. Tanner should be bringing them momentarily.”
On cue, Diarmid Tanner limped in cantankerously, wielding a sheaf of documents, which he waved. “Today’s rotations,” he b
arked.
The players were arranged as follows:
“Find your places for the first round,” Tanner said.
The old woman is my partner for the first round, thought Sinclair with dismay, flipping through the folder they had been given, to the sheet which detailed the players’ assignments for each round. She might be a good player, but I wanted to start the game off right with one of the strong players like Bruce Saber.
“Oh Mr. Davis–” Cat approached Sinclair, her partner for round 1, touching him gently on the forearm to get his attention. Sinclair, lost in thought, uttered a startled “What!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Davis.”
“It’s ok,” Sinclair replied, looking into the anxious blue eyes of the old lady. She wants to talk to me, he thought with a sinking feeling. “Yes, Mrs. Trahan?” he continued as politely as he could.
“We’re partners, this first round, I think,” she said brightly.
“Yes,” Sinclair nodded, making an attempt to hide his lack of enthusiasm.
“How delightful. Let’s find our room, shall we?”
“We’re in room 2,” Sinclair told her.
*
Danny and Bruce had taken their seats as East-West at table 2, when Cat and Sinclair walked in.
“Hello, opponents,” Cat waved cheerfully.
“Hello, governor,” Bruce looked up with a grin. “Are you ready to play the game of your life?”
“Not really,” Cat replied sweetly. “My life is rather precious, you know. I don’t have much of it left. Not like you, darling.”
Bruce rose gallantly to help her into her seat.
Peter opened the door, bearing the four boards of the round.
“Ah, here’s Peter,” Cat smiled happily. “Hello dear.”
“Mrs. Trahan,” Peter nodded in acknowledgement, placing the first board of the round in the center of the table. “You know you’re not to shuffle. The hands are pre-dealt.”
The judge took her seat as West, opposite Father Griffith at table 1. They were joined by Porter and Storm sitting North and South respectively.
Tanner placed board 1 in the middle of the table and told them unceremoniously to start playing.
Father Griffith watched the judge slide her cards out of the board in one easy, confident movement. The black-backed cards fanned out in her large-boned, graceful fingers, flashing with gold and diamonds.
The priest slid the cards out of the sleeve. As he looked at his partner absorbed in her hand, he saw only a flower. A rose that was full of beauty, and full of grace. With the same straight-backed, meticulous concentration that she must have pored over a rose bush did the judge study the cards. In those long white fingers that now held thirteen cards, she had held a stem, a leaf, a soft petal, a pair of shears, earth.
And something grotesque had arisen from the same earth! A vile, sinful tumor growing in the same garden. Father Griffith felt a wave of revulsion and turned his attention to his hand.
Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum… He took refuge in the familiar words of the prayer to Mary, and looked away from the woman in the seat across the table.
The initial bidding revealed that the points were evenly divided among the partnerships. There would be competition for the final contract.
*
“Daniel Cross…” Blanca mused, wearing a faraway, brittle smile. She laid aside the player’s biography. “I am afraid he may not possess the necessary… attributes for LiGa Bridge, what do you think?”
“We don’t know that,” Xavier replied.
They were alone in the large living room enclosed in glass in the building to the left of the glass cube; the one in which Storm and Cat were not staying. The room was large, with a high ceiling and floor-to-ceiling windows on all sides.
“He is talented,” Blanca said slowly, drumming the slender fingers of her right hand dexterously on the arm of the high-backed ivory-colored armchair in which she sat; from where she had an unhindered view of the glass cube some two hundred feet away.
“Very,” nodded Xavier emphatically. “In his field, he is a genius. He has already proven himself, and he is young. His models have practically revolutionized the financial sector.”
“Yes… but he has … problems.”
“He has problems, which is why we put him in LiGa Bridge, if you remember.”
“I know, but now I wonder if that was wise. It would have been different if he simply couldn’t play chess, but men like that–” Blanca shrugged, “they can play all the games.”
“Don’t second-guess now. We were right. Yes, he has the brains to figure out a game of chess or bridge, but we have to make sure he can successfully deal with the life transfer.”
“I know…” Blanca gazed towards the glass cube.
“If we could have been sure, as we were with Peter, we could have invited him to play LiGa Chess.”
Blanca sighed. “It will be a waste if he loses. And he would most likely have won a chess tournament…”
Xavier said nothing.
*
The judge contemplated her options at table 1 following her opponent Storm’s bid of 4-clubs. Given the competition at the table, she did not believe that either side held the recommended twenty-five points to prevail on a 4-level contract. 4-clubs, she reasoned, was as likely to fail as the 4-spades bid she was contemplating. A penalty double, therefore, appeared to be most attractive option. She placed the red ‘X’ on the table. It was a challenge: you can’t make the contract, it said. If you make it, you’ll get extra points, and if you don’t … you will be penalized.
My partner, Danny, blinks more, Bruce noted, at table 2, in the same seat as the judge. He blinks and sort of squints as if he has trouble seeing. He must need glasses now, but won’t admit it, Bruce thought. His own eyesight had not altered since the life transfer as he had not worn glasses before. But there had been changes. He had more energy; he felt a curious sense of euphoria at times. As if anything was possible. It could be unsettling…
Bruce turned his attention to the auction: the last bid had been 4-clubs from Cat… That leaves my partner and I with the option of doubling or bidding 4-spades. Can we make game in spades? I am not sure… Something inside exuberantly rang out: yes, you can. You can do anything! Bruce picked out the 4-spades card and placed it on the table.
At table 1, Father Griffith willed himself to concentrate on the cards… But his thoughts were slippery, gliding in and out of topics against his will. From the matte black cards, which seemed to him to be just like the LiGa invitation, he found himself recalling the words of Father General in a private audience in the Jesuit headquarters in Rome. Only a few weeks ago.
“There is a long road ahead of you, my son,” said Father General, right after informing him that he had been confirmed to represent the Society of Jesus in the upcoming LiGa tournament. “You will be an instrument of death,” he continued with an unassailable quiet authority in that wood-paneled room. Alone though they were physically, Roland Griffith knew with his whole being that they were also in the presence of all those men, his brothers-in-Christ, who had ever lived to make this world a better one for the greater glory of God. They were all listening to this conversation, he knew.
“I know,” Father Griffith remembered replying. “I will walk with Jesus as my guide.”
“And only He can guide you,” the old man said after a long silence. “Only He can guide you now.”
Where are you, Lord?
Think of the cards. Only the cards…
But the cards are unholy devices! I have seen the other side of these cards… In the garden.
It was a soft late spring day in Rome. Through the open window, unnamed fragrances perfumed their talk of death and killing.
Father Griffith nodded slowly. He would be a killer.
“The death of another human being who sits beside you,” the superior general continued mercilessly. “He will sit beside you, and talk to you and play a card game against you.
And you will do your utmost to kill him. Or her. Do you understand this?”
“I do.”
Concentrate! With effort, the image of the old man and the room in Rome vanished. Father Griffith returned to the present and placed the green pass card on the table, choosing to leave his partner, the judge’s double alone. The balanced distribution of my hand is more suited for defense, he reasoned. I think our best bet is to play for penalty and hope Mr. Drake fails to make 4-clubs.
At table 2, Cat demurely placed the red ‘X’ on the table, doubling Bruce’s 4-spades for penalty. I know you cannot possibly have the strength for that high a contract, she thought.
I expected that, Bruce thought, as he prepared to play the contract of 4-spades.
Cat regarded her partner, Sinclair’s lead of the ace of clubs through eyes which had narrowed to slits. It was an involuntary habit of hers when circumstances demanded much from her. It was a way to focus her energy within, to a fine, clear point.
Cat looked at Danny’s cards, now laid out as dummy, and she thought about how Bruce was going to play this hand. What would be his strategy to win ten tricks out of thirteen?
The first two tricks were easy, as she and Sinclair won them both, but they needed two more to defeat the contract. Two more tricks to be squeezed out of the remaining eleven
Cat was on lead on the third trick, and her whole being was concentrated on the remaining cards in this hand – those she could see and those she could not. In any event, Bruce would win no tricks unfought from her. She would protect her cards and force him to play into her hand, instead of the other way round. Cat played the solitary spade in her hand. It was Bruce’s suit, and he would win the trick, she knew, but what then? He would have to play a card from his hand, which she and her partner would be ready for, with the high cards in their hands… It was a battle of sorts. On her shoulder, a diamond alligator glinted and winked its pinpoint sapphire eyes.
At table 1, Father Griffith and the judge were able to win three more tricks for a total of five, defeating Storm’s contract of 4-clubs. The judge smiled inwardly. It was gratifying to be right. She was glad to have doubled the contract after all.
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