by O. J. Lowe
“One way to remember him,” Ritellia said. “Or there’s Klaus Zynski. My old friend. I’ve known him a long time. He’s served on the committee for almost thirty years.”
“He used to compete, didn’t he?” It was a guess, but a good one for Ritellia nodded. It hadn’t been entirely her sticking her neck out. Fifty-fifty chance that he had. Not a hard guess. The ICCC had long been a mix up of career politicians and administrators combined with retired spirit callers who’d decided they were going to try and do something for the game that had done them so much. Probably about a half and half split, she’d read not too long back in a Kate Kinsella piece. They liked all sorts of opinions provided they were shared across the board.
“Won the Quin-C forty years ago this year. Don’t ever broach him on the subject, you’ll never get him to shut up about it.”
“To be fair, an impressive achievement,” she said diplomatically. “What’s he like?” How best to diplomatically ask if he’d be as susceptible to being bribed? “Do you think he’d do the best job he could, all that stuff about upholding the ethics and principles of the office? If say hypothetically he was asked to make a few decisions that needed to be made and say hypothetically he might in some small way profit from it…”
“I’m insulted!” Ritellia said, his voice taking on a hard edge. “Calling into doubt the integrity of someone who works for me, I should have you thrown out of here right now!” His voice rose as he spoke, his face going red.
She was amused. He’d managed to sound self-righteous enough. At least she hadn’t burst out laughing at his denial. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, President Ritellia. We both know things that make that little outburst sound hollow. A shame really. Because it would really sound good in the media.”
“I assume you’re going somewhere with this,” he hissed. All pleasantries had apparently been thrown to the wind now. “Or are you seeking to bait me with insinuations and accusations?”
“Only that I hope you do run once more,” she said. “I think you’ve done a stellar job here, all things considered. And Reims would seriously consider financing your campaign to become the head of the ICCC for another term. Has anyone been elected five times to the post? I can see you making history.” She saw his eyes light up and she smiled to herself.
Hook.
“I know you could probably afford to do it yourself but why should you? Backing you pays for itself in the long term. Hey, spend your money on another beach house or a fast speeder, enjoy life. None of us know how long we’ve got. Maybe even buy a villa here when we open the resort.” If they’d lit up before, they were beacons of illumination now.
Line.
“In short, it benefits both of us. You’ve been good for us. You’re a known quantity. And your legacy can live on when your term ends; you can help build relationships between us and Zynski. What better way to leave than with it in secure hands?”
Ritellia rested his chins on his fingertips, an impressive sight if a little stomach turning. “Alana, I must confess I am flattered by the interest that Reims shows in wishing me to continue on. I’m an old man. I do not know if I wish to continue. My work takes me around the kingdoms; the days when I could rule centrally seem a long distant memory. I don’t see my wife or my children or my grandchildren anywhere near enough. Do I want another three years of this?”
He let out a sigh, almost a little too theatrically. That was when she knew she’d had him. Her briefing had told her Ritellia resorted to theatrics when he was being coy, when he’d made his mind up but was trying to see what else he could get before committing.
Sinker.
“Well, think about it, yes?” she said. “I don’t want to pressure you. And family is important. The time you miss is time you don’t get back.”
“Do you have children?” he asked suddenly. “No wedding ring I see.”
She took it in her stride, even if discussing her private life with this man was something she’d rather not do. It was private for a reason. Unconsciously she folded her hands away underneath her arms. “One. A daughter. I was supposed to be spending the weekend with her and yet I’m here for the indefinite future. The price of success.”
“And you ask me to do the same,” he said. “Ms Fuller, I cannot give you an answer. The day is getting old and I tire. What I can do is offer you an assurance I will think about it. I will see how I feel come the end of the tournament. Should it be the success I hope it is, I will ride the crest of the wave into another term. Should it fail, I might be best leaving it to someone with fresh ideas.”
Maybe she’d been a bit premature thinking this was in the bag, she realised, keeping the grimace to herself before Ritellia spoke up again.
“However, I offer you one more carrot. Klaus Zynski. I’ll talk with him should I not run, I’ll arrange something between him and either you or someone else from Reims. I’ll talk him through the benefits of working with you. He’ll soon see sense. He’s a smart man and he’s not going to turn down help of this magnitude.”
“That’s a generous offer of you, President Ritellia,” she said. “I hope you make the right decision.”
He staggered to his feet. “I do too, my dear. Now is there anything else?”
“Just don’t forget to thank us when you do the opening ceremony. We’re not the official sponsors for nothing, right?”
“Your sponsorship fees paid for this suit,” he smiled, some of that old charismatic affability returning to him. “Well spent, I think.”
“It looks good on you,” she lied. If he saw through it this time, he didn’t acknowledge it. Either way, not as bad a liar as you said I was, she thought savagely as she rose to her feet.
“You are a kind woman, Ms Fuller,” he murmured. “And I think your boss would appreciate the job you have done here. Very effective. Of all the messengers I frequently get sent, you’ve probably been in the top one percent.”
Cheeky bastard!
And that was that, she guessed. Only time would tell if her efforts had been enough. Meeting with the president had been something she’d been dreading. It hadn’t been THAT bad, she supposed. All that remained would be to relay the information back to her boss. That would probably be a much more nerve-wracking task. She didn’t take setbacks with good grace, no matter whose fault it may or may not be.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored windows of one of the doors, grimaced at the sight that looked back at her. She didn’t mind the job, she quite enjoyed it at times but it wasn’t doing good things to her. She looked about ten years older than she was, her eyes tired and her face prematurely ageing. She cursed silently to herself as she made her way down the stairs, back out into the oppressive heat. What a bloody life sometimes. Dealing with spawn like Ritellia made things worse, not better.
Worse, she had a feeling she was going to be seeing him again before this whole thing was over.
She’d made her way back to the room to find Rocastle laid out on her bed, shoes off and one leg crossed across the other. At least he’d ditched his horrible ratty jacket, hopefully never to be seen again. His long hair still glistened wet as it lay against her pillow. He had his caller to his ear, a bored look on his face.
“I know, ma,” he said. “I know, I know. I know. Look, ma, I got to go, I got work. That nurse isn’t stealing from you. Believe me… Ma, she’s not. I had words. Made sure. She’s not. Ma, ma, I can’t talk right now. Love you ma. Got to go. Be well. Love you.”
He hung up, gave her a shit-eating smirk that made her want to throw something at her. With nothing close to hand, it was probably a good thing.
“Evening, moonshine,” he said. “How’d your meeting go?”
“None of your business,” she replied abruptly. “How the hells did you get in here?”
He grinned, waved his hands dismissively at her. “Honey bunny, there’s nowhere I can’t get into if I want it bad enough. Your shower doesn’t run hot enough by the way; I’d call domestics if
I were you.”
That caught her off balance. “You… You used my shower.” It sounded limp to her even as she said it. “Why? Do you not have a room?” She swallowed. She’d get him. It might take a while but she wasn’t going to let it stand.
Rocastle smirked evilly. “Yeah, but I was here and well, have you been outside? It’s like a sauna and I wanted to soak off. Now, tell me Bundles, where’s the harm in that? Speaking of, you smell sweaty.”
She ignored that last comment. “That’s icky on so many levels. That’s where the harm is. Now come on, let’s hear it! How did you get in here?! I want an answer Rocastle!”
He cackled loudly. “Nope, you’re not getting one. We all want things, Sweetums and you’re out of luck today. Just like I heard you were with Ritellia. Oh, the boss is going to be pissed with you. Poor little Alana, out on her ear already with a daughter to feed and clothe. Remember how you were told failure wasn’t going to be tolerated? You lasted marginally less time than most of them do.”
Ignoring him was going to be an important habit to preserve, she could see that already. Fuller stretched out her arms, flexed her fingers and strode over to the bed, dropping down to sit next to where he lay prone.
“Who told you about Ritellia?” she demanded. “It wasn’t a failure, who told you it was?”
The grin that flashed across his face gleamed with malice. “You just did. You know you could have done better, don’t you? Got to have a better Ruin face than that, you have. I can see your guilt. I can see you’re dreading what comes next. Want me to make the call, I’ll sing your praises to her.” His voice took on a devious mocking tone, high and loud, almost the same feminine pitch as her own. It was eerily uncanny, she had to admit. “Oh yes, Mistress, she did her best, she tried and tried but the big bad president just wasn’t interested. Oh, it is sad; I know but…”
“Ro!” She was on her feet in an instant, fury filling her, hot and heavy in her system. “Get out of here! If you don’t, you’ll regret it!” It sounded lame, she wanted to see him dead, but no way was she about to threaten him with it. Not yet. Too many variables. He might just be crazy enough to call her on it. “Out!” Either way, he’d left her with a dilemma. Too big to force out on her own, it might end nasty. It probably would have if he hadn’t gotten up and strode out laughing, pausing at the door to tip her a wink, blow her a kiss and jangle what sounded like some keys in his pocket.
“Be seeing you, Babes,” he said, before shutting the door behind him. She immediately dropped to the bed, heart pounding against her chest as she fought the urge to scream out in impotent anger. Son of a bitch! Bastard, bastard, bastard. She rolled over, found the link to reception and held her hand over the keypad. She didn’t want to remain here. Not after this. And yet…
Did she want Rocastle to know he’d gotten to her as bad as he had? Giving him fuel for his fire was a stupid thing to do. And trying to move rooms, kicking up a fuss would do that. Domestics would be here the next day, they could clean out the bathroom, everything would be back to normal. Except…
He could walk in here any time he wanted. That thought truly terrified her. Sure, in theory they were playing for the same side. But he gave the impression the only side he was truly on was his own. And nobody could change that. He could walk in here while she was asleep.
Note to self. Buy something to wedge the door shut.
That was what she’d do. Even if she didn’t need them, it was better than the alternative.
Feeling calmer, Fuller looked for her summoner. The boss needed to be informed.
And maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as she thought it’d be.
Chapter Six. Unisco.
“Last departmental meeting before the start of the Competitive Centenary Calling Challenge Cup to take place at midday on the thirteenth of Summerdawn. Ensure attendance of everyone necessary. Absences will not be tolerated under anything less than medical grounds.”
Memo passed around various Unisco buildings two weeks prior to the quarterly review of protocol and practices.
The thirteenth day of the month of Summerdawn.
Some days you didn’t want to get out of bed. Some days the job felt like it’d be more trouble than it was worth. Nobody really joined Unisco hoping to work behind the scenes. And yet, William Okocha knew that he’d probably gotten the best part of the deal, deep down. Best part of the deal by a mile. He’d get none of the publicity but also none of the risk and that suited him all the way. Six years and he’d been out in the field once. No chance of being shot at. Again, suited him. He’d never admit it out loud but danger unnerved him a little. For good reason as well, he guessed. It was called danger for a reason.
Instead, he’d gotten quite comfortable in providing the role of technical support for those brave men and women who did the hard stuff. And by hard, he meant dangerous. The mufflers helped keep them anonymous in public missions, he was that little bit extra security. Doctor any security footage showing them in less than secure issues. That was their great fear, that their identities would be compromised. Some of them were very much in the public eye, they had plenty to lose. The job had gotten them where they were, the rewards could be astronomical but that made the fall so much greater if they were caught. Hence, the need to make it that little bit easier for them. If they weren’t worried about potential reprisals down the line towards family and friends, it meant they had one less thing to worry about while on the job.
Normally he enjoyed the work. It felt like he’d found a calling in life he could truly become a part of. But lately, he just had that bad feeling that things were about to fall to pieces. When the pieces fell, it was usually an absolute crap storm to pick them back up. When that happened, the workload usually grew, the family got neglected…
The other reason he was glad not to be out in the field. Being so far behind the line of fire meant there was less chance of his wife being left a widow. Of his daughters being left fatherless by some dangerous individual with nothing to lose. It took a special type of individual to take on the most dangerous assignments Unisco had to offer. Special type to be recruited, special type to go out and get shot at or worse, and thankfully he wasn’t that.
He had the training, standard for everyone who came through the door but the chances of him using it… No. Not happening. About the best chance of him hitting someone would probably be in his own free time. Today it was the quarterly meeting, the chance to bring up anything that might need acting upon in the immediate future. This one held special significance though, the last one before the Quin-C kicked off and the people upstairs wanted everything resolved, everything taken care of as much as could be managed before they started to fit people out onto different assignments to cover for the agents they were sending out to cover the tournament.
That thing the other night he’d been part of, that had stuck with him. That assignment he’d put Wilsin on with McKenna and the Blank Slate, dozens of others and yet that one remained. It hadn’t even been his beat, he’d only checked it as an audit for the Brother Protocol. It had turned up a mystery in the form of the Blank Slate.
He needed a better name for that guy. The Blank Slate didn’t suit him. Everything he’d done had come up with naught for who he was, where he’d come from and why he’d wanted the briefcase from McKenna. McKenna had been hospitalised, he hadn’t said anything through his period of lucidity and it didn’t look like he was going to be changing that any time soon. There wasn’t anything he could do about it.
Somehow, he couldn’t fight the feeling that he was going to be drawing the blame for it. He’d even tried to follow the Blank Slate out the building, see where he went but he’d lost him at the entrance. The crowds had been something fierce that night, even a guy Wilsin had described as being like seven foot tall had managed to slip away. He couldn’t reasonably be blamed for it and yet at the same time, he felt responsible. This job, it was something he’d worked for. He was good and he’d failed utterly miserably at it. It stun
g badly. More than that, he’d have to own up to it at the meeting, if he was to bring it up. Which he’d almost certainly need to. The whole thing was too remarkable to keep quiet about.
He worked in the Unisco office in his local city of residence Blasington, capital of Premesoir. He’d left Vazara long ago, glad to be away from the sand and the sun. He’d come a long way. World was that multi-cultural now, he could find someone speaking the home tongue any time he wanted with little effort. Maybe someday he’d move back there and enjoy retirement. Maybe one day he might get transferred over there. He didn’t want to stay here forever.
The main offices, the ones in each capital city of the five kingdoms, they were marked out as being part of Unisco. A mistake in his opinion. He’d brought it up countless times, how it made them a possible target, how it only took someone outside waiting for them and they’d have tabs on people coming and going. Then there were satellite offices in smaller cities, safehouses and outposts in the even smaller settlements. Thankfully they were a lot more secret, disguised as non-descript offices and trading companies.
His complaints had otherwise fallen on deaf ears; always they’d insisted that they had measures in place. He didn’t have a problem with the director. Some of the people under him, he didn’t know how they’d ever gotten to where they were. That guy Leon for one…
It felt unprofessional to criticise Leon. As easy as it was sometimes. He’d bring up the security issue again. Worst case scenario it kept the issue fresh in their mind. Best case scenario, they might go on to do something about it. That felt unlikely.
He always worked here. The main offices were the best. He’d been to some of the Unisco offices in other towns. They never quite matched up to these. The security was better. They were always covered. A carpet salesroom in one town, a non-descript office in another, even a butcher shop in another. He’d never been there. Thankfully. He’d met people who had. They said that you got used to the smell after a while. Somehow, he didn’t think it would bother him. The old home in Nalooki had been near a fish restaurant. It hadn’t been a particularly good fish restaurant either, the fish always smelling foul despite the proximity to the ocean from which they came. He’d walked past dumps that had smelled better. It had closed years ago apparently. At least nobody else had to put up with it now.