by O. J. Lowe
“Excuse me?” Melanie Harper asked. “That sounds like a lie.”
“Not necessarily,” Derenko said. “It’s not an uncommon practice at smaller levels. Why he’d be scouting around here is suspicious, I’d say. To get here, you need to be at least uncannily talented.”
“Not the sort of people who’d look for a fresh start anyway,” Fank added. “So it’s a cover. It feels like a cover.”
“Don’t suppose she happened to say who he was working for, did she?” Jacques Leclerc inquired. Okocha shook his head. “Ah that’d be too easy, would it not?”
“Was anyone here approached by this individual?” Brendan asked, to an immediate sea of shaking heads in response. “Damn, that’d have been even easier.”
“Do we know anyone who was?” Nick asked. “That’d be the next step, surely. See if you can trace his presence around the island, see if you can see him talking to anyone…”
“It’s a long process, Agent Roper,” Okocha said. “I’m still finishing up doing the Jeremiah Blut work that you left me needing to. I already had to outsource the triplet work back to the mainland headquarters. That said, it’s about our best chance.”
“I wouldn’t say it is urgent,” Noorland say. “We have Rocastle in custody. However, at the same time I think it’s prudent to see if we can find out what his intentions truly were in regards of this so-called scouting mission. If only for our own peace of mind there was nothing sinister involved.”
Aldiss spoke next. “I do have one opinion to voice. The young woman, Director Arnholt’s daughter. Are we quite sure this wasn’t a plot against him?”
“That thought has occurred to me, Agent Aldiss,” Arnholt said. “And it’s one that kept me awake last night. Will?”
“We have no evidence to suggest that it was anything beyond coincidence. However, we’re not about to rule it out just yet,” Okocha said. “It’s something we have to keep in mind.”
“Because there’s no such thing as random coincidence,” Brendan remarked. “It’s too risky to ignore that link.”
“Regardless, I’ll be speaking to my daughter and warning her to be more careful,” Arnholt said. “And my son. Any hint of a threat and measures will be taken.”
It was the unspoken feeling all of them there had held at one point or another. The fear that someone they loved would fall into the hands of someone who wished them ill. All the protocols and plans were in place to protect that and yet the fear still remained a factor deep in the recesses of the mind.
“Anyway,” Brendan said. “With that out of the way, we can get down to the allotted purpose of this meeting, I believe. Since we arrived here, it has become clear that something is going on.”
“Understatement,” Wilsin said dryly. It brought a few laughs out of the other agents, Brendan’s face kept impassive, though his lips tightened against each other.
“Thank you for that input, Agent Wilsin,” he said. “As you know, there was an unexpected phenomenon earlier in the week, freak weather patterns believed to be linked to the actions and subsequent deaths of several unknown parties at the hands of Agents Wilsin and Roper. These men have not been identified.”
Several images of the three triplets appeared on the wall behind him. “Although the others found dead at the scene of the crime were known memories of the Vazaran Suns Group,” he added, naming probably the most well-known mercenary company in the five kingdoms. “The only one we have an identification on would be Doctor Jeremiah Blut…”
A fresh image of Blut appeared to replace the others. “… expert in religious theory and radical academic troublemaker. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to discover much about what he was doing here. We’ve sent agents to his home to no avail. No immediate family, his home had been cleaned out of anything that might hint as to his motives. Either way…”
“Although we’re currently following a financial trail,” Okocha offered. “Sorry for interrupting, Chief. Just pointing that out. We’ve checked the payments into his personal accounts and he was slowly turning into a very rich man. Frequent monthly payments of fifty thousand credits a time.”
“Nice work if you can get it,” Nick said dryly. “Who was paying him.”
“The company that paid him doesn’t appear to exist in anything other than name. Shell corporation. We’re following it through to try and find the way to the top, although I have a theory if anyone would like to hear it?”
“Please, voice it,” Arnholt said. “We’re all ears.”
“I think the Chief was right about there being something suspicious about this whole thing. I can’t help but think that it’s a few isolated incidents too many, rather there’s got to be a bigger picture here. Harvey Rocastle, Maxwell Brudel, Jeremiah Blut, the triplets and their cohorts, hells even Carcaradis Island itself being used to hold the tournament. What’s the connection here?”
For a moment the room went silent and then Lysa spoke up. “Credits?”
“It’s always about credits,” Okocha continued. “Just hear me out. Okay, someone unknown paid Harvey Rocastle to do his little scouting mission here. Just as someone paid Max Brudel’s bail. Just as someone’s been paying Jeremiah Blut a small fortune for the last several years and even hired a gang of mercenaries who are notoriously not cheap. You hire the Suns in Vazara if you want it done right.”
“I don’t know,” Nick said. “Agent Wilsin and I went up against those guys in the sewers, I don’t think they were the Suns best. We took them down too easily. I know we got the drop on them but still.
“That’s irrelevant. Maybe you’re just that good,” Okocha said dryly. Nick smirked at that and rested both hands on the table as if to say he wasn’t disagreeing. “My point is, in order to do this, you need an absolute fortune in credits. You need credits to burn. None of us could do it, just as an example. So, we’re looking at who might be able to afford it all.”
“Well that narrows the list of suspects down from billions to thousands,” Wade said thoughtfully, furrowing his brow for a moment as he mulled it over. “Unless…”
“Reims,” Leclerc said.
“Reims,” Okocha repeated. “If you’ve sunk a small fortune into this island to not only hold a prestigious tournament here but also build an exclusive resort, you can probably stretch a bit more.”
“And Reims do occasionally do sponsorships of callers,” Mel Harper offered. “So maybe they did hire Rocastle.”
“I’m certain they didn’t hire him to try and run off with Mia Arnholt though,” Fagan said. “It’s possible they brought him in to do the job and didn’t realise he was nuts. It’s not the first time that’s happened.
“Agent Okocha, it’s a neat theory,” Arnholt said. “Unfortunately, you have a lot of conjecture and not much proof.”
“I said it was a theory,” Okocha said defensively. “I think it’d make a lot of sense. But I fully agree you’re right. Until we have more to go on…”
“Can you point out the flaws in your argument?” Brendan asked.
It wasn’t a criticism, nobody thought it as such. Unisco agents were often encouraged to consider all points of view of a theory so as not to fixate on one set outcome. Doing so was dangerous, it led to possible evidence being passed over because it didn’t fit.
Okocha nodded. “I can. I mean, as the director said, it’s a neat theory. But I just can’t see it being likely. I mean Reims are a big company and there’s always that hint of shadiness about the way they do business like any other corporation but it’s a bit of a step up from going to competitive rivalry to outright murder. They have the resources but no motive. And what resources they are. Do they really need to do this? I don’t know, I’m not privy to the way their CEO’s mind works. Or maybe she doesn’t know anything about it. That weather statue or whatever the hells it is of Kalqus. Not exactly practical.”
“Unless you know how to use it,” Harper offered. “Which we almost certainly don’t. I’d suggest smashing the whole thing up
if y’know, it wasn’t sacrilegious in extreme.”
“Can’t do that,” Aldiss said. “It’s evidence.”
“Any other theories about what’s going on?” Arnholt asked. “Or are we going to move past the speculation stage.”
“Like I said,” Okocha said. “It was just a thought.”
“I liked it,” Anne smiled at him. “I mean, saying they went through the process of moving the natives off the island and then them being found dead like that instead, there’s definitely something suspicious about that. If Reims weren’t directly responsible for it, I think they had to have at least being complicit in their knowledge. I can see the Suns being hired for something like that.”
“It’s a pretty big target,” Derenko said. “You don’t go after something like Reims unless you have a rock-solid case. You don’t aim for them unless you’re sure you can kill them with one blow. If we’re wrong, the fallout could be catastrophic.”
“That is true,” Noorland said. “I think we should wait. Maybe it’ll all blow over. Maybe Agent Okocha is wrong and these are just isolated incidents. Wouldn’t that be nice? It’d make our job so much easier.”
“We don’t do easy,” Pree said as the polite laughter died down. “But I agree with Agent Derenko. We can’t do anything until we know more.”
“Exactly!” Arnholt replied. “Which is why I made the troubling decision not to inform the press of our discovery of the natives in the sewers until after the tournament.”
“Yeah, I wondered why I’d not seen anything about it in the media,” Nick said thoughtfully. “Half expected Kate Kinsella to start blaming Ritellia for it.” That brought a few chuckles to the table.
“If they should start their own investigation at this point, it might cause untold disruption to the tournament,” Arnholt continued. “And Reims made an unholy amount of effort to ensure that it took place here. I for one would like to know why. I’ll do it first thing the moment the tournament concludes.”
He didn’t sound like he was justifying it. Just stating the facts. “And speaking of the tournament.” He rose to his feet. “Congratulations to Agents Roper, Wallerington, Wilsin and Montgomery for getting to the knockout rounds. I speak for all of us here when I say, do us proud in the next lot of matches.”
Nick had his own plans, yet he found himself thinking back to the previous night as he wandered back into the plaza, hands in the pockets of his jeans. Targeting the daughter of a city champion like Arnholt was a stupid thing to do, it’d bring down a massive amount of heat on you. And that was even before you brought the whole director of Unisco variable into the equation which wasn’t widely known beyond the organisation. Combining the two and you’d have to be suicidal.
Arnholt likely wouldn’t even have to ask. He was liked well enough by those who worked under him, a rare attribute to one so high. There would be volunteers to hunt down the one who’d hurt his family. He wouldn’t abuse his power by openly asking, but justice would be done. Just as it had been by Wade.
That Rocastle fellow wasn’t going to be seeing the light of day any time soon. Probably for the best, Nick had seen him being carted away in the final act, he’d seen the daughter in the arms of that kid, Scott Taylor. Both looked cosy with each other. Interesting. Idly he wondered how many guys he’d made the attempt to run off his daughter in the past. Probably a few. He was an intimidating man, even before you knew he carried a hidden blaster.
Nick glanced at the time and cursed silently. He had places to be. The draw for the second round of the tournament was just ahead and he needed to be there. No, scratch that. He wanted to be there.
He hadn’t missed much as he jogged into the stadium, uncomfortable memories of that first ever draw to take place at this competition coming back to him. They’d all been cramped down onto the battlefield then, two hundred of them. How had they been whittled down to fifty so quickly? And there was still a fair few more rounds to go yet. That was the key to winning though. You had to survive the attrition that getting through the competition bore down on you. Unlike the draw for the group stage which had held scant attention to the competitors and observers alike, the atmosphere was buzzing here. Everyone, it seemed, was interested in what would come next.
Because after all, it wasn’t just about winning here, it was about winning well. Scrape through, perform badly in your victory and you risked being eliminated. It was the time for the controversial ‘worst winner walks’ round, something that for as long as he could remember, participants in the competition had absolutely despised. Because after all, every bout was a gamble that your strategies might not come off on the day. Where Sharon was, he didn’t know, but she had to be in here somewhere. He’d not told her where he’d been, Unisco had come first… again, and that was something he found himself regretting. He’d meet up with her afterwards. Maybe slip out when his name came up and see if he could procure some flowers for her. Pre-empt her off in case she got snippy. Always a chance.
Still, he settled in his seat and wondered what awaited. After all, he’d won his group and so in theory should be entitled to an easier draw than if he’d finished second. All the winners of the groups would be put in one pot, all the runners up would be put in another and they’d be drawn simultaneously to be pitted against each other. Strange that the contestants and the fans had shown up for it but most of the dignitaries who had been there for the opening ceremony and subsequent draws weren’t.
Ronald Ritellia hadn’t even shown up, sending his aide Thomas ‘Falcon’ Jerome. Nick had to concede that where nicknames went, it wasn’t a bad one. He’d gotten it from being the fastest to the political kill, a dangerous man to have fixated upon you but ultimately one who you wouldn’t trust to be in the top job. Jerome often gave off the impression he’d sell his entire family into slavery if there were a few more credits on the line for him.
He’d been assured by Sharon that the man was dangerously good looking, he exuded a sense of danger that made him exotic and mysterious. Idly he found himself wondering once more what she’d say if she found out his history with Unisco and that he was even more dangerous. He probably had a higher body count for one thing, even before that business with Jeremiah Blut and the Suns in the sewers. That said, Nick had to concede that he’d seen killers who looked less like killers than Jerome did.
Picking up a microphone when everyone was settled, Jerome cleared his throat and began to speak. “Well hello there everyone. Lovely, lovely turnout. All to see me? You know how to touch my heart. Just as how this tournament is touching our imaginations. So far, we’ve seen some impressive stuff. And you know what? We’re not stopping there! Hells no, we’re taking what you’ve seen so far and we’re pushing it some more. It’s all down to our fifty combatants left to make this the best damn tournament we’ve ever seen. And as fifty becomes twenty-four, just remember. You’re just four matches from the final. You’re half way there. So, ladies and gentlemen honouring Carcaradis Island today, let me be the first to say, let’s get this show on the road.”
Whatever the rumours about his personal life, he had a gift for whipping up a crowd into a frenzy, Nick found himself applauding with the rest of them as Jerome reached over and thumped the button in front of him, the names appearing up on the screen above him immediately to reveal the draw.
Theobald Jameson vs Wim Antonio Caine.
Katherine Sommer vs Matthew Arnholt.
Sharon Arventino vs Darren Maddley.
Wade Wallerington vs Mark Meadow.
Elaine Harper vs Peter Jacobs.
Steven Silver vs Scott Taylor.
Nicholas Roper vs Glenn Wright.
Harry Devine vs Meadow Laine.
David Wilsin vs Iain Monks-Cooper
Vincent Fratelli vs Reginald Tendolini.
Jack Hawley vs Lysa Montgomery.
Crystal Clear vs Mary Dale.
Carlo Tyson vs Blake Reinhardt.
Tengo Teevar vs John Sunday.
Kelly Burgess v
s Adebalo Drogba.
Connor Caldwell vs Nwando Eliki
Lucy Tait vs Gareth Smith.
Orion Lamb vs Richard Bream.
Caan Wickard vs Yvette Martial.
Uri Stavale vs Carly Symonds.
Timothy Jean vs Stefan Smiles.
Rei Renderson vs Jane Ryan.
Weronika Saarth vs Daniel Roberts.
Kayleigh Chambers vs Willa Carpenter.
Simon Shaw vs Edyta Bryckov.
His first reaction was one of interest as he tried to think if he’d ever heard or fought Glenn Wright before. If he had, it wasn’t coming to him. Far more interesting to him was Sharon’s bout with her opponent. Darren Maddley. Not for the first time in his life, Nick found himself struck by how often life felt the urge to have a massive laugh at someone else’s expense. It was a decidedly strange feeling.
“Happy with that?”
“I think so,” Nick said as he looked across at her. Sharon looked decidedly calm about what had just happened on screen in front of her. “I mean, I don’t know too much about him, so I guess that means he’s punching above his weight. If he was that good, I think I’d have probably registered him before now. You?”
“No, I never heard of Glenn Wright before this tournament. Or my guy, really. Have you?”
“Maddening Maddley? Yeah, I know of him. And you should too, if I’m honest.” Nick’s expression said nothing else.
Sharon shrugged at that. “Should I? I mean, I’ve met a lot of people in my life. That name sounds familiar, I mean a lot do after a while. Help me out here, will you?”
“Darren Maddley. Son of Luke.”
She knew then. “Luke Maddley? Wow.” Sharon didn’t quite know what to say. There was a name for the past. And not one that offered up some pleasant memories. “I haven’t thought about him for a while.”
“I hadn’t either. Not until… Well until I heard about Maddley the younger. He has some talent.”