The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  You are rotten from within, worms in your meat, parasites in your blood and sins in your soul. You mock my status; you are the worst of the worse.

  All this was making her sick, she thought she heard the engines somewhere, was the ship descending? She didn’t know, all she could hear was the booming voice and the anger flowing through her, not just her own anger but the anger of the bastard in the impervious cage.

  It made her insides crawl and she couldn’t stop shaking, the cuffs were discharging into her but she barely felt them, electricity arcing about her fingertips and sending them into uncontrolled spasms. At least one snapped, she heard the faint crack of bone. The pain was intense but it felt like it should be a thousand times worse.

  There is no hope for you. When you die, it will be in an empty grave, people will spit on you and say here lies a nameless nobody… Worthless, weak, pathetic…

  She blinked, a brief schism in the torrent of anger ricocheting through her, tearing her entire being to shreds and she tried to focus on what had just been said. Wasn’t easy. But easy wasn’t what she did. She did hard. She did so very hard and she was too damn stubborn to do anything else. Still she felt the anger but no longer it demanded every fibre of her attention as she quashed it down for the moment, still feeling it bubbling beneath the surface of her being.

  What had been said to her… Dying alone. Unknown. Scorned. All the things she’d feared. All the things her master had promised her categorically would not happen to her if she took his hand. She focused on the face of her master, or what little of it she could remember that wasn’t hidden beneath his cowl and her lips broke into a cruel smile.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” she said. “I don’t know how you can read me when I can’t read you. But you’ve overreached yourself. Badly. You don’t know shit about me despite what you’ve being doing.”

  And what is it I’ve being doing?

  The anger in the voice had been replaced by faux innocence that didn’t fool her for a moment. Slowly her own anger faded from her being, her fingers and hands and arms all chafed from that excess electricity and she flexed them, ignorant to the stun cuffs’ discharge. Maybe there’d been some permanent damage done there, it hadn’t affected her dexterity. Even her broken one felt unhampering. She’d fix it in no time.

  Good. Her master had displayed similar abilities, had been able to deaden himself to pain, an ability he’d trumpeted as handy but dangerous. Pain was there for a reason. For the next several seconds she took the opportunity to scratch a spot on the side of her head until the gradual sensations of pain came slipping back through, spiking through her skin without warning.

  “All the questions, all the chatting, the way you got handier with words as the conversation went on… You’re a psychic. You’ve been in my mind, you know what I am and what I can do. You knew my buttons to push. You found them out and you thought you’d use me to break you out. Maybe I could have done.” She let out a burst of laughter, it felt good to clear her lungs of the staidness that she wasn’t aware had been filling there. “But you know what? You’ll never know now if I could have or not. And you know what else?”

  Kyra let her voice drop a few octaves, just so anyone listening outside couldn’t hear her. But she knew the thing in the box would. “The first chance I get; I’m going to kill you for it. You know what I am, you knew what risk you ran and yet you did it anyway. I am the future heir to the Cavanda, you poor deluded son of a bitch and you just made my shit list. You better watch out while you can.”

  With that, she dropped to a sitting position and closed her eyes, slipping into a meditative stance. If there was anything else for it to say, it didn’t.

  When the lights came on and they came to drag her out, Kyra rose to her feet in a docile manner, doing her very best not to look threatening. For the first time she saw the impervious box and wasn’t impressed, it looked little more than a white featureless cube. Certainly nothing special. They didn’t unlock her cage, they just surrounded her and she glanced around, not seeing her kjarnblade anywhere with them. If she had, she might have called it to her, she might have been able to cut her way free and make a run for it. But she didn’t and she couldn’t.

  “Errr…” she said instead, glancing nervously around. Play the part. Lead them into assumptions. She’d learnt that lesson long before her master had come along. If people underestimate you, then so much worse for them. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry.” She let a note of panic creep in, letting the volume and the urgency rise as she continued. “I mean it, I’m sorry, I don’t know what it is I did, I was just out looking for something and I didn’t mean to… Please let me go… Please?!” She even added a sob to the end of it, a convincing one she thought and even toyed with prodding them mentally with the Kjarn to lead them down her path. She rejected that idea. It wasn’t her strongest skill. And with this many of them… It wasn’t a good idea.

  Kjarn or not, they weren’t buying it. They continued to stare impassively at her and she got the same impressions through the Kjarn she had before. The overlapping puddles. Hard to tell where one began and another ended, too many parts of a same whole to pick out.

  She considered pleading again. What harm could it do? Except to her ego and that was far from important here. Nowhere near as much as her survival.

  Chapter Forty-One. Siege.

  “We’re getting breaking news out of Carcaradis Island... Our sources there are saying that there’s been some sort of attack… Another one. Unidentified figures have taken control, we’re hearing, of the hospital there…”

  Five Kingdoms Media anchor-man, Jarvis Timothy breaking the news.

  The fifteenth day of Summerpeak.

  “Okay,” Brendan said, already clad in a composite carbon vest and wearing an X7 holstered at his waist even though he wasn’t going to be anywhere near the shooting. Wilsin had to give him the kudos for that. At least he’d made the effort to look the part. “Here’s what we know. An hour ago, a group of armed hostiles entered the hospital and opened fire. There are between ten and twenty hostiles in there, all armed with what looks like BRO-60 assault rifles.”

  Around the room, everyone was hung onto his every word. Arnholt stood arms folded with a look of grim determination on his face. Okocha worked away at the viewing screen, his fingers dancing across the keyboard urgently. David Wilsin sought to block out the constant clack-clack-clack in the background and instead focus on the images being projected out onto the wall in front of him. He’d need to know these… Floor plans of the hospital, blurred stills from security footage, outside images of the hospital. This wasn’t going to be fun.

  They had to intervene. There was no choice. The call had been made to Arnholt, a plea from the chief of the local police force on Carcaradis Island, citing their inability to effectively handle something like this. By the time a response team came from the mainland, it could be too late. Allison Crumley had been despatched to the front line to coordinate the effort, Fagan going with her at Arnholt’s urging. Just in case. Between the two of them, they were doing an effective job but the hard part was still to come.

  Around him, everyone was just as focused on the briefing as he was. Mel Harper and Lysa Montgomery checked their Featherstones, both kitted out in the same type of vest as Brendan. They had been Noorland’s idea a few months back, extra protection as well as light weight and something that was easily identifiable in the confusion. In conjunction with the personal shields, they meant that their protection was more effective than ever before.

  Shame they couldn’t outfit the hostages with them until they’d finished the inevitable firefight…

  “Most of the staff and able-bodied people present did manage to flee,” Brendan continued. “Reports tell us that the hostiles bore no identifiable features on their uniforms and were masked. Armed, dangerous and unknown. Permission to terminate on sight is authorised. Priority is the safety of the hostages involved.”

  “Do we have thermal imaging
of the building?” Anne asked. She was in the process of putting her vest on over her street clothes, she’d hurried over from the stadium when the call out had happened. As far as Wilsin knew, people were being urged to stay off the streets and in the stadiums until the danger was passed. She had her Saga out laid across her knee, checking it carefully, the oversized rifle nearly half her size and just as deadly sleek.

  “It would appear our hostiles are encamped in the Administrator’s office,” Brendan said. “There are a number of hostages in there with them, making exact numbers hard to determine.”

  More images snapped up of the Administrator’s office, a neat room with a couple of bookshelves and a large desk. All very fancy, Wilsin thought, noting the plush purple curtains that covered the huge window towards the back of the room. It had a decent view over the island, he could see the shelves were filled with various medical tomes. It looked like the sort of office where someone who didn’t do much work beyond its four walls might work. He could tell it had that worked-in look.

  He didn’t know much about the Administrator of the hospital but considering how short a time it had been open then he must have done well to get it in that condition in such a short space of time. He already didn’t like the guy.

  They were official images, promotions for the place. He’d heard rumours that the Carcaradis Island hospital was hoping to become one of the most prominent in Vazara. Given most of the hospitals in Vazara were allegedly one step slightly above being left to die in the gutter, he didn’t think that would be hard. The next images that came up were shots of the same room but from outside, he could see the window frame and into the room, no mistaking the men stood there with the rifles.

  “This shot came from across the recorder across the street, we’ve done all we can with it, but it’s the best we’re going to get.” Wilsin had already noted the grainy quality of the image. If Will said it was the best they could get it, it was the best they could get it.

  “What’s the plan?” Derenko asked. He stood leaning against the wall at the back of the room, his face etched with disinterest but Wilsin guessed it wasn’t. Based on experience, this was just the way he readied himself for the fight ahead. He didn’t like to dwell too much on what needed to be done, did Derenko. Aldiss next to him on the other hand looked thoughtful, like he was considering every word that came from Brendan or Okocha. He was cleaning off a knife with an oiled rag, examining it between words for any traces of rust or despoilment.

  “We have a number of options,” Brendan said. “Thermal imaging has shown sporadic patrols through the hospital corridors from the hostiles. So far, they show no specific pattern, nothing we can trace down with what limited information we have. I want to send two teams into the hospital, one goes high and one goes low. The Administrator has his office here on the fifth floor. One team goes in through the basement and ascends. Our second team hits the roof and descends. Hopefully we can pincer them.

  That hospital has nine floors, between ten and twenty hostiles cannot hope to keep an eye on that amount of space all at once. Disable surveillance, blind them and we should be able to take them easier. Once we’re there in position, we hopefully will have a read on the situation. Agent Sullivan, I want you on the rooftop opposite with your rifle, I want you keeping an eye on the situation in there with the hostages. Take a spotter with you. Any preferences?”

  “I’ll go,” Noorland offered, striding through the door. He provided no apologies for his lateness. Not with what was at stake. Time was a factor. “I’m probably the best with the tech we’ve got anyway.”

  “I did toy with the idea of pumping knockout gas into the room,” Brendan said. “But it is not without its risks. We don’t have any here…”

  “Big problem that,” Leclerc remarked. Someone snickered, some of the tension eased out of the room. Some, not all. They did have a dirty job to do after all. Brendan ignored him.

  “… We don’t have any here and by the time we could get some, it might well be too late. So, our two teams… The air team will use spirits to get to the roof and land silently. Already the area is cordoned off down below in the parking lot, but there are people there. And the media.”

  He said the last word with distaste. “If they have a viewing screen active in there, it will blow our cover if they see our assault coming and those consequences could be disastrous. Go from the back. Come from the north of the building, stay low and ascend when you need to. Given Agent Wilsin’s intimate knowledge of this island’s sewage system…”

  One trip down below, Wilsin thought dryly, and you’re tagged for life. I don’t even remember much from that night. Trust Nick to be suspended for this fun job. Even if he hadn’t been, it’d be debateable if he’d even show up, not with his lady currently fighting across the island. He’d been amazed Anne had shown up given the closeness he’d seen her displaying with that Jameson kid. Maybe he’d read the situation wrong. It didn’t matter if he had or not. Wasn’t any of his business. Not with the mission ahead.

  “He will lead the team down there, along with Agents Montgomery and Leclerc. Agent Derenko will lead the air team. Take Agents Aldiss and Harper with you. We mobilise in five minutes. Any questions?”

  “What about Wade?” Aldiss asked. “Any word on whether he got out or is still in there?”

  Arnholt and Brendan looked at each other silently. Neither of them looked like they wanted to answer the question until Brendan reluctantly did so. “He has not been reported sighted. And someone would have seen him. Nor has Agent Mallinson We believe they’re both in there still. Agent Wallerington is still incapacitated and is not to be considered an active asset. Checking on him is not your priority. Save the hostages. Eliminate hostiles. Anything else is secondary.”

  “Have they asked for anything?” Mel Harper asked. “The hostiles? They must want something. There had to be some reason they did this.”

  “Furthermore, how do they intend to get out of it?” Derenko wondered. “Because they must know that once they set down this path, it would end violently. There’s no going back for them now.”

  “Maybe they didn’t want to,” Lysa said softly. “Maybe it’s a statement.”

  “No information of that sort has been released,” Brendan said. “On a further note, Agent Noorland, I want you to equip everyone with the stun grenades we brought. They could come in handy.”

  “I’ve got just the thing,” Noorland grinned, moving over to one of the storage boxes that littered the room. “These things pack a nasty punch. They’ll do the job nicely. Completely gums up the nervous system. They get hit with these, they won’t even be able to hold a weapon never mind fire one. Range about ten feet from impact, potentially greater in an enclosed space.” He smacked a fist against his open palm and chuckled. “No permanent damage though. I remember testing these. Fun times. Now we don’t have many… I know, I know, hindsight is a wonderful thing… so we best split them up nice and even like. Twelve grenades…”

  “Will, requisition some more from the mainland,” Arnholt said brusquely. It wouldn’t help them now but the way this whole thing had been going from the start, Wilsin was starting to think they were close to having the right idea. If it was up to him… Well him as someone else, not him the competitor in the Quin-C, but him the administrator… he’d call the whole thing off, split the prize money twenty-four ways and offer sincerest apologies. Things had been getting too dicey so far. Two murders in hotel rooms, both nowhere close to being solved, the attack on the ICCC building, attempted kidnap, flooding… There came a point when you just had to give something up as a bad job.

  “On it,” Okocha said. Wilsin looked up and nodded at him before opening his mouth to speak. If he was going to be commanding the ground entry team, he was putting his credits into the pot.

  “Split the grenades two to each. Anne and Al won’t need them being out of harm’s way…”

  “I’m out of harm’s way,” Anne said primly. In her words, he could hear
a certain coldness which surprised him. He’d never gone into the field with her before, he couldn’t have been the only one who never expected to hear those words from the silver haired waif’s mouth. “Whoever I point my weapon at won’t be. They’ll be dead.” It could have sounded like the words were full of bravado. There was just an iron certainty in them that told him she meant what she said. She believed it. He’d never been able to work her out completely. He doubted he ever would.

  “Anyway, we’ll have six between the two on-site teams then which will be plenty if we stick together. If they’re all congregated together, we’ll have them despatched in no time.”

  “That sort of confidence won’t help you none,” Derenko said coldly. “If you think this is going to be easy, Agent Wilsin…”

  “I don’t. I know it’s going to be hard. I don’t think anyone would be dumb enough to line up where we can pop them at will,” Wilsin interrupted. “If we get through this without losing anyone, then I think we’ll have done well.”

  “He says it well,” Arnholt said. “Listen up, teams. You have your assignments. You know what you need to do. May your skills save you and others today. You’ve all been trained well and you’ll need every ounce of that training to see you through. Remember that training, call on all your experience and we’ll get through this. I believe in you all.”

  And that was that, Wilsin thought as he checked his X7 and slid it into his holster. Moving around in full combat gear felt weird, something he hadn’t done for a while. At least there were cooling pads inside to help with the temperature outside. It was lightweight but would be very warm without the pads. Especially with the mask. He slid the balaclava over his face, it’d hide his features in case the muffler malfunctioned. All very overkill an outsider might think but protecting identities was something they’d gotten very good over the years.