My hand shook as I took the envelope from him. This clue was more personal. All the others had been via the iPad, yet this was handwritten. Lifting my eyes to Caelan, I looked at him with hope. “Can you get the writing analysed?”
He nodded, a small smile playing the corner of his mouth. “Yep. Although I suspect it will have been delivered by a local florist, so probably written by a random employee. Although doubtless that we’ll get his prints from it, only ours and the delivery people, I’m hoping I can get at least a trace from the payment. Or if he’d ordered them in person then maybe a description.”
Nodding quickly, a ray of hope spurring me on, I pulled out the small piece of card from the already open envelope.
‘A negative mind will never allow you to be positive.’
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I have to say,” the GM stated as the iPad lit up. “I’m disappointed in you, Dr Griffiths.”
Caelan and I both looked down to the screen. Sam, Carolyn, Jenny, Stuart, and Caelan’s mother were all sat side by side on chairs. They were blindfolded and tied up as before, except this time the walls were different. Previously, the wall behind them had been rough, bare stonework, and now a cream woodchip wallpaper covered the expanse behind them. He had moved them.
I willed my heart to keep beating as I waited for him to drop yet another bombshell because I had no doubt there was to be one.
“You broke the rules,” he continued. “And you had to pay the price for that. As well as losing your loved ones, you also forfeited the last remaining clue.”
“Fuck!” Caelan hissed.
“However,” the Game Master stated, “I consider myself a fair person.”
“That’s debatable!” Caelan growled. Shaking my head at him, I warned him to keep quiet.
Ignoring Caelan, the GM carried on. “Because you cheated, Dr Griffiths, by rights I should now conclude our game by killing all your victims.”
All my victims? This man was certifiably insane!
“Please,” I begged. “I’m willing to do anything!”
“Hmm.” The long pause seemed to go on for hours, although only a matter of seconds. “Then we will proceed with the last game. Everything is on this one, gamers. Both the lives of your remaining family members and the very last clue.”
Caelan sat up straighter, eager to get started. “Then let’s finish this!”
Day 8
07:55
Caelan
‘Oxford, Piccadilly and Baker Street,
go to the place where all these meet.
But you must be there by 11:32
since you’re off to Warwick Avenue.
In the booth where things are no longer possessed
is where you’ll obtain your community chest.
Caelan, I hope you’re good at character play,
as it’s Mr Marsh who you’ll impersonate today.’
Nessa made a strange choking sound, and I helped her into a chair when I saw her knees buckle. “You okay?”
She didn’t appear to hear me. Her skin had taken a deathly shade of white, and she seemed to be struggling to breathe.
Dropping to a crouch in front of her, I tipped her chin so I could see her face. “What is it? Is it your wounds?”
Shaking her head, she refused to meet my eyes and instead looked over my shoulder. “I, uh, I need a drink of water.”
Grabbing a bottle from the fridge, her hands trembled uncontrollably when she took it from me. After drinking half the bottle, she licked her lips and finally looked at me. “Why… Why Mr Marsh?”
Shrugging, not understanding the panic in her eyes, I regarded her carefully. Her reactions to many of the GM’s games had been strange, and this time was no different. “I would imagine because he knows Marsh is the name I use when corresponding with online contacts.”
Blinking, she appeared to relax a little and nodded as a bit of colour returned to her cheeks. “Of course.”
Watching her finish the bottle, I took the chair beside her and reread the riddle.
“Monopoly, perhaps?” Nessa suggested, her behaviour seemingly back to normal. “Oxford and Piccadilly are properties on the board, and community chest is definitely associated with the game.”
“Hmm,” I mused. “But that doesn’t make sense for Warwick Avenue. Is Baker Street on the monopoly board?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“The underground.” Nessa and I looked up to find Maksim, Nessa’s father, peering over our shoulders at the iPad. “Piccadilly Circus, Oxford Circus, Baker Street, and Warwick Avenue, they’re all tube stations.”
“Of course!”
Firing up the internet on my laptop, I checked the tube timetables. “Looks like the only 11:32 to Warwick Avenue is from Bakerloo.”
“Okay, so Bakerloo it is.”
Sensing the shift in the atmosphere since Maksim had entered the room, I made my excuses and left them to talk.
I still wasn’t sure how I felt about Nessa being connected to the Bratva. The Met had been chasing Maksim Alexeev for years, but he’d always been one step ahead of us. Although it was rare he was ever in the UK personally, a lot of London, Manchester and Birmingham crimes were connected to the Bratva, not that I could ever pin any evidence down. They were clever bastards, and had a number of hierarchy in their pockets, from, I suspected, the chief commissioner to a few of the most prominent judges, even a few key politicians. The Russian mafia was vast, and no one was ever willing to risk their wrath by grassing. It also infuriated me how the London mafia also took a step back to cater to Maksim. Due to the notoriety for his ruthlessness, and the sheer size of his army, everyone wanted to keep on his good side. I had often hoped that they’d end up taking each other out, but Maksim had refrained from starting a war and preferred to take the middle ground with his rivals. All except the Chechens that was.
What did puzzle me, however, was how the Game Master knew about Nessa’s bloodline. On all the intel we had on the Bratva, I couldn’t recall any mention that Maksim had a daughter. And if the MET didn’t have any knowledge of her, how the hell did the GM?
Day 8
08:17
Nessa
“How are you feeling?” my father asked as he pulled out the chair beside me and sat down.
“My mother is dead. Stuart is dead, and if I don’t succeed with today’s game, then Sam and Carolyn, and Caelan’s family will be dead too. My body feels like it’s been hit by a train. I’m being persecuted by a guy who thinks the movie, Saw, was his own personal documentary. And to top it off, my father is back in my life after I swore to him that if he ever came within breathing distance of me again, that I would kill him. So, yeah, I’m hunky-dory.”
Looking contrite, he lowered his eyes and nodded. “Your father sounds a right cunt.”
“Oh, believe me,” I scoffed. “He is.”
“I’m sorry, my matryoshka.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me when I pulled a cigarette out of Caelan’s pack that sat on the table. I glared back as I lit it, took a long drag, and blew the smoke his way. “You know, I never did get why you call me that.”
Joining me, evidently going by the saying, ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’, he took a cigarette of his own and lit up. “Because you have so many layers, Vanessa. You’ve always been strong, bold, kind, resilient, stubborn, but so very capable at anything you put your heart into.” Sorrow filled his eyes, and he placed his hand over mine where it rested on the table. “I am so sorry about Denny. He was a good man.”
“Yes, he was. Unlike you, he was ruthless but fair.”
“Vanessa, please. I don’t know what to do to make it right. I miss you so much. There hasn’t been a single day when I haven’t thought about you.”
“I can’t say the same back. I have done everything in my power to forget you.” My heart twisted a little at the wounded look on his face. I didn’t mean it, obviously, but I wanted him to hurt as much as
he’d hurt my mother and me. Sighing, I yielded a little. “However, now, I can understand why you did it, and to hold a grudge would make me a hypocrite.”
Narrowing his eyes at me, a look of caution on his face, he appeared anxious. “Please tell me you didn’t get involved in Denny’s business.”
“As I said,” I snorted. “Hypocritical.”
“I never allowed my business to affect your life, Vanessa. You know that!”
“But you couldn’t give my mother the same grace, could you?”
“I’m sorry she’s dead, I really am. And yes, what I did was wrong…”
I held a hand up, halting his apology. “It’s not my forgiveness you need, it was my mother’s. Ever since she took me away from you, she never got over what you did. Stuart was good for her.” Tears welled in my eyes, and I fought with them not to flow over. I couldn’t give grief liberation, not yet. I needed to get past this last game, only then could I allow myself to mourn two of the most amazing people that had graced this ugly world. “And the one thing I have to be grateful for is that they’re still together in the afterlife because I have no doubt Stuart’s death would have just brought it all back and broken her for the very last time.”
“I did as she asked, Vanessa. I stayed away from both of you. I loved your mother very much, matryoshka, and I love you even more. Being apart from both of you for so very long has been my penance for Justin.”
“Don’t you dare speak his name!” I wasn’t sure why I was so angry. It was like all the rotten parts of my past were coming back to haunt me. I shouldn’t be so mad with Papa. After all, hadn’t I done the same thing fifteen years later? Fair enough, different circumstances, but it had been my decision, not Denny’s. Still, that didn’t mean I didn’t regret it every day since. So, in a way, I could, and should, sympathise with my father. It was so easy to blame him for everything, but the truth was, I had made my own terrible decisions.
“I just want a chance to be in your life. That is all. Please, Vanessa.”
The hope in his eyes as he looked at me made it so hard to refuse him. “Let me get today over with, then we’ll talk some more.”
The broadest grin covered his face, and he swiped at a stray tear in the corner of his eye.
“I’m not making any promises, Papa. Okay?”
He nodded eagerly and squeezed my hand. “Of course. One day at a time.”
“And, for God’s sake, don’t say anything to Caelan about Denny!”
Snorting, he looked at me with a smirk. “Like I would ever tell a pig anything!”
“Oh, and by the way,” I said nonchalantly as I got up to make us fresh coffee. “I’m getting married.”
I couldn’t hold back the smirk when he choked on his cigarette smoke.
Day 8
11:32
Caelan
Nessa was agitated. She had been nibbling on her fingernails since we had entered Bakerloo station, and from the ever-changing expressions on her face, it was clear her mind was working overtime.
“Don’t worry, we’ll do this one.”
Chewing on her lip, she blinked at me but didn’t respond otherwise.
Scanning the carriage, I tried to suss out if the GM was on board. However, any one of the people packed in with us could have been him, and unless I was to haul every single ass down to the station, I couldn’t even begin to question them all.
Nessa stumbled when we pulled into Marylebone station, and I instinctively reached out and grabbed her arm to stop her from falling. “Okay?”
She rolled her eyes and nodded. “Think maybe I should hold on harder.” Sweat had beaded on her brow, and she wiped the back of her hand across it. “I hate the tube!”
Agreeing with a nod when we started moving again, I glanced around, endlessly aware of our surroundings and checking to see if anyone was paying close attention to us. “Me too. Stinks of piss and it’s always so hot!”
Five minutes later, we were both glad when we stepped off at Warwick Avenue.
“Always reminds me of that Duffy song whenever I see the sign for Warwick Avenue,” Nessa remarked.
Very softly she started singing the song. I was mesmerised, the husky tone of her voice utterly compelling and I could do nothing more than keep staring at her as we made our way through the station.
Spotting the lost property office, I grabbed Nessa’s hand and changed direction. “I take it this is what it means in the riddle by a booth where things are no longer possessed.”
“Of course!” Nessa exclaimed, looking relieved and flashing me one of her rare smiles. It was hard to miss how her eyes twinkled whenever she smiled genuinely at me. It was hypnotic, and I hadn’t failed to see how extremely breath-taking she was when she allowed herself to relax a little.
The guy sitting behind a counter looked up when we entered the office, and I had to stifle a laugh when Nessa leaned into me and whispered, “Well, ain’t he just peachy.”
Bert, the lost property officer, as his nameplate indicated, must have been around four-hundred and six. The mass of wrinkles on his face gave him the appearance of a bulldog, and his charm only corroborated that comparison.
“Yeah?” he drawled as if our presence bored him more than the game of darts he was watching on the small crappy TV on the counter.
“We’ve come to claim some lost property.”
Without looking at me, he held out a hand. It was hard to miss the dirt under and around his fingernails and judging by the faint grunt of disgust from Nessa she hadn’t either. “Ticket number?”
“Sorry?”
“Ticket - number,” he repeated, once again without any suggestion of what he meant.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Nessa purred, leaning on the counter, and offering him a glimpse of her cleavage as she gave him her killer smile. “We lost the printout receipt on the tube somewhere. We’ve come all the way from Derbyshire. It’s too far to go back and make another online claim and then travel back down.”
Bert’s eyes lifted from her chest to her mouth when Nessa slowly slid the tip of her tongue along her top teeth and gave him another alluring smile.
“I would be very appreciative if you could just take a look for us.” Giving him a wink and seductively biting her lip, she added, “I promise not to tell your boss, sir. It’ll just be between us, our little secret.”
Sighing, he rolled his eyes. “Name?”
“Marsh,” I stated quickly before he changed his mind.
Hoisting himself out of the chair, he disappeared through a door, both Nessa and I jumping when it slammed shut behind him.
“Think he’s locked himself in?” Nessa said when Bert failed to return after fifteen minutes. “Should I go….”
The door reopened, and Bubbly Bert reappeared. He was scratching his head with a puzzled expression as he looked at an envelope he held in his hand. “Been a while hasn’t it?”
Confused, I returned his frown. “Sorry?”
Handing me the envelope, he tapped the date that had been stamped onto the front. “Been here since 25th May 2014. How come it’s taken you nearly four years to reclaim?”
My heartbeat stuttered, and my head swam. I was finding it hard to breathe as I stared at the date. A date I would never forget for the rest of my life. Was this a joke? If so, it was one hell of a sick one.
Nessa made that funny choked sound again, and I blinked at her when the blood drained from her face, and she held onto the countertop.
My mouth had become so dry that I couldn’t form words.
“Don’t usually keep stuff for that long, so a bit of a mystery,” Bert announced when I remained mute with shock and took it from him with shaky hands.
Nessa and I stumbled out of the office, and I let out the breath I’d been holding since Bert’s declaration. I didn’t get why Nessa was so thrown by the date, though. This was a date personal to me only. She was as silent as me when I opened the envelope and pulled out a slip of paper.
‘It’s not ha
rd to find which one is yours
out of all the numerous metal doors.
Six up and four along,
will the contents be your swan song?
16593
is the code you need to gain you entry.’
I made a mental note of the number, presuming it to be our last clue, and looked around for some lockers.
Nessa looked like she was about to puke. Much the same as me really.
What the hell did that mean anyway? ‘Will the contents be your swansong?’ Did he mean because it was the last game? Plus, the fact that the GM had planned this whole fucked-up-shit since the day of Noah’s death was quite alarming. Nessa had thought this entire thing had been personal to her. Well, now it was proof that this wasn’t all about her.
She followed me, completely silent and almost lethargic as I made my way over to a block of lockers to the side of the foyer.
Counting six up and four along, I punched the code into the keypad and opened the door.
A file sat alone inside, and intrigued, I reached in and took it out. We both stared at the red lettering ‘Strictly Confidential. Restricted access. Level 1 only’ that had been stamped on the light brown cover. But it wasn’t that that held both our attention. It was the words sprawled underneath.
Operation Firefox
Denny Barnes
Vanessa Alexeev
“Caelan.” Nessa was crying, her pale face now a shade of green. Shaking her head wildly, she was panting and shivering so much I thought she was going to pass out. “Please, don’t look.” Her eyes were on the file in my hand, and she stared at it as though it was a bomb about to blow up. “Please.”
Game Master Page 11
