It takes less than two seconds for a trained attacker to cover seven meters. Both of the other guys were almost on top of me. Time slowed. I felt the zing of adrenaline boost and I rotated, slamming my foot into the first guy’s side. He turned with the kick, spun, and aimed a kick of his own at my head, which I blocked with my forearm. I side-kicked the second one. He groaned but stayed on his feet and pulled a knife from a holster at his waist. A beer stein flew over my head and hit the guy on his arm. Jimmy. The knife dropped.
Jared and the other guard ran into the room. The first attacker saw them coming, shook his head, reached into a pocket and threw something onto the ground. A puff of black smoke rose up, obscuring everything and I fell to the floor, coughing. The door to the kitchen was somewhere behind me. Blindly, I crawled toward it, hit the wall and within a few moments, I was through the door and breathing cold, fresh air.
Jimmy pushed through right after me. “Christ,” he said. I smiled wanly at that. Christianity had been slowly gaining new adherents for nearly a century, since Illyria’s rediscovery by the Second Empire. Officially, neither the Guild Council nor the Empire favor any one religion over another but the Vatican, after eight thousand years, still commands legions of the faithful. Their numbers, plus the fact that the Church has always preached submission to secular authority has bought them tolerance, if not enthusiasm, from the bureaucracy.
Jimmy blinked and shook his head. His eyes were red and watering but I could see that he was otherwise unharmed. “Where are Jared and the staff?” he asked.
“Hopefully, they escaped out the front.”
We sat there and just breathed for the few minutes it took the smoke to clear. A couple of tables were overturned and one was smashed but all the customers had gotten out unscathed. My three attackers had as well.
“Who were they?” Jimmy asked.
“The guys who set fire to my warehouse.”
Jimmy gave me a disgusted look. He didn’t question me. Jimmy knew exactly how I knew. “The cops will be here soon. Do you want to go public with this?”
“No point. It’s a Guild dispute. They can’t interfere even if they wanted to.”
“They can’t but I can. I can claim penalty for the damage.”
“It’s only a broken table,” I said.
Jimmy looked at me, angry. “It’s not ‘only a broken table.’ My customers have gone out the door and some of them may not come back. Your stupid Guilds and their stupid games.”
“It’s not supposed to happen this way,” I said, inadequately.
“Right,” he said. “You should get going.”
“Just a second.” I walked back into the wrecked bar and scanned the floor for the knife the first guy had dropped but they must have retrieved it before running off. I sighed. This just kept getting better and better. “Alright, I’m out of here.”
Jimmy gave me a reluctant grin. “See you soon.”
“You bet.”
Chapter 7
“Double edged, oxidized blade, fixed, symmetric, no serrations. No groove. The guard faced slightly forward. A black, rubberized handle. The hilt had an emblem of some sort but I couldn’t make it out.” The knife was gone but I had gotten a good look at it.
Curtis puffed his cheeks up. “Excellent,” he said. The holograph displayed a knife very similar to my description. “Like this?”
I shook my head. “Not quite. The guard was smaller.”
Curtis punched a key. Again, I shook my head. On the fourth, I said, “That one looks good.” It looked very good. “Pan in on the hilt.” A stylized eagle, its beak open, ready to tear.
“What do you think?” Curtis asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
Curtis tapped some keys and four more knives, almost identical, showed on the screen. “These?”
“Yeah. Could be any of them.”
“Forget the second. It’s ceremonial, only worn at formal functions. Also, the fifth. The unit that carried them was wiped out over three hundred years ago. So…the Avalon Commandos, the Canadaran Hoplytes and the Kinshasa Royal Marines.” Curtis smiled and handed me a computerized spreadsheet. “The wine that they were drinking is Chateau Renarde. It’s from the province of Noisette and it’s made from a hybrid grape called Cabernet Noir, commonly used to make fine wines. This is a list of villages known to make a similar wine.”
I read it and a grin spread over my face. “The village of Wittburg, in Avalon,” I said.
The Roman Empire had lasted for over a thousand years. The First Interstellar Empire endured for over four thousand. The Guild system that forms the basis of Meridien society is supposedly based on the four factions of the Roman Empire: the Whites, Reds, Blues and Greens, though some reputable scholars hold that it actually has more in common with the ancient Sicilian mafia and its code of Omerta and absolute loyalty to the chosen family.
Meridien is governed by a Parliament, consisting of the Guild Council and the Commons. Each Guild has a Master, voted upon by the members of the Guild and each Master sits on the Council, which comprises eighty percent of the votes in Parliament. The remaining twenty percent of the votes are held by Commons. The rights and privileges of those citizens who are not Guild members are protected, but of course, such citizens do not have the connections and financial assistance provided by a Guild.
Avalon’s government, on the other hand, was a direct democracy, with a President and advisory council elected every five years. Bills were submitted to a vote of the people by petition. I shook my head. Direct democracy had been tried many times in many places and rarely worked for long, since once a people realize that they can vote themselves money, they almost always do so, inevitably resulting in hyperinflation and confiscatory taxation, followed closely by socio-economic collapse.
“I want these guys,” I muttered. “I really do.”
Curtis gave me a sharp look. “Give me a few minutes,” he said. “We may have something.”
I nodded. We didn’t have a lot of data on other nations’ military personnel, but it was worth taking a shot. A face suddenly appeared in the upper left corner of the holograph; a few seconds later, another, and then another. Curtis frowned. “Interesting,” he said, then he gave me a lopsided grin. “Supposedly, they’re all dead.”
Perhaps that should have surprised me. “An undercover hit squad,” I said.
“Sure. Fake a few deaths and your black ops team has plausible deniability.”
I smiled. “You know, I’ve always wanted to sample the famous wines from the village of Wittburg.”
Curtis frowned, thinking it over. “And while you’re pretending to be a tourist, there’s nothing to stop them from hitting us again.”
“They can hit us again, any time they want, whether I’m in Wittburg or sitting here in my office. I think it’s time for the Guild to earn their membership fee. Master Anderson has instructed us to keep him informed.”
“That might help,” Curtis said. “We’ve got eleven faces. You pursue things with the Guild Master and I’ll start canvassing the hotels.”
Guild Master Anderson’s eyes were just as bright, just as beady and just as inquisitive as he smiled at me from the screen. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon. You told my secretary that this call was urgent. I assume you need something?”
“A formal enquiry from the Guild Council would be appreciated. Perhaps a protest.”
He raised his brows while his smile grew sharper. “Of what? To whom?”
“We’ve identified three members of the team that hit my warehouse. They’re former—or perhaps current—members of the Avalon Commandos, all listed as killed in action.”
Grand Master Anderson gave a chuckle and sank back into his seat. “The Avalon authorities may not take this seriously. After all, who knows who the dead might be working for?”
I looked at him and waited. “Very well,” the Guild Master finally said. “Nothing to lose by trying, eh?”
“That’s what I t
hought.”
“A letter of protest will be transmitted. Will that satisfy you?”
“Yes,” I said carefully. “It will.”
“And what else will you be doing, while we wait for a reply?”
“Other avenues are being investigated.”
He gave a short nod. “Then have a nice day,” he said and the screen went blank.
The nation of Octavia shared a small portion of its mountainous border with Avalon. The two countries had existed for centuries in an uneasy truce, vacillating between outright warfare and on at least two occasions, a direct military alliance, but all of that was in the distant past. Today, they were interlinked by trade agreements and their borders were open. I decided to give Jen Mallett a call.
“Hi,” she said. “Problems solved?” She wore a business suit and understated makeup and looked beautiful.
“Not yet, I’m afraid. I was wondering if you had ever been to Avalon.”
“Sure. The skiing is great. My family used to go there on vacation.”
“Aside from skiing, what’s the place like?”
“Why? Thinking of investing?”
“Maybe. A friend suggested that there might be opportunities.” I liked that word, opportunities. It could mean almost anything.
She frowned. “I would steer clear. The tax structure is a mess. Their own citizens get preferential treatment and the government makes it prohibitive for foreigners to own property. Hard to make a profit.”
“What else?”
“It’s a normal enough place, otherwise. Kids, families…standard arrangement.” She shrugged.
Kids and families…there were always kids and families. The ‘standard arrangement,’ on Illyria at least, meant one man and one woman, though many variations of that arrangement had been tried, both on Illyria and on many different worlds, but kids and whatever passed for families, were universal. Those arrangements that did not include kids and families had not survived.
“I was thinking of buying a vineyard,” I said. “It seemed like a bargain.”
Jennifer looked doubtful. “The wine is very good but they make it hard for foreigners to invest. I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate the advice.”
She cracked a smile. “I get the feeling that I haven’t convinced you.”
“I think I’ll check it out for myself.”
“Good luck,” she said. “I hope you don’t need it.”
I said goodbye and clicked off the phone.
Chapter 8
“Riverside Hotel,” Curtis said. “The concierge staff recognized the pictures. They checked out yesterday.”
“Yesterday…” I shook my head. By now, the rooms would have been cleaned. Nothing left for my heightened senses to pick up. “And of course, nobody has any idea where they went.”
Curtis shrugged. “Not a clue.”
“Well, keep looking. Maybe they left the city but maybe they’re holed up someplace else.”
“I never would have thought of that,” Curtis said.
“Hey, I pay the bills. I can be as obvious as I want.”
“We’ll see what we can discover but don’t hold your breath.”
“Are you sure this is smart?” Curtis asked.
Actually, no, I wasn’t, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Curtis. “I have a business to run. It wouldn’t be smart to look like we’re paralyzed. Predators sense weakness. We don’t want to appear weak.”
Curtis rolled his eyes but he sat back in his seat, said nothing further and frowned out at the pedestrians, radiating silent disapproval as our convoy of three limousines crawled along the crowded street. It took us almost half an hour to get to our destination, a five-story building that housed DeSoto Industries, a supplier of high quality lighting fixtures, kitchen appliances and plumbing equipment, the mundane sort of stuff that always makes money because everybody needs it.
Allen DeSoto stood up when we walked in. “Glad to see you. Can I get you anything?” he asked.
“No thanks. We’re fine.” Curtis and the three other bodyguards said nothing and stood at attention in the corners of the room.
DeSoto looked at my men, puffed up his cheeks and shrugged. “Then let’s get to it.” He glanced at the papers sitting on the desk in front of him, shook his head and gave a small sigh. “I’m afraid, gentlemen, that I can no longer do business with Oliver Enterprises.”
I sat up straighter in my chair. “Really,” I said.
He sat back down and drew a deep breath. “Really.”
“We’ve been buying from you for years. What’s changed?”
“I have been persuaded that it would be bad for my financial well-being to continue my association with Oliver Enterprises.”
“Who persuaded you?” I could feel myself leaning forward. DeSoto’s face was pale. His eyes skittered around the room, landing everywhere but my face.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t. I don’t know who is behind it but I was given enough evidence to be certain that my business would dry up if I continued to deal with you.” He shook his head. “These people have reached all the way into my supply chains. I don’t have any choice.”
He was telling the truth. I briefly toyed with the idea of making threats of my own but I knew that I wouldn’t carry them out. DeSoto was a solid guy who did an honest business. His Guild was Viridian, one of the smallest and least likely to get involved. “Alright,” I said.
He drew an audible breath, relief washing over his face. “I hope you can fix it,” he said. “I don’t like doing things this way.”
“It’s business,” I said. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah.” He nodded glumly.
“We’ll show ourselves out.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said.
I shrugged and turned around, Curtis and the guards clustering close in as we made our way through the lobby and across the parking lot. We were almost at the car when I heard a popping sound and felt a sudden sting in my chest. I looked down. Something was sticking out of me, right below the sternum. How did that get there? I thought. I reached up to grab it but my hand felt suddenly heavy and I stopped, drew a deep breath and tried to figure out why I felt so strange. Vaguely, as if from a very far distance, I heard the same sound, pop, pop, pop, over and over again and then the world faded slowly to colored rainbows and then to black.
I could hear voices, faint and far away. I couldn’t make out what they were saying and truthfully, I didn’t care. I just wanted to sleep. Somebody moaned. That focused my attention. I blinked my eyes and raised my head. I realized that I was sitting in a chair, my hands tied behind my back. Curtis was being held upright between two men. Blood dripped down his face and his nose was skewed to the side. He coughed, wheezed and spat out a broken tooth.
“Do you see?” Blearily, I rolled my eyes to the left. A small man stood next to me, smiling. I recognized him. The same one who had warned me to cease my activities in Sindara. Not just a simple messenger, then, not at all. “Do you see what we can do to you?”
I tried to say something, I’m not sure what, but all that emerged was a grunt.
“This isn’t a game we’re playing. This is what we will do to you if you do not do as we say.”
Everything is a game, I thought. Everything; but the rules have just changed.
I tried to smile. Maybe I succeeded. I’m not sure, but the guy didn’t like whatever it was that he saw in my face. “I don’t think you’re taking me seriously.” He clucked his tongue. “They told me you were smart. I’m thinking maybe they were wrong.”
I spat in his face. I did it very deliberately. His eyes flared as his fist rose and crunched against my jaw. I saw a brief explosion of light and then the lights went out.
I’m not sure how long I was unconscious but I was no longer tied to the chair when I finally came to. Good. That’s what I’d been hoping for
. When your position in a game is hopeless, then change your position.
Gingerly, I reached up and felt my jaw. It throbbed but it wasn’t broken. Small favors. I was alone, lying on a thin mattress over a narrow bed. I sat up slowly, fighting dizziness, and drew a slow, deep breath.
The room was small. The bed that I was lying on, a lamp in the corner and a small desk with a hard, wooden chair were the only furniture. I stood up, rotated my neck and moved my jaw back and forth. Everything hurt but there didn’t seem to be any permanent damage. So far, so good.
An ankle cuff led to a chain bolted to a ring in the floor. The chain was steel, too hard for me to break, but the floor was wood, only a couple of centimeters thick. If necessary, I could work on the ring. Given a little time, I thought that I could pull it from the floor, but it wasn’t necessary. An electronic lock kept the cuff fastened to my ankle. I held two fingers against the cuff, on either side of the lock, and let a small surge of electricity flow from finger to finger. The lock resisted at first, and I increased the flow. The lock shorted out with a tiny puff of smoke and the scent of burning electronics. The cuff opened.
I moved to the one, small window and pulled back the curtain. We were high, at least four stories up. There were bars across the window. I gave the bars a tug. I was stronger than most, though I didn’t look it. I might be able to pull the bars out, with a little time and effort, but where would I go? I could make out a balcony below and to the side. Maybe. It was at least a possibility.
The door was made out of some hard, heavy wood, double locked, with a cylinder lock plus a deadbolt. The walls were plaster board, a lot softer and thinner than the door. No doubt I could punch through them, but where would I wind up? When I pressed my head to the wall, I could hear conversation. It might be worth risking. It might not.
The ceiling was suspended on a grid. Such ceilings often contain pipes and electrical cable and sometimes an actual crawl space for workers. The desk was small but sturdy. I climbed on top and stood up. The ceiling panels were easy to push aside. There was a crawl space. Perfect. I clambered inside and replaced the panel. No visible light but hot water pipes emit heat and heat emits infra-red. Like a rattlesnake, I can see in the infra-red. I moved over the beams as quietly as I could until I was above a room on the other side of the hallway. There were two voices below, both male.
The Game Players of Meridien Page 6
