The Game Players of Meridien

by Robert I. Katz

  His eyes rose. “That’s ambitious. There’s nothing like that around here.”

  “An opportunity wasted,” I said. “Wittburg has many tourists, and your wines are highly regarded. Wineries that offer tastings, on-site sales and educational tours are attractive destinations for tourists, particularly near harvest time.”

  “Well,” Eric Strauss said, “this is an exciting proposal.” He gave me a wide smile. “I can get you cost estimates easily enough. It will take about three days to study the project.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Then I frowned and gave him a thoughtful look. “Tell me, on an entirely different subject, one division of my corporation specializes in games of all sort. I’ve been thinking of developing a game oriented toward military tactics and training. While doing preliminary research, I came across some very interesting facts. Did you know that in the past ten years there have been seven fatal accidents at the Wittburg Army base?”

  He stared at me and cleared his throat. “I’m not a member of the military. Why would I know about that?”

  “According to my sources, you were good friends with a man named Justin Gerhard, one of the victims,” I said, and frowned down at the open notebook on my lap.

  “Justin Gerhard…”

  “Before joining the Avalon Commandos, Justin Gerhard had an extensive juvenile record, which has been sealed by the court.” I shrugged. “One would think that criminals lack the discipline needed to serve in the military, but sometimes, with a little guidance, the opposite is true, and juvenile delinquents have been known to turn into perfect soldiers.” I put on a wry smile. “A more legitimate way to channel their aggressions, I suppose.

  “So, what can you tell me about Justin Gerhard?”

  “We were friends. He’s dead.” Eric Strauss shrugged. He looked sad, but I could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his heart was beating rapidly, the scent of fear thick in the room.

  “It’s curious about training accidents.” I sat back, my pencil tapping idly on the notebook. “When you research the way that governments operate, certain patterns repeat themselves over and over. Elite paramilitary units often recruit in exactly this way: a fake accident, an assumed death, and a man or woman who no longer exists vanishes into the bowels of the organization. A new name, sometimes even a new face, and one is free to operate beyond the usual constraints of the legal system.

  “What do you think?” I smiled at him.

  “I think,” he said carefully, “that you should speak to the commanding officer of the Avalon Commandos, though if your supposition is correct, I doubt very much that he’ll tell you anything.”

  “I intend to, but you’re probably right. So, you’ve never seen Justin Gerhard since that day?”

  “No, of course not.” Strauss cleared his throat. “You pose an interesting theory, but it’s only a theory and I have no reason to doubt the official story. Furthermore, if what you suggest is true, speaking about it in this way might not be very smart.”

  “Perhaps not,” I said. I shut my notebook and rose to my feet. “Please put together that estimate. If I decide to move ahead with the project, I’m going to need those numbers. I’m not in the habit of wasting my time.”

  “Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Three days.”

  “Excellent.” I gave him a wide smile. “Don’t bother getting up. I’ll show myself out.”

  Well, I thought, that should stimulate something. I nodded to his secretary as I exited the office and walked down the stairs. I felt pretty good about my little encounter with Eric Strauss and I was eager to see what the two tiny transmitting bugs that I had planted in his office would tell me.

  Chapter 16

  Jennifer and I had checked in under different names at different times and had deliberately reserved separate rooms. I sat in the desk chair in Jennifer’s room and sipped a soft drink while I listened to Eric Strauss’ loud, angry voice. “They know,” he said. “They know you’re alive…Who? I have no idea.”

  Strauss listened for a moment and drew a deep breath. “No. Just one so far but it would be insane to assume that he’s working alone.”

  Pity I couldn’t tell what the person on the other end of the line, presumably Justin Gerhard, was saying.

  “He’s rich, or at least he’s pretending to be rich.”

  This was true, I thought, almost offended. I was rich.

  “Right,” Strauss said. He didn’t look happy but he nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” He pressed a button, hung up the phone, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then rose to his feet and shuffled out of the office. At least he didn’t look happy. That cheered me up a bit. Somebody planning to kill me, if that’s what he was planning, should at least display a little regret.

  I nursed my drink while considering my options, and decided to sit tight for a little while longer. I sent the recorded file of Eric Strauss’ conversation off into cyberspace and saved it to a chip. Events were finally moving. I hoped that I liked the result but in either case, I was glad that Jennifer was out of the line of fire.

  I lay down and took a nap. Forty minutes later, a low buzz woke me up. On the monitor screen, the door to my suite opened and three large men walked in, guns drawn. “Shit,” one of them said. “He’s not here.”

  The last one in closed the door. Two of them kept their guns hanging down by their sides while the third one searched the room. Within a few seconds he found the metal box that I had left in the top drawer of the dresser. The box wasn’t locked. All three men crowded around as the one who had found it slid the top back. Inside lay a single sheet of paper. He took it out, unfolded it and his face grew white. Written in red crayon was one word: BOOM!

  The box began to vibrate. The crook dropped it. They all turned to run. The box suddenly emitted purple smoke and a harsh laughing sound came from a small speaker in the bottom. One of the bad guys turned to the next and said, “The guy’s a joker.”

  Then the box exploded. It wasn’t a big explosion, just big enough to make a loud noise. Then all the noise stopped. The three guys looked at each other, drew deep breaths, put their guns away and trooped out of the room.

  Carefully, I also sent the recording of this incident out into cyberspace and made a copy of the file onto a chip.

  Time to move. I put on a blonde wig and gray contact lenses and inserted lifts into my shoes, making myself three centimeters taller. I closed the door behind me, walked down to the end of the hallway and took the emergency exit to the bottom of the stairs, which came out at the far end of the lobby near a back entrance. Nobody seemed to be watching as I exited the hotel and walked down the street toward the headquarters of the local police.

  I had a complaint to make.

  “I need to speak with your commanding officer.”

  The guy behind the desk was fat, around forty, with short gray hair, a round, bored face and flat eyes, as if he had seen everything there was to see and nothing could ever surprise him again.

  He gave me a sleepy look and barely suppressed a yawn. “Who are you?”

  “I’m the Chief Consul from the nation of Meridien. I’m here to report a crime.”

  The cop seemed a little less sleepy as he considered this. “What crime?” he said.

  “Attempted murder.”

  He puffed up his cheeks and gave me a slow, level look. “Wait here.”

  I sat back in my seat and suppressed a smile. Meridien didn’t have a consulate in Wittburg or Lake April, but the diplomatic papers appointing me to the position of Consul were real.

  A few seconds later another cop, this one a little older, much leaner and looking just a little pissed off walked up to me. “What’s this about a murder?”

  “Attempted murder,” I said. “Attempted. Fortunately, I escaped without injury.”

  He frowned, tapped his foot twice against the floor, then said. “I’m Captain Pendergast. Come with me.”

  I followed him into an office at the end of the hall. The offi
ce was cramped but clean. A window behind his desk opened down upon Lake April’s central square. “Tell me,” he said.

  “Look at this first.” I handed him the chip with the recording of the thugs invading my room. He frowned at it, gave a tiny shrug and plugged it into the computer on his desk. His face remained expressionless as he watched it. He turned back toward me. “Who are you?”

  I handed him my appointment papers and diplomatic ID. He barely glanced at them, then said, “I know these people. They have long records. Why would they do this?”

  “I’m happy you asked.” I handed him the first chip, with Eric Strauss’ phone call.

  “Strauss,” he said in a flat voice.

  “It’s good that you recognize him.”

  “How did you get these?”

  “I had a meeting with Mr. Strauss this morning. I planted a couple of bugs in his office.”

  His face grew red and he fixed me with a beady eye. “It’s illegal in the nation of Avalon to record a private conversation without the permission of both parties.”

  “I have diplomatic immunity.”

  “Maybe you can’t be arrested but you can be expelled from the country.”

  I smiled. “I’m leaving anyway.”

  He thought about that for a second. I could barely see him shrug. “And the other one?”

  “I don’t believe it’s illegal to bug one’s own rooms. After hearing the first conversation, I was expecting an attempt of this sort.”

  “What do you want?” he asked. “Why are you here?”

  “Did you know that members of your military have been vanishing for over ten years?”

  He stared at me.

  “The person that Eric Strauss was talking to on the phone is named Justin Gerhard. Gerhard was a recruit with the Avalon Commandos. He supposedly died in a training accident over five years ago. There have been seven such accidents over a ten-year period. None of them left a body. At least three of these supposedly deceased soldiers have been positively identified with assault, arson, kidnapping and attempted murder in my own nation of Meridien.”

  Captain Pendergast seemed to deflate. He sank back in his chair, his face grim. “I think you’re talking to the wrong person. I’m a policeman. Complaints of this nature are far above my jurisdiction.”

  “Then perhaps you should contact somebody with more authority.”

  He looked at me for a moment with a blank expression on his face then picked up the phone. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said.

  “Our relations with the military are not always the best.” The Mayor of Wittburg Province, which included the towns of Lake April and Wittburg proper, was a thin, balding man named Markus Drake. The Mayor had listened to Captain Pendergast’s report and my story with what seemed to be amused interest. “No,” he said again, “they are not always the best.”

  In the abstract, I couldn’t have cared less about a rivalry between the Army and the town, but in practical terms, a little mutual antagonism probably made my job easier. The mayor had already looked at the two videos. If he was surprised, he was keeping it to himself. “What makes you think that Mr. Strauss is talking to this Justin Gerhard? He could be talking to anybody at all.”

  “Look at this,” I said and handed him another chip. It was a composite video of the team that had assaulted my warehouse. It started in the restaurant, Arcadia. The faces of Justin Gerhard, Stephan Burk and Ernst Muller were circled. The video quickly cut to the Avalon service records of all three, ending with the newsvids announcing their deaths during training.

  “It certainly looks like them,” the Mayor said. He pursed his lips then his eyes snapped to my face. “You say that your government sent a protest?”

  “Yes.”

  “What response did they receive?”

  “A formal letter disclaiming both knowledge and responsibility. If the Avalon authorities did anything at all, they kept it to themselves.”

  The Mayor stared at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “A scandal,” he declared. “Isn’t that right, Captain?”

  Captain Pendergast puffed his cheeks out. “Yes, indeed,” he said, though his voice lacked enthusiasm.

  The Mayor grinned. “Eric Strauss is an annoyance.” He turned back to the police Captain. “These men who came into Mr. Oliver’s room, they are known associates of Eric Strauss?”

  The Captain frowned. “Yes.”

  The Mayor shrugged. “Arrest them, and arrest Eric Strauss as well.”

  Captain Pendergast’s face looked pained. The Mayor raised one eyebrow. He waited. After a moment, the Captain cleared his throat. “Very well,” he said.

  Mayor Drake considered the Captain’s unhappy expression and gave him a small frown. “I understand how things work when men are asked to do difficult and dangerous tasks, the compromises that are necessary to keep peace in our city. There is a possibility that certain”—a far away look came over the Mayor’s face—“interested parties have made donations to the welfare of our public servants. If this is so, and if Mr. Strauss feels that he has been treated unfairly, you may blame me for his discomfort.” The Mayor gave Captain Pendergast a bright, sunny smile. “Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir. Indeed.”

  “The responsibilities of national security are far above my station and yours, Captain. We are tasked with keeping order in our own small portion of the world. We shall do so.” The Mayor turned toward me. “Will this be satisfactory, Mr. Oliver?”

  “Certainly. Thank you.” Frankly, it was a lot more than I had been expecting.

  “Our city lives on tourism,” the Mayor said. “I will not have visitors threatened in this way.” He grinned ferociously. “No reason to involve our military comrades, not at this time at least. Justin Gerhard, after all, is supposed to be dead. Let’s see if we can find him. I will be curious to see what this dead man looks like, and what he has to say.”

  They didn’t let me go along when they arrested Eric Strauss and his three goons, of course, though I would have enjoyed it. They did, at the Mayor’s insistence, allow me to observe their interrogation. Strauss sat in a chair in front of a plain wooden table in a plain room with flat, light green paint on the walls. He wore handcuffs and ankle bracelets that were chained to the floor.

  Some places required personal representation before questioning a suspect. Not Avalon, apparently. Captain Pendergast asked the questions. His chair was padded, evidently more comfortable than the suspect’s.

  Mayor Drake sipped a soft drink and ate a pastry. He had an amused, attentive look on his face. “Something to eat?” he said.

  “No, thank you.”

  He shrugged.

  “Where is Justin Gerhard?” Captain Pendergast asked. Right to the point. I liked that.

  Strauss cleared his throat. “Who?” His voice almost squeaked.

  The Captain shook his head, looking sad but resigned. He touched a button. Bright yellow sparks shot from two electrodes attached to Eric Strauss’ neck. Strauss screamed. The Captain took his finger off the button. Different laws here in Avalon, I thought.

  “Where is Justin Gerhard?” the Captain asked again.

  “He’s with Sophia,” Strauss said. His breath rasped in his throat. His face was very white. “Sophia Adams.”

  “And who is Sophia Adams?”

  “His girlfriend. He visits her whenever he’s in town.”

  “How often is he in town?”

  “Every six months or so. Maybe more. I don’t keep track of his movements.” Strauss licked his lips.

  “Six months is a long time for a girlfriend to wait.”

  Strauss shrugged.

  “Who does he work for?”

  “I don’t know,” Strauss said.

  Pendergast smiled thinly and his finger reached toward the button.

  “I don’t know!”

  Pendergast frowned at him. “You must have some idea. Who do you think that he works for?”

  “Someone foreign
. I know that he’s often out of the country. He has a tan in the winter. He sometimes mentions palm trees and beaches and blue seas. He’s mentioned jobs that he’s been on, in various places. I don’t know who he works for. He’s muscle.”

  Captain Pendergast’s second, a Lieutenant Gottfried, stood next to us, observing. The Mayor nodded to him and the Lieutenant quietly left the room. The Mayor leaned toward me and said, “The Lieutenant and his men will pay a little visit to this Sophia Adams. With luck, Justin Gerhard will be with her. If he is not, one of them will bring her here and then they will wait for Mr. Gerhard to return.” The Mayor smiled. “We will see.”

  The Mayor left and I did as well. “Be back in two hours,” the Mayor said. He glanced at his interface. “We should have something by then.”

  It was nearly evening by now and I was hungry. There were numerous excellent restaurants in the town of Lake April. I picked one that specialized in native wildlife, an intriguing if not dangerous concept. While Illyrian life used purine-pyrimidine analogues of DNA, they were not exactly the same purines and pyrimidines as those of Earth, and many of the proteins that this pseudo-DNA coded for could not be digested by humans. However, the menu had a clearly printed disclaimer that all the food was guaranteed safe for human consumption.

  My meal consisted of three courses: a soup, a fish and something that appeared to be meat, all highly spiced. In the end, I was not impressed. The food was well prepared but the tastes seemed a little off. Maybe it was just me. The restaurant was full enough and most of the other diners seemed to enjoy their meals.

  After a little less than two hours, I returned to the police station. Captain Pendergast and the Mayor sat together in the Captain’s office. The Mayor looked pleased. The Captain did not.

  “Ah, Mr. Oliver,” the Mayor said. “Sophia Adams has been taken into custody.” His smile grew wide. “A young man who looks remarkably like Justin Gerhard was with her. He claims that his name is Charles Berlin. He has papers to support this claim. The papers state that he is a citizen of the nation of Gath.” He gave a small, satisfied smile in the direction of the Captain, who continued to look glum.