The Great Game

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction.

“Always,” said Don. “Call if you need anything else, but do it securely.”

“Thanks. Catch you soon.”

“Luck.”

I tried to make sense of it all. The fact that Overlook had been hacked around was really frightening. Given the limited information that I had access to, I simply had to assume that Hallet was a lethally off-bounds. Officially, the government would never take military action against its own loyal employees. In reality though, there were more than enough sudden heart attacks, woodland wrist-slittings, mysterious car crashes and tragic gas main faults to go around. It had to be one of the deep, dark agencies cleaning up a mess we should never have stuck our noses into. The alternative was too terrifying to contemplate.

That meant my choices were to check in as ordered and go down like Ransom, or drop right off the grid and wait for the storm to pass.

It only took a bit of fiddling to cut the power on my comms unit, and my blank glasses were ID-neutral, but my appearance was a problem. Disguises had to be pretty sophisticated to convince Overlook you were someone else, and furtive behaviour threw up flags like crazy. There were a couple of basic precautions I could take, though.

I bent down, and rubbed my hands in the cold mud at the path’s edge. Then I used it to slick my hair back off my forehead, darkening it a couple of shades in the process. I smeared a thin swish of it around my mouth and chin too, giving me a semblance of a stubble goatee. It would be obvious if a human operator paid attention, but in the dark, it might help me to avoid tripping automatic facial recognition patterns. Wads of turf in the heels of my shoes added an oozy inch to my height, and a small stone in the left one gave me a tentative gait.

Next, I pulled my shirt out of my trousers, and dumped my jacket and tie under a bush. Finally, I rooted around in several bins before finding a trashy news-sheet to pretent to be absorbed in — far less suspicious than wandering around with my head down and shirt-collar up.

I left the park and started walking, feeling cold, squishy, stupid, miserable and scared, all rolled into one. The urge to head back to my car, go home, and have a hot bath was almost painfully strong. I ignored it, and limped down the road away from the office.

One of the dubious benefits of agency work was that you learnt where the city’s bad guys hung out. It took me more than an hour to walk the two and a half miles across town to Campbell Street. I wandered up the road idly, but there was no hint that anyone was staking the place out in the flesh. I decided to risk it, and went into the ugly little convenience store on the corner. I rubbed the mud off my face as best I could as I walked through the door, and just hoped my hair didn’t look to mad.

The kid at the counter shot me a suspicious glare as I entered. I nodded to him pleasantly, and headed deeper in. At the back of the shop, there was a small door with a dirty entryphone. I pressed the buzzer, and waited.

A moment later, it crackled into life. “Who the hell are you?”

“Taylor. Adam sent me.”

“So?”

I lifted up my hand, and waved my watch at the camera.

“Alright,” muttered the crackly voice. The door clicked open.

I pushed through into a sterile, neon-lit little room with another door at the far end. There was a metal table in the middle of the floor, with a yellow plastic tub on it.

“Show me what you’ve got,” said the crackly voice. It was louder in here, and there was no obvious speaker grille. I took off my watch and put it in the tub, and then followed it up with my communicator unit, my DSP ID card, and two of my bank cards.

There was a pause. “Is he dead?”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

“Good enough,” said the voice. “Four hundred.”

“That’s way too little,” I said. Even for a cheap-ass fence, the fucker was gouging me.

“Throw in the glasses, and I’ll call it 1000.”

“No way.”

“Whatever. Four hundred then, or fuck off.”

I sighed. “Okay.” This was going to cost me a fortune.

A couple of moments later, a knuckle-dragging, muscle-bound expendable came in through the far door. He squinted at me, scooped up the tub, glanced at the contents, and put a stack of cash down on the table. I picked it up and riffled through it, then stuffed it in my front pocket.

Knuckles left the room again, and I turned to do the same. I paused when the speaker came back on.

“Taylor, eh? Cute. Come by again, and you’ll get a better rate.”

I bit back my first reply, and nodded instead. “Ok. Thanks.”

I went back into the shop, and blew some of my cash on a pair of scissors, cheap hair dye, some cotton wool and a few candy bars. There were several cheap motels in the neighbourhood, so I left the shop and headed for the nearest, a couple of blocks away. The clerk was only too happy to give me a room for the night for cash, and handed over a key. I didn’t ask for a receipt, and in return, he didn’t even ask me to sign a fake name in the book.

I went up to my 3rd-floor room, threw myself through a blissfully hot shower, scarfed down a candy bar, and was unconscious within 30 seconds of getting into bed.

Today’s image is Store by (heh) Tim D.

I hope you all had a good New Year, and that 2010 brings you loads of great times. Sorry for the delay on this episode; it took me a while to recover from my birthday celebrations on the 31st. Voting  for this episode will close around 6pm on Monday.