All or Nothing (16 page)

Kathryn was stunned. She tried to comprehend the idea. The unfathomable truth was huge. Was this really happening in the world? She knew that corruption existed in all stratas of society, but something this colossal could cripple the rich and powerful movers and shakers of the world if it ever got out. The unlimited resources of the contestants explained so much: the doppelganger building, the attention to detail, the way no expense was spared. If billionaires played this game, recreating a slice of someone’s life was peanuts to them. They created realistic stage sets for the movies all the time. She stared at Iain, who lifted a file from his box. He folded a piece of paper and put it in his pocket. He noticed Kathryn staring at him.

“So how did you figure it out? Many wouldn’t have.” Iain continued playing with the files.

Kathryn swallowed. “I…erm, this building, the interior anyway. This is an identical copy of where I work. It sounds daft, but my desk didn’t have all of its custom features. I didn’t believe that recreating my own office was possible or practical, though, I mean, who has the power to do this?”

“You don’t want to know. Some of the biggest household names siphon money into The Game. It’s a lot more connected to the establishment of the country than one would think.”

Kathryn said nothing. The idea was still too vast to comprehend; as was the impossibility of all this. Iain stopped playing with the files and looked at her. He sighed. “I’m sorry. In response to your question, I know your name for one reason only. I nearly picked you in the past. You have quite an impressive resumé, I must admit. In hindsight, maybe I should have picked you. You have been on their radar for several years now.”

Kathryn stared at the man, dumbfounded. “You mean…?”

“That’s right, Kathryn. I was one of The Chronicles five years ago.”

***

Bravo had to slap himself in the face. For several hours he'd been consuming alcohol. His vision had started to blur.

After causing the system malfunction by spilling his drink across the keyboard, the drinking spiralled out of control. Going ‘all in’ was something he was never prepared to do as a rule, but, as fate had decreed, he had done it anyway. Now his game plan was a disaster. Unless his Choice got extremely lucky or developed machine guns in her fingertips, there was no way she could survive two phases at the same time. He knew it. His competitors probably knew it too. But he kept his hopes up; there were always stories of the underdog coming out on top, sometimes against impossible odds. So Bravo had been trying to convince himself of this regularly, living in hope that the underdog would prevail and keep him in contention.

Until his Choice ran into Kappa.

Kappa was a player from five years ago. He was a runner-up. On reading the cliff notes from that year, Kappa had made a deal with The Company. If he kept his life intact for five years, with no changes and no hassle, he would repay them by participating in The Game on its return. The Company had agreed. Never before had a Chronicle been part of a previous Game, let alone voluntarily. For them, it was a big deal. Their sponsorship would go through the roof. Bravo had read about it and it was revealed that Kappa would be one of the Phases, randomly drawn for one of the Chronicles during the game. Like a wildcard, so to speak. Depending on how they played the game, Kappa would either be of assistance or a hindrance. Bravo knew, deep down, that Kappa was in his game to help his Choice because of him going ‘all in’. He just needed to confirm it.

Bravo, not skimping on research, had also read that Kappa’s wife had died during his original stint in The Game. Rule number four stated that no contact was to be made to the outside world whilst competing. When Kappa had returned home, his wife’s body was found in his home. The cause of death has been an overdose, self-inflicted, according to the report. A deadly cocktail of drugs and booze had killed her. In her high, she called her husband to vent her anger. She had been found with the phone in her hand. The last number dialled was his mobile phone, which had been turned off for a whole week. She had no family or friends to call, only her absent husband. It seemed that Kappa’s luxurious lifestyle couldn’t afford friends. As a consequence Kappa had gone into meltdown. And then they’d heard nothing from him for five years.

Until he had emerged in The Game.

Kappa had no choice. The Company could make his life a misery if he reneged on his agreement with them. Thus, he was in The Game.

He was in Bravo’s game.

Which meant he had lost.

Bravo emptied his glass.

The Company would ruin him. They would take everything. Going ‘all in’ was reserved for confident players. Something which he was not. The Company would punish him for this. He didn’t want to think of the consequences. He opened the drawer in his desk and pulled out his Magnum. An incredibly powerful gun reserved for real men. Each high-powered bullet was enough to remove someone’s head in one shot. Dirty Harry endorsed it. That was enough for him.

Listen to Eastwood
. That’s what his father had once said to him.

Your father would be ashamed
, he thought to himself.
You aren’t a real man. A real man would face up to his errors and learn from them.

Without hesitation, Bravo placed the barrel in his mouth. He pulled back the hammer.

An image of his father’s face appeared before his eyes. In glimpses and segments. A tear came to his eye.

BAM!

Bravo was dead before the top of his skull splattered against the ceiling. Blood erupted from his mouth in torrents. His eyes rolled back into head. Blood started to pour down his face, running over his mouth and eyes and nose. Smoke billowed from his nostrils. The gun fell to the floor. Bravo leaned forward as his balance shifted. His lifeless body toppled out of his revolving chair, hitting the carpet with a soft thud. The chair spun for a few seconds and then came to rest. Then all was still.

On the screen, Boyd and Genghis neared Kathryn’s position.

TWENTY-FIVE

Rupert was drifting in and out of consciousness. There was something that felt like a white-hot ball of fire within his brain, behind his nose and eyes. He realised that his nose was broken and a piece of the bone was poking back into the soft tissue of his face. He had to breathe through his mouth, as his nose was blocked, probably with blood. The pain was horrendous. Whenever he moved, his head caught fire and explosive pain coursed through his body. It rendered him useless. He feared moving. The feeling wouldn’t subside and tears streamed down his face. His head felt numb but painful at the same time, totally disorientating.

“I really made a fucking mess of you, didn’t I?”

Gunnar was squatting down in front of Rupert. He was observing the mess he had made. His victim’s face had swollen in several places. His nose was blue and red, and bone was sticking out of it. His left eye was closed, and his right was following suit. Blood had congealed in his nostrils. Rupert moved as if he could still see, but the pain had dulled all of his senses.

Gunnar knew from experience that Rupert was in agony, his body was moments from the drastic effects of shock, adrenaline was pumped around his body in a vain attempt to keep him awake. Gunnar smiled. He stood up, fetched a bucket of water and threw its contents over Rupert. The semi-comatose man bounced in the chair, shocked awake. He moaned quietly, very close to his torturer. Gunnar realised that he needed Rupert to stay alive in order to proceed with his mission.

Gunnar moved in and gripped Rupert’s nose. Finding the broken bone, he squeezed hard. Rupert screamed in his agony as Gunnar snapped the broken bone back into place. There was a sickening crack as the bone clicked home. Gunnar withdrew and stepped back, wiping his bloodied fingers on Rupert’s leg. Before he turned away and returned to his weapons.

Rupert opened his right eye and saw Gunnar walk away. He remembered hearing the name shouted down the phone as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He hadn’t let on that he'd heard this for fear of the consequences. The water had shocked him, but it had eased the pain on his face a little. His head had almost exploded when Gunnar had tweaked his broken nose bone back into place. Miraculously, the pain was subsiding to an ache now that the bone had been realigned. Rupert knew he had to let the pain ease away before doing anything. In his condition he had to take his time and be careful. To survive this ordeal would require patience.

“Rupert – sorry, Reverend Shaw. It’s your lucky day.”

Rupert almost smiled. Maybe he was going to be released? Had Gunnar had a change of heart?

“Yes, it’s your lucky day. My boss wants me to take my time with you. So I’ve selected five weapons. I will use each one in turn, for a variety of things. You get to watch. So yes, you’re lucky. Many people don’t get to witness my work. You will be one of the few that do.”

Rupert flinched and looked at Gunnar.

The ex-cleric never wanted to hurt a soul in his life, but right now, he wanted a great deal of harm to come to Gunnar. Whether by his own hand or someone else’s, he wanted this man to pay. What gave him the right to do this to another human being? Rupert felt the vehemence boiling inside him. Gunnar continued playing with his weapons. The injured man steadied himself in the chair. He would've liked to wait longer, but he had no choice. Within a few minutes, Gunnar was going to attack Rupert with any weapon of his choosing and torture him. He would somehow have to fight through the pain.

Summoning all of his courage, Rupert tensed in his chair.

Gunnar stood up and turned around. His body was slick with sweat. It shone like a slimy beacon below the ceiling light. In his hand was a cruel-looking knife. It was horribly sharp, and the blade seemed to resonate with fear, its tip curving into a vicious point. Rupert had never seen such a knife before. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

Gunnar noticed his curiosity and smiled. “You like this one, do you? Trust me, this knife has performed and seen things that would make your nose bleed. The irony is, despite my extensive travelling and tours around the world, I bought this knife in a standard Costco. That’s right, I bought it from a fucking department store. Honestly, this country and its crazy laws. You can’t own a gun but you can buy a knife - a wicked one at that - with minimal fuss.”

Gunnar twirled the knife with expert precision. It flashed between his fingers with ease. The blade glinted with menace. Rupert flinched, aware that Gunnar wasn’t the most predictable person in the world. He pushed himself down into the chair and asked, “What are you going to do to me?”

The knifeman laughed. “Wrong question, mate, what am I
not
going to do to you. It’s going to be a long night for a certain Reverend Shaw. Captain’s orders and all that.”

Rupert cleared his throat and spat a wad of blood onto the floor. “Why do you call me Reverend Shaw? If you know so much about me, you know I’m not a Reverend anymore. So please, will you stop referring to me as something I’m not.”

Gunnar smiled. “Sounds like God’s favourite son has a stick up his arse.”

The sadist stepped close, stopping a few feet away from the hapless ex-cleric.

Rupert looked up at him through his right eye. Despite his vision being incomplete he could still see his tormentor clearly. He breathed out. Water, saliva and sweat bubbled from his lips.

Gunnar crouched. “You listen here. I'll call you whatever the fuck I want to call you. You have no authority here and it would be in your best interests for you to realise just how much shit you’re in, you got that?”

Rupert said nothing. He simply stared at Gunnar. The smile disappeared from the other man’s face. He stood up and stepped towards Rupert. Rupert didn’t move. Gunnar smiled. “Think you’re fucking brave, do you?”

Gunnar lifted the knife and slashed the ropes binding Rupert’s feet to the floor. Then he cut the ropes tying his hands to the chair. Rupert was free. Gunnar stepped in front of him. At first, Rupert thought this was a game and he was unsure how to react. Gunnar backed off and stood with his arms crossed. Rupert stood up, swaying with weakness. Gunnar placed the knife on the table beside him. Gunnar beckoned Rupert to stand up properly and fight.

“Here is the deal, Rupert Shaw. Or Reverend Arsehole, or whatever your name is. If you can get past me, you have free rein of my weapons. But if you can’t, well, then
I
win. And trust me, you don’t want that to happen.”

Rupert said nothing. He considered the situation carefully. He knew the odds were impossible. Even if he did get past Gunnar, the other man could snap his neck in a second. It was clear Gunnar was a trained killer. Rupert had another disadvantage: he knew absolutely nothing about Gunnar bar his name and his fetish for walking around naked. If Gunnar was in the forces, as he’d implied, he could kill Rupert with his bare hands: he wouldn’t need weapons. Rupert stood firm. He was free, that was a huge bonus. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he had a chance, though.

I have to try and stall him,
he thought.

“Won’t your client be angry about you doing this? What happened to taking it slowly, and making me suffer? Surely this is going against his orders?”

“My client is not my boss. I do what I want, when I want to fucking do it, okay? Yes, I have orders. I haven’t killed you yet either, so think yourself lucky. That time is coming soon.”

“The odds are unfair. You’re trained for this sort of thing. There is no way I can get past you and even have a chance of winning this challenge of yours.”

“You think you have a choice in this? If you don’t do it, I'll break your face again, put you back in the chair and just mutilate you until you die or I get bored. And I
never
get bored. So choose quickly.”

Rupert realised they were standing in the centre of the room. Gunnar, for some unknown reason, was giving him space and time to act. Rupert knew he didn’t stand much chance. Whatever he did, he would get hurt, tied up again and, within hours or days, he would be dead.

A stalemate.

Rupert wiped his mouth.

This was not a good position to be in.

“To make this interesting you need to make this fairer,” Rupert said.

Gunnar’s face froze over, the smile vanishing. “Oh here we go, typical Reverend Shaw. Fucking whining as usual. Can you remember a time when you weren’t so fucking pathetic? Just once? If you can, please, enlighten me!”

Rupert wiped his mouth again. He said nothing.

Gunnar smiled. “Tell me about John. You know John, don’t you?”

Rupert froze on hearing that name.

He hadn’t heard the name John, at least the John that Gunnar was presumably referring to, in seven years. The name shocked him. For a moment, even the all-pervading pain didn’t matter. Everything was a blur as the memory of John was bouncing around in his head. Recollections of his past life came flooding back. The realisation must’ve showed, because Gunnar noticed the reaction on his face.

“I see you remember the name. You must do, because it was you who got him fired. You wanted his job, so you grassed him up for the child molestation charges. Only they didn’t stick. They gave you his job, but John was reassigned to prevent any backlash. No one knew what happened, or how it came about. Until seven years ago, when your lies came back to bite you in the arse. Funny how that happens, isn’t it? Liars getting caught in the act. Your career didn’t survive it. John resurfaced, finally aware of what had happened. John managed to win the fucking lottery, hire a personal investigator to find out about your scheming, and he had you fired. Didn’t think you religious types were allowed to gamble, but I am no expert on this churchy shit. It seems that John has some pretty deep pockets. Bet it didn’t take long for him to unravel your little scheme. Am I wrong so far?”

Rupert listened as Gunnar rounded out the last few years of his miserable existence. He felt like crying, but he had no tears left. The last hours had worn him down. He was dried out and exhausted, battered and beaten. In fact, he didn’t care about the revelations coming out of Gunnar’s mouth. He knew what had happened, he had figured it out for himself.

John was behind his downfall, no one else had anything on him. John’s subsequent revenge had ruined his career and his life: no one hired a discredited Reverend. He had enjoyed a love affair with alcohol for a bit, but that was all.

Following the fallout, he’d found a job. His flock was twelve at the most. Sometimes, people didn’t turn up at all. He was lucky to be working and knew the position he’d found was the best he was ever likely to get. So he lived out his existence in the local parish, unknown to the world, secretive and secluded. He’d quit several weeks later, disillusioned.

Until today, when hell came knocking. Rupert looked at Gunnar and almost smiled.

“Now who's trying to get a rise?” Rupert challenged. “Won’t happen, I'm afraid. I came to terms with this situation years ago. I was justified to report John. If our children were in danger then his activities had to be stopped.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Reverend – sorry
Mr.
Shaw – I am on your side. John is a nasty piece of work. He loves little boys. He told me so himself. I don’t condone that sort of thing, it’s wrong in all kinds of ways. The bottom line is, though, that John has deep pockets and I need to get paid.”

Rupert stared at Gunnar. He wasn’t sure if he heard him correctly. He looked at him in amazement.

“What?”

Gunnar smiled. “You fucking heard me. I need to get paid. John hired me, who the fuck do you think set this whole thing up?” Gunnar looked around. “He did a great job too. I’ve been to your house and this place is an exact replica. It even has the snivelling Mr. Shaw in it too – ooops, sorry!”

Rupert said nothing.

The other man laughed. “Amazing what you can do with a few million quid, isn’t it?”

Rupert sat on his chair, knees weak. He didn’t want to fall and be at the mercy of Gunnar any more than he already was. This was a revelation.

Gunnar moved and Rupert stood up, alert. Gunnar smiled. “Want to try for those weapons yet?”

Rupert shook his head. “No. I want some more information.”

“Well, you ain’t getting any. I don’t have time for this. Well, I do. But I would rather get on with the task at hand if possible. Sooner rather than later. We could be here for quite a while.”

Rupert shook his head again. “No, I want answers. End of.”

“What makes you think you're in control here? Any second I choose I could come over there and just slit your throat.”

“But you fucking won’t. You need to take your time with me. You can’t go against the rules. If you want to get paid, then you need to follow orders. And so far, you aren’t doing a very good job of it.”

Gunnar started to fume. He clenched his jaw. “Fine. Seems you want to play hardball. I gave you a chance, now you fucking blew it. This is your last chance to go for the weapons. Otherwise I might need to use another tactic. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

“I don’t fucking want any of it,
get it
? Fuck you, Gunnar. I might as well be dead now for all the shit you’re putting me through, what’s another few minutes? Go fuck yourself!”