Badge of the Death Game

Chapter 040

"Mr. Wilson, please — believe in our sincerity. My father's proposal is one that Mr. Scott will find more than satisfactory." Julian extended his hand with a practiced smile.

Graham looked at the hand. Then he looked at Julian.

"Mr. Voss," he said, his voice carrying the particular chill of someone who has already decided the meeting was a waste of his time, "if your family had any real sincerity to offer, I wouldn't be standing here talking to you. I'd be talking to your father."

Julian's smile held, though the muscles behind it tightened. "My father is currently in the States. His schedule doesn't allow —"

"I'm aware of what your father's schedule allows." Graham let a short, dismissive sound escape. "And I'm also aware of what you've been doing behind our backs. If that's the kind of commitment your family makes, then a Voss family promise isn't worth very much at all."

He turned and walked away, his bodyguards falling into formation around him without a word.

Julian watched him go. The smile was gone now, replaced by something darker. Beside him, an aide in a suit and wire-rimmed glasses leaned in close. "Should we have him dealt with?"

"Do you have any idea who that man works for?" Julian said quietly, without looking at him. The aide went silent. Julian straightened up and fixed his gaze on Graham's retreating back, his voice dropping to just above a murmur. "He thinks he can come to Grayhaven City and throw money around without my father's blessing. Every dollar he puts in this city turns to nothing without us behind it. Go find some people — people with no connection to us — and make sure Mr. Wilson gets a personal introduction to Grayhaven City's hospitality. Let him feel the streets."

"Understood."

A few minutes earlier, in the crowd not far away.

Cody stood with his back half-turned to the corridor, phone held low at his side, speaking quietly. "Julian Voss is talking to a foreigner. The way he's carrying himself — he's being deferential. Almost careful."

He scanned the space around him without moving his head, confirmed no one was paying attention, then brought the phone to his waist and took a careful photo before sending it through.

At the training facility, Mark looked at the image on his screen and swore under his breath. "That's him. That's the Crown Dominion businessman's manager."

It had been a sore point for weeks. When Mark had been injured, he'd had no choice but to call his employer and ask him to pull out of the security contract interview. His employer had not taken the news quietly. The call had involved considerable volume and a thorough assessment of Mark's professional shortcomings. But there was nothing to be done about it — Palisade Security couldn't exactly fire its only functional employee — and eventually the matter had been dropped.

Mark had seen a photo of Graham Wilson during the preparation for that interview. The man in Cody's picture was the same person, standing in a casino corridor in Grayhaven City, talking to Julian Voss.

"Of all the rotten luck," Mark muttered, the grievance and the disbelief arriving at the same time. The Voss family had more money than most small countries. They didn't need to muscle in on a mid-sized security contract. They certainly didn't need to run an operation just to get one firm out of the running. They could have simply asked. Mark would have stepped aside. He wouldn't have had a choice. So why go to the trouble of putting him in a hospital bed first?

"Can you get close enough to hear what they're saying?" Soren asked.

Cody assessed the situation and shook his head slightly. "Their security is tight. There's no angle that gets me in range without being obvious. From what I can read, the conversation isn't going well — the foreigner looks like he's wrapping up. Do you want me to follow him when he leaves?"

"No. Come back."

Soren ended the call and looked around at the group. "Thoughts?"

Evan went first. "Honestly? I think we go after the casino directly and take the smaller payout. At least it's manageable. That transport convoy had twenty-plus security on it. There are three of us — five counting me and Howard — and even if Soren can handle ten men by himself, that still leaves a dozen unaccounted for. How do we fight those numbers?"

Mark nodded along. "He's not wrong. Without heavy weapons or explosives, hitting that convoy before the police respond — even with the element of surprise — is a very difficult problem."

Howard had been quiet, turning something over. He spoke up now. "Cody said the relationship between this Graham Wilson and Julian looked strained. Unfriendly. What if there's something there we can work with? Maybe this man becomes a way to reach our objective indirectly." He let his gaze drift toward Mark.

Mark caught the look and his expression shifted. "Howard. Why are you looking at me like that. You're not seriously suggesting I go back and ask for another interview."

Howard just smiled and turned to Soren. "What do you think?"

Soren considered it for a moment, then nodded. "We have time. It's worth exploring. Mark, call your employer. See if he can push for another shot at the interview — or at minimum, get us Graham's address while he's in the city."

Mark let out a long breath. "You people really know how to make a man's life difficult." He picked up his phone and walked outside, apparently preferring that whatever was said to him next happen out of earshot.

Half an hour later, Mark was still on the call when Cody arrived back at the facility. An older Audi A6 rolled slowly through the entrance and came to a stop — the vehicle Mark had sourced through back channels some weeks prior. No registered owner, no documented origin, no plates of its own. A set of borrowed plates and it was road-legal enough for their purposes. Mark's own car was too well known around the Crownline Royal Hotel to risk using anywhere near the operation.

"I'm back," Cody said, stepping out and nodding to the group.

Mark came back in a moment later, looking like a man who had just survived something unpleasant. "Done. Tonight, nine-thirty, Harborview Hotel. They're giving us ten minutes."

Cody looked at him with a question on his face but didn't ask it.

"Good," Soren said. He turned to Cody. "Get your gear. We go early and set up nearby. We read the situation when we're on the ground."

Cody nodded without asking for more context, shrugged off the suit jacket, and started changing.

Howard pulled open the equipment locker beside him. Three full loadouts were stacked inside — ballistic vests, tactical belts, tactical gloves, combat boots, everything laid out and ready. Evan moved to the g*n locker and began pulling weapons and loading out ammunition for the three of them: Soren's MCX Rattler, Cody's MP5 submachine g*n, Mark's MP7 submachine g*n.

Two hours later, on the bank of the Silverflow River.

They arrived in the area around the Harborview Hotel as the last of the daylight was leaving the sky. The hotel was one of the finest in Grayhaven City — positioned in a district that had everything within walking distance: temples, bars, shopping centers, the kind of layered urban texture that drew both tourists and money in equal measure. What made it particularly useful for a meeting of this kind was its geography. The French consulate sat directly across the river. A police station stood a few blocks away. The neighborhood was, by local standards, genuinely safe.

Howard made several slow passes around the surrounding streets, reading the layout, before pulling into a quiet side lane and cutting the engine. They settled in and waited.

The sky darkened. The river caught the last of the ambient light and held it.

Then two Land Rovers turned the corner and rolled into the hotel's approach road.

Soren was about to signal Howard to follow when something else caught his eye. Behind the Land Rovers, moving fast from further down the street, a cluster of battered old vans was closing in.