Maria Hill, the leader of the LA outfit, sat on the far side of the table and raised an eyebrow at him.
“And ladies,” he said with a smile.
“Oh, no,” she said sarcastically, “I’ll just sit over here and look pretty for you, how’s that? No, not too likely, huh?”
Franks ignored her and her tone.
“You’ll each be dropped with weapons in hand,” he said, “weapons chosen by your bosses and ones you’ve proven to be most effective when using.”
It was unusual to start a tournament armed, but not unheard of. There were many times when there were weapons to be found around the tournament grounds, but being dropped with them wasn’t usually part of the plan.
“Arden will have the firearms of his choosing,” Franks said as he looked over a list in front of him. “Dytalov, three Kunai throwing knives and a Busse Combat Team Gemini.”
He stopped and looked up at the dark-haired man near the Russian group.
“Whatever the fuck that is,” he added.
“You want me to go get it and show you?” Erik Dytalov volunteered.
“Shut your mouth,” Severinov said, “or I shut it for you.”
“Mister Hunter will be armed with a compound bow in addition to a handgun,” Franks said, “and Reaper will have her brass knuckles.”
He looked over to the woman sitting next to Chambers.
“Is that all?”
“I don’t need anything else,” she responded.
Hunter laughed.
“I got somethin’ else you need.”
“Bring it over here,” she challenged with a flash of her dark eyes, “I’ll show you just what I can do with it.”
“Enough,” Chambers said quietly. The guy was always as cool as a cucumber, even in the past when I’d just walked out of a game with his guy’s blood all over me. He’d hand over his cash with a slight smile and not another word.
“Tyrone Chimes will have a variety of blunt objects, and Mister Sebastian Stark…”
He looked over to me and smiled.
“Mister Stark will maintain a single weapon—the garrote.”
No guns, no knives, nothing but a fucking piece of piano wire.
Maybe he does want me to lose.
There were a few murmurs from the group before Franks continued.
“Your location,” Franks said, “is Buckingham Island in the Canadian territory of Nunavut. It’s about as unfriendly a place as you can imagine, but we don’t have to worry about you running into any tourists. It’s about six miles across in the center, and you’ll be dropped around the floes near the southern tip.”
“This will have to be a fast one,” Greco commented. “Everyone will freeze to death if it takes too long.”
“True,” Franks said. “Consider it added incentive to stop warring with your neighbors.”
Greco glared but didn’t comment further.
“Some weapons don’t function well in the cold,” Evan Arden remarked.
I watched him closely. There was no concern in his eyes; he was just stating a fact.
“Then you better have a backup plan, Mister Arden.”
I couldn’t see any reaction in the eyes of Moretti’s hit man. He was completely calm and expressionless. Both Hunter and Reaper smiled nasty little smiles in his direction, but Arden didn’t seem affected by that either.
Fuck me. He wasn’t going to be easy.
I considered the location of the fight and understood the choice of weapons for me. For one, I had been damn effective strangling people in past games. Moreover, it wouldn’t require any additional or complex equipment—nothing to misfire, no bolts to lose, and no possibility of it getting jammed in the cold. In fact, it was nearly the perfect weapon under such extreme conditions. I could use it without the loss of dexterity the others would experience through gloves and heavy clothing.
Maybe Franks wanted me to win after all.
I looked around the table to see the reaction from the others to the location. The Russians seemed pleased, Moretti and Greco annoyed, Chambers unaffected, and Hill downright pissed.
“The Arctic Circle?” she inquired. “Really? This is your best idea for the games? I mean, it’s not like the closed circuit is going to work too far a distance, so we’ll all be freezing our asses off. Oh, and let’s not forget surfer boy, here.”
She indicated Tyrone.
“He’ll lose his tan during the trip.”
A few snickers rang out as the dark-skinned man looked over at his boss and raised an eyebrow.
“She has a point about the closed circuit,” Moretti pointed out. “As Mister Arden said, equipment has a tendency to malfunction in extreme conditions.”
“All taken into consideration,” Franks said dismissively. “You’ll find our accommodations most pleasant as long as you stay indoors, and you can rest easy about the mechanical concerns—we’re bringing in only the best. It’s designed to handle the environment.”
There were a few more grumbles from the bosses, but Franks answered all of their concerns quickly and efficiently. I could hear Landon in his words and figured they had rehearsed all of this. Landon was a planner, and he wouldn’t let any matter get lost in the details.
The meeting came to a close as each of the bosses was handed an encrypted thumb-drive with all the pertinent information on it. Franks and Landon moved off to the far side of the barn to discuss something. Hunter watched with narrowed eyes as John Paul moved quietly up behind Reaper and leaned close to her to speak. I couldn’t hear their words, though, and didn’t really care.
My thoughts were on my main opponent.
Following Landon’s instructions, I ignored the other fighters and made my way over to Arden. He was near Rinaldo Moretti, looking at the man intently and nodding his head every so often. I stood a little way away from them as they finished their conversation but was just close enough to hear the tail end of it.
“…will have an effect on the weapons. Mountainous terrain increases the possibility of an avalanche when I fire, too.”
“I can ask,” Moretti said, “but I think everything is set now.”
“He’s done this intentionally to give himself better odds,” Arden replied.
“Possibly,” Moretti agreed, “but there isn’t anything to be done about it now. It has to be this way, son.”
I took note of how Moretti addressed Arden and looked at both of them a little more closely. Moretti was short and stocky, whereas Arden was tall and sculpted with lean muscle. His eyes were blue, Moretti’s brown. Arden had light brown hair, cut short against the sides of his head in proper military fashion, and a slight, scruffy beard, but Moretti didn’t have enough hair to determine what color it might have been in his youth. I couldn’t see any resemblance, but that didn’t always matter.
“I understand, sir,” Arden replied.
Moretti stood and headed over to the group that included Franks and Landon, and I took the opportunity to talk to Arden. He looked up as I approached, his face as passive as it had been during the meeting.
“Mister Stark,” he replied politely. He stood and reached out to shake my hand then sat back down at the table.
“I don’t really see Moretti as a bird-man,” I said as I sat down across from him.
Arden looked at me, and I saw him stifle a slight smirk.
“Rinaldo’s more than he appears,” he said. “Like many people in this room, underestimating him is usually a mistake.”
“You aren’t really his kid, are you?” I asked.
“Not by blood,” Arden said simply. “Not that it matters.”
I nodded slowly. His loyalties were set, no doubt about that. He clearly wasn’t someone who was going to turn on his boss. He wasn’t in this because of blood or for the money but a deeper sense of commitment and allegiance.
“You still think I’m a pheasant for plucking?”