The Games of Kings

Chapter Twelve


Ramsey groaned as they neared the door and found yet another riddle. Since the last one deposited them in this room, he had hoped they were getting closer to the tower and to Chris or Vanessa but the gaming gods were not with them it seemed. He left Benedict to deal with the riddle, tired of the games, and reconnaissance the room. It looked like a study, complete with desk, bookshelves, and chair. There was even a globe sitting in the corner. And off to the side, was an old fashioned Fifth Avenue Hudson wine rack. Ramsey ran his fingers along the piece of furniture. He made a note to find out what happened to items confiscated from the Game Master's playing sites. If this piece ever went up for auction he wanted it for his father.

The sound of Benedict's muttering reminded him he was here to save Chris and Vanessa Hubert, not Christmas shop. He turned away and back towards his partner. "What's this one about?"

Benedict read it.

Most of these men were kings; a few of them were even prophets. Six of them, however, share a special relationship. What do six of these names have in common?

Saul
Manasseh
Sennacherib
David
Jeroboam
Rehoboam
Methuselah
Ezekiel
Salmanazar
Balthazar
Malachi
Nebuchadnezzar


Ramsey shook his head. "Benedict, I recognize some of these names, but I have no idea who most of them are."

"Some of these names are from the bible." Benedict pointed them out.

"That's six, right?"

"Yes." Benedict stared at the names for a moment longer before reaching out to punch in the names that he knew were mentioned in the Bible. He hit the enter key but the door next to the screen did not open as it should. Instead, the sound of hissing permeated the room. The sibilance was not loud but ominous.

Benedict widely swung, looking up at the air vents. Nothing could be seen, but that noise could only mean one thing. "Is that?"

"Poisoned gas!" Ramsey dragged Benedict to the ground, ripping at his jacket for face coverings. He handed one to Benedict, tying on one for himself. "It won't help for long!" he warned.

Benedict nodded, but his eyes had a far away look. "Poison, poison! That's it! Ramsey, six of those names are used to denote the sizes of champagne bottles! There's a Bible verse that refers to wine as 'the poison of dragons.'"

"Which ones?" Ramsey knelt up, not daring to stand with the poisonous gas still flowing into the room. He cursed inwardly as he realized the gas was acting faster than he though possible. The older profiler's consciousness was already starting to wan. "Benedict!"

"Jeroboam, Rehoboam, Methuselah, Salmanazar, Balthazar . . ." Benedict's words trailed off, growing more and more faint.

Ramsey spun as fast as he could, barely catching sight of an unconscious Benedict before whirling back to the computer. He took a stab at a guess because they were dead either way. Seconds after he punched the enter key, a great sucking sound replaced the hiss of the gas. Fresh air filled Ramsey's lungs on his next inhalation. He sighed once in relief before scrambling towards Benedict. Chris would never forgive him if he lost Benedict to the Game Master. He gently raised the old profiler and pulled him into his arms. "Benedict? Ben?" He gently removed the torn cloth that valiantly tried to hang on. He grinned when Benedict weakly pushed his hand away when he patted the man's cheek.

Hazel eyes much like Chris' opened slowly. "How'd you know?"

Ramsey rolled his eyes. Brains, they were all the same. "I took a stab at it."

"How? Nebuchadnezzar isn't something anyone would have guessed as a bottle size." Benedict frowned even as he struggled into a seated position, and then accepted Ramsey's help in getting off the floor.

"It was the name of Morpheus' ship."

Benedict stared at him, uncomprehending.

"From the Matrix? The movie?"

This time Benedict did smack him in the back of the head.


~*~*~*~*~


After the basketball game, Chris found himself in an extremely long corridor. Doors were interspersed at regular intervals. In the middle of the hallway was an island. Stepping up to it, Chris found his next puzzle.

"To open the correct door, answer the question:
A palindrome is a word that reads the same when spelled backwards.
How could the following word be considered a palindrome? FOOTSTOOL."

Chris stared at the puzzle then at the keyboard below it as if it could provide the answer. The guys were right, the Game Master was annoying. He sighed, then reached for his paper and pen again. Maybe it was like the word Illuminati in Dan Brown's books? Maybe if footstool was somehow written artistically it would become a palindrome? Chris stared at the keyboard once more, figuring if he typed in the right key words the computer would take the answer. Deciding on his course of action, Chris sat cross legged against the wall and started drawing.

He was on his fifth drawing and third energy bar when Chris decided to give up. Nothing he could do to the word 'footstool' could make it a palindrome. Not drawing it into different shapes and admittedly, he was not an artist by any stretch of the imagination; not even translating it into other languages could make it into a palindrome. Giving up on paper and pen, Chris stood and paced up and down the hallway to stretch his long legs. While he walked, Chris thought about everything else other than the puzzle in order to be able to look at it with fresh eyes later.

Pacing to and fro, he wondered what his friends and family were doing right now. Was Uncle Benedict having a worrying fit? The older man never did worry well. Like that one time Amanda was giving birth to his first grandchild. Uncle Benedict had nearly climbed the walls of the waiting room. Jack, his oldest son and doctor, had jokingly offered to sedate him. The look Benedict gave him was enough to fry him to a cinder. Chris wondered how Ramsey was doing. They had only been lovers for less than two weeks, but Chris found himself missing him terribly. He missed everyone, Dylan, Alicia, Ramsey's four kids and two sets of parents, and he'd only been held in the Game Master's prison for only four days.

After nearly twenty minutes of pacing and letting his mind wander away from the puzzle, he returned to it with hopefully fresh eyes. Instead of going back to pen and paper, he stood in front of the computer screen, reading the riddle over again, hoping it might give him some kind of clue. When that proved useless, Chris turned to the keyboard. It was a mostly standard, but this particular model had only the alphabetic and punctual keys, and having no numeric keys at all. Why would the Game Master bother with altering a keyboard to have no number keys but leaving the period, dashes, exclamation mark, comma, and question mark keys? Even the placement of the punctual keys was strange as they were arranged across the top of the keyboard rather than in their usual places.

Chris glanced down at the notebook he had left on laying on the floor. Part of the top sheet held the word 'footstool' translated into other languages. He had translated into the three languages he knew: Spanish, Latin, and French, the three primary romance languages. But there was one language he knew that had not occurred to him to try: Morse code. Uncle Benedict had served in the Vietnam War and had taught his children and nephew the code one summer. Chris remembered sending coded messages to Will during their classes, knowing the teacher didn't know Morse code.

He studied the keyboard, barely able to keep still in his excitement. Sure enough, there were the dash and dot keys he needed to enter in the code. He grabbed the notebook, trying to pull the code from memory and started writing it down. He was pretty sure this was the answer but he wanted to make certain. "Yes!"

He excitedly punched in the code that would make 'footstool' into a palindrome. Two dots, a dash, a dot, three dashes, a space, and then three more dashes before a single dash spelled out 'foot.' The next word 'stool' was represented by three dots, a dash, a trio of dashes, a space before another trio of dashes, then a dot, dash, and two more dots finished it off. The second he hit the enter key, a door down the hallway opened. Chris grabbed his bag and headed straight for it.


~*~*~*~*~


The room Dylan and Alicia found themselves in was enormous, cavernous really. It was well light and easily showed them the numbered squares that formed a grid on the floor.

"I found the directions." Alicia beckoned Dylan over from where he was examining the square marked with a one and was closest to them. She grinned over her shoulder at him. "It looks like we have to play hopscotch."

"Hopscotch?" Dylan repeated in horror. Terror, almost. He froze steps away from her at that pronouncement.

Alicia bit her lips, nodding.

"Hopscotch?" he said again, eyes starring at her, then at the playing field, then back at her.

She nodded, clearing her throat. "You know, hopscotch began in ancient Britain during the early Roman Empire. The original hopscotch courts were over 100 feet long. They were used for military training exercises."

Dylan stared at her. "I do not want to know how you know that."

"Okay." Alicia croaked, and then had to clear her throat again.

Dylan sighed, closing his eyes and covering them with his hand. "Give me your phone."

"What?" It was her turn to stare at him incredulously.

"Give me your phone." He held out his hand. "If I have to do this, I am not leaving you with a camera in your hand."

"Dylan!" She gasped, hand going over her heart, clutching at it. "You think I would blackmail you?"

"In a heartbeat."

She laughed, handing it over.

"So, how do you play this?" Dylan was eyeing the hopscotch board like it was a snake about to bite him as he tucked her phone away in his vest.
"Here, let me go first, you watch."
Dylan nodded, carefully watching.
"The first player tosses their marker into the first square." Alicia tossed one of the supplied markers into said square. "The marker must land completely within the square and without touching a line or bouncing out. If the marker lands in the wrong square, the player forfeits their turn. If the marker is good, the player hops through the court beginning on square one." She followed actions to words. "If the squares are side by side, then the squares are straddled, left foot landing in the left square, and the right foot landing in the right. Single squares must be hopped on with only one foot." She glanced over her shoulder to see Dylan still totally focused on her. "For the first single square, either foot may be used. Squares marked 'Safe,' 'Home,' or 'Rest' are neutral squares, and may be hopped through in any manner without penalty."
Alicia hopped on through the rather long course, stopping to rest when she needed to. "When a player reaches the end of the court, you have to turn around and hop back through the court." She started hopping and jumping back towards Dylan, pausing on the first square. "Don't forget to pick up your marker on the way back." She stopped before him, hands on hips when she noticed where his eyes were. "Dylan, were you watching me bounce?"
He nodded, eyes still locked on her breasts.
"Dylan!"
He blushed scarlet. "Uhm, sorry?"
She shook her head and rolled her eyes, resuming her directions. "If while hopping through the court in either direction, you step on a line, misses a square, or lose your balance, your turn ends. The first player to complete one course for every numbered square on the court wins the game."
Dylan eyed the thirty odd squares. "This is going to take forever."

Alicia nodded, handing him his own marker.

"God, I really hate this guy." He gently tossed the marker. Then the six foot four inch, dreadlocked, densely muscled man hopscotched his way down the "obstacle course."

Alicia had to bit her lip, then her hand to keep from laughing at the sight of dreadlocks bouncing with every jump.

Halfway through the game, Dylan was bent over and breathing hard. "Damn, it's worse than sparring all of you one right after another and followed by a basketball game with Chris."

Alicia found herself agreeing as she drew in long breaths of air, trying to cool down her body. "I wonder if we could cheat?"

Dylan's head came up. "How?"

"What's to stop us from just walking across the playing field to the exit?" She waved her hand over the said field and towards the only other door in the room.

"Lady, I like how you think." Dylan grinned at her. She grinned back before stepping on the first square. When nothing happened, Alicia kept moving. The second square was identical to the first and again, nothing happened. She confidently stepped in the middle of the double squares of three and four.

Dylan jumped for her a second too late. Alicia's startled scream echoed through the cavernous room as the squares dropped out from under her. She clung to the edge, dangling what felt like several stories above the floor. Alicia didn't turn her head to find out.

"I've got you, Al."

Alicia sighed in relief as she felt Dylan's strong hands encircle her wrists. It amazed her, even through her scare, that he could lift her straight up without straining, yanking her into his arms. She clung to him, holding onto his neck tightly and burying her face in his shoulder as the adrenaline rush from the free fall made her tremble in his arms.

"You okay?" He tried soothing her by running his hands up and down her back, burying his hand in her soft brown hair. She nodded against his shoulder, but didn't move back. He wasn't about to make her. "Looks like we have to play this the hard way, huh?"

Her laugh was a bit watery, but she nodded again and then pulled away but only slightly. "I'm not sure how we can keep playing if two of the squares are gone."

"Look." He nudged her to turn around.

When she did, Alicia found the squares had either been replaced or had moved back up into their spots. She drew in a deep breath. "Guess we keep playing then."


~*~*~*~*~


"What others so laterally I do upright, my namesakes have run races but I don't compete, alright? My cousins are dragons but not a lizard be, I do one thing that all men can't, so what can I be?" Ramsey was damn tired of these stupid puzzles but he gamely went along, reading the riddle out loud. Since he didn't have a clue what the answer was, he left it to Benedict. Instead, his eyes roamed up and down the hall, searching for another way through or any other booby traps that could be sprung on them.

"Seahorses," the profiler murmured, typing in the answer. When Ramsey stared at him in surprise at his knowing the answer, Benedict merely shrugged. "Diane obsessively collected anything with and about seahorses when she was alive. After twenty good years, I picked up some trivia along the way."

Ramsey shrugged, twisting the knob and going through the door. He paused when Benedict grabbed his shoulder. He tensed, expecting another trap.

"Don't worry, Ramsey, you'll get at least twenty good years with Chris."

He relaxed, flashing a grateful smile over his shoulder to his mentor. Ramsey jerked to a dead stop as he stepped into the next room. The room they entered was straight out of a Las Vegas casino. Four tables were set up, each boasting a chair in front of it and a dealer behind it. The four dealers were obviously professional card dealers, but the shifty ways their eyes studied each other and the room's newest occupants, Ramsey was willing to bet none of these guys were straight shooters. Each of the tables was designated to a different casino game: blackjack, poker, baccarat, and roulette.

Ramsey and Benedict flashed each other uncertain looks, but stepped further into the room anyway. Benedict stood back, letting Ramsey do the talking.

"Hey, guys, what's the deal?" Ramsey held his hands out by his side in clear sign of nonaggression.

"The boss says that you have the play the games to win the money. Win enough money and we let you out of here," the rather short blackjack dealer informed them.

Ramsey nodded. "How much do we have to win?"

"Five thousand each." The altitudely challenged man rolled his eyes in disgust. "We even promise to play it straight with you gentlemen."

"Well, that's reassuring," Ramsey drawled. He approached the blackjack table and its dealer. "How much money are we getting to play with?"

The dealer waved a hand and from the corner of a room a really huge Hispanic man came forward with a tray. The platter held two columns of chips. "Each of you gets a thousand to start with."

"What happens if we lose all our money?" Benedict spoke for the first time.

The blackjack dealer smirked and nodded to the man that had brought them their stakes. "Manny here gets to break your legs."

Manny's smile was chilling.

"Oh boy," Benedict muttered.

Ramsey growled but planted himself in the chair in front of the blackjack dealer. "Deal me in," he ordered. The short man smirked but did as he was told, the cards flying out of the dispenser and through his fingers to their place in front of Ramsey with astonishing speed. Ramsey threw a look over his shoulder. The look said to be careful and not to lose.

Benedict ducked his head to hide the glint he knew was in his eyes. He didn't plan on losing at all. He settled into the chair before the baccarat table, eying the tall man on the other side. His dealer was as tall as Ramsey's dealer was short. It made for an interesting view. "Dealer," he greeted politely.

"Sir." The accent was somewhat British, but Benedict did not waste time figuring out the dealer's origins. Instead, he placed his opening bet. He played steadily, losing some, winning some, but definitely not winning enough to raise suspicions. He was also relieved to see that his croupier was definitely playing by the rules.

A quick glance over at Ramsey's table showed his team leader leaning back into his chair, slouching almost, as he studied the cards splayed before him. The chips stacked in front of Ramsey were higher than Benedict expected. He only hoped the younger man was not tricked into losing the entire amount. Christopher would not be happy if his uncle returned him to his lover only to find him with two broken legs.

Benedict turned his attention back to his game and his own stack of chips. By now, the old profiler had at least half of what was needed to get out of this room with his legs intact. After the next hand, Benedict stood and smiled at the baccarat dealer. "Thank you for the fair game."

The other man inclined his head and waved him over to one of the other tables. "May your luck follow you to the other tables."

Benedict found himself genuinely smiling at his opponent. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." With a formal bow, the dealer turned to the business of tiding his table.

Benedict wandered past Ramsey, taking a visual inventory of his partner. The younger man had approximately the same amount as he but did not look like he was going to be trying his hand at another game any time soon. It also looked like the blackjack dealer was not willing to let his opponent go either. Benedict had seen that kind of dealer before. The dealer was a person who was in it for the game and when an excellent opponent was found, was unwilling to let them leave in the middle of the game. Benedict shook his head and headed for the roulette table. "Hello."

The dealer behind the roulette table was nothing like the dealers for blackjack or baccarat. Benedict was instantly on guard with this one. Something about the oily smile raised his hackles like the other two hadn't. He almost left the table, but he knew that his poker face was practically nonexistent. Diane use to tease him about how since he could read a person so well that he should have been able to hide his own emotion. Instead, she had beaten them at every card game known to man. But he loved those times with his wife, loved hearing her tease and laugh whenever he lost a game to her. He still missed her but felt her presence in their children, biological or not.

Knowing his weakness, Benedict stopped at the roulette table and place his first bet. He was fifteen hundred dollars down when he knew for certain the dealer was cheating. He purposely lost another three hundred to make certain. Benedict's eyes narrowed as he saw the dealer smile that oily grin again. He wasn't quite sure what to do, but with Chris' life on the line, he knew he had to do something. "Excuse me, Manny?"

The big man jerked as if surprised to be called and beckoned over to a table by a player rather than a dealer. All activity had stopped around them as Manny approached the roulette table.

"Yes?" As expected, the man's voice was deep and rumbling. It reminded Benedict of Dylan's voice.

"I believe he is cheating." Benedict pointed an accusing finger at the roulette dealer.

The dealer smiled again, this time in faked disbelief. "You're accusing me of cheating?"

"Yes." Benedict did not back down as he stared at the other man. "The Game Master promised us fair games. You're breaking that promise."

"Maybe he doesn't know what happened to the last guy that broke a promise the Game Master made to the players, Ben." Ramsey did not stand from where he sat with at the blackjack table. Instead, he was even more lazily slouched into the chair if it was possible. The younger man leaned around his dealer to eye the roulette dealer. "In case you're wondering, the last guy that broke a promise is dead. They found his body off the coast of some beach."

Benedict turned at that. "Really? I didn't know that."

Ramsey shrugged a shoulder. "Eh, I didn't want to bother you with it. We already knew who killed him and we needed to concentrate on helping Vanessa Hubert."

"Ah, I see." Benedict turned back to the now much paler roulette dealer and Manny. "Well, sir, are you going to see if my claims are true?"

Manny carefully studied both Benedict and the roulette dealer before slowly nodding. "Let's hear it."

"I think he's using some kind of magnet to get the ball to land somewhere other than my bet." Benedict pointed to the dealer. "Check his shoes and his hands."

"Hey, man." The dealer backed away from the table and Manny, hands in the air. "I didn't sign onto this gig to be accused of shit."

"Why don't I believe this is the first time you've been accused of cheating?" Ramsey drawled from the other table. "Hit me," he said to his dealer, never quite turning his attention away from his own game.

The roulette dealer did the best thing he could have done for Benedict and Ramsey, he tried to run. Manny chased him down in seconds and then proceeded to do a very rough, very invasive, but very thorough search. The magnet was revealed in a matter of minutes.

"How did you know?" the blackjack dealer asked.

Benedict shrugged as his smirk grew. "MacGuyver."

The blackjack dealer laughed, and then turned to Manny. "You know what the boss said to do if one of the dealers cheated, right?"

Manny nodded then turned to the roulette table. Benedict watched him with wary eyes. Ramsey was already on his feet and walking towards Benedict. They both relaxed when Manny handed them the amount they needed to win in order to leave the room.

"Here." The big man handed them the tray on which the money was held. "Stick it all in the chute over there. It'll weigh the money and let you out that door." He pointed to a door that had not been noticed since it faded so neatly into the background.

Benedict stared at the chips, and then smiled up at the big man. "Thank you."

His "you're welcome" was very stiff to say the least.

Ramsey nodded at his blackjack dealer. "Thank you for a good game."

"No, sir," the other man inclined his head as well. "Thank you."

They followed Manny's directions and found themselves back out in another hallway.

"Well, that was certainly different." Benedict let Ramsey move ahead again.

"Yeah. Had to be the only game the bastard's thrown at us that I wanted to play."

Benedict laughed.


~*~*~*~*~


It took them what seemed like forever but they finally finished the Hopscotch game from Hell. On his very last square, Dylan turned and glared with every ounce of hate in him at the playing field filled with conquered squares. Alicia hid her smile at his vehemence and turned her attention to the door. Surprisingly enough, there was no puzzle to solve. It opened easily. They emerged from room tired and sweaty to find another hallway.

"I don't believe it," Alicia whispered, staring at the end of the hallway. A young woman was half hiding behind the doorway, a section of hair and her eyes were all that could be seen.

Dylan followed her eyes then grinned, almost running to the end of it. "Vanessa Hubert?" he called through the vertical bars. He gentled his smile as the young woman they'd been playing for cautiously made her way to the pseudo-door.

"Yes?" Her voice was tentative and shaky.

Dylan grinned at her, moving to the side to let Alicia stand in front. "I'm Dylan Kenji, I'm with the FBI. This is Agent Alicia Hunt."

"We're here to get you out of there." Alicia's words released the woman from her tightly clenched posture. Vanessa rushed at the bars, sobbing and grabbing onto Alicia's outstretched hands.

"How, how are you going to—" Vanessa stared at the bars, one hand curling around them but didn't let go of Alicia.

"Looks like we have to solve another riddle, Al."

Alicia looked over at Dylan as he read from another glowing computer screen embedded in a wall.

There are 5 houses in 5 different colors in a row. In each house lives a person with a different nationality. The 5 owners drink a certain type of beverage, smoke a certain brand of cigar, and keep a certain pet. No owners have the same pet, smoke the same brand of cigar, or drink the same beverage. Other facts:

1. The Brit lives in the red house.
2. The Swede keeps dogs as pets.
3. The Dane drinks tea.
4. The green house is on the immediate left of the white house.
5. The green house's owner drinks coffee.
6. The owner who smokes Pall Mall rears birds.
7. The owner of the yellow house smokes Dunhill.
8. The owner living in the center house drinks milk.
9. The Norwegian lives in the first house.
10. The owner who smokes Blends lives next to the one who keeps cats.
11. The owner who keeps the horse lives next to the one who smokes Dunhill.
12. The owner who smokes Blue masters drinks beer.
13. The German smokes Prince.
14. The Norwegian lives next to the blue house.
15. The owner who smokes Blends lives next to the one who drinks water.

The question is: WHO OWNS THE FISH?


Dylan and Alicia stared at the computer screen, then at each other.

She choked and sputtered. "I've heard of this. This is Einstein's puzzle. Ninety eight percent of the world's population can't solve this thing."

"Ninety eight percent?" Dylan echoed, starring back in horror at the computer screen.

"It took several scientists from the National Institute of Environmental Health Sciences and nearly two weeks to solve it!" Frustration being so close yet so far from saving the sobbing young woman hardened Alicia's voice.

The woman whimpered again. Vanessa slid down the bars and wept, her long brown hair hiding her from view. She started rocking as she did in the video.

"There's no way we're going to solve this, Dylan." Alicia said it quietly, but Vanessa heard her and cried even harder.

"Maybe we don't have to."

"What?" Alicia spun to face him, only to be transfixed by his wide smile.

Dylan pointed to the frame of the door. "This frame is loose. It's not connected to the wall properly."

"And?" She bent towards the wall and angled her head to take a closer look.

"If we can take this apart, I can get to the computer's wiring." Dylan matched actions to intent by reaching into his duffle bag and pulling out two large flat head screwdrivers. He handed one to Alicia and started prying the frame away from the wall.

"Then you can hack it." Alicia grinned at him, flipping the screwdriver end over end before turning to her side of the frame and copying his actions.

"Is . . . is there anything I can do to help?"

Alicia grinned at Vanessa. "Can you find us something to break through the walls with?"

The young woman's face firmed with determination to help free herself from her prison. She jumped up and began ransacking her prison apartment for the requested supply. She returned with an assortment of things: knives, a variety of pans, and a rolling pin. She even brought them the cutting implements the Game Master had included in the hobby chest for her. Working in unison, the three of them broke into the wall and through the plaster and insulation. The wires, just as Dylan had predicted were running all through the wall.

Once the wiring had been found, Alicia sat back with Vanessa, letting Dylan handle his area of expertise. Watching him work, Alicia turned to their sort of hostess. "Vanessa, do you have anything to eat in there?"

The young woman's eyes lit up. "Oh, yeah. Of course. Do you want sandwiches? And something to drink?"

"I would kill for something to eat," Dylan grunted.

Alicia laughed, nodding at Vanessa's offer. "Yes, please."

Vanessa scrambled back into the apartment. Moments later Alicia and Dylan heard the sounds of her making food. Minutes later, she returned baring plates of large sandwiches and bottles of water. Alicia screwed off the top of one as she thanked Vanessa. Dylan grabbed the biggest sandwich he could find and squashing it together with the second largest. He thanked their maker through his first big bite. Vanessa stared at him through the bars in astonishment.

Alicia snickered before reaching for her own modestly sized sandwich. "Don't worry, he always eats that much."

"Hopefully you'll have me out of here before he eats all the food I have."

Dylan blushed but Alicia cracked up at Vanessa's still shocked words.


TBC