Reap

by James Frey

  I raised my hands. I still had the M1911 in my hand. “What do you want?”

  “Take a guess.”

  “I just got here. I didn’t do anything.”

  “Look in front of you,” he said. “You wonder what I want?”

  “I don’t know anything about this.”

  “Right.” He moved closer to me and took my gun. I heard him pull back the slide and eject the round.

  “Look,” I said. “I’m not who you’re looking for.”

  “Why are you carrying a gun?”

  “Look at this room. Why do you think I’m carrying a gun? We’re all in danger.”

  “Danger from who?”

  I started to turn around, to find out who I was talking to. Maybe a Player? He was American. Maybe a partner with the La Tène? Maybe a Minoan with a really good accent?

  “Keep your face to the front.”

  I stopped. “Who are you?”

  “I’m the one asking the questions.”

  He grabbed my hand and twisted it down to the hollow of my back. I felt the steel of a handcuff snapping into place. I had to get away. I couldn’t have him stop me here and take me away to a jail cell. I had to get back to Kat and John.

  I yanked away from his grip and spun around, the cuff flying out of his hand. But as I made a motion toward him, his revolver pointed solidly into my chest. He had both hands on it now, finger on the trigger.

  “Stop,” he said, “or you’ll end up dead on the floor next to your Player.”

  I stared back at him. The room was dark, with the only light coming from the hallway, making him a silhouette. I gazed into his face and fell silent, knowing he could squeeze off a shot faster than I could move.

  “How do you know about Players?” I asked.

  “Put the other handcuff on your own wrist.”

  “Tell me how you know about this. If you know, and you’re stopping me, you’ll be as guilty as the Players themselves.”

  “Put the handcuff on.”

  I did as he ordered. I was restrained, my hands in front of me.

  “Let’s get to another room,” he said. “Somewhere we can talk.” He took the Brotherhood of the Snake papers and stuffed them into his suit pocket. He directed me out the door. Instead of going downstairs, we went up. No one was around, not the fire department, not housekeeping—nobody.

  “Who are you?” I asked as we walked, me in front, him telling me where to go.

  “I work for the American government. Security for the Olympians. They sent me over to find you.”

  “Shouldn’t you be protecting the Olympians, then?”

  “Just walk.”

  “If you know about the Players,” I said, “you have to understand why we’re doing this.”

  “All I understand is that too many people are dying today. Are you a part of this? Are you killing Israelis too? Are you Black September?”

  “I have no idea about that. You probably know more about them than I do.”

  He opened the door to a hotel room and pushed me inside.

  He sat me in a chair at a small circular table, handcuffing one of my hands to the armrest, then sat on the bed to use the phone, his eyes still on me. He was on for a long time—maybe an hour, maybe more. I tried to catch parts of his conversation, but it was hard to follow only one side of it, and the person on the other end was doing more talking than he was. He was listening or waiting on hold or something.

  At long last he hung up and walked over to the window.

  “I know you killed a sheriff in Redding, California. I know that you’ve been part of a militant terrorist group called Zero line. I know that you’ve spent the summer practicing to kill twelve kids—like that girl back there.”

  “She’s a trained killer.”

  “She was. So are you.”

  “Listen,” I said. “You seem to know a lot about this. You have to know the danger we’re in if we don’t get to all the Players.”

  “If you don’t kill all the Players, you mean.”

  “No, I don’t. You have to understand: we’re trying to talk to them. Our goal is not to kill a bunch of people. We’re trying to get them to stop. To stop Playing.”

  He smirked. “Because that’s how to stop the aliens, right?”

  “Yes,” I said angrily. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

  “Prove it.”

  My mind raced. I had no idea how to talk my way out of this. He had that gun trained on my chest.

  “We faked a Calling,” I said. “Do you know what a Calling is?”

  “It’s when they all get together—the twelve Players.”

  “Yes, but it’s when Endgame starts. When they all try to kill each other, to fight for survival. The fact that they’re here, that they’re prepared to kill, that should be plenty of proof that this is real.”

  “Nice try,” he said. “So maybe they’re as delusional as you are. Two sides of the same cult. What I want to know, Michael—”

  “My name’s Frank Finn.”

  “That will come as a surprise to your parents in Pasadena. Come now, you don’t think I haven’t done my homework? We’ve talked to your parents. They know about the cult. They know about killing the sheriff. Now just talk to me. Tell me about him.”

  “The sheriff? He wasn’t supposed to be there.”

  “So that was your first murder?”

  “No. It was my first kill,” I responded, pissed off. “It wasn’t planned. I’m not a murderer. I killed him, but I’m not . . . it’s not what you think.”

  The American sat down across from me at the table in the corner by the hotel window. My left wrist was handcuffed to the armrest, but it was an old wooden chair, and when I leaned back, the arm came out of joint. I thought that I could get the handcuffs loose if he looked away. I had to be ready to move when I did that. I only had one shot at escape.

  “How is that not murder?” he asked, his face a mask. “Tell me what I’m misunderstanding.”

  “It was self-defense.” My heart was pounding in my chest. I couldn’t even tell if I was bluffing anymore, or if it was the truth.

  “You had just killed two other men. Was that self-defense, too?”

  “I didn’t kill two men.”

  “Your friends did.” The agent—was he CIA, FBI maybe?—stood up from his chair and paced the room. I had no idea how he had tied me to anything in California. The papers from the Brotherhood of the Snake were on the table—no one had even run prints, and now the man’s fingerprints were on them as well.

  I didn’t know what to say to him. All I knew was that I had to get out of there, fast. The team was counting on me. Kat was counting on me. We didn’t have much time.

  She was probably already gone. I’d been in the hotel far too long. She couldn’t just be waiting in the park, like I’d left her. John had been there. The two of them might have written me off as captured, a lost cause. John had shown his true colors. He was ruthless. He didn’t care about any of us.

  Kat wouldn’t abandon me. And she knew I wouldn’t abandon her. She had to know that something had stopped me from getting back to her. She’d wait.

  No, Kat needed to get to a hospital. Would someone still be waiting for me? The fire department was likely gone. It was up to the Munich police to worry about Raakel’s body, and they were so busy with the Olympics that they might not come for hours. John said we would all be meeting at the park, but they would have had to leave without me. They couldn’t wait this long.

  “The cop,” I said, thinking fast, “had just shot my friend in the chest.”

  “Your friend was shot in the chest while you were robbing a store at gunpoint. You face charges of grand larceny, assault with a deadly weapon, and murder, and that doesn’t begin to address what you’re doing here in Germany.”

  He was the only agent there—alone and stupid. Maybe he was just from the US Consulate. He clearly had no idea who he was dealing with. He thought I was just a run-of-the-mill te
rrorist. But I wasn’t. I was Zero line. What we were doing was so much bigger than one California sheriff’s life. So much bigger than an FBI or CIA agent. So much bigger than me. He was wasting my time, and time was the one thing we needed on our side.

  “Listen,” I said. “Can I use the bathroom?” I’d scanned the place for anything I could use to escape. It was no prison—it was just a hotel. Someone had slept in the bed last night. It wasn’t made. “We’ve been sitting in here for hours.”

  He stared at me through narrowed eyes. “I’ll let you get up when you’re finished answering my questions.” He leaned forward, trying to intimidate me. “Why are you in Munich? What’s your plan here?”

  “I want a lawyer.”

  “We’re not in the United States,” he said. “Different rules.”

  “Different rules?” I said, nervously laughing a little bit. “You’re an American; I’m an American. The Constitution guarantees my rights.”

  “Here’s the passenger manifest from your flight out of Reno. I’m going to read through the names, and you’re going to tell me who else is in your group.”

  “Seriously?” I said, and laughed. “I thought you already had all the answers. You obviously have no idea what is going on. No idea.”

  While the agent talked, I leaned back in my chair. The armrest wasn’t moving enough. The joint was loose, but the back of the chair hit the wall, and I wasn’t able to squeeze the handcuff out through the gap. I gripped the armrest, trying to guess its weight.

  He sat again, his chair scooted all the way in to the table. “I know you’re not here alone. Who else from the plane is working with you? I’ve heard about Katherine McKnight—Kat.”

  “You’re wasting my time,” I said. “I need to get out of here. I don’t have time.”

  I gripped the arm of the chair with my handcuffed left hand.

  “If it’s so important, why won’t you tell me what it is?”

  And then it hit me.

  “Eugene,” I said, looking at him. “You’ve been talking to Eugene. That’s how you know about all this stuff.”

  He smugly straightened his tie. “Eugene West. We were told to watch for you. I knew you’d start your killing today, but I didn’t know the magnitude. Tell me: How did you get involved with Black September?”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, shaking my head. “We’re not with Black September.”

  He leaned toward me, our faces only inches apart. “Then explain it to me.”

  I shoved the table with my right hand, tipping it into the agent’s stomach. I leaped to my feet, yanked up the chair, and smashed it into him. It lost some of its momentum as it scraped against the wall, but I was still able to bring it down on him hard. The chair broke as it hit his shoulder and the table, but the armrest was still in my hand. I beat him across the face with it until he went down. He was dazed, and I scrambled out from behind the table and pieces of the broken chair.

  He went for his gun, slowly pushing the broken chair away. He was bleeding from his head—a lot. I hit him again with the armrest and then gave him a right hook. He wasn’t struggling anymore, and I grabbed his pistol from his holster.

  I pulled the broken armrest out of the handcuff and knelt down next to him to find his keys. I grabbed them just as he tried to throw a weak punch. It caught me off guard, and I stumbled back slightly. But I had his keys and gun, and I held the pistol in my left hand while I unlocked the cuffs.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I put a handcuff on his left wrist and locked him to the radiator. Then I grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom and used it to gag him.

  “You want to know what we’re doing here?” I asked as I rummaged through the closet. There was a suit there, but I didn’t want that. All I needed was a shirt that wasn’t covered with Kat’s blood. I knelt down and unzipped a gym bag.

  “We’re saving the world,” I said. “You probably thought Eugene was crazy, or maybe he told you that we’re crazy, but all of it’s true. If it wasn’t true, then why would Raakel—the girl in the other room—why would she be here? We sent out invitations, and she understood what we were doing, and she came here. Because of this goddamned Endgame. I hate it just as much—no, I hate it more than you do. Because I know what it is. The Players fighting for the end of the world. They’re fighting for survival, and we have to stop them before they come after each other.”

  I found a plain gray sweatshirt and pulled it from the bag.

  “If we don’t do this, the entire population of the world could be wiped out. Well, maybe a twelfth will live. But billions will die. Billions. Can you even comprehend that? We don’t know how it will happen—disease, nukes, maybe just hunting us down like animals—but it will happen. That was the contract signed thousands of years ago. By killing Raakel, I just stopped the Minoan line from Playing. Now we have to stop the rest of them, if we want to stop Endgame from happening.”

  I pulled the sweatshirt on and checked the agent’s Colt Lawman revolver. I opened the cylinder to see if it was fully loaded. It was, and I put the safety on and tucked it into my belt.

  “When this is all over, you can hunt me down. I know I’ve done a lot of illegal things in the last four months. But you’ll have to wait, because there’s a job to be done. Who knows—maybe I’ll die and you won’t need to look for me.”

  I gave him one last look, took the papers from the table, and then exited the room. I put the DO NOT DISTURB placard on the door.

  The corridor was empty, and I looked for the nearest stairs. I wanted to find a back way out of this place and stay as far from Raakel’s room as I could. From what I was able to pick up from the one-sided phone conversation, the agent hadn’t informed the Germans about Raakel yet. He only spoke on the phone to other Americans.

  That could mean backup was coming. Or maybe there was no one to send. Maybe the agent was bluffing, and he was alone. I looked at my watch. I’d been in this damn hotel for more than two hours. I needed to get out and find Kat or John. Or Mary.

  I ran down the stairs, as fast as I could.

  I was flooded with confidence. Not only had I killed a Player, but I had successfully escaped from an agent. Of what agency, I didn’t know, but he was some kind of cop. State Department, maybe. From the consulate, perhaps.

  At the bottom of the stairs there were two doors, one to the hotel’s main floor and another to the back of the hotel. I cautiously stepped out a side door. It was lighter now; the sun had risen. There were still people in the street and in the park, but no sign of Kat or John or anyone else. I was going to have to go back to the safe house if I was ever going to find them. Odds were the safe house would be empty by now, and I’d have to call on the walkie-talkie. We hadn’t made contingency plans for if we got separated.

  I made a beeline for the closest train platform and started jogging. They’d be at the next targets now—other hotel rooms somewhere. Or would the Players all have gone to the plaza already? That’s where we had talked about eventually meeting them—we’d talked of getting snipers up on the roof of the buildings surrounding the spiral sunburst. But could we do that now? I was seeing cops all over the place, in cars with flashing lights or on street corners trying to do crowd control.

  There were clinics everywhere—or pharmacies, maybe. They were small, with neon crosses glowing. I wondered if Kat could be in one of them, getting better stitches than my uneven, crooked attempt. She’d need major surgery eventually. She’d told me that. Raakel’s sword had cut through at least some tendons—Kat couldn’t move her fingers more than a little painful twitching.

  The train stop was crowded, with Olympic guests everywhere. They were all speaking in different languages, and I could only catch a little. Terrorism seemed to be the same in every language, and I heard variations of Israel a lot.

  I waited in the warm morning air for several minutes before the lights of a train appeared down the line.

  “Have you heard?” a woman behind
me said. “At the Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten. They found two people dead. There were others there too. A Japanese girl, they said, and an American.”

  “What?” another woman replied. “That’s just down the street from us.”

  “I know. I talked with a policeman and he said that there was a tremendous gunfight. A young woman managed to evade capture and is at large.”

  Mary, maybe? John had said that Tyson had gone down. And the Japanese girl—was she Mu? What could have been happening in the last two hours?

  “Is it part of the dreadful attacks on the Israelis?”

  “He didn’t know,” she said. “Or perhaps he just wasn’t going to tell me. No one has made an official statement about any of this yet.”

  “If they don’t have the terrorists contained, one would think they should issue a warning to the public.”

  “I do wonder if it’s something else entirely,” the first woman said. “The hostage situation would seem to have nothing to do with the Japanese or the Americans.”

  As the train drew closer, their conversation moved to a discussion of whether events would be canceled and if it would disrupt the schedule of the games.

  We had to cram inside the crowded train, and I stood in the center, clutching a strap to keep my balance. I listened for more news, but no one had anything solid to say. A few people griped about having been awakened by sirens, and someone else said there’d been a rumor of a man running through the plaza carrying a rifle. But officials were still being tight-lipped and didn’t know the extent of what was going on.

  Most people got off the train before I did, and when we finally reached my stop, only a handful of people were left.

  “Geht es dir gut?” an old woman asked me, and tapped my hand.

  I looked down. There was dried blood on the back of my hand and fingers. Kat’s blood, from while I was stitching her up.

  “I’m okay,” I said, and smiled.

  She gave me a suspicious look, but she turned her head, and I got off the train.

  I climbed the stairs up to the front door of our safe house. There was no secret knock or even keys. I just let myself in and saw Mary sitting across the room, pointing a pistol at me.