The Complete Fugitive Archives (Project Berlin, The Moscow Meeting, The Buried Cities) (Endgame: The Fugitive Archives)

by Frey, James

  The corridor continues on for approximately 100 meters. As we walk through it, I notice that in addition to the stones, there are occasionally holes in the walls and ceiling, just as there were in the door. I suspect these could be used to shoot oil, poisons, or other deadly things into the corridor. With every step, I fear tripping a trap or alarm, for something sharp to come flying at my head. But we keep going without incident.

  And then the corridor ends. Not at a door or a set of stairs—it just ends. There is a hole in the floor, and when I shine my flashlight into it, I see that the walls keep going down, like the shaft of a well. But the beam disappears into the darkness. I cannot see what, if anything, is at the bottom.

  “Now what?” Kelebek says. “We can’t go back.”

  “We go down,” I tell her. I slip the pack from my back and set it down. Opening it, I take out a coil of rope. “I’ll go down. You two will have to hold the rope on this end.” It’s a risk, but one I have to take.

  “I’m lighter,” Kelebek says. “I can go.”

  I shake my head. “We don’t know what’s down there.” I smile. “But it’s very brave of you to offer.”

  She nods curtly, but I can tell she is pleased. When I have the rope tied around my waist, I give the other end to Brecht. “Hold this,” I tell him.

  He nods and braces himself as I walk to the edge. Kelebek helps him hold the rope as I sit on the edge. “I’ll lower myself down,” I tell Brecht. “Then I can look around and see what’s going on.”

  I slide over the edge, and Brecht and Kelebek anchor me. I place my feet on the wall and walk down it, hand over hand. All goes well for about 10 meters. Then I take a step and the wall seems to disappear beneath my feet. There is just nothing there. My other foot slips, and all of a sudden I am hanging in open space.

  “Are you all right?” Brecht’s worried voice comes from above me.

  “The wall ends,” I shout back. “I’ll have to keep going on just the rope.”

  I pause for a moment, holding on with one hand while I use the other to shine the flashlight around. My flashlight searches for a bottom to the shaft, but there’s nothing. I’m suspended in darkness. I don’t know what to do. The rope is about 25 meters long, and I’ll soon run out. I don’t know how much farther down the shaft goes. It could be hundreds of meters. I could climb back up, but then what? We can’t go back the way we came—the entrance is sealed off. Perhaps this really is a trap—and we are stuck down here to die.

  And then as if in answer, there is a soft whooshing sound, and something swings across the shaft above me. The rope is severed, and I fall.

  Boone

  After half an hour of listening to Ott complain about his leg, I’m ready to kill him. Fortunately, he wears himself out and somehow falls into an uneasy sleep. Both he and Yildiz are out, which gives me some much-needed quiet time. I’m enjoying the silence when I hear a sound come from the corridor. It sounds like a cough, and it happens only once, but in the quiet it’s enough to make me startle. I get up and take a look. I leave the two sleepers in the room and venture into the tunnel, choosing not to turn my flashlight on. By now my eyes have adjusted to the darkness down here, and I can move down the hallway without stumbling.

  Then I hear voices, low and unintelligible. I can’t even make out what language is being spoken, but I can sense urgency in the exchange. Ahead of me is the point where this corridor joins the one leading outside. Whoever is speaking is standing at the Y where the tunnels split into two. I draw my pistol.

  A beam of light slices the darkness ahead of me, shining down my corridor. I press myself against the wall and crouch, the light swinging above me. I hear footsteps advancing into the hallway. My options are to meet the intruders head-on or retreat to the chamber where Ott and Yildiz are sleeping. I choose to prepare for a confrontation.

  Then, unexpectedly, the light is extinguished. I decide to keep going. Moving quietly, I creep down the corridor until figures begin to take shape ahead of me. I can make out two people standing in the main passageway. One is Bilal, the boy I saw earlier. The other is a man. His back is to me, and I can’t see his face. Bilal is pointing farther down the corridor, in the opposite direction of our hideout. Both figures start walking.

  Again I follow them, shadowing from a safe distance. Neither of them speaks, and I wonder where Bilal is leading the man.

  The corridor empties into a room of some kind. A moment later, Bilal cries out. I hear the sounds of a struggle; then the boy screams again. Instinctively, I step into the room. When I do, a flashlight blinds me. Then, surprisingly, I hear someone laugh.

  “Looks like I found you after all, buddy,” someone says.

  Something about the voice is familiar enough that I don’t shoot. The man lowers the light out of my eyes, and speaks again. “This little guy promised to help me find you, but I think he was trying to lead me down a dead end. Emphasis on dead. I should have known better than to trust a street rat.”

  I turn my own flashlight on now, so that the room is lit up enough to see what’s going on. I look at the man standing there, one arm around Bilal’s throat, the other holding his own light.

  “Hicks?” I say. “What are you doing here?”

  I can’t believe my eyes. I’m looking at my best friend from back home. Tom Hicks looks back, grinning. “Surprised?” he asks.

  Surprised is an understatement. Hicks shouldn’t be anywhere near this desolate place. For a second, I think I must be imagining him. Then he lets go of the boy’s neck and gives me a hug, slapping me on the back.

  “The council hadn’t heard from you in days. They thought you might have gotten yourself into some trouble, sent me in to help.” Hicks’s tone is light and joking, as if we’re back home, hanging out in my bedroom and chatting about the new Captain America comic book.

  I have a million questions. I start with, “How did you know we—I was here?”

  “The council was contacted by a guy named Kenney. Said he had some information about you. Said you might need extracting.”

  I don’t contradict him, but something isn’t right. Kenney didn’t know we were coming here. Not unless Brecht said something to him before I pushed him off the roof in Moscow. Even then, I don’t see how he would have had time to contact my council. And if he did contact them, what else did he tell them? My thoughts flash to Ari. Maybe Hicks isn’t here to help a friend. Maybe he’s the new Cassandra.

  “I found this little guy in Malatya,” Hicks says. His arm is back around Bilal’s neck. The boy looks terrified. “Said an American had come out here and he would help me find him.”

  Again, something isn’t adding up. I first saw Bilal more than an hour ago. Was Hicks already with him, then? And why didn’t he just call out my name?

  Like me, Hicks is trained as a Player. The council always has a backup, of course, usually several, ready to take the place of the main one. Just like I was the backup for my brother, Jackson, Hicks is mine. I’ve known him since we were kids, and he’s like a brother to me. I should be thrilled to see him.

  But it just doesn’t feel right. Partly this is because I’m worried about Ari; partly it’s because Bilal is looking at me like an animal caught in a trap. “You can let him go,” I say to Hicks. “He’s not going to do anything—are you, Bilal?”

  “You know his name?” Hicks says, giving a little laugh.

  “He’s friends with the girl who guided me here,” I say.

  Hicks relaxes his grip. Bilal slides out from under his arm and moves away, rubbing his neck.

  “Speaking of guides,” Hicks says. “Have you found what you came here for?”

  “Not yet,” I say.

  “Well, now I can help you look,” Hicks says. “I bet together we’ll find it in no time. But how about you put that thing away? You’re making me a little nervous.”

  I look down at the pistol in my hand and realize I’m still holding it as if I might need to use it. I put it away. Hicks steps forward a
nd opens his arms. I hesitate a moment before giving him another hug. He pats my back. “It’s good to see you alive. You had me—us—worried. Your mom has been a wreck since you went quiet.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “It’s been a wild couple of weeks. Tell me more about what Kenney told the council.”

  “I don’t know everything,” Hicks said. “Just that you had come here chasing after something you thought was important, and that you might have gotten in over your head. Boy, I never thought I’d be making my first plane ride to a place like this.”

  He’s trying to change the subject, which makes me more wary. But I have to keep pretending I’m happy to see him until I figure out exactly what’s going on.

  “So, what should we do now?” Hicks says.

  I decide that I can’t put off telling him about Ott for much longer. “Come with me,” I tell Hicks. “I’ll explain more.”

  He follows me back down the corridor. Bilal tails us, and Hicks ignores him. When we reach the place where the passageway branches, Bilal trots down the hallway leading to the outside. I call after him, but Hicks says, “Let him go. We don’t need him anymore.” The boy gives a quick glance over his shoulder, and I think I see him shake his head, as if he’s telling me not to believe what Hicks is saying. Then he’s gone.

  “How much do you know about why I went to Berlin?” I ask Hicks.

  “Just that you were trying to find some guy who used to work for the Nazis,” he says. “Another scientist. The council didn’t give me too many details.”

  Just like they didn’t give me too many, I think. Only what we need to know to get the job done.

  I’m not sure what I should tell him about Ott. If he doesn’t know about him, I could make up anything about who he is and why he’s here. I think about it as we walk back to the chamber where I left Ott and Yildiz, but as we reach it, I still haven’t made up my mind.

  It turns out that it doesn’t matter. We have a bigger problem. Yildiz is gone, and Ott is slumped on the floor. His throat has been cut, and a puddle of blood has formed around him. I kneel beside him and feel for a pulse. There isn’t one.

  “Is that the guy?” Hicks asks.

  I ignore him. I’m trying to figure out what the hell happened here. Ott was wounded, sure, but he still would have fought for his life. And I didn’t hear anything at all, which means he must have been overpowered really quickly.

  “We have to find Yildiz,” I say.

  “Who?”

  “The old woman who guided me here,” I tell him.

  “I thought a girl guided you here—the kid’s friend?” Hicks says. “Who’s this old woman, and what did he do to make her so angry?”

  My brain is churning, trying to figure out what’s going on. I don’t think Yildiz did this. But then who did? And where is the old woman? Someone waited until I was out of the room. Or, I think, someone lured me out. And I fell for it.

  I stand up and face Hicks, a knot of fear and anger forming in my stomach. “You’re not alone, are you?”

  “You saw the kid,” Hicks says. “But I don’t think he could do this, do you?”

  I shake my head. “And I don’t think he did do it. So, who did?”

  Hicks cocks his head. “Now how would I know?”

  His demeanor has changed. Everything has changed. “Why are you really here, Tom?” I ask him.

  He sighs and looks away for a moment. When he looks back, it’s not my friend looking at me. It’s another Player. “I’m wondering the same thing about you, Sam. Why are you here? And who are you here with? See, I’ve been hearing some pretty unbelievable stories about you. Things I’m having a hard time believing are true about my best friend. So maybe you can clear up a couple of things.”

  “Like?”

  “Like, is it true you’re here with a Minoan girl?”

  I notice he hasn’t said “with the Minoan Player.” I consider lying to him, telling him that Ari is dead. Instead I say nothing. Hicks waits a little while, then shakes his head. “I was really hoping it wasn’t true,” he says. “I was really hoping our Player hadn’t turned.”

  “I haven’t turned,” I tell him. “You don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “No,” he says. “I guess I really don’t.”

  “I can explain everything,” I say. “To you and to the council. When we get home.”

  Hicks looks at me with a sad expression. “I wish it could wait,” he says. “I really do, Sam. But the council has heard everything they need to hear.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They know about the girl. And how you went to Crete to get her, instead of coming home or even reporting in.”

  “I went to get the weapon that we—that I—recovered in Berlin,” I argue.

  “And then you went with her to Moscow,” Hicks continues. “You have to admit it doesn’t look good.”

  “We needed to get Brecht out of prison,” I say. “He was the only one who knew where the second set of weapon plans was.”

  “And where is he now?” says Hicks. “With the girl? Getting the weapon, or plans, or whatever is hidden here? While you sit at home waiting? That’s not what a Player does, Sam. It’s not what the Sam I knew would do. This girl has done something to you.”

  “She hasn’t done anything,” I say. “She—”

  “I can’t say I blame you,” Hicks interrupts. “If she’s identical to her sister, she must have been hard to resist.”

  “Cassandra,” I say. I look at Ott, dead on the floor. “You’re here with Cassandra. She’s the one who killed him.”

  “She’s a little spitfire, isn’t she?” Hicks says. “I hear you had a run-in with her yourself. Almost makes me hope Endgame doesn’t start while I’m the Player. I’d hate to have to take her out.”

  What he’s said registers in my brain. “Player? You?”

  “I’m really sorry about it, Sam,” he says. “The council thought it would be best if you took a break from the game.”

  “A break?”

  Hicks pulls at his earlobe, which is what he always does when he’s nervous. It’s how I always knew when he was getting ready to make his move during training, and how I always beat him. He used to wonder how I knew, and I never told him. “More like retirement,” he says. “See, the Minoans contacted the council and told them what was going on with you and their Player.”

  “So it wasn’t Kenney,” I say.

  Hicks shakes his head. “He did contact them, but he was trying to get them to pay for information. The Minoans gave it to them for free. Guess I should have just told you right out.”

  “Where’s Cassandra?”

  “My guess is, going after her sister,” Hicks says. “She was pretty anxious for a reunion.” He laughs. “It’s weird, huh? A Cahokian-Minoan joint mission. Kind of like if the Sub-Mariner and the Human Torch had to work together. The council sure was surprised when the Minoans suggested it.”

  He’s been sent here to kill me, just as Cassandra has been sent to kill Ari. But I might still have a chance. I know Hicks doesn’t want to kill me. Also, he’s after a bigger prize—the weapon.

  “Ariadne—the Minoan—is going right now to get the weapon,” I tell him. “If we wait, we can take out her and her sister, get the weapon, and take it back home.”

  “Fawn said you would try that,” Hicks says. Of course she did—of all my trainers, Fawn was the toughest. “She also said I should kill you before you had a chance to talk, but I couldn’t do that. I thought I at least owed it to you to say good-bye. This isn’t personal or anything. You’re still my friend.”

  We stare at each other for a long time, neither of us saying anything. I can’t believe it’s come to this, my best friend sent by our council to kill me. When all of this started on Christmas Eve, I was supposed to come out a hero. Now I’m a traitor.

  “We’ve fought a lot of times,” I say to Hicks. “And I won every time. What makes you think you can win this time?”


  He grins. “Things change,” he says, and rushes at me.

  I prepare to meet him. Then, unexpectedly, he stumbles. A puzzled look appears on his face. He gasps, then collapses to the ground. Someone is standing behind him, in the shadows.

  “You,” I say, and go for my pistol.

  Something stings my neck. A strange burning sensation spreads out, and my throat constricts. I fight to breathe, and my vision blurs. I stagger back, fumbling for my gun, but my hand doesn’t seem to work. I fall, and the last thing I see before I slip into blackness is my attacker stepping over Hicks’s body and coming toward me.

  Ariadne

  I fully expect to die.

  As I fall through the darkness, I do not scream or cry out for help. I look up at the faint, bluish glow coming from the opening above me. It is like looking into a blue eye, an eye that watches me without blinking. I marvel at the ingenuity of the people who built this place. Whatever is hidden here, they did not want me to reach it. I am only sorry that I have failed in my quest. Also, that I will never see Boone again.

  Then I land on something not entirely soft, but also not the hard rock or pointed spikes I expected. The force of my fall pushes me down; I choke as something fills my mouth, and at first I assume I am in water. But this is thicker somehow. I fan my arms to slow my fall, then head back up. My body is floating on some kind of liquid, and I smell a strange odor. The breath has been knocked out of me, so it takes a moment for me to realize what it is: oil. It’s unpleasantly slick on my skin, and it clings to my clothes. When I can breathe properly again, I splash around in it, seeing if I can touch the bottom. I can’t. Curiously, I have managed to hang on to my flashlight, and I shine it around.

  I am just in time to see a massive mechanical arm swinging down toward me out of the blackness, its hand clenching an unlit torch. The torch breaks the surface of the oil with a splash; then the arm is still. I run my light up it until I see where it is connected to one of the walls in such a way that it can move up and down.