End Game

by David Baldacci

  The one man who had promised to watch Robie die grinned maliciously as they passed by, and then he flipped them off.

  They reached a solid wood door, which was opened by a guard standing at attention there.

  Robie, Reel, and Holly were pushed through this opening, and the door was closed behind them. The interior was dark, but only for a moment. Then they were hit with streams of lights from all corners of the room. They all blinked and averted their gazes from the harsh illumination.

  “Welcome,” said the voice.

  Robie and Reel glanced in the direction of the words. Appearing from out of the darkness was a tall, overweight man with black hair and an unlined face.

  Robie gauged his age at midthirties.

  He was dressed in a loose-fitting green tunic and black slacks. On his head was a German officer’s cap. He had a holstered sidearm, what looked to be a vintage Walther-designed P38.

  “Christ,” muttered Reel as she took in this spectacle.

  The man took off his cap and set it down on a table. “My name is Dolph. Now to business.”

  Dolph opened a small notebook and scanned some pages. “You have, as of today, encountered my men in two separate engagements. You have cost me multiple ATVs and trucks. Five hundred rounds of ammo, sixteen weapons. Six men injured. Eight men dead. That is unacceptable.”

  Robie noted that the men killed were listed after the lost trucks, guns, and ammo. That clearly showed their leader’s priorities.

  Dolph closed the book and looked at them. “You of course must be punished for this. But I am a fair man and you will be able to defend your actions in a due legal proceeding.”

  “Really?” said Robie skeptically. “Do we get lawyers?”

  “Of course. We will fly in the very best legal representation from Washington, DC. Perhaps the Justice Department? Or did you have someone else in mind?”

  Robie didn’t answer because he was unsure if the man was joking or simply insane.

  Dolph snapped his fingers and one of the guards grabbed a chair and slid it under him right as he sat down.

  Dolph took out a flat silver case, removed a cigarette, tapped it against the case, and one of his men used an old-fashioned lighter to light it.

  Dolph took a long inhale and then let the smoke out in twin streams from his nose.

  “I was, of course, not serious about the legal representation,” said Dolph. “Or the fairness of due process. We are at war. During wartime, those elements are of no significance.”

  “Actually, some would argue that’s when they’re most important,” volunteered Reel.

  Dolph looked at her curiously, as though he was puzzled that a woman had chosen to speak in his presence.

  “Identification,” he said.

  A guard moved forward and handed him the cred packs that had been taken from Robie and Reel.

  Dolph viewed the documents.

  “Very impressive,” he said, his cigarette held between his teeth at a jaunty angle. “These of course confirm your guilt. You are spies. You must be executed.”

  “We’re agents of the United States government,” pointed out Robie. “And we’re all standing in the United States right now. So there is no possibility of us being spies.”

  Dolph closed each of the cred packs and threw them at Robie. Even shackled Robie managed to catch them and thrust them into his pocket.

  Dolph rose.

  “An interesting argument, but you neglected one important fact, which is that the ground on which you stand is sovereign. It is not part of the United States. Therefore, your position is fatally flawed. I do not expect you to understand this, since you are woefully ignorant of all necessary facts and truths.”

  “And where might one find these necessary facts and truths?” asked Reel.

  Dolph came to stand in front of her. He smiled disarmingly, but that only put Reel on higher alert. Her muscles tensed and then relaxed. She was ready to strike, even shackled.

  “I will tell you,” he replied. “For instance.”

  He snapped his fingers again and another guard came forward with a leather briefcase. Dolph set it down on a campaign desk in the center of the room and opened it. He took out several photographs.

  “This is the punishment for spies.”

  He walked back over to the prisoners and held the photos up, splayed out like he was about to perform a card trick.

  Holly gasped, her eyes fluttered, and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

  Reel made a move to help her, but the guards gripped her arms and held her where she was.

  Robie continued to stare at the three pictures. One was of Luke Miller alive and intact.

  The second was Luke minus his head.

  The third was Luke’s head.

  “So you murdered him?” said Robie stonily.

  “I murder no one. He was executed for treason. He signed a sworn oath of allegiance. I have it here, in my pocket, if you would care to see it. He disobeyed that oath. He turned against us. The penalty for that is death. Nothing could be clearer. Nothing could be fairer. Strong leaders must be both clear and fair. And they must act with a firm hand when it is required. And I am a strong leader.”

  He glanced down at Holly. “Lift her,” he commanded.

  She was swiftly brought to her feet, though she was not yet conscious.

  “Stimulate her,” ordered Dolph.

  Three hard slaps to the face and Holly came back to consciousness. Her gaze settled once more on the pictures and she started to scream. “You bastard! You murderer! I’ll kill—”

  Before Robie or Reel could even react, Dolph took out his P38, aimed it at Holly’s head, and fired. The bullet burned a hole into her forehead, broke through her skull, and from there blasted into the soft tissue of her brain and stayed there.

  Holly fell backward to the floor.

  Reel and Robie stood there, covered in the dead woman’s brains and blood.

  Dolph looked at his pistol as though it were an affectionate pet. To add to this image he even stroked the heated barrel.

  “And I am a strong leader,” he said again.

  He flicked a finger at Robie and Reel as though he were disposing of an irksome bug. Guards came forward and hustled the pair out.

  Chapter

  32

  “WHY ARE WE still alive?” Reel asked.

  She and Robie had been thrown into a small wooden shack and the door padlocked behind them. It was already growing very warm, and Robie could feel the sweat on his face and under his armpits. They could hear the rustle of booted feet just outside, so they were keeping their voices low.

  “Maybe the little son of a bitch only murders one person a day,” said Robie grimly. He used his shirt to rub off blood and other matter from his face.

  Reel did the same. “God, I feel like shit about Holly. And Luke. They beheaded him. They’re no better than ISIS.”

  “I’d like to know how they got to them,” said Robie. “They were supposed to be on a commercial bus headed to Denver. I didn’t hear of any bus hijackings, did you?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe they got to them after that.”

  “How would these pricks even know they were heading to Denver?” asked Robie. “We were the only ones who knew about that.”

  “Obviously not.”

  “You think they’re behind the prisoners in the van? If so, maybe they got to Blue Man, too?”

  Reel said, “If that prick killed Blue Man I will personally slit his throat.”

  Robie looked around the tight parameters of their cell. “We could easily break through the wood, but that doesn’t get us anywhere with guards right outside.”

  “It’s daylight now. We’ll have to wait until nightfall.”

  “If we’re still alive,” he pointed out.

  At half past seven the door was unlocked and a face appeared.

  “Let’s go,” the guard said.

  “Where?” asked Robie.

  “Dinner.�
��

  Reel and Robie exchanged glances.

  “Move it!” snapped the man, who looked like he wanted to just start shooting.

  They were taken to a small outbuilding by a half-dozen guards and their shackles removed.

  The lead guard said, “There’s a shower in there. And there are clean clothes hanging on pegs inside.”

  “I’m fine with what I have on,” said Reel.

  “Well, he’s not. So shower and change. You both stink. And you’re covered in shit. And I’ve been ordered to shoot you right here if you don’t comply.”

  Inside was a facility like a gym locker room. There was only one large communal shower with multiple shower heads.

  “You can go first,” Robie said. “I’ll wait around the corner.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Robie, you’ve seen all of me there is to see.”

  They showered with Reel on one side of the shower and Robie on the other. He kept his gaze averted from her and thus didn’t see Reel steal a glance at him. However, she was only checking out one part of his body.

  “How’s the arm, honestly?” she said, while soaping up.

  Robie said, “Good as new. Your oblique?”

  “You can see for yourself.”

  He flinched and then glanced quickly at her, to find Reel staring back at him. She pointed to the injured side. “All healed up. Even had plastic surgery to take care of the scarring.”

  His gaze dipped to the oblique and then slightly above and below before snapping back to her face.

  “You look better than ever, Robie. Like you’ve been carved out of granite.” She paused. “You seem uncomfortable.”

  “Mixed signals tend to do that to me.”

  She turned her back on him and continued cleaning up.

  This time Robie let his gaze wander from the small, hard muscles in her back to the longer, ropier muscles in her delts and triceps. Then his gaze wandered lower, stopping at her feet before moving back up again.

  “You look in great fighting shape, too, Jess.”

  “What every girl wants to hear.”

  “Is this change in attitude because you know we’re going to die here?” he asked.

  “Maybe a little. But only a little.”

  Robie was about to say something else, but finally just shook his head and rinsed off.

  They dressed and were led to another building fronted by a pair of intricately carved double wooden doors. Inside was an elegant dining room.

  The table looked antique. A square of Oriental rug was underneath. Cloth napkins were laid next to silverware and porcelain plates.

  A chandelier with what looked to be real crystal pieces hung above the table.

  A pair of sconces on one wall flickered with propane gas flames.

  Reel touched the scratchy tunic she had been given to wear. It came down to the tops of her knees. Sandals were on her feet.

  Robie was in medical scrubs a dull plum color. They had given him nothing for his feet. From the shadows of the room they could sense people watching.

  Robie had given Reel her cred pack after getting it back from Dolph earlier. He’d slipped his inside the pocket of the scrub pants.

  Another door inside the space opened, and a man wearing a white shirt and pants with black-and-white checks hurried in carrying two covered dishes. He set one down in front of one chair at the table, and the other in front of another chair. Then he disappeared back through the doorway.

  Robie looked at Reel and shrugged. “Maybe we’re eating alone,” he said.

  “No, you’re not.”

  They turned to look in the direction from where the voice had come.

  A high-backed leather chair swiveled around and there sat Dolph at a desk reading over some papers. He folded them over and placed them in a desk drawer. Then he stood, leaned behind a small bookcase, and retrieved a rifle that had been set there against the wall. He held it up as he walked over to them.

  “Yours, I believe,” he said, indicating Reel.

  Reel eyed the sniper rifle. “Yes. Can I have it back? Loaded?”

  “Please, sit down and eat before it gets cold,” said Dolph.

  They sat and uncovered their dishes to see baked chicken, rice, and vegetables together with a small salad and bread.

  Dolph took the seat at the head of the table.

  As Robie took up his fork he said to Dolph, “You’re not eating?”

  Dolph waved this comment off as he continued to examine the rifle. He finally placed the weapon on the table. “My men tell me that you’re both excellent shots.”

  Reel took a bite of salad and chewed it methodically, making him wait for her answer. “We’re the best you’ll ever see.”

  Dolph made no reaction to this bit of bravado.

  “What’s your real name?” Robie asked him.

  “I already told you that,” he said impatiently. He looked at them curiously. “How old do you think I am?”

  Robie said, “Midthirties.”

  “I’m fifty-six.”

  Reel’s eyes widened a bit. “So you’ve discovered the fountain of youth in eastern Colorado?”

  “No, I discovered something far better. I discovered absolute power. It’s wonderful for the complexion.”

  He sat forward and assumed a thoughtful expression. “I have so few people to share my philosophies with. My men, they’re good and they work hard and they obey me. That last part is critical. But they don’t think at the same level that I do. Now, you two are from Washington, DC. As barren as that place is, people do talk politics, competing philosophies.”

  “Your philosophies seem pretty clear,” said Reel. “You’re wearing them.”

  “No, no, disabuse yourself of that notion. I chose Nazi, but I could have chosen something else.”

  “I’m not following,” said Reel.

  “Hitler was only one of many. And, indeed, in terms of longevity, while he had perhaps the greatest impact on the world, he was not successful in maintaining what he had created. In fact, he was one of the worst.”

  “The Thousand Year Reich lasted, what, a couple decades?” said Robie.

  “Precisely. I could name twenty others who did it longer and better than he did. But give the man credit. It took an entire world to bring him down.”

  “Well, the world was fighting Italy and Japan, too.”

  “Please, the Italians don’t count. To a man they preferred wine and meatballs to fighting. The Japanese fought hard, I’ll give you that. But they had a warrior tradition. The emperors of the Rising Sun ruled for centuries. The Chinese the same. The monarchies as well. And it all comes down to one thing.”

  Robie took a bite of chicken. “And what is that?”

  “Democracies are clearly the weakest form of government there is.”

  “I don’t think you’d find many free people to agree with that,” said Reel.

  Dolph looked disappointed by this comment. “I really had hoped for at least a bit of nuance.” He sat back and puffed on his cigarette. “Yes, they’re free. To live in chaos. Too many cooks in the kitchen. Too many people with a place at the table. Too many voices in the room. People are idiots. They don’t know what they want other than to get as much as they can at the expense of their neighbor. You think that Lord of the Flies mentality happens only after a disaster? It happens every day, stopping