The Devil's Game (The Game Trilogy Book 2)

by Sean Chercover

  Daniel dropped the rock and picked up the gun and made sure a round was chambered. He quickly rolled the man on his back, went through his pockets, found the nothing he expected. You don’t carry identification on a kill mission.

  He snapped a photo of the man’s face, grabbed Kara’s hand, and led her outside.

  “I’m gonna draw the other guy’s attention, then we take off the long way around. When I say go, you start running and don’t stop until you get in the car. Stay low. Once you get past the Range Rover, keep it behind you for cover. Now wait here.”

  He crept back to the corner, used his mirror again to peer around. The man was still at his post, just on the other side of the Range Rover’s engine compartment, standing profile. At this distance a hit with an MP5 was extremely unlikely, and the gun’s report would send the man straight into battle mode.

  “Hoy!” Daniel called out. As soon as the man turned and began walking, Daniel took off behind the outcrop, grabbing Kara’s wrist, pulling her into a running crouch as the wall sloped down to meet the ground. He held their position for a few seconds, then pushed Kara ahead of him. “Go.”

  They ran straight for the Range Rover, and almost made it before the man started firing. Daniel spun and returned fire and the man took cover behind the outcrop.

  Kara was on the other side of the Range Rover now, running low as he’d told her. Daniel spun again and both men fired at once, bullets pinging off rocks, the smell of gunpowder filling the air. He let off a second burst, forcing the man back behind cover.

  Then he ran like hell, slowing just enough to shoot out the Range Rover’s tires on the way to the rental.

  27: SAFE AS HOUSES

  First I have to get us safe, then we’ll talk.”

  Kara nodded. “Do that.”

  Daniel swung the BMW onto the smooth blacktop, leaving the gravel road behind, and stepped on the gas. His phone vibrated with an incoming text:

  Evan Sage just departed LHR for OSL

  He texted back:

  Got bigger problems—SOS

  SOS was a priority extraction request—right now, Raoul Aharon would be addressing the control room back in New York, directing everyone’s attention to a valley at the southern tip of Norway.

  A reassuring thought, but Daniel wanted confirmation.

  The next minute passed slowly.

  Then another incoming text:

  On it, my friend—Stay frosty. R. A.

  Raoul was an experienced handler, he understood.

  Kara watched the scenery fly by for a few minutes, then pulled the sun visor down and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was all over the place. She started to work it back into shape with her fingernails but stopped short, staring at her reflection for a long moment, then snapped the visor back up.

  “You sure know how to show a girl a good time,” she said, her eyes a bit wild.

  “Just hang on. Stick with me. We’ll talk soon.”

  “You know what?” she said. “I don’t want to talk about it while you’re driving anyway. I want you to look me right in the face when you tell your next lie. Business consultant, my ass.”

  “I deserve that,” said Daniel.

  “Damn right you do.” She looked out the window at the road ahead. “I could use a drink.”

  Within a couple minutes, New York had taken over Daniel’s phone, launching the GPS app. A bright blue line glowed right into Oslo. He followed the line, reconnecting with the main highway, and set the cruise control just below the speed limit. Then he sent the photo of the soldier he’d laid out in the cave to Raoul.

  From the north end of the valley, it was about two hours to Oslo. The silence hung heavy between them at first, but Kara seemed brighter after she closed her eyes for a while. Daniel reached for her hand, and she let him take it.

  “I won’t lie to you again, Kara.”

  “We’ll see.” She put his hand back on the wheel.

  The GPS lead them to Oslo’s sentralstasjon, teeming with tourists and business travelers. As Daniel put the BMW in park, his phone buzzed. The text read:

  Train 162 -> Copenhagen—Tickets @ will-call

  Kara reached for the phone and Daniel showed her the text.

  He said, “Okay, this part is easy: We’re an American tourist couple, been in Norway a week, heading to the next stop on our vacation. Just follow my lead.” He killed the engine. “Ready?”

  “Daniel, we’re a mess and you’ve got a scratch, we hardly look like tourists.” She reached out and touched his left cheek. He hadn’t been aware of it, but now he could feel the stinging.

  “Here’s the story: We went for a walk in the woods, um . . . looking for the place where Edvard Munch used to hang his canvases on trees.”

  “Edvard Munch used to hang his canvases in the woods?”

  “Yeah, and people call you crazy.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Anyway we were in the woods and I slipped on some wet moss and did a face-plant into the root of a tree. I’m a klutz like that. You helped me up, we both got a bit dirty.”

  Kara nodded, reached for the door handle, stopped. “You’re keeping things light for my benefit,” she said. “But we’re not safe yet, are we?”

  “We will be.”

  They walked into the terminal hand in hand, passing beneath the massive electronic arrivals and departures board, straight to the ticket counter’s will-call window. Daniel showed his passport and picked up the tickets waiting for them. Raoul hadn’t missed the chance to poke Daniel, booking them a private sleeping berth. Daniel’s heart sank a little at the knowledge that they’d never set foot on the train.

  Another incoming text:

  Avis—Mr. Rector—U R crane—GPS to safe house

  Daniel showed the text to Kara.

  She said, “We’re not leaving?”

  “Not just yet.”

  The blond man at the Avis rental counter smiled as they approached. His nametag said, John Rector—Manager. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Crane,” he said.

  Daniel nodded to him. “Mr. Rector. How’s the family?” He put the tickets on the counter.

  Rector deftly made the tickets disappear. “Never a dull moment with so many children to look after,” he said. “Keys?”

  Daniel fished the car keys from his pocket and handed them across. “Needs a wash,” he said.

  “No worries, it’ll be spotless.” He handed Daniel a small laptop bag and a new set of car keys. “This one certainly is. You’ll find it in space number two, just through those doors over there. Welcome back to Norway.”

  As they left the train station, Daniel glanced back to see Rector handing the train tickets to a couple who didn’t much look like Daniel and Kara but matched their general size and coloring. Decoys for the train.

  Nice touch, Raoul.

  A white Saab sat in space number two. A few years old but well maintained, perfect camouflage. Daniel plugged his phone into the lighter socket as he drove them out of the lot.

  “So Mr. Rector wasn’t really a car rental guy,” said Kara.

  “Not really, no.”

  The phone’s GPS app launched again, showing a somewhat meandering route through downtown Oslo. Daniel followed the route, periodically circling the block with right turns, and he watched mirrors and cross streets closely, cataloging surrounding traffic.

  They were not being followed.

  After flitting around Oslo for twenty-five minutes, they finally parked in front of a modern gray stone townhouse in the fashionable West End district.

  The front door was steel, embossed with a woodgrain pattern and painted glossy black. A text arrived to Daniel’s phone:

  35289.

  Daniel punched the digits into a small keypad on the doorframe and the door buzzed open and they went inside.

  Kara headed
straight for the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors. “There’s gotta be some hooch in this place.” She opened the refrigerator, slammed it shut, and spun to face Daniel. “There’s a gun in the refrigerator.”

  “Better to have a gun in the refrigerator and not need it than to need a gun in the refrigerator and not have it.” Daniel shrugged. It was intended to lighten the mood. It didn’t.

  “Who the hell are you? Christ, it’s like I’m meeting you for the first time.” She turned and opened the freezer, reached in and drew out a frosty bottle of akvavit, and poured cold caraway-infused vodka into a couple of glasses from the cupboard. “Why didn’t we leave on the train?”

  “Trust me, the people I work for, there’s an extraction protocol in place.”

  “An extraction protocol? Do you even hear the way that sounds?”

  “Look. We’re safe in this building. The fridge is stocked, not just with a gun. There’ll be a change of clothes for us upstairs. As of right now, we’re under satellite surveillance. If anyone starts casing this place, they’ll be noticed. I promise we’ll get you out of here deliberately and without incident. We’re very good at what we do.”

  “Let’s start there. Who are we? These people you work for. Specifically.”

  “That’s not something I can tell you yet, specifically,” said Daniel. He held up a hand. “Said I wouldn’t lie to you, didn’t say I could tell you everything. Let’s focus on what I can. I work with a group of people investigating the Trinity Phenomenon—we call it Anomalous Information Transfer, or AIT. My uncle was just one of many.”

  “How many?”

  “Right now we have over nine thousand confirmed cases, but we’ve no idea how many there are in total. And it’s not a new phenomenon. It’s actually very old, something that waxes and wanes throughout history. Been practically dormant for a very long time, but now it’s spreading again.”

  “And why isn’t this news?”

  “It will be,” said Daniel, “if we succeed. As you saw today, there are people trying to stop us. But you didn’t sign on for all this, and we’ll get you out safely.”

  “That’s it? You’re giving me a lift home? ‘Thanks for your help, lady, but here’s where you get off’?” She drained her glass in one long swallow and put the glass down hard on the counter. She glared at Daniel. “What?”

  “The men who came after us knew we were in that cave. We have to assume by now they know who you are. It won’t be safe for you at home. You’ll have to disappear for a while. We’ll set you up with an alternate identity, pretty much wherever you want to live, assign a bodyguard to you.”

  “And then?”

  “Believe me, there are a lot of people working on this thing. If we’re successful, you might be able to return home.” He drank some vodka. “But I’ve got to be honest: Your new identity might be permanent. These same people killed my uncle to keep AIT for themselves. If they learn you’ve got it and you’re trying to go public, they will kill you too.”

  Kara topped up his glass, replenished her own. “I thought some deranged religious fanatic killed Trinity.”

  “Religious fanatics are very useful to rich men who want bad things done,” said Daniel.

  “Who are these rich men?”

  “Another thing I can’t tell you—it would only put you in more danger.” Daniel drank some vodka. “Listen, I’m sorry I got you into this—”

  “You’re an idiot. You think that’s why I’m pissed at you? You could set me up at the Four Seasons in Bora Bora with Clive Owen as my bodyguard, I still wouldn’t go. I’m in this thing, and you don’t get to kick me out. You never would’ve even found that cave without me.”

  “I’m not discounting what you’ve done, Kara. I hate to point out the obvious, but I almost got you killed by bringing you here.”

  “No, we almost got me killed, and I’m not pissed at you for bringing me here, I’m pissed at you for not telling me what the hell is going on.”

  “Understood. I just don’t want to keep putting your life in danger.”

  “That’s not your choice to make. It’s mine.” Kara swallowed some vodka, anger simmering in her eyes. “Playing tourist with you in Mandal was a nice distraction and I do enjoy the way you look at me, but I don’t have a life to put in danger. My life ended three years ago when they took my daughter. I’m a dead woman marking time. When you look at me, that’s what you should see.”

  “I do,” said Daniel. “But I also see there’s more of you left alive than you’re willing to admit to yourself. Because if you admit you want to live, you’re admitting you want to live even without your daughter. And the guilt of that fact is crushing you.”

  Kara looked at Daniel for a long time before speaking.

  “You’re a bastard,” she said.

  “I know.” Daniel reached forward and took her hand in his. “But I’m not wrong . . . and I’m not sorry. I said I wouldn’t lie to you and I won’t. I have a lot to tell you about your condition, but there are other things I can’t discuss and I don’t want to spend all my time apologizing and saying, ‘I can’t tell you that.’ I’ll tell you all I can.”

  “So what you’re saying is, even though you lied to me from the start, you’re still asking for my trust.”

  “I guess one could put it that way.” He smiled. “You know, if one had to.”

  “You assume a lot, Daniel Byrne,” Kara said, a smile forming on her lips. “I’ve no idea why I find it so hard to stay mad at you.”

  She stepped in close and he wrapped his arms around her, kissed the top of her head. “Hell of a day. Why don’t you go get changed and I’ll make dinner?”

  28: CANARY IN A COAL MINE

  Gulfstream G650

  Thirty-three thousand feet above France

  Conrad eased the hand-stitched beige leather recliner upright and swiveled to face the rear cabin wall as the large flat-screen monitor came to life. He sipped his Bloody Mary. “Give me good news, Colonel.”

  On the monitor, Michael Dillman stood in the Berlin control center, facing the camera. “Wish I could, sir. We had a satellite trained on the valley, as per your orders, and Daniel Byrne was there this morning. He found the cave.”

  “Was there? I told you to put a couple men on it.”

  Dillman’s expression was grim. “I did. And this is what happened . . .”

  A satellite photo of the valley in Norway took over the screen.

  Conrad got to his feet and moved a little closer to the monitor.

  The satellite photo went out of focus as it zoomed in, zoomed in closer, and then closer still. The image resolved to sharp focus, showing a section of the valley floor about thirty square meters. A BMW SUV was parked near the top of the screen, a Range Rover dead center, and a rocky outcrop on the left. One of Dillman’s mercenaries stood beside the Range Rover, another just outside the mouth of the outcrop’s cave. Both men carried weapons.

  The video started to play. The man by the cave stepped inside. A minute later, Daniel Byrne stepped out carrying the man’s gun, followed by a woman.

  Conrad stood staring at the screen, Bloody Mary in his hand, questions swirling in his mind.

  On the screen, Daniel drew the other merc away from the Range Rover and then took off with the woman, laying down covering fire as they made their escape. Shit. He’s good . . . he’s very good. He even had the presence of mind under fire to stop and blow out the merc’s tires.

  “Damn it all to hell!” Conrad flung his drink across the cabin, splatter-painting the fuselage red. He’d ordered surveillance on the valley just in case, because Daniel had heard the soldier’s ramblings about Mandal. But it was a big valley—how the hell had he found that cave? And who the hell was this woman? A Foundation asset? And had Daniel uncovered the next link in the chain?

  None of that matters. West Virginia should’ve been t
he canary in the coal mine, but Conrad had been distracted and he’d underestimated Daniel. He would not do so again.

  The video went away and Michael Dillman came back full-screen. “We were able to isolate an image of the woman, but the angle isn’t ideal, it’ll take some time to run through facial recognition. We have no idea how Byrne found—”

  “Doesn’t matter how,” snapped Conrad. “The prick is right up in my business, we’re way past how. He’s climbing the chain, he’ll find the next link. So cut the bloody chain. And Daniel Byrne with it.”

  “Understood. I can join the team there by morning. I’ll supervise it personally.”

  “Just set it up fast and get out. I’ll meet you stateside in forty-eight hours.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And put a fire under the wet teams. Get those scientists done and dusted,” said Conrad. “Accelerate everything. We’re going straight to phase two.”

  29: RIGHT PLACE WRONG TIME

  They put the akvavit away and switched to wine for dinner, and Daniel kept his promise, telling Kara all he knew about Anomalous Information Transfer. And she focused her questions on the condition itself, ignoring for now how he came to know it.

  Another thing tabled for future discussion.

  When he told her about the possible physiological triggers of AIT, she put her fork down. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” she said. “So it’s some kind of neurological or neurochemical abnormality.”

  “Maybe.”

  “We know I don’t have a brain tumor or epilepsy, my hormone levels are normal, and despite popular opinion, I’m not schizophrenic. What else?”

  “People who’ve been hit by lightning or survived some other powerful electrocution—”

  “Nope.”

  “People who’ve dropped a lot of acid.”

  “Really? I should go back and read Timothy Leary again.”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” said Daniel.

  Kara smiled. “Wanted to try it with my girlfriends in pre-med, but I’m a chicken, pretended I had the flu and backed out of the camping trip. Nothing stronger than ganja for this girl.”