by Frey, James
“He said it was too dangerous for anyone to have.”
“And yet he never destroyed it himself,” Kenney says. “Don’t you find that interesting?”
I suddenly feel as if I’m being tested. I don’t like it. “It was the most important thing he ever worked on,” I answer. “He probably couldn’t bring himself to do it.”
“Possibly,” Kenney agrees, although he sounds doubtful. “Or perhaps he was keeping it safe for someone else, and feared that if we took possession of it, the other party would never get it back.”
“Could be,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter now, though, does it?” says Kenney. “So, you recovered the box, but then it was taken from you. Is that correct?”
This is the part I’ve been dreading the most. “Yes,” I say. “I almost died getting the box and escaping from the flooded chamber for the second time. When I came out, there were people there. I was exhausted and injured. I couldn’t fight them. There were too many. I figured staying alive was the priority, and I could always retrieve the weapon later.”
Kenney is looking at me, his eyes locked on my face. I meet his gaze, knowing that he’s searching for any indication that I might be lying. I hope that he takes any sign of nervousness as me being embarrassed at having failed as a Player. That would be a natural reaction for anyone in my position.
“Understandable,” he says after a long moment. “And you say you know who these people are?”
I nod. This next part will be tricky. I have to play my role perfectly, or everything will fall apart. “The leader is a man named Karl Ott,” I say. Even though I know this is not Ott’s real name, I don’t share this information, as I may be able to use that “new” information later to buy me more time if I need it. “He’s the son of a scientist who worked with the Nazis. Sauer told me that Ott had been pressuring him for a long time to give him the weapon. He’s part of a group of people who want revenge for what was done to the Nazis by the Allies.”
“Sauer told you this?”
“Yes.”
“I wonder why he would share that information if he didn’t trust you to have the weapon yourself.”
“Maybe to convince me that he really didn’t think anyone should have it,” I say. “To gain my trust and lure me into the room so he could kill me.”
“There are easier ways to kill someone,” Kenney says. “Why reveal the location of the hidden room and kill himself in the process?”
These are all legitimate questions, and I try not to let it bother me that Kenney is asking them. They’re things any trainer or Player would wonder about. I keep my voice neutral as I say, “I think he was tired of keeping the secret.” Like the one the council kept about my brother, I think, wondering again how much Kenney knows about that.
“Where do you think Ott has taken the weapon?” he asks.
I’ve given a lot of thought to how to answer this question, which I of course knew was coming. As far as my council is concerned, getting the weapon is the primary—the only—mission now. They don’t know that the Minoans are involved, and they especially don’t know that finding Ariadne is just as important to me.
“The Soviet Union,” I tell him.
One of Kenney’s eyebrows lifts. “Really?”
“Ott’s father is in prison there,” I explain. “I think he’s going to try to get him out.”
“Did his father work on the weapon with Sauer?”
“Possibly,” I say, although I don’t think this is true. As far as I know, only Lottie’s father, Oswald Brecht, knows as much about the weapon as Sauer did.
“And so you want permission to go to the Soviet Union in search of Karl Ott, who you think has the weapon with him.”
“I know it sounds like a wild-goose chase,” I say. “The Soviet Union is a big place, and Ott might have taken the weapon somewhere else. But it’s the best chance we’ve got to retrieve the weapon. Give me a week to see what I can find out. If I haven’t gotten the weapon back by then, we’ll go to plan B.”
“Which is?”
I grin, hoping it comes across as confidence. “There is no plan B, so plan A has to work.”
Kenney leans back and sighs. “This is not a good plan,” he says flatly.
I worry that he’s going to say no, and order me to return home. If he does, I don’t know what I’ll do. I hold my breath as he thinks. I can see the wheels of his mind turning, examining the various risks and potential rewards.
“You speak Russian?” he asks.
“Well enough.”
“The Soviets are not fond of Americans,” he says. “If you’re caught and they think you’re spying for the United States, we can’t help you. Once you enter the Soviet Union, you’re on your own.”
“I understand,” I tell him.
He nods. “All right. I’ll get you money and an identity. It will take you a few days to travel there. Train is easiest. I don’t like that this Ott fellow has a head start on you, so you’ll need to leave as soon as possible.”
If Ott really had the weapon, Kenney would be right. But Ott doesn’t have it. Also, I’m not going to the Soviet Union, at least not right away. It’s important that he think that’s where I’m heading, though, so I say, “I’ve already looked at the schedules. There’s a train leaving tonight that will get me as far as Minsk.”
Kenney stands up. “Meet me back here in two hours,” he says.
He leaves. I stay at the table for a little longer, finishing my coffee and thinking about my real plan. I have indeed looked into train schedules, but not to Moscow. I’m going to Athens. With a little bit of luck, I can be there in about 24 hours. What happens after that, I’m not sure. I assume that the Minoans will be concentrated in Crete, as that’s where the line comes from. But I could be wrong. Even if I’m not, finding Ariadne won’t be as simple as just asking around to see if anyone knows her.
There’s also the possibility that she doesn’t want me to find her. I try not to think about this too much. And I really don’t think it’s true. Still, lurking in the dark places of my mind is the fear that maybe she really was just using me to get the weapon. I still need to go to Greece to look for the weapon, so I try to convince myself that whether she wants me there or not doesn’t matter. It does, though.
I finish my coffee and leave the café. For the next two hours, I walk around the city, thinking about how lucky I am that although the United States was drawn into the war and suffered casualties, our country was largely untouched in the way so much of Europe has been. Apart from the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and isolated incidents of submarines launching minor mortar attacks on the West Coast, no enemy bombs touched US soil. Our cities weren’t reduced to rubble. Our bridges and roads weren’t destroyed. While we were all afraid of what might happen, our reality was nothing compared to what the people in places like Budapest must have endured.
I can’t help but wonder what the aftermath of Endgame, when it comes, will be like. All I’ve been told is that only the people in the winner’s line will be spared. Everyone else will die. But how? And what will happen to the world itself? Will those who are left be living in ruins? Will all the great cities be completely destroyed along with the people who live in them? I think about the destruction I’ve seen while traveling through Europe, the effects of the war on the people and places here. Endgame will be much worse than that war. Much, much worse. The thought of so many beautiful places being reduced to nothing makes me sad. The thought of all those people being reduced to nothing makes me angry.
I already know that even if I find Ariadne, if Endgame happens during our lifetimes, at best only one of us can survive it. More likely, we’ll both die. That’s not acceptable to me. Which means that I—we—need to find a way to change the outcome. I don’t know how, but we have to try.
When it’s time to meet up with Kenney again, I return to the café. He’s already there, standing outside. When I approach him, he hands me an envelope. It’s thick with
what I assume is cash and identification papers.
“Here you go, Mr. Volkov,” he says. “I believe your papers are all in order.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Contact me in one week,” Kenney says. “Use shortwave communication again. The same frequency. I imagine you’ll be able to find equipment easily enough.”
“I think so,” I tell him.
He reaches out his hand. I take it. “Good luck.”
He turns and walks away, and just like that, I’m a new person. I open the envelope and take out the identification papers. Alexander Volkov. I have a feeling this is sort of like being named John Smith back home—generic and forgettable—which is perfect. I return the papers to the envelope, stick the whole thing in my inside coat pocket, and start walking. I have a train to catch.
Ariadne
The Cave of the Golden Horns is lit by torches. They flicker in the light breeze that comes in from the sea and travels down the narrow corridor that leads to the large central chamber in which I now stand. The cave is so named because, according to Minoan legend, this is where the first pair of golden horns was found, the symbol of King Midas and the bull-headed Minotaur who lived in the maze at Knossos. The horns that are placed upon every Minoan Player’s head when she’s chosen and crowned.
I’m wearing the horns now. They’re always donned when a Player is called before the council in an official capacity, which is what’s happening tonight. Only this isn’t an ordinary meeting. I’m on trial.
I was informed of the trial following dinner last night, after it was revealed that the council knows about Boone. How they know, I haven’t been informed. But they do. And they want to know exactly how and why I came to be working with him. I started to explain last night, but I was told to wait until now. The fact that nobody accused me of anything, and that the remainder of the evening was cordial, if not exactly pleasant for me, makes me hopeful that this is just a formality.
My mother, father, and aunt have all told me that there’s nothing to worry about. The thing making me nervous is Cassandra. After the council left last night, she left as well. I haven’t seen her since. I didn’t hear her come in last night before I gave in to exhaustion and slept, nor have I seen her today.
I drive thoughts of her from my mind, and prepare to meet the council. I’m standing in the middle of the room, my bare feet on the sandy floor. I’m wearing a plain white robe and the golden horns. In front of me, opposite the entrance and arranged in a slight arc that mirrors the curve of the cave wall, are five chairs carved out of massive rocks. They look like thrones. They’re empty now, but soon the council members will be seated in them.
As if I’ve summoned them with my thought, the council emerges from a smaller room located behind the stone chairs. They too are wearing white robes, only their feet are encased in sandals and their heads are bare. They enter single file, arranged in age from oldest to youngest. The oldest, Effie Kakos, takes the center chair. Flanking her are Venedict Economides and Xenia Papadaki, and on either side of them are the two youngest members, Ursula Tassi and Nemo Stathakis. I kneel in the sand, my head bowed, and wait for Effie to speak the words that will begin the trial.
“We gather here tonight in the presence of the gods,” she says, her voice strong and sure. “Player, rise and stand before us.”
I get up and face the council. I’ve known all of them for my whole life. One, Ursula, trained me. I’ve eaten at Xenia’s house hundreds of times. Effie taught me algebra, and I’ve bought books from Nemo and received the Lamb from Venedict’s hand. But none of that matters now. Now they are a jury, and their task is to determine my guilt or innocence.
“Player,” Effie says. “You are here tonight to answer questions concerning your recent mission for the Minoan line. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I say, keeping my voice clear and strong.
“And do you give your word that the answers you provide will be the truth and the truth alone?”
“Yes.”
“Very well,” Effie says. “Tell me, did you know that Samuel Boone was a Player for the Cahokian line?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Not at first, but I came to learn it.”
“And did you reveal to him that you are a Player of the Minoan line?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you do this?”
The question comes not from Effie, but from Ursula. She sounds annoyed, as if she can’t believe I would do something so reckless. I know that as a former Player herself, and as my trainer, she understands better than most how this might be a grave error.
“I believed it would create trust between us,” I say.
“For what purpose?” Ursula asks.
“The Cahokian had developed a rapport with Sauer,” I explain. “The scientist was reluctant to cooperate with me. He saw me as a threat. I thought perhaps I could use the Cahokian’s relationship with him to my advantage. Also, he saved my life when Europa and I were attacked by MGB agents.”
“Tell us about the death of Europa,” says Nemo Stathakis. The bookseller is perhaps the quietest and gentlest of the council members. His life has been spent in a world of words, among imaginary friends. His grandest adventures have been in his mind. I don’t believe he has ever left Crete, or ever intends to. Europa was his mother’s mother. His mother was killed fighting the Nazis in the Battle of Crete, and I know his grandmother’s death must be very hard on him. Still, when I look at him, he smiles back at me kindly.
I think about Europa, who went by Lydia in Berlin, and about how she had long been a hero of mine. “She was brave,” I say, trying to forget how the MGB agent killed the old woman as if putting down a dog. “She fought hard. But we were outnumbered.”
“And the Cahokian, he saved you?” Xenia says.
“Yes.”
“Why did he not kill you?” Ursula asks.
I think about how I wondered this same thing when I woke up to find Boone sitting on the bed, watching me. At the time, I thought he was foolish. Now I know it’s because his heart is not as hardened as mine is. Or as it was. Meeting him has thawed it.
I cannot tell the council this, and so I say, “I think he meant to use me in the same way that I used him.”
“You believe he would have killed you once he had the weapon?” It is Venedict who asks this.
“I believe that was his plan, yes,” I tell him. “We needed each other in order to get it.”
I wait for more questions. They have not yet brought up the deaths of Theron, Cilla, and Misha. More of my failures. I know these must count against me as well. Yet when Effie speaks next, it is to say, “Will the witness please enter the chamber?”
Cassandra appears. She has apparently been waiting in the adjacent anteroom. Like me, she is wearing a white robe and is shoeless. She comes to stand beside me, but does not look at me.
“You witnessed the Minoan Player with the Cahokian Player—is that correct?” Effie asks my sister.
“Yes,” Cassandra says.
“Can you tell us what you saw?”
“I saw her kiss him.”
The words hit me like a fist. Did Cassandra really see me kiss Boone before he went into the air shaft to retrieve the box? It’s true that she appeared not long after that, so it’s possible. But why has she said nothing about it until now?
“Player, is this true?” Effie asks me.
There’s no point in lying. “Yes,” I tell the councillor. “It was part of my plan. As my sister can confirm, I also ultimately killed him.”
“Did you witness the Cahokian Player’s death?” Effie asks Cassandra.
She hesitates before answering. “I saw our Player administer a wounding blow,” she says. “And I saw the Cahokian Player fall into the opening of a shaft. I did not see him die.”
“So it’s possible that he lived?” says Xenia.
“It’s possible, yes.”
“Possible, but very unlikely,” I interject. “The Cahokian was s
uffering from hypothermia. His strength was spent. He made no effort at all to fight me.”
“Witness?” Effie says, looking for confirmation of my claim.
“He did not fight back,” Cassandra says. “It was as if he knew there was no reason to.”
Her words are carefully chosen, as if she has been waiting to use them. Breaking protocol, I turn to her. “You know he couldn’t have survived the water again,” I say.
“The Player will refrain from addressing the witness,” Venedict barks.
I return my gaze to the council. There is much I want to say, but I don’t. In my anger at my sister, I’ve managed to convince myself that she’s lying. Only she isn’t. I didn’t kill Boone. And Cassandra knows it.
“Witness, is it your opinion that the Player acted improperly?” Effie asks.
Cassandra’s voice is steady as she replies. “I believe our Player is dedicated to the Minoan line.”
For a moment I think I’ve misjudged her. Then she continues. “However, I believe her judgment was compromised by her feelings for the Cahokian.”
Again I want to deny everything. But I have already lost my temper once. To do so again would be disastrous for me. All I can do is stand there, attempting to control my emotions, and wait to be questioned further.
The council has no more questions, though. Instead Effie says, “The Player and the witness will go to the anteroom while the council discusses this matter. We will call you back when we have reached a decision.
Cassandra turns and walks out of the chamber. I follow her. When we are alone, I grab her by the arm. She pulls away.
“What are you trying to do?” I ask, keeping my voice low to avoid it being overheard by the council.
“I was asked to give a report of what I saw,” Cassandra says. “That’s all. I would have said the same thing even if the Player in question was not my sister.”
“You know nothing about what happened in Berlin,” I say.
She smiles. “I’m your twin. I know things no one else could. You didn’t even try to kill the Cahokian.”
I look away. There’s no point in denying it to her. She’s right—as my twin, she senses things. Also, she’s been trained as a Player.
