Endgame Novella #7

by James Frey

  “Then why not just kill him?” I ask. “If he’s really the only person who knows where the weapon, or the plans, or whatever there is are, then kill him so nobody else ever finds it.”

  Karl nods. “That might be a solution,” he says. “But if the weapon or plans really do still exist, someone will always find them. In that case, it’s best if we have them and are in control of them.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Or you could just use the weapon yourself to gain control,” I say.

  Jackson shakes his head. “You don’t understand, Sam.”

  “What don’t I understand?” I’m getting tired of him telling me I don’t understand things, and my impatience shows in my voice.

  “Karl’s father was like Lottie’s father and Sauer—a scientist. A chemist. The Nazis made him work for them. Then, after the war, they threw him to the wolves. Claimed he was responsible for a lot of terrible things he had nothing to do with. He was found guilty and imprisoned for life. And he wasn’t the only one.”

  “Many innocent people were imprisoned or killed,” Karl says. “The victims of the camps were not the only casualties of the Nazis.”

  I don’t say anything. I know about the trials after the war. I know about the hangings. I also know that punishing a handful of people for collaborating with the Nazis isn’t even remotely like killing millions of people for no reason. And I find it hard to believe that the Allied forces in charge of those trials wouldn’t do a thorough job of investigating the crimes the men on trial were accused of. Ott seems to feel differently, but I’m not here to discuss politics.

  “You know how I feel about Endgame,” Jackson says. “Do you really think it’s fair for one line to survive, while everyone else in the world dies?”

  I think about the conversation I had only hours ago with Ariadne, where I asked her almost the exact same question. Now, though, I find myself strangely defensive when Jackson asks it. “I didn’t make the rules,” I say.

  Jackson shakes his head. “You’re right,” he said. “You didn’t. And you’re just following orders because you’ve been trained to do that. You know who else said they were just following orders? The German soldiers.”

  “Don’t you dare compare me to the Nazis,” I snap at Jackson. I can’t believe he’s even said this.

  “I’m not saying it’s exactly the same,” he says. “But the principle is, isn’t it? Every line wants to prove that they’re the best, the strongest, the most worthy of surviving Endgame. And every Player will do whatever it takes to ensure the survival of his or her line. Even if it means everyone else on the planet dies.”

  I guess Karl can tell I’m getting tense because he cuts in. “I don’t know that I believe this Endgame is real. However, what I believe is not important. You believe it is real. Others believe it is real. My father’s and Sauer’s work on the weapon is real. And if it is real, and if what I understand is correct, if Endgame happens, I might die. My family might die. Lots of other families might die only because they do not belong to the winning group. So, if there is anything I can do to prevent that, I will do it.”

  “By getting the weapon and using it yourself,” I say.

  “By getting the weapon and either destroying it or convincing the lines to cooperate and use it to keep Endgame from ever happening,” Jackson says.

  I ignore him. I’m still angry about his Nazi comment. “And if Endgame isn’t real?” I ask Karl.

  “Then we prevent any other powers from using it,” says Karl. “The Soviets. The Americans. The French. Anybody.”

  “And what does Sauer think?” I ask. “Why isn’t he in here having this conversation with us?”

  “Sauer doesn’t think anyone should have the weapon or know how to build it,” Jackson says.

  “Then why hasn’t he destroyed it? If he really believes that, he would have gotten rid of the weapon, or the parts they found, or the blueprints. Either he doesn’t have these things or know where they are or he’s already destroyed them or something is keeping him from doing it. Which is it?”

  Jackson and Karl look at each other. “We don’t know,” Karl admits.

  “I want to talk to him,” I say. “Alone.”

  “I don’t think—” Karl begins.

  “Alone,” I repeat. When no one says anything, I continue. “I was sent here to get Sauer and get him out of Berlin at any cost. I’m fully capable of doing that, as my brother will tell you. If you want my help, then get Sauer in here so I can talk to him.”

  I can feel the tension thicken. And I know Jackson is unhappy with how I’m behaving. I also don’t care. I’ve been holding back my anger at him for letting us all think he was dead. And I’ve been tolerating the big brother / little brother routine. But I’m the one with a mission to fulfill, with a council waiting for me to report back that I’ve succeeded. If anything, Jackson has made that more difficult for me, because more and more, I’m pretty sure that this isn’t only a mission, it’s a test of my loyalty to the line.

  “Get him,” Jackson says to Karl.

  Karl gets up and leaves the kitchen. When he’s gone, Jackson says to me, “They’ve really convinced you, haven’t they? The council. Probably Dad worked on you too.”

  “Nobody has convinced me of anything,” I say. “I have my own brain, you know.”

  “I know you do,” my brother says. “And I hope you’ll use it.” Then he says, “Would you kill me, Sam? If I got in your way of taking Sauer? Because that’s what the rules of Endgame call for, right? Winning at any cost.”

  This is not how this is supposed to be going. After all this time thinking Jackson was dead, then finding out he isn’t, I should be happy. Instead, I’m frustrated and angry. Jackson was always the person I was closest to in this world. I was gutted when I thought he died. Part of me even carried on Playing in his honor—because it’s what I thought he would have done. And now I find out he’s been alive this whole time, lying to me, his family—and to top it off, he thinks I’m the enemy.

  Before I can answer him, Karl returns with Sauer. Jackson gets up, and he and Karl go into the other room. Sauer sits down across from me.

  “I have one question,” I tell him. “Do you really know where the weapon or the blueprints are?”

  Sauer answers quickly, as though he’s been expecting this. “If I say no, you have no reason to keep me alive,” he says.

  I’ve also been expecting his answer. “I think you do know,” I say. “And I think whatever there is, it’s here in Berlin, and not just in your head. I think it’s why you’ve stayed here. When I first saw you, Lottie said something about it being time to pass the duty on to someone else. What did she mean?”

  He rubs his face with his hands. “I’m tired,” he says. “So tired.”

  I lean closer. “Then tell me what you’re protecting.”

  He shakes his head. “No one should have such power,” he mutters. “It’s too dangerous.” He sounds as if he’s talking to himself, not to me.

  “I’ve been sent here to help you,” I tell him. “Let me help.”

  He gives a short laugh, almost a bark. “Help me?” he says. “How? By building a weapon that can destroy the world?”

  I look him dead in the eyes. “We already have weapons that can destroy the world,” I say. “Maybe this one can help prevent that.”

  This is a lie, of course. The only use for the weapon is to win Endgame. I need him to believe me, though, and so I don’t look away, not even for a second. I will him to trust me.

  He puts his hands over his face and leans into them. When he puts his hands down, he looks far older than he is. “There is a place,” he says. “A library of sorts. It contains some of the objects collected by the Nazis.”

  “What kind of objects?”

  “Peculiar objects,” he says. “Occult. Ones they believed held power or could be used to obtain power.”

  I know all about Hitler’s obsession with the occult and his search for artifacts related t
o things outside the realm of everyday science. I also know that, so far, no one has found the things he is alleged to have collected.

  “And the weapon is part of this library?”

  Sauer nods.

  “And you know where it is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  Sauer shakes his head. “I won’t tell you,” he says. “But I will take you there.”

  I look at his face, weighing whether or not I think he’s telling me the truth. “I could kill you if you don’t tell me.”

  He shakes his head. “You are not a good liar,” he says.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, proving his point.

  Sauer smiles. “I have seen the face of evil,” he says. “I know what it looks like. And you are not evil. You will not kill me. I also know that your people would use the weapon to help themselves, regardless of the consequences.”

  “Then why help me?”

  It takes him longer to answer this time. “As I said, I have seen evil,” he says. “I saw it consume my country, my people, my friends, my wife. And there was nothing I could do to stop it. These creatures—beings—who are behind what you call Endgame. If they are real, they too are evil. Perhaps this weapon can help you stop them.”

  “That’s what Karl and my brother seem to think too,” I say.

  A dark look passes over Sauer’s face, just for a moment. I’m about to ask him what he’s thinking when there’s a commotion from the other room. A child shrieks. I get up and dash into the room, my weapon drawn.

  Ariadne is standing there. Her gun is trained on the group of people staring at her in fear. Jackson has his arms around Lottie and Bernard. Greta is standing beside the Christmas tree, holding Jürgen, who is crying. Karl is glaring at Ariadne.

  When I appear, Ariadne swings the gun toward me. When she sees me, she looks surprised. “What are you doing?” I ask her, not lowering my gun.

  She looks at me for a long time. I can practically see the wheels turning in her mind. It’s like an entire war is playing out behind her eyes. “You have to get out of here,” she says. “The Soviets are coming.”

  “How do you—”

  “Boone, you have to trust me.”

  “Is this the Minoan?” Jackson asks. “You can’t trust her, Sam.”

  I ignore him, keeping my eyes on Ariadne. The truth is, if she wanted everyone in the room dead so she could take Sauer, they would already be dead. Something is keeping her from doing that, and for some reason, although I don’t know why, I think it’s me. Jackson is right that I don’t know if I can trust her fully. I can tell she’s not lying, though. For some reason, she’s choosing to help me, or at least not to kill me or leave me to face the Soviets on my own. Although I might be crazy for thinking this way, that’s good enough for me.

  I lower my gun. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ariadne

  We are sitting at yet another table in yet another house. This time, the Cahokian safe house. I am relieved that Boone convinced the others to leave with us and come here. I did not want to have to threaten to kill anyone, particularly with the children there. Although nothing in my training prevents me from harming children, and in fact I have been taught that they can be a particularly effective tool to convince people to do what I want them to, it’s something I vowed to myself that I won’t do. Maybe this is a weakness, and maybe someday I will be forced to break my promise, but I can’t imagine it. Having had my own childhood taken from me so soon by my Player training, I understand how precious it is.

  I’m surprised that Boone chose to reveal the location of their safe house, but as we seldom use any one place for very long, it doesn’t really matter. Next week, someone else will be sitting in this kitchen. Right now, seated around the table are me, Boone, Sauer, Boone’s brother, and Karl Ott. Lottie, Greta Ott, and their children are in the living room. I find myself looking from Boone to his brother. I only found out about their relationship as we were driving to the safe house—Boone, Lottie, Ott’s wife, and their children in Ott’s car, and me, Sauer, Ott, and Jackson Boone in another.

  I insisted on separating the families to lessen the chance of them trying to escape, although I was fairly confident that Boone wouldn’t try anything. After all, he was the one who insisted on bringing Ott and his family. I would have been content with only Sauer, but Boone thinks that Ott may be useful in some way. Also, bringing him made it easier to convince the others to come. As a Player, I find Boone’s tendency to want to save everyone problematic, but as a woman, I also find it appealing.

  Boone looks up, and I realize that I’ve been staring at him. He grins, and I look away. Sauer is telling us about something he calls a library, a collection of artifacts that supposedly have occult significance. The Cahokian weapon, or what there is of it, is among them. I look at the map Sauer has drawn on a piece of paper and placed in the center of the table. It shows what is called Museum Island, a man-made island in the middle of the Spree River. There are five museums there. The one Sauer is pointing at is the New Museum, which despite its name is one of the oldest of the five.

  “The collection is in the museum?” I ask.

  “Not in it,” he says. “Beneath it. The museum was closed at the beginning of the war, and many of its treasures moved elsewhere. It was heavily damaged during the bombings, and much of it is now destroyed. We should not have trouble getting inside.”

  “Except that it’s in the Soviet sector,” I point out.

  “The island is not heavily patrolled,” Sauer says. “If we wait until nightfall, we should be able to get inside easily.” He pauses. “I have done it before.”

  “We’ll need to limit the size of our group,” I say. “You, me, and Boone. That’s it.”

  “No,” says Ott. “That is unacceptable.”

  He has not forgiven me for breaking into his house and interrupting his Christmas celebration, but he’s fortunate that he’s alive at all. If I had not found Boone there, and if Boone had not insisted on bringing him, he probably wouldn’t be.

  “Ariadne is right,” Boone says. “We can’t have that many people running around.”

  “So the two people who have sworn to get the weapon at any cost are to go, while the rest of us sit here to see which of you comes back?” says Ott.

  “You seem to forget that if I wanted you all dead, you’d be dead,” I remind him.

  “Ariadne and I have an—understanding,” Boone says. “Neither of us is taking the weapon for our own use. Right?”

  He looks at me. After a moment, I nod. But he is not entirely right. Yes, we have agreed that we will work together. What happens once we have the weapon, I don’t know. For now, I am letting him think that we are allies. Curiously, this deception makes me a little uneasy.

  “How about this,” Boone’s brother says. “I’ll go, but Karl, you’ll stay here. You trust me, right?”

  Karl nods. “Yes,” he says. “I trust you. But you are no match for the MGB if they decide to take the weapon for their own.”

  “I’ve handled them well enough before,” I say. I’m getting impatient with his games. It was strange enough discovering that Boone’s brother is here in Berlin, and that he’s Lottie’s husband. Now things are further complicated by the presence of Ott and his insistence on having a say in what happens. I have not forgotten what I overheard Utkin say about Ott being a sympathizer. I don’t know that this is true, and I haven’t had a chance to discuss it with Boone. It’s possible that Utkin was wrong. That Boone’s brother seems to trust him makes me think this is likely the case. And really, it doesn’t matter. All I want is the weapon, and for that I only need Sauer.

  “Then that’s the plan,” says Boone before Ott can reply to me. “We’ll leave as soon as it’s dark.”

  We have several hours before that happens, time that the families spend trying to make this Christmas as normal as possible for the little boys. I stay out of the way. I
watch them playing with the stuffed animals they clutched in their arms as we left Ott’s house, and I think how fortunate they are not to understand what’s going on around them.

  “Cute, aren’t they?”

  Boone’s question brings me back to the moment. “Yes,” I agree. “Cute.”

  Boone studies my face for a long moment.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I’m just trying to imagine you playing as a kid,” he says. “I can’t picture it. I bet you were born with a knife in your hand.”

  “I cut the cord myself,” I joke.

  He laughs. Then he asks, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “A sister,” I tell him. “Cassandra.”

  “Younger or older?”

  “Younger. By four minutes.”

  “You’re twins?” Boone exclaims.

  “Identical,” I say.

  He laughs again. “One of you is a lot to deal with. I can’t even imagine two. Is she just like you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t sound too happy about that. Don’t you get along?”

  The answer to this is complicated. “Maybe we did before we began training,” I say. “Once it became clear that only one of us would wear the golden horns, we became rivals. And once those horns were placed on my head and not hers, the rivalry deepened to something else.”

  “I can’t imagine competing against my brother,” Boone says. “I mean, we had our fights like all brothers do. But nothing like that.”

  “Didn’t you train with him?”

  Boone shakes his head. “I did most of the things he did,” he says. “But we never fought each other. And I wasn’t supposed to be our Player anyway.”

  “Really?” I say.

  “There was another boy. Tim Palhook. He was going to follow Jackson when he aged out. But he was killed.”

  “In training?”

  “No. Plain old car accident. That’s when I got called up from the minors.”

  Boone notices the confused look on my face. “Sorry,” he says.