Chasing the White Lion

by James R. Hannibal

  “He’s built a transparent labyrinth.” Talia felt the blood drain from her cheeks. Boyd had taken the whole video-game boss-level concept a few steps farther than she’d ever dreamed. “He’s built a giant death maze in the sky.”

  CHAPTER

  SIXTY-

  FOUR

  WESTERN TOWER

  TWIN TIGERS COMPLEX

  BANGKOK, THAILAND

  TWO FLOORS BELOW, Talia could see a figure in a hoodie wandering the acrylic halls, holding a small gray device at arm’s length. The figure looked up, an Asian woman with a scar, noted their presence, and moved on. “That’s not creepy at all.”

  “She’s trying to work out the maze.” Val walked ahead, following the slate’s arrow, while Talia pushed the cart. “We should do the same. This whole thing is very dystopian. You think Boyd is obsessed with Hunger Games?”

  “I think—” Talia grunted as she pushed. The hallway had some slope to it. “I think Boyd is psychotic. To be fair, he’s not alone. Boyd and Jordan may share an interior decorator.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You should see my office.”

  The clear walls and floors caused an optical illusion that made navigation impossible. Some hallways were dead ends, others were closed off entirely, existing only to fool the eye. Without the slates, Talia and Val would never have found the room even though they could see it the whole time. And the clear floors did not mesh well with Talia’s fear of heights.

  At the room, she pushed the cart across the threshold onto the relative normality of a carpeted floor and sank into a black suede couch. “Yes. Praise God for drywall and paint.”

  Val was less impressed. “Two bedrooms. Kitchenette. Stocked minibar.” She waved a room service menu at Talia and shrugged. “I’ve seen better.”

  “It’s not a spa weekend, Val.”

  “Truer words . . .” Val fished Eddie’s hockey puck out of her duffel. The tungsten core coins—about half of the total in the bags—had served as great shielding, impervious to X-rays. She plugged the puck into a wall outlet, raised an antenna, and flicked a switch.

  Talia shoved her earpiece into place and heard Eddie on the comms. “—your signal. Repeat, I am receiving your signal. VHF burn-through is solid. Stand by. Don’t say a word. Scanning.”

  A few seconds passed. Val and Talia exchanged a look.

  “You’re clean. No listening devices or cameras, and no transmitters other than your own.”

  Val moved to the other duffel. “Boyd is playing fair—a positive by-product of his narcissism. He wants his players to know they’ve been squarely beaten.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Tyler said over the frequency. “He might be happy with just the illusion of fair play.”

  The grifter smiled. “I know I am.” She drew two pouches from the bottom of the duffel, both slightly lighter in color than the rest. She passed one to Talia.

  Inside, packed in gold coins, was a small plastic pistol with two magazines of P3Q rounds—Tyler’s low-velocity, low-noise version. Talia tucked the weapon into her waistband.

  Val dragged her suitcase into the larger of the two bedrooms. “Eddie, did you identify any of the other competitors?”

  “Aside from Atan, we ID’d a hacker named Bi Fan and an antiquities dealer named Rudenko—the Clouded Leopard and the Snow Leopard, respectively.”

  “Rudenko?” Val reappeared at the bedroom door. “I know Rudenko. He’s a black-market antiquities dealer.”

  Talia met her gaze. “And I’ll bet you’ve done some acquisition work for him.”

  “Maybe.”

  She crossed her arms and frowned. “Anyone else, Eddie?”

  “The Maltese Tiger slot is open—you two saw to that on Milos. One of the other two panthers looked Scandinavian. The other never showed.”

  Val dropped onto the couch. “Chickened out?”

  “Maybe. Or he might have been—”

  “The trafficker whose blood we found at the compound.” Talia closed her eyes. If that were true, they might catch Boyd, but they’d never find out where Hla Meh and the other kids were taken. “Let’s hope that’s not the case.”

  AT PRECISELY A QUARTER TO NINE, while Talia was still unpacking her gear in the smaller bedroom, all the TVs in the suite flickered to life. The White Lion roared over the surround sound system, and the lights dimmed.

  “This guy loves a dramatic digital entrance,” Eddie said.

  “Hush.” Talia put on the glasses Franklin had issued her months before, set with a hidden camera and augmented reality data displays. “Make sure you record this.”

  The White Lion paced into view on a red screen, deep voice shaking the walls. “Let the Frenzy begin. The rules are simple. Close as many deals as you can in twenty-four hours, culminating in the Grand Bazaar. Bring in at least ten million US. That is your ante. At the end, the house will take the ten million, or 25 percent of your earnings, whichever is higher.”

  A ranking list appeared at the bottom of the screen—four panthers, the two leopards, the Hyena, the Maltese Tiger, and the White Lion. The Maltese Tiger line remained blank. The others each had a dollar sign and a string of zeros. A link symbol joined Panthers Eight One and Eight Two, Val and Talia.

  “Mergers are acceptable, as two of our new panthers have demonstrated, but partners must split their profits fifty-fifty, and only one player may hold each position. Greater profits can earn you a top-tier rank for the coming year and a bigger piece of the Jungle pie. Even my position is up for grabs, if you dare to chase me.” The lion paused in his pacing to face the viewers. His lion lips curled into a smile. “And on that topic, there is one more rule. Don’t get eaten.”

  The video switched from the lion to the security feed of a penthouse office with a glass floor. A man in a business suit stood behind the desk with his back to the camera, looking out over the city.

  “Boyd,” Talia said, resisting the urge to reach toward the screen. “So he is here.”

  “Or was.” Val glanced out at the night beyond the suite’s windows and back to the screen. “This was filmed earlier. Look at the coloring in the sky. The sun had barely set.”

  The lion confirmed her assessment. “One of our players attempted an early start to the game, posing as a utility worker. I allowed him to make it as far as my office.”

  A man entered the scene wearing a maintenance jumpsuit and wielding a gun. The camera angle gave a clear view of his face.

  “Eddie . . .” Talia prompted.

  “On it. Stand by.”

  There was no sound, but the fake worker gestured and shouted at Boyd, who refused to turn.

  “Got him,” Eddie said. “That’s arms dealer Riku Ishimoto, one of last year’s top panthers. I guess this explains why he didn’t show for his time slot.”

  Talia shot a look at Val. “And now we know he wasn’t killed at the compound.”

  Riku advanced. A third figure—a bear of a man—swept in from off camera and emptied a high-caliber handgun into his body. Boyd never turned from the window. The screen switched back to the lion. “A shame. Panther Six Eight was a good earner. But such is the circle of life.” A voice in the background whispered Kill or be killed, the law of the Jungle. “Be warned. You are all fair game. If mergers are acceptable, so are hostile takeovers.”

  In the rankings, the zeros on the White Lion’s line rolled down to negative ten million dollars. Those lost millions reappeared beside Panther Six Eight, and the dead panther’s line turned red. The word FINAL appeared beside it.

  The lion reappeared. “I killed Panther Six Eight—a hostile takeover—so I must cover his ten-million-dollar ante. However, once you’ve all made more than ten million, takeovers become more lucrative. You keep your kill’s earnings, minus the ante. Those are the rules.”

  He went on to explain the Frenzy’s endgame, a lavish party called the Grand Bazaar. There, in a final race to make the biggest deals, the surviving players would hock their illicit wa
res to high-end buyers.

  The digital slates would guide Talia and Val to and from the Grand Bazaar to prepare their merchant bays. All other movement left them at the mercy of the maze and their competitors. But the lion warned against hiding in the room. “Cowering in your den will guarantee a loss. The biggest deals happen at the Grand Bazaar party. There are six of you and only three merchant bays. First come. First served.” He paused for the echoing voices.

  Kill or be killed, the law of the Jungle.

  “Good luck. Let the Frenzy begin.”

  CHAPTER

  SIXTY-

  FIVE

  WESTERN TOWER

  TWIN TIGERS COMPLEX

  BANGKOK, THAILAND

  A GREEN LIGHT FLASHED ON THE SUITE’S DESK—a button labeled PRESS ME. Talia did as it requested, and two touchscreen panels rose from the desktop, canting to an angle. Data windows popped up on the screens.

  “Those are resources.” Val joined her at the desk, watching over her shoulder as she flipped through the menus. “Tyler, we’ve hit the jackpot. We have access to every animal in the Jungle syndicate. No names, but locations, activity, and Dark Web messaging. The Frenzy players can wield them like troops on the battlefield.”

  “Good,” Tyler said. “We can use the intel to lean on Boyd once we have him.”

  “Sure. Or that.” Val gently moved Talia aside in a this is my domain sort of way. She stretched out her fingers and wiggled them over the panels. “But think of the damage I could do.”

  Talia shot her a frown. “To Boyd or to pocketbooks worldwide.”

  “Both.”

  “Okay, you’re cut off. Stay away from the toys.”

  “Leave her,” Tyler said. “This is what Val does best, and the clock is ticking. You two need to show progress soon or Boyd will get suspicious.”

  A look at the scores, left on the TVs after the lion’s video, told her he was right. Atan and the Clouded Leopard already had money on the board. The White Lion had covered seven million of his ten-million-dollar deficit. Talia and Val needed to keep up with the field to maintain their cover, especially with Boyd’s big bear running around out there—the one who had killed Riku Ishimoto.

  Talia backed off. “Fine. Just make sure she sends all the money to the proper accounts.”

  She heard laughter in the background of the comms. Tyler chuckled too. “I will. While she works, I need you to head out into the maze.”

  “To do what?”

  “To do what panthers do best. Get out there and hunt some prey.”

  TALIA’S GLASS SLATE SERVED SEVERAL FUNCTIONS. After the White Lion’s introduction, half the screen had lit up with a Frenzy chat room, including boxes for private messaging and a disturbing game FAQ.

  Using the private chat function, cooperating players had the option of sending one another room invites, complete with directions. Otherwise the slate would only lead Talia to her own room or the Grand Bazaar, making her hunt in the maze a challenge, even with her eidetic memory. Talia had to lean on Eddie and his algorithms, sending directions to her augmented reality glasses. But her geeky human navigation aid kept getting sidetracked.

  “Kill or be killed.” Eddie mimicked the deep voice of the lion. “There is no mercy in this dojo. This guy is like a furry criminal version of the Cobra Kai sensei.”

  Talia paused at an intersection, waiting for Eddie to send her a direction. “John Kreese was a criminal too. He beat up kids.”

  “John Kreese. You know the sensei’s name. So you’re a fan.”

  “I saw Karate Kid once. What part of eidetic memory don’t you get?”

  “But you did see it.”

  “Eddie.”

  “Right. Uh . . .” An arrow appeared in her vision, created by her lenses. “Go straight. I’m directing you to a stairwell. Tyler says the elevators are death traps.”

  “How comforting. Thanks.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  The danger early in the game was minimal. As long as Talia’s personal score stayed under ten million, any player who killed her in a hostile takeover would be losing money. But once she covered her ante, she’d have a target on her back.

  “Heads up, Talia. Someone’s approaching above.”

  Two floors up, she saw the figure. “Jeans. Overcoat. It’s Rudenko, the Snow Leopard.”

  “Let him go. We don’t need any stolen terra-cotta figures or Incan headdresses tonight.”

  She paused, staring past the Ukrainian antiquities dealer. Above the maze levels, she saw the Atrium. Boyd had filled it with tropical foliage. Something padded across one of its clear walkways. “Eddie. Check the footage. Was that—”

  “An actual white lion? Yes. I did some reading about them on the plane. The latest population study I could find was 2018. There were only thirteen left in the wild. But captive white lions show up in smuggling busts and private collections nearly every year.”

  “Insane.” Talia shook her head and kept moving. She needed to find her way to the Grand Bazaar promenade, and soon. With Eddie’s profile of earlier Frenzies, Tyler had predicted a physical marketplace, and portions of his plan hinged on the concept. She and Val needed one of those bays.

  In the kickoff video, the White Lion had told them the promenade was in the eastern tower. Five aerial walkways joined the two structures. Only one served the Frenzy floors. Talia could see it, glowing blue with high-lumen LEDs, but no matter what she and Eddie tried, she couldn’t get there.

  After a half hour of wrong turns and dead ends, Talia found a spot with a clear view and checked the scoreboard—a two-story screen on the central cylinder where the elevators were housed. Two of the bays were taken. Rudenko and Atan, veterans of the game, had already staked their claims. Only one remained.

  To make matters worse, the lines for Panthers Eight One and Eight Two had each grown to over three million dollars. Val had made their first scores. Talia had to reach the bazaar, claim the last bay, and get back to the room before her partner had made enough money to turn her into a target. “Val, slow down for me.”

  Eddie answered for the grifter. “She can’t. Tyler’s orders. You two have to keep up.”

  “Then make me a map to the bridge.”

  “Almost there. My computers are analyzing your video, crunching the data. I should have final directions soon.” He paused. “I’ve got movement in your field of view. Check one o’clock low.”

  Talia looked slightly right and down. Two floors down she saw a woman in a hoodie. “I see her. It’s Bi Fan.” The Clouded Leopard held the same gray device out in front of her as before. She was heading in the general direction of the sky bridge, one floor up from her and one floor down from Talia. “Eddie, she’s heading for the bazaar.”

  “Concur. Hang on. I don’t have a path yet.”

  “I don’t have time to hang on. We lose that bay, we lose half the plan.”

  CHAPTER

  SIXTY-

  SIX

  WESTERN TOWER

  TWIN TIGERS COMPLEX

  BANGKOK, THAILAND

  BI FAN STOPPED AND LOOKED UP. Talia watched her, gauging the hacker’s intent. “I’m so close to the stairwell, Eddie. How hard can it be?”

  The two stared each other down for another long second, then both broke into a run.

  “No, no, no!” Eddie shouted into Talia’s ear. “Go the other way. The other way!”

  He wanted her to run in the opposite direction of her goal, not an easy task for Talia. She slowed, letting Bi Fan pull out ahead. “You sure?”

  “The stairwell’s a trap. It’s a double—one good, one bad, side-by-side so you can’t see. Trust me!”

  Trust.

  “Turning. I’m in your hands.”

  Eddie directed her back along the corridor twenty meters to another passage. It didn’t look good.

  “We’ve been this way before. It’s a dead end.”

  “Not according to the computer. Try running your hand along the wall.”
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  The computer was right. Near a false dead end, Boyd had planted another optical illusion. The wall to Talia’s right didn’t connect with the back. An opening, wide enough for her to slip through, gave her access to a parallel hallway and an intersecting passage.

  “Take the new passage straight to the stairwell,” Eddie said. “You’re set.”

  Talia checked on her competition. “Bi Fan got there first. She’s on her way up to the bridge.”

  “I’d bet you your five-point-seven-million-dollar score she isn’t.”

  “Five-point—” Talia shot a glance at the scoreboard. “Been busy, Val?”

  “Having the time of my life, darling. Remember, don’t get killed.”

  “Thanks.”

  Talia hit the stairwell at a sprint and took the clear steps as fast as she dared. A fall and a broken neck would be a dumb way to end the mission. Below, Bi Fan had stopped at the bridge level. The gray device was gone, replaced with a ceramic stiletto.

  “Our hacker is waiting to take me out.” Talia’s hand moved to her waistband.

  Eddie read her mind. “Leave your gun hidden. She’s waiting because she’s stuck.”

  Trust.

  Trust came a lot harder with the threat of deadly action ahead. Talia gritted her teeth and left her gun tucked away. She hit the landing, ready to fend off a blade.

  Bi Fan made an overhand stab. The tip hit polished glass. The barrier chipped but held.

  “See,” Eddie said. “Two stairwells, placed side by side to make one. Bi Fan chose . . . poorly.”

  Mesmerized by the strangeness of her circumstance, Talia placed a hand on the glass. Her competition did not reciprocate. Bi Fan took three more jabs at the barrier with her knife. She couldn’t break through. She threw back her hood and growled. Talia gave her a better luck next time shrug and walked on.