Endgame: The Calling (23 page)

“Fascinating,” Sarah says. She
is
impressed, but she gives Jago a look that says,
What about the disk?

Jago shrugs.

He doesn’t know.

Cheng Cheng turns to them and says with a wide grin, “Now, Wei said you have a nice picture. You have a nice picture?”

“Uh, yeah, I do,” Jago says.

Sarah is relieved that maybe something more than meeting a funny little man will come of this.

“Let me see.”

Sarah removes the folded sheet of paper from an outer pocket of Jago’s pack and passes it to Cheng Cheng. He opens it and holds it in front of his face. He looks so closely that they can’t see his expression. For 13 seconds he peers at Jago’s detailed sketch.

Finally he lowers it. One of his chubby fingers is resting on the disk. His voice is low, serious. “Where did you see this?”

Jago says, “That? I made that up.”

“No. You did not. Where did you see this?”

“Tell him,” Sarah whispers.

Jago knows she’s right. This is Endgame. Cheng Cheng is not a rival. All through his training his uncle and father told him to be receptive to luck, to chance, to help. Be ready to kill it, of course, if it turns bad, but all the same be open.

A tour group gathers next to them, 12 feet away. Jago says quietly, “We have one.”

Cheng Cheng drops his arms in disbelief. “With you?”

“Yes,” Sarah answers.

Cheng Cheng looks at them intently before saying, “Both of you, come with me.” He begins to walk briskly away from the tour group and toward a rope with a sign that says
NO ADMITTANCE
.

An
blink
hides in a manicured bush on the edge of the
blink
complex. An asexual, computerized voice in his ear says, “One hundred thirty-two meters, west-southwest. Stationary.”

He
blink
waits
blink
waits 30 seconds.

“One hundred thirty-two meters, west-southwest. Stationary.”

He
blink
waits 30 seconds.

“One hundred thirty-two meters, west-southwest. Stationary.”

He waits
blink
waits 30 seconds.

“One hundred twenty-six meters, west-southwest. Moving east.”

He waits 30
blink
seconds.

“One hundred one meters, west-southwest. Moving east-northeast.”

He
blink
waits
blink
30 seconds.

“Eighty-two meters, due east. Moving north.”

He
blink
waits
blink
30 seconds.

“Seventy-one meters, east-northeast. Moving north.”

He waits 30 seconds.

“Fifty-eight meters, east-northeast. Stationary.”

He waits
blink
waits 30 seconds.

“Fifty-five meters, east-northeast. Stationary.”

He waits 30 seconds.
Blink
.

“Fifty-five meters, east-northeast. Stationary.”

An
SHIVER
An consults his map.
BlinkSHIVERblink.
They are stopped
blink
stopped
blink
stopped on or near Pit
blink
Pit Four.

Which is
SHIVER
unexcavated.

Or so
blink
so everyone believes.

He moves too.

Chiyoko waits for the Olmec and the Cahokian to leave with the little man and slides away from the tour group. When the guards and the yammering guide are not looking, she vaults the railing and goes down to the floor. The floor with the silent, staring, waiting warriors.

For a spare moment she looks one directly in the eye. They are shocking creations. She feels a kinship to them unlike any she has ever felt for another living, breathing human.

Silent.

Staring.

Waiting warriors.

All of them.

Especially her.

She looks at her watch.

Sees the blue blip.

Runs.

“Come.”

Cheng Cheng opens the flap of a white field tent erected on the grass. Jago and Sarah step in. A wooden railing is built around a hole in the ground 3.5 feet across. The hole is covered by two metal doors. Cheng Cheng pulls a small remote control from his pocket that has a single red button on it. He pushes it, and the doors open, revealing a rough stone staircase leading down into darkness.

“What’s down there?” Sarah asks.

“Answers,” Cheng Cheng says, working his way into the hole. “More questions, too. Come with me.”

“Everyone with their fucking riddles,” grumbles Jago as he follows Sarah.

As they walk, motion detectors flip on a series of weak yellow lights.

“This is Pit Four,” Cheng Cheng says over his shoulder.

Sarah says, “So Pit One isn’t the only one you’ve dug up?”

“No. Geologic surveys show very interesting feature of Pit Four, one kept secret. Very secret. We only start digging last August.”

“If it’s so secret, why do you have a simple tent in the middle of a field covering it up?” Sarah asks.

Cheng Cheng chuckles. “Hide in plain sight. The best way. Hide in plain sight.”

Chiyoko Takeda, who is just entering the tent and listening to the conversation on her earpiece, couldn’t agree more.

“Besides, button on remote enables all kind of booby traps. You watch out!” Cheng Cheng says this so good-naturedly that they can’t tell if he’s telling the truth. Not even Jago, who is like a human lie detector. He casts a nervous glance toward the walls, looking for hidden poison darts or something else out of Indiana Jones. He doesn’t notice anything.

They continue through a narrow earthen tunnel supported by wooden beams, and eventually emerge in a star-shaped stone room. The floor is white alabaster. The walls are painted brilliant red. At chest height, going all around the room, are 12 painted depictions of disks. The paintings are so realistic that they look like photographs. Except for minor differences, they are the spitting image of the disk in Jago’s bag.

In the middle of the room is a single Terracotta Warrior holding a gleaming sword.

They step toward it. Jago notices another tunnel on the opposite side of the room. “What is this place?”

“Star Chamber,” Cheng Cheng says. “We do not know exactly what it is for.”

Chiyoko Takeda reaches the edge of the chamber. Peers in. Sees them. The warrior’s back is to her. She needs to see more. See better. She finds a shadow a quarter of the way around the room. She’ll go there.

She raises a short tube to her lips and blows. Her action is silent, and so is the little projectile that sails across the room, but then it hits the far wall behind the others. It makes a slight rattling noise as it falls to the ground. They turn. Chiyoko slides quickly into the shadow.

“What was that?” Sarah asks.

“Ah, probably rock. Rocks always falling in here.”

They look back to the warrior. Chiyoko is invisible.

“When we first open chamber we find one other warrior, but he is broken and shattered, probably by earthquake. He is not here now. He is at shop. Me and three others put him back together, piece by piece. I break the rules one night after lots of partying—fun!—and tell Wei and show him a photograph. Wei loves the Terracotta Warriors, maybe even more than me.” Pause. “The photograph I show him was of the same man in your drawing.”

“Really?” Jago asks.

“Really.”

“So you have a disk too, then?” Sarah asks. “Since the guy in the picture is holding one.”

“No. I do not.” He hesitates. “The disk is like the statue, not like the sword. Weapons of the Terracotta Army are real. The disk is not. It is just clay.” Cheng Cheng reaches out for the sword. Touches the exposed part of the hilt. “But there are other disks like the one in the picture.”

“Where?” Jago says pointedly.

“Here, in China. At archives. They are called the disks of Baian-Kara-Ula. They were found in 1938, near Tibetan border. No one knows where they come from, or what they do. Many think they are gifts directly from the gods themselves! Crazy, yes? We think one of the disks is meant to go here”—he grabs the hilt—“but none fit right. So I was wondering, could I see yours?”

Sarah and Jago look at each other. Jago nods. Sarah nods back. Jago unslings his backpack. “Okay.” He opens it and removes the prize from kepler 22b and holds it out to Cheng Cheng.

Chiyoko’s breath is as silent as a leaf on a branch on a still day.

Cheng Cheng takes the disk reverently. “This . . . this is perfect.”

BLINK.

An Liu creeps to the opening
blink
of the chamber. He has on
blink
he has on
blink
his ballistics vest. His motorcycle helmet. A thick collar is turned up to cover the rear of his neck. His
blink
his
SHIVER
his heart is racing.

This is Endgame, at last. Here.
Blinkblink.
Now. Right before the noise and
blink
and
blink
the death.

An does not notice Chiyoko. Chiyoko does not notice him.

Cheng Cheng continues: “Where did you get this?”

Jago gives the little man a hard look. The jewels on his teeth glitter. “A friend gave it to me.”

Cheng Cheng understands that Jago is not going to tell him more. “Of course.” He inspects the disk. Turns it over. “I can’t . . . this is incredible. My friend Musterion must see this.”

“Who’s Musterion?” Sarah asks.

“Musterion Tsoukalos. A man obsessed with the visitations of old. He lives in Capo di Ponte, northern Italy. He can help you with this disk. He knows them very, very well. Knows that they came from the heavens in the days before days, in the history before history. He knows that they helped to make us what we are, and he will know where this disk belongs.”

An
blink
removes a
blink
a black object the size and shape of a softball from a
blink
bag. He
blink
puts it on the ground and
blink
pushes a button. He rolls it
blinkblinkblink
silently into the room.

Sarah and Jago do not see the ball, but Chiyoko does. She looks to the entrance and catches a glimpse of An spinning away. She steps from the shadows. Jago and Sarah notice her immediately.
How can she be here
? Sarah is about to pounce when the Mu player looks at them wildly, claps her hands three times, and points at the ground.

BlinkblinkblinkSHIVER.
What was
blink
what was that? An looks back and
blinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblink
sees Chiyoko—precious, invaluable, essential Chiyoko—pointing at the ball!

SHIVERblink.

SHIVERSHIVERSHIVER.

Seven seconds.

Seven short seconds to destruction.

Seven short seconds and no more Chiyoko Takeda, the one who can make him whole.

Of late struck One; and now I see the prime

Of day break from the pregnant east: ’tis time

I vanish: more I had to say,

But night determines here;(Away!
^lvii

Fashion Europe Wig Factory Warehouse, Chengdu, China

The music has stopped.

Bat and Bold return, each of them carrying a briefcase.

Jalair is leaning over Shari, yanking her nose hairs out one by one with a pair of silver tweezers.

Shari’s eyes are watering, but still she hasn’t made a noise.

Baitsakhan sees his cousins and claps his hands excitedly. “Wonderful! Come, you two. Show us what toys you’ve brought.”

Bat and Bold put the cases on a table. The table has pliers, a small handsaw, an assortment of clamps, and a coil of thin-gauge cable. There is a plastic bottle containing some kind of unknown liquid. A lighter. Two pairs of large noise-canceling headphones.

Bat clicks the clasps on one of the cases and pries it open.

Baitsakhan leans over. Inside are twin all-black Sig Sauer P225s and four clips. Baitsakhan pulls a pistol out of the foam casing and hits the magazine release. The magazine drops out; the chamber is empty. Jalair steps aside as Baitsakhan sights the unloaded gun on Shari’s forehead and pulls the trigger. She doesn’t even blink. The pistol has good action. He reinserts the magazine and slaps it home. He racks the slide to charge a round, makes sure the safety is on, and puts the pistol on the table. He turns it so that the barrel faces Shari.

“Think, Harrapan. Think.”

Nothing.

“Speak, and this”—he indicates the gun with his eyes—“will end the game for you.”

Nothing.

“Don’t speak, and these”—he sweeps his hands over the tools, the bottle, the lighter—“will end the game for you.”

Nothing. Shari spits on the floor. Her left eye is swollen shut. She wonders if her Little Alice is taking a nap. If she is hugging her gray bunny.

Baitsakhan is beginning to lose patience with this one, whose eyes give nothing away, who won’t even cry out. It’s like talking to one of his horses. He misses his horses. Annoyed as he is, Baitsakhan forces a smile. “I’ll give you until tonight to decide.”

As Baitsakhan turns away from Shari, Bat and Bold each put on a pair of the large headphones.

“Come, brother,” Baitsakhan says to Jalair. He picks up Shari’s detached finger. It is gray and puffy and still wears the ring her husband gave her. He uses the severed digit to push play on the iPod. A loud, terrifying scream tears loose from the speakers.