Endgame: The Calling (49 page)

Sarah realigns Christopher’s dislocated knee back in the car before checking into a four-star hotel on the European side of Istanbul. They each get their own room. She needs some space, if only for a night. Christopher is sturdy on the crutches, and a cortisone shot would probably do him wonders, but Sarah doesn’t want to give him any more reasons to stay, so she doesn’t bring it up.

As they make their way to the elevators, crossing the hotel’s bustling lobby and looking like rock stars who have been partying too hard, Christopher quietly asks, “Sarah, can I talk to you?”

“Not now, Christopher. I’m exhausted.”

“It’s important.”

“A bath, food, sleep—they’re more important.”

“Fine.” Christopher shakes his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Forget it,” he says over his shoulder.

They pile into the elevator. Christopher and Jago stand on opposite sides, Sarah in the middle, Chiyoko close to the doors. None of them speak. Their rooms are on the top floor.
Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding.
The doors open. They exit the elevator and go their separate ways.

Christopher orders a burger.

Chiyoko sits on the floor and meditates.

Sarah draws a bath.

Jago knocks on her door.

She opens it.

“Can I come in?”

She moves aside.

Jago takes five steps into the room and turns. “We should leave them. Tonight.”

The door closes and Sarah leans against it. She’s spent. “I know.”

“So let’s.”

“I can’t.”

Jago frowns. “Why not?”

Pause. “Chiyoko should see the disk before we cut her loose. We made a deal with her. And she might be able to tell us something useful.”

“She can’t tell us anything.”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “She could help us find Earth Key.”

Jago waves this away. “Fine. We’ll grab her on the way out. We should leave
him
. It’s not right to bring him along.”

“Don’t be so jealous.”

“I’m not.”

She shoots him a look.

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admits.

She sighs.

“You’re going to have to leave him eventually. Unless you plan to spend the rest of Endgame rescuing him.”

“He can hold his own,” Sarah replies, but the words are hollow.

“Because he was captain of the football team?” Jago chuckles. “He’ll die if he stays. You know I’m right.”

“Maybe. Probably.”

“Let’s leave. Consider it an act of mercy.”

Sarah slides down the door to the floor. Jago steps forward, crouches in front of her, and runs his hand down her jawline. She nuzzles his fingers. “If I thought he would go home, we would leave, but he won’t. He’ll follow me again. He’ll continue to put himself and me—and you, as long as we’re Playing together—in danger. No, for now he has to stay.”

Jago lets his hand drop away. He doesn’t know how else to reason with her. He doesn’t know why he even cares about what happens to her or Christopher. He shouldn’t. Sarah looks up at him, as if she’s reading his mind. “You won’t leave me, will you, Feo?”

He thinks for a moment, remembers Renzo’s warning not to fall in love. But he also knows he’s going to Play Endgame the way he decides to Play it. And though Christopher is a nuisance, Sarah has proved her worth, and saved him more than once. With Christopher, what will be will be. With her, what will be will be, whatever happens between them. And he wants to make it happen between them.

Finally, he says, “No. I won’t. On my line and honor, I swear it. Not until . . .”

“Right. Not until the end,” she says sadly.

“Not until the end.”

A moment. “Thank you, Jago. Now that this has started, I know I can’t do it alone. It’s too . . . bleak.”

“Yes,” Jago says quietly. “It’s not as glorious as we were raised to believe, is it?”

Sarah shakes her head. They’re quiet for a while, both of them thinking about the future, and each other.

“If we get Earth Key, maybe we’ll be able to figure out when and where the Event will strike. More than winning, I want to save the people I love. I haven’t spoken to my parents since I left home. It would hurt too much if I did.” Sarah pauses, looking at Jago. “This is why I chose you, Jago. You’re honest. You like me. Maybe you love me. I . . . I love life, Feo, not this. Not Endgame. I hate it. Christopher, in spite of the fact that he’s annoying as hell right now, is my friend. And I want my family, my friends, to live.” Pause. “I want yours to live also. What can I say? I’m weak that way.”

Very slowly Jago shakes his head. “No, Sarah, that doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. That is why
I
chose
you
.”

She holds out her hand. He takes it. “What are we going to do?”

“Win,” Jago says. “Somehow we are going to win . . . together.”

Bole International Airport Runways, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

Maccabee and Baitsakhan descend the narrow gangplank of the jet they chartered from Ankara to Addis Ababa. The sun is bright. The air is hotter than hot, thick with the odors of gasoline and tar. Baitsakhan’s neck is wrapped in a black-and-white kaffiyeh that he bought in Turkey. He wears blue jeans. A new white T-shirt. Dusty riding boots. Maccabee has on one of his expensive linen suits. No tie. White Adidas shell-tops. He smells like a nightclubber. They load into a waiting Land Rover with their small but heavy bags. Maccabee drives. Baitsakhan sharpens his knife in the passenger seat.

“This is how you do it,” Maccabee says, glancing over at his young partner.

“Do what?”

“How you Play,” Maccabee answers, wishing he could see the two of them through a camera. “In fucking style.”

Baitsakhan scrunches up his eyebrows, shrugs. “I prefer knives.”

Maccabee shakes his head. “There’s no talking to you.”

Piccolo Gato Ristorante, Trieste, Italy

Before leaving Istanbul, Chiyoko shows Sarah and Jago the image of the grid of letters and numbers and signs from the golden chamber near Gobekli Tepe. Christopher says he saw it too. “It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

They have no idea what, if anything, the grid means.

But they know it means something.

They check out of their hotel. They drive west and leave Turkey. Cruise through Bulgaria. Pass through Serbia. Visit Croatia. Glide through Slovenia. They barely speak. Christopher is stewing in the backseat, and Sarah pretends not to notice. Jago and Chiyoko take turns driving while Sarah puzzles and puzzles and puzzles some more over the grid and her clue, wondering if they fit together in some way. She makes little progress. Breakthroughs are not forthcoming. She finds it all very frustrating.

After many hours and miles of silence they reach Italy, stop for the night in Trieste. 1600 km. 994.19 miles. Including breaks, 20 hours, 43 minutes, 29 seconds.

They check into another hotel. See the Adriatic. Go to dinner. A heaping family-style bowl of creamy, spicy penne rigate at a plastic table on the sidewalk. They watch Italians stroll.
This wouldn’t be so bad if it were just a vacation,
they think. All except Chiyoko. She does not have any illusions about normal life; she simply bides her time.

Jago has a glass of red wine. Chiyoko drinks tea. Christopher stretches out his leg and has a beer. He has another. And another. Sarah abstains, sticking with
acqua con gas
and slivers of lemon. The awkward silence continues. Sarah works all through dinner, scribbling into a notebook. Christopher cranes his neck, hoping he can help. Jago stares icily at him. Chiyoko doesn’t mind the drama, actually. She’s glad her three companions are at odds. It keeps them quiet.

Over dessert Jago asks, “Do you want to see it, Chiyoko?”

Chiyoko claps once. She gingerly sips her tea and tries not to look too excited. Jago picks up his backpack. He unzips it. He reaches in and removes the stone disk.

Sarah looks up from her work.

At last, Chiyoko shows some measure of wonder as she cradles the disk in her hands. She runs her fingers over the grooves. Stares at its markings.

Home,
she thinks to herself.
Soon you are going home.

She lets it rest in her lap, bows her head to Jago in thanks. “You’re welcome,” he says, glancing at Sarah. “We did have a deal, right?”

Sarah knows what that look means: they’ve satisfied their debt to Chiyoko. Now, they can move on. Leave her and Christopher behind. Sarah pretends not to notice, looks away.

“Cool rock,” Christopher says, who sounds as though he’s had too much to drink.

Chiyoko takes out her phone and taps a quick message. She hands the phone to Jago.
Thank you for showing me this. I would like some time to study it.

Jago frowns at the message, hands the phone to Sarah. After she’s read it, Sarah and Jago lock eyes.
It’s like they’re communicating without speaking,
Christopher thinks.
Just like Sarah and I used to back at home.
Christopher is suddenly jealous of this Player, his stupid accent, his ugly scar, his ridiculous teeth. He grabs the phone out of Sarah’s hand.

“Study what?” he asks. “It’s a rock.”

They ignore him. Sarah looks at Chiyoko. “Do you think it will lead us to Earth Key?”

Chiyoko nods vehemently.

“We’ve got a lead on a guy who specializes in these disks. It’s why we’re in Italy,” Jago says. “We’ll be visiting him tomorrow; you can study it on the way.”

Chiyoko cocks her head, asking,
Who?
Jago smirks at her.

“Can’t tell you that, obviously. You’ll see soon enough.”

Chiyoko nods as if she understands. She already knows the identity of their so-called expert, overheard during their conversation with the little troll man at the Terracotta Army. Musterion Tsoukalos.

Yes, someone needs to show him this,
Chiyoko thinks.

Jago takes the disk back from Chiyoko, her hands lingering on it for perhaps a moment too long. He eases it back into his bag. “Maybe you know something this specialist doesn’t,” Jago says to her. “For now, we can continue to help each other, yes?”

Chiyoko takes her phone back from Christopher. She taps out another message.
Whatever information I find, I will share with you.

Jago nods. “Good.”

“Thank you, Chiyoko,” Sarah says, smiling.

Sarah returns to the puzzle, flips through her notes, thinks. Christopher puts his arm across the back of Sarah’s chair. She doesn’t seem to notice, or chooses to ignore it, focusing on her work. However, Jago notices. He stands up abruptly.

“Long day. I’m turning in.”

He turns and walks toward the hotel, the bag bouncing innocuously on his back.

After a few more minutes, Chiyoko puts down a wad of euros and stands. She claps once. Sarah looks up from her work, rubs her temples. “You too?”

Chiyoko nods, eyes Sarah’s notepad.

“Yeah, you’re right. I should give it a rest.” Sarah looks to Christopher. “What do you say?”

“Sure, I’ll go back. But I want to talk.”

Chiyoko is not interested in these . . . feelings. She claps once, spins on her heel, and goes. Sarah closes the pad and lets her hand rest on it. “Fine, Christopher. Let’s talk. But let’s do it here.”

He rubs his face, which is still bruised from where Maccabee struck him. “Sarah, I’m not going home.”

“I know.”

“I wo—wait. What?”

“I know you’re not going home. You’re too stubborn to do anything that makes sense.”

Christopher is dumbstruck. He expected more of an argument. A young couple walks by on the sidewalk. They are very attractive. Her high heels click the pavement. His loose shirt flaps open at the chest. Christopher can’t help but watch them. “God, that could have been us,” he says longingly.

Sarah shakes her head. “Maybe once, but not anymore. Our time—our chance—it’s gone.” Her voice shakes slightly as she says the words.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“It does. You may think you understand what’s happening, but you don’t. Yes, you’ve heard us talk, but you don’t really know what’s coming. You don’t understand what’s at stake.”