The White Mountain (9 page)

“Please hold all questions. 
Thank you.  Given the paths you have chosen for yourselves, I am certain you
are all familiar with the phrase, ‘need to know.’  You will be told what you
need to know, yes?  Nothing more.  This, gentlemen, is essentially a test of skill
against skill.  Each of you will write his chosen codename on a slip of paper
and deposit it into this hat.”  He held up a limp, gray cap.  “This very hat
was worn by the original winner—a soldier of the Confederacy.  A valuable
relic.  Please, take a look.  See?  If you will allow me one aside...history
may be forgotten, but it is never truly lost.  You can even note the
bloodstains along the brim.

“You’ll drop your names in
and I will choose the first rabbit for the hounds to chase.  However, be forewarned
that the rabbit may come equipped with a ferocious set of knives or the ability
to snap your neck, before you even know he’s in the same room.  The first
pursuer to eliminate the rabbit will have a one-round reprieve from having his
name in the hat.  Should the
rabbit
eliminate a hound,
he
will be
granted a one-round reprieve.  Note that the rabbit is not allowed to pursue—only
to defend himself against the coming
blitzkrieg
.  The round ends once a
hound or the rabbit records a kill, and the remainder of the names will be
returned to the hat for another drawing.”

Yankee Doodle said, “So let
me get this straight.  We put our names in there, and you’re pulling a rabbit
out of a hat?”

It was the last time they
would ever laugh together.

Enigma showed no signs of
amusement, clearly perturbed by yet another interruption.  “I never thought of
it that way, but yes, I suppose so.  With your permission, I shall continue,
yes?  Good.  Thank you.  These rounds will continue until each and every one of
you, save the final participant, has been eliminated from the competition.  The
last man remaining will earn the chance to match his skills against the
previous winner, one on one.  And should you prevail, the money is yours, and
you will be passed the responsibility of choosing the next game’s
participants.  Eight contests have been completed since Ares won in 1976, and
eighty men have fallen.”

“Hang on a tick,” Blockade
said.  “Once you’ve picked a rabbit, how’re we supposed to find the son of a
bitch?”

“Utilize your resources. 
None of you made it here due to stupidity.”

“What resources?  And who’re
you calling stupid, you little runt?  Any one of these shit-for-brains monkeys
could be hiding in a goddamn igloo at the North Pole and we’d never know the
difference.  The only thing I can say for certain is that Geisha over there’ll
probably have his dick stuck in some
Nippon
glory hole—the randy bastard—and
I don’t fly.  Not anymore.  One too many close calls.  No way am I hopping on a
puddle-jumper to chase him or any of these other cocksuckers halfway around the
world, no sir.”

Indignant, Enigma lifted his
chin.  “May I remind you, Mr. Blockade, that any refusal to participate is in
violation of the terms upon which you agreed?”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass
what I violated.  You never said nothing about no airplanes.  Feet to ground,
you stick around.  Booyah.  That’s what I always say.”

Enigma said, “This is your
first and final warning.  You agreed to a set of terms and if you do not
comply, if you insist upon this violation, I regret to inform you that I will
be forced—”

Blockade shouted, “Violate
this!” and spat at Enigma. 

He never had a chance to
raise his hands before the bullet pierced his forehead.  The remnants from the
exit wound showered Randall and Shallow Grave. 

Randall groaned and wiped his
face with a sleeve.

Shallow Grave turned to
Randall and smirked, amused by his pathetic need to remove the blood and brain matter.

The others sat motionless,
like it had been nothing more than a popped balloon at a birthday party. 
They’d all seen too much death and survived too many harrowing situations to be
surprised by the outcome. 

Enigma lowered his pistol and
gently placed it onto the podium.  “Well, then.  It appears I’ve done you all a
favor.  For the first time in history, the contest will begin with nine
participants and your game has just been simplified.  The prize money is
protected by such—by such mishaps, but should you feel the need to compensate
me for making your task easier, I see no cause to disagree.”  Enigma raised a
hand, “Please sit down, Mr. Krakatoa.  You’ve heard of a joke before, yes? 
Good.  I have three more points to cover before I release you all to get your
personal lives in order.  The first one is this: you will be required to accept
the inclusion of a tracking chip, which monitors both your vital signs and your
location, and the implant will reside underneath your skin.  This is not
optional.  Also, you will be provided a telephone number.  You must check in
daily to confirm that you are indeed still a willing participant.  If you do
not check in, we must assume that you have quit, and the penalty of death will
be enacted upon.  Understood?

“As for the second...know
that these are the rules as they have been set forth by your predecessors.  For
one hundred and fifty years, not a single time have they been changed or
challenged.  However,” Enigma said, taking a deep breath and lifting an index
finger, “the previous winner—Ares, as I have mentioned—is granted the right to
institute
Jeder für sich
if he thinks the game has gone on too long. 
Every
man for himself.
  Regardless of how many of you remain, you will be
informed by a single phone call and you may hunt at will.  The victor shall be
made aware of his conquest and provided further details upon completion.

“The third—we will provide
you each with a completion code.  If you are the last remaining contestant, you
will receive a phone call.  You must confirm your completion code.  Then, and
only then, will you be provided with information about Ares.

“Go now, gentlemen.  Exit one at a time,
please, beginning with Mr. Krakatoa, yes?  Pray to whatever gods you may
believe in.  Sacrifice a goat if you think it will help.  Tend to your finances
or stay close to your loved ones if you have any.  Drink a beer, have a glass
of wine, get laid, whatever suits your tastes, for tomorrow you may expire in a
whisper and the world will not mourn its loss.”

Randall leaned back from the
scope and rubbed his eyes, shivering at the memory of Blockade’s open skull. 
There were plenty of times when he’d questioned his judgment in signing the
contract, and as he took a bite from a nasty MRE, today was no different.  Back
then, with a pen in hand and enough alcohol mixed in with his blood stream to
sanitize his veins, it’d seemed like a good idea.  He’d been confident in his
abilities to outsmart, outclass, and outlast whoever might be thrown at him. 

And the money.  God, could
they use the money. 

The possibility of losing, of
expiring in a whisper
, and leaving behind a widow and a fatherless son
had never crossed his mind—at least not until he’d gotten word of how quickly
Geisha had eliminated Old Yeller, Powder Keg, and Shallow Grave.

His strategy had always been
to wait it out.  Let the other rabbits and hounds kill off each other while he
stayed close to his family.  Retreat and defend when his turn had come. 
Eventually, if he managed to survive as the rabbit, when the final two
remained, he had no doubt that he would stand atop the mountain.

Confidence can empower, but
ruin just as easily.

Krakatoa had apparently
adopted the same strategy, of hiding and defending, and managed to stay hidden
for weeks until The Devil Himself tracked him down.

Still yet, none of the
history, none of the rules, accounted for why Enigma had shown up.

He wondered if
Jeder für
sich
was on.  Had Ares grown impatient with the waiting game?  Was that why
Enigma had been in southwest Virginia?  To let him know?  Every other bit of
information had been passed through an untraceable, off-the-grid cell phone. 
From every angle he could imagine, the reason for Enigma’s presence eluded him.

Randall stood up, stretched
his cramped and aching back, and walked over to the west-facing rifle. 

He fixed his eye to the
scope, and saw a hunched figure dart behind a single bale of hay.

CHAPTER 9

Mary slammed her beer bottle
onto the bar.  Over the din of drunken chatter, pool balls bouncing off green
velvet, and Hank Williams crooning on the jukebox, she said, “Are you kidding
me?” as the head bubbled up and roiled out of the bottle’s throat like cold,
white lava.  Astonished, she didn’t bother to move her hand, not even when
Chuck hesitantly pointed at the mess.  “That’s—I can’t—what was he thinking? 
And
you
know—the stinking
CIA
knows about this and you all just
let it happen?”

Chuck sipped at the last of
his scotch and then signaled the bartender for another round.  They both needed
it.  “I didn’t say
let
.  It’s on our radar, but honestly, it’s so far
down on the totem pole of importance that it’d be covered in dog piss if one
happened to stop by and cock his leg.  The position we’ve taken is this: if a
group of highly trained threats to society want to get together and off each
other, more power to ‘em.  Saves us the time and resources.”

“How can you be so...so
apathetic about it?  He’s my sister’s
husband
, Chuck.  He’s a father. 
You’re just gonna let him die?”

“Only if he doesn’t win.”

“Pull him out.  I mean it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Both, more or less.”

“You and your damn vague
answers.”

“He’s a big boy, Mary.  He
knows what the score is.”

“Last time I checked, the ability
to make stupid decisions doesn’t pass for maturity.”

“Look, it’s like this.  You
asked me earlier if Randall was a threat to national security.  Well, he is and
he isn’t, which is part of the reason I can’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. 
My superiors would bust my chops for going against protocol.  Which, in this
case, is not so much live, but let die.”

“I still don’t see why—”

“Plus—
plus
—there’s
more to it than that.  His involvement in this contest and the people
associated with it automatically warrant a certain level of, uh, observation on
him.  Landed him on Santa’s naughty list, you see.  He’s one of ours, so we
don’t want to risk a public relations nightmare, but prior to that, his psych
tests didn’t score too high on the stability meter when he applied for a field
agent position with us a while back.”

“When did he do that?”  Mary
had no recollection of Randall ever bringing it up in conversation.

“Two years ago, after he
decided not to re-up.  Evidently, he had some trouble letting go of his time
out in the bush.”

“No.  Randall?  He’s—he’s
always seemed fine to me.”

“That may be so, but he
showed a strong propensity toward having a relapse if somebody shoved him far
enough.  And—you might find this interesting—the guy beat every single lie detector
test we gave him.  He was so good, he had the polygraph convinced that his name
wasn’t Randall Blevins.”

Mary wondered what else Randall
had been lying about all this time.  “So that’s how he got that absurd story
about Kemper past me.  Unbelievable.”

“Don’t feel too bad about
it.  If he can beat the most sophisticated technology we have, you didn’t stand
a chance.  You’re good, but not that good.  Anyway, here’s my point.  Randall,
and all of these other yahoos involved, they’re threats to both national and
international security.  To us, to their own governments.  To anybody that can
match their price tag.  It’s too classified to tell you how many of their type
we’ve identified, but I can tell you this...we’re not losing any sleep whatsoever
if that number is reduced by ten every couple of years.  And that includes
Randall.  I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to hear it, but that’s our official
position.”

“Official position, my ass.” 
Mary grabbed a napkin, wiped the beer from the back of her hand, then crumpled
it and tossed it down on the bar, disgusted.  “What’s your unofficial
position?”

“Unofficially...I’m here to
help.”

“Jesus.  Okay.  So my dumbass
brother-in-law sent me here to talk to you, hoping you’d be able to help me dig
up some information on this Ares person, which will give him an advantage if
he’s able to make it to the end of this...this killing game?  Is that the whole
story?”

“Off the record, yes.  That’s
the long and the short of it.”

“Why not just tell me that
himself?  Why lie about it?”

“Come on now, Miss Mary, you
know the answer to that.”

She picked at the label on
the bottle.  “You’re right.  That crap about Kemper was more believable than
this.”  She shook her head, pursed her lips.  “I never would’ve come.  He outweighs
me by a hundred pounds or more, but I would’ve beaten the shit out of him if
he’d told me the truth.  I mean, good God, how could he do this to Alice and
Jesse?  Seriously?  Who
agrees
to something like that?”