Джеймс Фрей – The Moscow Meeting (страница 1)
First published in ebook in Great Britain by HarperCollins
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Endgame: The Fugitive Archives Volume 2: The Moscow Meeting © 2017 by Third Floor Fun, LLC
Cover design and logo by Rodrigo Corral Design
Additional logo and icon design by John Dismukes
James Frey asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
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Source ISBN: 9780062332745
Ebook Edition © 2017 ISBN: 9780007585328
Version: 2017-02-16
Contents
As I stand beside Cassandra, watching Boone’s eyes move between my face and that of my twin sister, a single thought keeps running through my mind:
I’m still shocked at Cassandra’s unexpected arrival in the museum, where Boone and I have been working to extricate the alien weapon that’s been hidden there by Evrard Sauer, the scientist who was studying it after its discovery by the Nazis. Sauer is now dead, entombed in the water-filled chamber 60 meters below our feet. The same chamber from which Boone has recently escaped for the second time.
I look at the metal box Boone is holding in his hands. It’s the whole reason he descended into the room. Part of me is excited to see that he’s gotten it, and to know what’s inside it. Another part wishes he’d never found it, because I know what’s going to happen next. I’d hoped that by throwing the grenade down the shaft and into the underground room, I’d have warned Boone that something was wrong. Maybe he was too excited about finally getting the box. Maybe he thought he could help me. I’m thankful the blast didn’t kill him, which was a very real possibility, but I’m not sure it matters now.
“Put the box on the floor,” Cassandra says.
Even if we weren’t twins, I would have known this was coming. Cassandra might not be our Minoan line’s official Player, but she is a Player nonetheless. Maybe even more than I am. We trained side by side, and although I was the one who was presented with the golden horns at the choosing ceremony and have served our line to the best of my abilities, Cassandra has always longed to wear them. If she had been sent to Berlin instead of me, Boone would already be dead. Now she is toying with him, enjoying the confrontation.
Boone glances at me. I can tell he’s confused. He doesn’t know if I knew about Cassandra being here or not, if I’m working with her or still teamed up with him. I wish I could let him know that my sister’s presence here is a surprise to me too, but I don’t dare risk showing any hint of caring about what happens to him. If I do, Cassandra will make things worse. For both of us. I keep my face blank and stare back at him coldly, trying to still my wildly beating heart.
Boone crouches down, setting the box on the floor. Then he stands up again. Underneath Cassandra’s coat, which barely stretches across his shoulders, he’s wearing only boxer shorts and a thin undershirt, both of which are soaking wet. He’s been swimming around in ice-cold water, and the temperature in the room now is well below freezing. I can see him shaking as his muscles seize up and his body attempts to warm itself. He’s trying to control the trembling, but he can’t. He’s rapidly becoming hypothermic and needs to get warm. Although I want to go to him and wrap my arms around him, I can’t. I have to watch him suffer, and it makes my heart ache.
Cassandra has had her pistol trained on him this whole time. She keeps it leveled at his chest as she says to me, “Go get it.”
I don’t like her ordering me to do anything, but the situation is delicate, and I don’t want to risk upsetting her. I walk toward Boone. I consider placing myself between him and my sister, screaming at him to run and giving him a slim chance of escaping. But it would only put off his death for a short time. Cassandra would never let him get out alive. And she’d probably kill me as well for getting in her way.
When I reach Boone and the box, I kneel down and pick it up. It’s not as heavy as I expected. As I stand and back up, holding it in my hands, I risk a look at Boone. He won’t look at me. He’s staring straight ahead at Cassandra, a furious expression on his face even though his lips are bluish and I can see that he’s clenching his teeth together with enormous effort to keep them from chattering. But he still has enough strength to defiantly shrug off her coat, which puddles around his feet.
I walk back to Cassandra, who glances briefly at the box and says, “How clever of you to trick him into retrieving it for you.” She smirks at Boone. “Just like a pet dog.” She makes a woofing sound, and laughs. “Fetch, boy.”
She’s taunting him, but I know she’s also taunting me, letting me know what she thinks about my not going after the box myself. But I don’t react. Instead I smile and say, “You know I don’t like to get my hair wet if I can help it.” It’s the kind of thing she would say, childish and inappropriate given the situation, so of course she laughs.
Cassandra turns her attention back to Boone. “Unfortunately for you, we no longer need you.”
“Wait,” I say, placing my hand on her arm.
She looks at me, one eyebrow raised in question.
“I’ll do it,” I tell her. I lift my shirt and show her the bandaged wound on my stomach. “There’s a debt that requires repayment.”
Cassandra nods. I know she’s annoyed that I’m depriving her of making the kill herself, but she also recognizes that I have first right. “Do it quickly. We need to be on our way. Would you like to use my gun?”
She says this loudly enough for Boone to hear. She’s enjoying playing with him, and I’m reminded of how during our training sessions she would often let her opponents think they had a chance just before she landed a victory blow. She enjoys offering a bit of hope, then snatching it away. I shake my head as I set the box down, reach into my boot, and pull out the knife tucked inside. “You know I prefer a blade.”
She laughs again as I turn and walk back to Boone. “He’s not a
Another taunt, a reminder of the time we were four and our grandfather took us fishing and I wouldn’t stick my knife in the flapping, gasping mackerel I hauled out of the ocean on my line. I felt bad for it. Before I could throw it back, Cassandra grabbed it and plunged a knife into its belly, slitting it open and scraping its insides out before it was even dead. At dinner, she’d eaten it fried, with lemon, grinning at me from across the table as our grandfather boasted about how brave she’d been.
I stop in front of Boone. He hasn’t said a word, and I know this is mostly because he can’t. The cold is forcing his body to conserve its resources in an attempt to warm itself. I also know that if he truly thought I was going to kill him, he would find the strength to fight me. I wonder if Cassandra knows he’s a Player. I doubt it. If she did, she would kill him herself, despite my request, so that she could claim him as a trophy. But who does she think he is? And how did she know we were here in the first place? I’ve been wondering that since I turned to find her standing behind me, looking at me as if she’d come into the kitchen and caught me secretly eating one of the melomakarona our mother and aunts make at Christmastime. But there’s been no time for explanations.
Right now I have to concentrate on putting on a show for her. Whatever I do, she has to believe that Boone is really dead. If she doesn’t, she’ll finish him off herself. But how am I going to do that? Unless his body somehow disappears, she’ll be able to check whether or not he’s still breathing.
I look at the entrance to the air shaft, which is just behind Boone, and I get an idea. I don’t know if he can survive another trip into the water. He’s barely able to stand now. But it’s his only chance.