Endgame: The Calling (40 page)

“There are no rules.”

“What is this place?”

“A temple.”

Christopher’s brow furrows. “What kind of temple?”

“A temple to life and power,” Kala answers, distracted. She scratches at the ground with her hands, starts digging.

Christopher runs his hand over the large claws of a carved scorpion. “Who made it?”

Kala works a thin brick from the wall and uses it like a spade. “It doesn’t matter.”

Christopher shoots her a sidelong look. She has reached a small pile of bricks and is working them free. “It seems like it matters to you.”

She glances over her shoulder. “The Great Parents made it, the beings standing guard here, now, for all time. The Prime Annunaki of Du-Ku, my forebears. Yours. Everyone’s.”

“Oh, right, them,” he says with a snicker, remembering the term Sarah used. “The Sky People.”

Kala stands bolt upright. Her face is flushed. “Don’t mock me, boy. The Annunaki made us, and they were present here, in this spot, thousands and thousands of years before history began. Living gods, beings powerful enough to shape humanity, to create life, and now end it. And you, you child, you laugh at them?” Kala sneers, pointing at him. “You’ve lived in a little bubble your entire life. All of the world has lived in a bubble. That bubble is about to burst, and all that you believed was real is going to end.”

“So serious!” Christopher says, wiggling his fingers. He can tell he’s pushing her buttons, so he’ll push harder.

Kala takes a step forward. “You want to know what I’m looking for, is that it?”

“I want to know what’s going to happen, and I want to see Sarah.”

“You’ll see her soon enough. And I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. You are going to die. All of those people”—she points in the direction of the pounding music two hills away—“are going to die. Everyone, except for a very select few, is going to die. Very soon. We—the Players—will decide who lives.”

Christopher thinks back to his conversation with Sarah at the airport. He’s never paused to think about the context of this Endgame business, what it could mean for the rest of the world. He shakes his head.

“So, you’re telling me that the Earth is going to be wiped out?” He keeps his tone mocking, even though his voice shakes a bit.

“Yes. And the winner—me—will decide who survives.” Kala smiles at him. “You won’t be on the list, Christopher Vanderkamp.”

She turns away from him and resumes her work at the bricks, throwing them over her shoulder. Christopher crouches down a few feet away, watching her. He doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s shaken him up.

“Crazy,” he mutters.

She doesn’t stop working, ignores him.

“Anyway, there’s no way you’re winning,” he continues. “Know why? Because you’re a nut job. The nut jobs never win.”

One of the bricks sails over Kala’s shoulder and lands right in front of him. He starts to reach out for it.
I could kill her now. . . .

“Don’t get any funny ideas.” She says it without looking at him, and Christopher moves his hand away. The bass thumps through the air overhead. The stars stretch out to infinity. He thinks about what he’s learned of Endgame, what these Players believe. That humanity came from something out there, in space. There are billions and billions of stars. The idea that there is life out there makes sense, but he’s never seen anything that proves it, and he isn’t sure a pile of old stones is enough to change his mind. Christopher doesn’t believe the world is ending, but these Players do. Kala believes it enough to murder a mother and her child in cold blood. He takes another look at that nearby brick, longing to exact some revenge, some justice.

Kala stands, something in her hands. “I found it.”

She turns around, and she’s holding a dark, thick metal ring the size of a bangle.

“What is it?”

“A piece.”

“A piece of what?”

She runs her fingers over the outside of the ring. Her lips move ever so slightly, as if she is reading to herself. “A piece of—”

“The puzzle,” a voice says from above them. A pebble falls into the pit.

Christopher and Kala look up at the same time. Standing there, at the rim of the hole, is a man in shadow. He puts a hand on the ground and drops halfway into the pit, landing on a thick block of stone.

“Who are you?” Kala asks. She shines her small light on him. He is squatting. He is short. His eyes are thin and dark, his face sun-beaten, his cheeks round. His hair is black.

“My name is Jalair.”

“Who
are
you?” Kala repeats with slow, measured syllables.

Christopher stands. He has a bad feeling.

Jalair scratches his head. “I said my name is Jalair. What’s that you found?”

Christopher backs toward Kala.
The devil you know,
he thinks.

Kala pushes her hand into her pocket, hides the dark ring. “You’re with the boy. You have the same eyes.”

Jalair stands silently and pulls out a gun. He levels it at Kala.

“Tell me about the puzzle piece you’ve uncovered, Kala Mozami.”

She is motionless, says nothing. Christopher is two feet away from her and he can feel the energy coursing through her body.

“Better yet, why don’t you let me have a look?” Jalair says.

Kala asks, “Where is Baitsakhan?”

Jalair shrugs. “Around.”

Kala takes this literally and looks behind her, but no one is there. Christopher does not take his eyes from the gun. Kala says, “You can shoot me, Donghu, but what I’ve found will be useless to you if I die. It’s inscribed in Old Sumerian, a language so dead as to be unrecognizable.”

“But you can read it?”

“Of course.”

“Then what does it say?”

Kala shakes her head. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“How does it work, then?”

“Shoot me and find out.”

Jalair considers this. Instead, he swings the gun onto Christopher. “How about I shoot him instead?”

Kala makes a snapping sound with her tongue. “You’re an ex-Player, yes, brother?”

“Yes, sister.”

“Then you should know better than to aim for the decoy.”

Before Jalair can swing the gun back toward Kala, she is moving. She’s like bottled lightning, running up and along the curve of the wall. Jalair fires at her, once, twice, three times, but she’s too fast. Christopher thinks he sees one of the shots brush through Kala’s hair, but that’s as close as any get.

Kala springs across the pit, grabs the edge of a huge stone, and flips over it, and she sails through the air like a gymnast. Jalair fires one more time, missing again as Kala lands behind him. When he turns around, she hits the muzzle of the gun so that it flips around. It’s pointing at him now, and Kala slaps the grip. The back of Jalair’s finger depresses the trigger and the gun fires. The bullet passes through his skin, his sternum, his aorta, and the edge of his right lung, and shatters his T6 vertebra before blowing a hole out of his back.

Christopher sucks in a breath.

Kala pushes Jalair’s lifeless body into the hole with her feet. It tumbles toward Christopher with a series of sickening, muted cracks and thumps, comes to an awkward, twisted stop hanging over a waist-high stone.

Kala has the gun now. She looks at Christopher and says, “Pick up the flashlight and get out of there. We’re going.”

Christopher forces himself to move. He snags the light from the ground. He is going to be sick. As he climbs out of the ground, he throws up a little.

Kala gives him a disgusted look. “Pathetic.”

He stands and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He hands her the flashlight. She turns it off.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

Kala keeps the gun low, and points it at him. “We’re going to get the key.”

“What key?”

“No more questions, no more talking.” With her free hand she pulls the ring from her pocket. Looks at it. She points to the north. “Go that way. Now.”

Christopher walks past her and heads into the night.

“Stay low,” Kala advises. “Someone else is here.”

He follows her instructions. He is scared now. No one should be able to do what he just saw her do. Navy SEALs couldn’t do what she just did. His right hand begins to shake uncontrollably.

These people are murderers.

He pictures Sarah, her auburn hair, her sunny smile, her laugh. He thinks of her having to fight someone like Kala. He knows if anyone could do it, she could, but the thought terrifies him. And he knows that Kala could kill him immediately and without remorse.

These people are murderers.

Why didn’t I listen to Sarah?

Why didn’t I listen and stay away?

The sun rises in the west.
^lxiv

Açgözlü Akbaba Tap
na
, Temple of the Consuming Vulture, Turkey

Chiyoko has changed into a simple black cotton jumpsuit with a built-in backpack. A tight hood keeps her hair in check. A mask covers the lower part of her face. A thin eyepiece hovers over her left eye. It’s a night-vision lens and allows her to see in the dark.

She lies in the dirt above the pit. She watches Kala kill Jalair, hears what happens thanks to the mic that still clings to Kala’s clothing. She knows about the puzzle piece. She knows that Kala thinks she is close to Earth Key.

She also knows that Kala is a fool.

She watches Kala and Christopher walk north. As soon as they dip below the rise of the next hill, two others appear from the east. They move quickly, chasing the sound of gunfire. Chiyoko adjusts her monocle, depressing a button over her temple that activates a zoom lens. She focuses on the new figures.

Baitsakhan.

Maccabee.

Interesting,
she thinks.
A strange pairing. A dangerous one.

Chiyoko trains a small telescopic mic on the pair as they make their way to the pit. When they reach it, Baitsakhan drops to one knee and shines a flashlight onto the ground. He utters a string of desperate-sounding words in a language she has never heard before. He disappears into the hole. Maccabee surveys the area around them. His eyes pass directly over Chiyoko, but he doesn’t see her. She is invisible.

Maccabee waits as Baitsakhan grieves. Chiyoko pulls in a full breath and slips a dart tube onto her tongue. She blows, and the chipped dart sails through the air. It hits the Nabataean on the neck and he doesn’t even notice. He just stands and waits until Baitsakhan emerges from the pit, Jalair’s whip in his hand.