Me too. About three weeks.” His training has taught him how to tell if someone is lying, and she is. Interesting. He wonders if she could be one of them.
“Where you from?” he asks.
“America.”
“No kidding. Where in America?”
“Omaha.” She’s not lying this time. “You?”
“Peru, near Lake Titicaca.” So he won’t lie either.
She raises her eyebrows and smirks. “I never thought that was a real place until these …” She points at the paper.
“The meteors.”
“Yeah.” She nods. “It’s a funny name. Lake Titty Caca.” She pronounces the words individually, like all amused English speakers do. “You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?”
“Depending on who you ask, it either means Stone of the Puma or Crag of Lead, and it’s considered by many to be a mystical, powerful place. Americans seem to think UFOs visit it and aliens created it.” “Imagine that,” she says, smiling. “Omaha’s not mystical at all. Most people think it’s kind of boring, actually. We got good steak, though. And Warren Buffet.”
Jago chuckles. He assumes that’s a joke. He doesn’t know who Warren Buffet is, but he has a fat, dumb American name.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” She cracks another peanut.
“What?”
“I’m from Omaha, you’re from near Lake Titicaca, and we’re on a train to Xi’an. The meteors hit in each place.”
“Yes, that is weird.”
“What’s your name?”
“Feo.” He pops a peanut in his mouth.
“Nice to meet you, Feo. I’m Sarah.” She pops a peanut in her mouth.
“Tell me—you going to Xi’an to see the crater?”
“Me? No. Just touring. I can’t imagine the Chinese government is going to be letting anyone get too close to it anyway.”
“Can I ask you another question, Feo?”
“Sure.”
“You like to play games?”
She’s outed herself. He’s not sure this is wise. His response will go a long way to determine whether or not he will be outed too.
“Not really,” he answers quickly. “I like puzzles, though.”
She leans back. Her tone changes, the flirtatious lilt melting away. “Not me. I like knowing things for sure one way or the other. I hate uncertainty. I tend to eliminate it as quickly as I can, get it out of my life.”
“Probably a good policy, if you can actually do it.”
She smiles, and though he should be tense and ready to kill her, her smile disarms him. “So—Feo. That mean something?”
“It means ‘ugly.’”
“Your parents name you that?”
“My real name is Jago; everyone just calls me Feo.”
“You’re not, though, even though you’re trying to be.”
“Thank you,” he replies, unable to stop himself from smiling, the diamonds in his teeth flashing. He decides to throw her a crumb. If she takes it, they will both know. He’s not sure that it’s a smart play, but he knows one must take risks to win Endgame. Enemies are a given. Friends are not. Why not take advantage of an early chance encounter and find out which this beautiful American will be?
“So, Sarah from Omaha who is here on vacation, while you’re in Xi’an do you want to visit the Big Wild Goose Pagoda with me?”
Before she can answer, a white flash comes from outside. The train lurches and brakes. The lights flicker and go out. A loud sound like a vibrating string comes from the other side of the dining car. Jago’s eyes are momentarily drawn to the faint blip-blip of a red light from under a table. He looks back to the window when the light outside intensifies. He and Sarah both stand and move toward it. In the distance, a bright streak runs across the sky, going east to west. It looks like a shooting star, but it’s too low, and its trajectory is as straight as a razor’s edge. Jago and Sarah both stare, transfixed, as the streak speeds against the darkness of the Chinese night. At the last minute, before it passes from view, the streak suddenly changes direction and moves in an 88-degree angle north to south, disappearing over the horizon. They pull back from the window and the lights come back and the train starts to accelerate. The other people in the dining car are talking urgently, but none seem to have noticed the thing outside.
Jago stands. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Come with me if you want to live.”
“What are you talking about?”
He holds out his hand. “Now.”
She stands and follows him but makes a point of not taking his hand.
As they walk he says, “If I told you I’m the Player of the 21st line, would that mean anything to you?”
“I would tell you I’m the Player of the 233rd.”
“Truce, at least for now?”
“Yes, for now.”
They reach the table where Jago saw the blinking red light. The Chinese couple is sitting at it. They stop talking and look at the two foreigners quizzically. Jago and Sarah ignore the couple, and Jago kneels and Sarah bends to look over his shoulder. Bolted to the wall under the table is a black metal box with a small, faintly blinking red LED in the middle. Above the LED is the character
“Is that what I think it is?” Sarah asks, taking a step back.
“I’m not willing to wait around to find out,” Jago says.
“Me neither.”
“Let’s get your bag.”
They head back to the table and Jago grabs the backpack. They move to the rear of the car and open the door, step into the space between cars.
If the letters are seconds, they have 11 left.
Sarah pulls the emergency brake.
It doesn’t work.
The moving landscape is there. Waiting for them.
“Go,” Jago says, stepping aside.
Eight seconds.
She doesn’t hesitate, jumps.
Seven seconds.
He hugs the backpack, hoping it will soften his landing, jumps.
It hurts when he lands, but he’s been trained to ignore pain. He rolls down a gravel embankment and into the dirt, takes a mouthful of grass, scratches his face and hands. He can’t be sure, but he thinks he’s dislocated his right shoulder.
Three seconds.
He stops rolling.
Two seconds.
She’s a few yards away, already standing, as if she somehow landed unhurt. “You all right?” she asks.
One second.
The train is past them.
“Yes,” he says, wondering if she can tell he’s lying.
Zero seconds.
She crouches