The Complete Fugitive Archives (Project Berlin, The Moscow Meeting, The Buried Cities) (Endgame: The Fugitive Archives) Read online

  The trail of toffees leads down the street and around a corner, where it comes to an end. Then I notice a child, a little boy of about four or five. He and his mother are standing together. He’s holding something in his hand. As I watch, he unwraps it and puts it into his mouth.

  “What is that?” his mother asks.

  The boy shrugs. “Candy?” he says doubtfully.

  His mother, clearly alarmed, snatches the wrapper from his hand and looks at it. “Where did you get this?”

  The boy points. “A man gave it to me,” he said. “As he was getting on that streetcar.”

  I turn my head just in time to see a streetcar rounding a corner at the end of the street, tethered to the electric line above it. I run to the boy and his mother. “Where does that streetcar go?”

  The woman puts her arm around the boy and draws him closer to her. “To the Soviet sector.”

  I thank her and take off after the streetcar. It’s not going very fast, but it’s difficult to keep pace running on the slippery pavement. Also, if the mystery girl is keeping an eye out for me, I don’t want her to see me running behind the streetcar like a madman. I still don’t know if she’s caught up with Sauer and Lottie, or if she’s trying to follow them too. Until I can figure out which of them—or any of them—is on the streetcar, I need to be careful.

  Fortunately, the streetcar makes frequent stops to let people on and off, which gives me a chance both to rest and to try to get a glimpse inside. Unfortunately, the cold has made the windows frosty, and I can’t see through them. And if the girl is with Sauer and Lottie, I don’t want to get on and risk a confrontation in front of so many people. So I watch to see if Sauer or either woman gets off, but they don’t. I can only hope that I’m right about them being on it.

  Once again I wonder who the girl is. Twice now I’ve had the chance to kill her, and twice I haven’t. I can’t explain why, except that, for reasons I don’t entirely understand, I want to know who she is. And it’s not just that she’s undeniably beautiful. It’s more than that. There’s something about her that at the same time feels both very familiar and completely foreign. For one thing, she also could have killed me but didn’t. And I know she has no problem killing. She took down the two MGB agents without blinking. No ordinary soldier would do that—or even be able to. You have to be a certain kind of person to kill so easily, or at least to make it look so easy.

  Someone like a Player, I think.

  Maybe my line isn’t the only one that’s after Sauer. Maybe the girl is Playing too.

  She’s the right age. Also, she’s a, well, she. Most militaries don’t train women to fight. They’re mainly nurses or some other kind of noncombat personnel. Yet she fights like a soldier—a highly trained soldier. She had to learn it somewhere, and despite her remark about street fighting, there’s no way she got this good from a couple of brawls on a playground.

  If she is Playing, then the question is: for which line? She said she was Greek, so if she wasn’t lying, she’s a Minoan. If another line wants Sauer badly enough to kill for him, then what he knows has to have some bearing on Endgame. I don’t believe for one second the girl’s story about him being an art historian. Something bigger is happening here. Once again, I question why my own council hasn’t told me what it is.

  I think again of how she reminds me of Wonder Woman. The Amazon princess. What was her real name? Diana Prince. Maybe that’s what I should call her. Diana. Diana was also the goddess of the hunt, so it fits there too. We’re both hunters, after the same quarry. Has she already caught them? I still don’t know.

  The streetcar stops, and again the doors open. I peer through the open door as people get out, and just for a second I see a face looking back at me. It’s Sauer. Our eyes meet, and a look of panic appears on Sauer’s face. His eyes dart away, then back to me, and for a moment I think he’s about to run off the streetcar. Then the doors close.

  What did the look mean? Was he afraid because he saw me? Or was it because Diana was with him, making sure he didn’t get away? I don’t know. But now at least I know that he’s on the streetcar, and it renews my desire to follow it wherever it goes.

  When the streetcar crosses from the American sector to the Soviet sector, I worry for a moment that I might be stopped. Although people are still free to move around the city, an American soldier walking into Soviet territory could be suspicious. But it’s Christmas Eve, and lots of people are going back and forth to visit friends and family, so I risk it. As I walk past the big sign announcing YOU ARE LEAVING THE AMERICAN SECTOR, I barely get a glance from the grim-faced Red Army soldiers standing around cradling their rifles in their arms.

  Even though it’s the same city, the Soviet sector of Berlin feels different. There’s a tenseness here, as if the residents and even the buildings are holding their breaths. The people walking around seem to be in a hurry to get wherever it is they’re going. Instead of looking at one another, they look at the ground. Even the snowfall seems heavier here, the cold more biting. I pull up the collar of my coat and glance over my shoulder, more on guard than usual.

  The streetcar makes less frequent stops as it moves deeper into Soviet-controlled territory. Thanks to the snow and the outdated and unreliable overhead wires that power the streetcar, it moves slowly enough that I can keep up with it without having to do an all-out run. Then it stops at the corner of a street lined with nondescript apartment buildings, and half a dozen people get off. Three of them detach from the group and walk away, and as they pass through the glow of a streetlight I see that one of them is wearing a red scarf. Sauer. And the other two are Lottie and Diana.

  The trio walks quickly. Diana stays one pace behind the other two. I wonder if they’ve come willingly or if she’s got a gun to their backs. If she’s a Player too, Sauer is the one she wants, so perhaps she’s told him she’ll kill Lottie if he doesn’t play along. As my father always says, love is the greatest danger of all. It’s why he’s warned me not to fall in love until I’m no longer a Player. When you have something you’re afraid of losing, it gives your enemies a weapon to use against you.

  Three blocks later, the group walks into a building that looks like all the other ones on the street. Five stories tall. Surprisingly undamaged. They disappear through a door, and I wait outside across the street. I keep my eyes on the windows, scanning the floors in an orderly manner from top to bottom, then back up. As I’m scanning for the fourth time, a light goes on. I note which apartment it is. Fourth floor, third from the left.

  “Bingo,” I say aloud. “Got you.”

  Ariadne

  I am not happy about how things have played out.

  As I draw the shade on the window facing the street, I wish that the Minoans had a safe house in Berlin. But we do not, and so advance agents set up this apartment, which is occupied by an elderly woman of our line who calls herself Lydia. Sixty years ago she was known by another name, one that is familiar to all Minoan Players. She was one of our greatest, a legend. Often when one of my class of candidates was struggling during an exercise, our trainers would yell, “Europa would be at the top of that cliff by now!” or some such thing. Often, I pictured her in my mind, fighting or swimming beside me, urging me on. Now she looks like one of the yia yias who crowd the markets of Greece, haggling over the price of olives and fish, yet still I feel I am in the presence of a great fighter.

  “Do you think you were followed?” Lydia asks as she stirs the pot of avgolemono soup on the stove. She tastes it, then adds more salt. As I smell it, my mouth waters.

  I’ve told her about the American soldier. I had to, as his interference prevented us from following our original plan, which was to have my compatriots meet me at the house where Sauer was hiding and take him by car out of the city. Instead, I had to take the extremely risky move of getting on the streetcar and coming here. By now, Theron and Cilla will have realized that something has gone wrong and should also be making their way here.

  “I don�
��t think so,” I say.

  “You’re not sure?”

  Once a Player, always a Player, I think to myself.

  “I didn’t see him anywhere,” I tell her. “But it’s dark, and I was focused on making sure Sauer and the girl didn’t try to run.”

  Lydia ladles soup into a bowl and carries it to the table. “You worry too much,” she says, patting me on the cheek.

  “Perhaps you don’t worry enough,” I reply gently. I am not arguing with her, as I respect her too much. Also, she reminds me of my own grandmother.

  She laughs. “Sit,” she says. “Eat. Theron and Cilla will be here soon, and then you’ll be on your way.”

  “In a minute,” I tell her. “First, I need to speak with our guest.”

  I pass through the living room, ignoring the girl, who is tied to a kitchen chair, a cloth around her mouth to prevent her from calling out. I go into one of the bedrooms, where Sauer is likewise tied up, and I shut the door behind me. I go to him, remove the gag, and sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Who are you?” he asks.

  There is no point in lying, so I tell him. “My name is Ariadne Calligaris.”

  “You are not Russian,” he says.

  “No.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “You were working on a project involving a weapon,” I say. “We want that weapon.”

  “Who is we?”

  This I do not tell him. Instead I say, “The weapon is of alien design. You were asked to build it, or rebuild it, from plans that the Nazis discovered.”

  He looks genuinely surprised but says nothing.

  “There is going to be a war,” I continue. “A war that will make this most recent one look like a child’s game. The weapon you discovered may decide who wins and who loses.”

  He shrugs. “Why do I care who wins?”

  “Maybe you don’t. Maybe you don’t care if you live or die. I think you do care whether the girl out there lives or dies.”

  Sauer looks at me, and I know that I’m right. Actually, I knew already, as my threat to shoot her if either of them tried to run is what allowed me to get them here after escaping from the American. At first I was irritated by the unexpected presence of the girl. Now I am grateful for her, as I can use her as a bargaining chip in dealing with Sauer.

  “I don’t have the weapon,” he says.

  “Where is it?”

  “Destroyed,” he says. “In the bombing. Along with the blueprints.”

  I stand up and take my weapon from its holster. “Then I have no need for you or the girl,” I say, chambering a round. I walk to the door and put my hand on the knob.

  “Wait,” he says, as I knew he would.

  I turn and look at him, saying nothing.

  “I don’t have them,” he says. “But I know where they are.”

  “Are they in Berlin?”

  He nods.

  “Can you get to them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You have half an hour to decide,” I tell him as I open the door. I shut it behind me, leaving him to think about his situation. I don’t know if he’s telling the truth or not. He might be trying to buy time. If he’s lying and the weapon and the plans really have been destroyed, it will be unfortunate for him. Some of what he’s discovered will still be in his head, and we can’t allow him to live with that information. It’s too valuable.

  I return to the kitchen and sit down at the table. Lydia sits down across from me. She doesn’t speak, but her lifted eyebrows ask a question.

  I know the girl is listening from the living room, and even though I have no reason to think that she speaks Greek, I don’t want to say too much. “The soup is wonderful,” I say to Lydia. “You’ll have to give me the recipe. I had it, but it might have been lost.”

  She nods to show she understands my meaning: Sauer might or might not have what we want. And as I told him, he has until Theron and Cilla arrive to make up his mind. Until then, there is nothing else I can do, so I eat Lydia’s soup and think about how, if all goes well, in a few days I’ll be back in Greece with this mission behind me, and perhaps something that will greatly strengthen the Minoan line’s resources. If I am successful, my name will perhaps join Europa’s in the list of the great Players. Second only to winning Endgame itself, this would be a great achievement, and it would show my council that they chose the right Player.

  When there’s a knock at the door, Lydia stands. “Theron and Cilla,” she says.

  As Lydia goes to answer the door, I get up and go into the living room. Although there is a short hallway between the door and the living room, and the girl is out of sight, I train my gun on her anyway as a reminder not to make any noise.

  “Who is it?” I hear Lydia ask.

  “Dagmar, from next door,” says an elderly woman’s voice. “Can you help me? My stove has gone out, and I need a match.”

  “Just a moment,” Lydia says. As she comes back to the living room she tells me, “The gas is always going out in the building. I’ll pass her a match through the door. It will look bad if I refuse.”

  Again I wish that we were not in an apartment building. There is nothing to be done about it, however, and soon the old woman will be gone. I keep my eye and my gun on the girl as Lydia fetches a box of matches and returns to the door. I hear the click of the lock as she opens it.

  “Here you are,” she says.

  A moment later Lydia returns to the living room—but she’s not alone. There’s a man behind her. He has one arm around her neck and is pointing a gun at me. A second man appears, holding an old woman I assume is Dagmar. She’s whimpering softly, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  “Shut her up,” the man holding Lydia says.

  The man holding Dagmar places a knife at her throat and slices it, as if she’s nothing more than a chicken being readied for the stewpot. The old woman’s eyes widen, and her hands flutter to her neck. The man lets go, and she crumples to the floor. He looks down at her, grinning, her blood on the blade of the knife in his hand. I consider shooting him, but I can feel the other man watching me.

  “Put your gun down,” that one says now. “Or she’s next.” He tightens his grip on Lydia’s neck.

  “Don’t. Kill him,” Lydia says to me in Greek.

  “Quiet,” the man orders.

  I look into Lydia’s eyes and try to telegraph a message to her as I hold my hands up and gently place my gun on a nearby end table.

  “Good girl,” the man says. He looks at Lottie, who throughout all of this has remained in her chair, watching everything. Then he says to the other man, “Go find the engineer.”

  The other man disappears down the hallway to the bedrooms. I know I have very little time. Once he finds Sauer, these men will have no use for me or Lydia. I don’t know why we aren’t dead already.

  The man holding Lydia watches me. “Why do the Greeks want Sauer?”

  So he understood Lydia. And now I know why we’re still alive—he needs information from us. If I can keep him waiting long enough, perhaps Theron and Cilla will arrive and all of us will get out of here alive.

  “Why do the Russians?” I counter.

  He smiles. “You should know,” he says. “Isn’t that why you killed Sergei and Pavel?”

  The MGB agents. But is he also MGB? Or is he with another group? And how did he find me? I have questions of my own.

  Before I can ask them, or answer his, Lydia acts. The Player she used to be comes to life, and she throws her head back and hits the man in the chin. At the same time, she brings her foot down as hard as she can on top of his. He cries out in surprise and pain, loosening his hold on her neck. She breaks free, whirls on him, and with surprising strength for someone her age, knocks the gun from his grasp, sending it flying across the room. Then she draws a paring knife from her apron pocket. She brings it down toward his chest, but he deflects her hand and she ends up stabbing him in the shoulder. As he shoves her rou
ghly away, I grab for my gun on the table.

  Lydia stumbles backward and hits the table hard just as I’m picking up the pistol. It slides onto the floor, and before I can get it, the man pulls the knife from his shoulder and rushes at me. I abandon the gun and prepare to meet him. As he nears me, I center myself and deliver a kick to his groin that sends him to his knees, clutching himself. It’s not a pretty trick, but it’s the first one I learned when fighting boys on the playground, and it remains effective.

  As he moans and curses me in Russian, I go for my gun to finish him off before his cohort comes in and round two starts. That’s when I notice Lydia still lying on the floor, unable to get up.

  “My leg,” she says, and I see it twisted cruelly beneath her. She must have fallen on it. I start to help her, but she waves me away. “Finish them first,” she says.

  I nod, proud of her resolve, and reach for my gun. But before my fingers grasp it, someone kicks it away. I look up to see an enormous man standing over me. How he got in without me noticing, I don’t know. It seems impossible that such a large figure could move that quietly. Yet here he is, a gun pointed at my head. He looks at Lydia, then at her leg.

  “When horse break leg, of no more use,” he says in broken English, and fires a bullet into her head.

  I let loose a bellow and spring for him. His foot hits my chest, knocking me back, but I barely feel it due to the rage rushing through me. I leap back up and go at him with my bare hands, but stagger when a huge fist hits me in the side of the face.

  “You want to play?” he growls. “Okay. We play.”

  He holsters his gun and faces me with just his fists. A smile plays on his lips. He thinks he has me defeated already because of his size. I don’t flinch, don’t show any sign of fear. I’m a Player. I’ve faced worse. Even so, my heart quickens when the man on the floor gets up and the third man emerges from the hallway. The two of them stand back, watching, as if this were a spectator sport.