The night air was peaceful and calm and fragrant. The sea was flat. Not a ripple disturbed the surface. Well, there would be plenty of ripples soon.

A car was waiting for him just off the coast road, a black Ford Mustang, glossy and shiny in the moonlight.

He smiled when he saw it. The game was progressing beautifully.

Famine was there to meet him.

No, Famine was there for another reason, wasn’t he?

George Bayer was waiting on shore to kill him.

Chapter 112

“GEORGE BAYER isn’t in his room. He’s not with Oliver Highsmith or James Whitehead, either. Damn it to hell! He’s loose.”

The alarming message went out over the two-way radio. Sampson and I had been watching the south side of the hotel for close to eight hours, and we were sure George Bayer hadn’t come our way.

We heard Andrew Jones’s concerned voice on the radio. “Remember that all of the Four Horsemen are agents, like ourselves. They’re capable and deadly. Let’s find Bayer right away, and be extra alert for Geoffrey Shafer. Shafer is the most dangerous player — at least we think he is.”

Sampson and I hurried out of our rented sedan. We had our guns out, but they seemed inappropriate at the beautiful and serene resort. I remembered feeling the same way nearly a year before, in Bermuda.

“Bayer didn’t come this way,” Sampson said. I knew he was concerned that Jones’s people had lost Famine. We wouldn’t have made that mistake, but we were seen as backup, not the primary team.

The two of us quickly walked up a nearby hill that gave us a perspective on the manicured lawns rolling down toward the hotel’s private beach. It was getting dark, but the grounds near the hotel were relatively well lit. A couple in bathing suits and robes slowly walked toward us. They were holding hands, oblivious to the danger. No George Bayer, though. And no Shafer.

“How do they end this thing?” Sampson asked. “How do you think the game ends?”

“I don’t think any of them knows for sure. They probably have game plans, but anything can happen now. It all depends on Shafer, if he follows the rules. I think he’s beyond that, and the other players know it.”

We hurried along, running close to the hotel buildings. We were getting nervous and concerned looks from the hotel guests we passed on the narrow, winding sidewalk.

“They’re all killers. Even Jones finally admits that. They killed as agents, and then they didn’t want to stop. They liked it. Now maybe they plan to kill one another. Winner takes all.”

“And Geoffrey Shafer hates to lose,” said Sampson.

“Shafer doesn’t ever lose. We’ve seen that already. That’s his pattern, John. It’s what we missed from the start.”