Chapter 113

SHAFER WASN’T EVEN BREATHING HARD as he made it to the white-sand shoreline. George Bayer stepped out of the black Ford Mustang, and Shafer watched for a weapon to appear. He continued to walk forward, playing the game of games for the highest stakes of all: his life.

“You bloody swam?” Bayer asked, his voice jovial yet taunting.

“Well, actually, it’s a fantastic night for it,” Shafer said, and casually shook water off his body. He waited for Bayer to move on him. He observed the way he tensed and untensed his right hand. Watched the slight forward slant of his shoulders.

Shafer took off a waterproof backpack and pulled out fresh, dry clothes and shoes. Now he had access to his weapons. “Let me guess. Oliver suggested that you all gang up on me,” he said. “Three against one.”

Bayer smiled slyly. “Of course. That had to be considered as an option. But we rejected it because it wasn’t consistent with our characters in the game.”

Shafer shook his hair, let the water drip off. As he dressed, he turned halfway away from Bayer. He smiled to himself. God, he loved this — the game of life and death against another Horseman, a master player. He admired Bayer’s calmness and his ability to be so smooth.

“His playing is so bloody predictable. He was the same way as an agent and analyst. George, they sent you because they thought I’d never suspect you’d try to take me out by yourself. You’re the first play It’s so obvious, though. A terrible waste of a player.”

Bayer frowned slightly but still didn’t lose his cool, didn’t let on what he felt. He thought that was the safest attitude, but it told Shafer his suspicion was true: Famine was here to kill him. He was sure of it. George Bayer’s cool demeanor had given him away.

“No, nothing like that,” Bayer said. “We’re going to play according to the rules tonight. The rules are important to us. It’s to be a board game, a contest of strategy and wits. I’m just here to pick you up, according to plan. We’ll meet face to face at the hotel.”

“And we’ll abide by the throw of the dice?” Shafer asked.

“Yes, of course, Geoff.” Bayer held out his hand and showed him three twenty-sided dice.

Shafer couldn’t hold back a sharp laugh. This was so good, so rich. “So what did the dice say, George? How do I lose? How do I die? A knife? A pistol? A drug overdose makes a great deal of sense to me.”