CHAPTER 19
“In a bizarre twist to the Game,” the talk show host said to his audience, “the US government has sent a kill squad to execute the three youths who have, against all odds, survived for so long on the Island.”
“Well, Christopher, this move was to be expected,” a woman sitting next to the host said. “Neesha, Sylvester, and Ali should have never lasted as long as they did. They weren’t trained to survive in the jungle. At least two of them should have died.”
“With me is Ann Saunders,” Christopher said, turning to his guest. “Ann is perhaps one of the best analysts of the events taking place on the Island so far away. Ann, why do you think these—children, for lack of a better word—have survived as long as they have?”
“Clearly, they have had help,” Ann stated. “I have gone over the footage closely, and there are some discrepancies that just can’t be explained.”
“This help would have to be incredibly stealthy, Ann. No one can prove that these kids had direct help.”
“Be that as it may, I believe they have had help. How else do you explain their miraculous survival and then this sudden disappearance of all three of them at nearly the same time?”
“Perhaps there is just a hardware malfunction. Perhaps they were just really lucky.”
Ann shook her head. “No one is that lucky.”
“Tell that to them,” Christopher said with a grin. Laughter erupted as the audience appreciated the jest. “Seriously, Ann, how could someone help them? They would have been seen, caught on video.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not.”
Christopher looked intrigued. “Explain.”
Ann leaned forward some, her face intent. “Suppose that they weren’t meant to die. Suppose that as long as they are alive, there are no winners. If there are no winners, then there are no payouts. For all this time, the Mob has held trillions of dollars, pounds, euros, and other currency in trust—waiting on a winner. Oh, we know that they’ll come out with a tidy profit once the Game is complete, but until then, they have had unfettered access to our money. What do you think they have been doing with it?”
Christopher shifted in his seat, his eyes intent. “You propose that the games are rigged?”
“What other explanation is there?”
“Is this something you came to your own conclusion about?”
“I have my sources. Let just me say that I believe there is a lot more going on in this Game than we first suspected. The use of the Ts2 has proven highly effective, but there is a problem with all the current anarchy. At first, I suspected that they wanted to have these kids killed quickly to make an example. Now I think it is something more.”
“Intriguing. But there has to be a winner eventually, right? I mean President Clayton has just dispatched a team to hunt them down and kill them.”
Ann shook her head. “Think about it, Christopher. This just adds to the suspense. The Game had grown stale, boring. An elite kill squad is just the thing to add anticipation and to arrest the attention of a waning audience.”
“I know I’ll be watching,” Christopher quipped. The audience laughed in appreciation. “But doesn’t the US have a stake in the outcome? Didn’t the government bet heavily on Neesha to survive? Don’t they have a vested interest in sparing her life and killing the other two?”
“That’s what makes this latest move so intriguing,” Ann said. “You know that, I know that, and so does the rest of the world. If the US kill squad kills the other two contestants first and allows Neesha to win, they will cry foul. Imagine the chaos that would erupt if the world thinks the US controlled the outcome of the game.”
“That is quite the dilemma. But I can tell, Ann, you have a solution.”
“Yes, I do.” Ann turned to look right into the camera as it zoomed in on her. “Mr. President, I call upon you to make this fair. Your elite kill squad is reported to be a nine-man team. Fine. Divide the squad into three-man teams. Each team should represent one of the contestants in the Game. They shouldn’t be allowed to protect their contestant, but they can hunt down the other two. This makes it fair for everyone.”
Christopher nodded in appreciation. “I like it.” The audience began to clap in appreciation.
President Clayton could watch no more. He slammed his fist down on the table, bruising the skin somewhat. He was too angry to feel the pain. “That witch is going to ruin everything!”
General Carlson nodded sagely. “The world likes her plan, Mr. President. I’ve already had phone calls from the Kremlin and from the United Arab Nations. They are demanding that they be allowed to include a three-man team.”
The President swore. “This is a nightmare. Why couldn’t we have blocked this broadcast?”
“It was live, sir. By the time we caught it, it had already been broadcasted.”
“You better start doing your job, General. You aren’t supposed to let something like this happen!”
“Sorry, sir. What do you want to do?”
“Include them! What else can I do?”
“The team was scheduled to be dropped on the Island in the next hour. Do you want me to abort?”
“Yes! Yes! Get those other teams assembled. Tell the other nations that I agree to the terms, but they must have their men at the staging area in 18 hours. By 24 hours, I want their boots on the ground.”
“Yes, sir! Uh, sir?”
“What is it now?”
“Do I tell the other teams about John Dale?”
“Absolutely not! Our three-man team will have to take him out by themselves. Do you think they can?”
“I have every confidence in our men, sir.”
“That is hardly an answer.” The President slammed his hand on the desk again. This time he winced in pain. “If they concentrate on John, Neesha will be more vulnerable. She has to die last or we lose trillions!”
“I understand the problem, Mr. President. I’ll take care of it.”
“See that you do. And, General, I want Ann Saunders arrested. Make it quiet. I don’t want the media to know, but I don’t want her anywhere near a TV broadcast for a long time. Do you understand?”
General Carlson shifted uncomfortably, but he nodded. “I understand.”