lawyer; how was I supposed to argue with that? “But it still seems weird to me that you and I are sucked into this. We know stuff. And if we were chosen randomly, then it’sreally weird.”
“Especially since I’ve never played the game.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Except according to that, you have.” I pointed to the laptop, which had finally finished doing its thing. I hunched over and pulled up the document, DB_Profile.doc. I turned the machine and pointed. “Take a look.”
He did. “You’re right,” he said. “This is fucked.”
“You really didn’t do it?”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“I really didn’t. And look at this.” He tapped the screen and I leaned over to see the photo embedded in the document. “That’s a candid shot.” He met my eyes. “Someone’s been scoping me out. And someone knows me well enough to put together a profile.”
“Someone wanted you to be the target,” I said. “Wanted you enough to make sure you had a profile in the system.”
“Looks that way.”
“Have I mentioned I really don’t like this?”
He smiled, but didn’t answer. Instead, he just said, “What else?”
“What else is weird? Other than the whole situation? Well, the insinuation that I’m going to be dead before lunch tomorrow is a little off-putting.”
“I can see that it would be.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Considering the whole game is about killing people off, I think it makes a lot of sense.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Your support is overwhelming.”
He just smirked. I tell you, I was starting to like the guy.
“Look,” I said. “Killingthe target off is what the whole game is about. But I’m not the target.
That’s you,” I said, poking him in the chest to make my point. “So why am I the one with the ticking clock?”
“I don’t think I’ve got a free pass here. For one thing, we don’t have any idea what that message says. I
can’t even pronounce it, much less interpret it.”
“Devlin! That’s not the point. I’m supposed to be the protector. I may be entirely lacking in qualifications—sorry ’bout that—but that’s still my role. And the protector isn’t supposed to be the target. That’s the whole point of having those nice descriptive names.”
“Kill switch,” he said.
Since that seemed like a total non sequitur, I stared at him. “Kill who?” I finally asked.
Page 47
“The twenty-four-hour kill switch,” he said, this time speaking slowly, like I had a learning disability or something.
That ticked me off. “Okay, Agent Brady, let’s get something straight, okay? I don’t play this game. And
I didn’t spend months investigating some psycho who shoved the game into the real world. So don’t treat me like an idiot just because I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Okay?”
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “In the online version of the game, if you don’t start playing in twenty-four-hours, the target is terminated and the players can all move on to another game.
The point is incentive. So that the protector and the assassin aren’t waiting around waiting to play a game with some target who’s dragging his ass.”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“Nice,” I said.
“Not so nice in the real world,” Devlin said. “What kind of incentive is there to play, after all?”
I cocked my head, remembering. “Kill the target,” I said, remembering what Mel had told me.
She’d been poisoned. And she had twenty-four hours to interpret the clues that led her to the antidote. And let me tell you, according to Mel, that was some slam-bang incentive to getting her ass in gear.
I frowned, then, because the pieces still didn’t fit. “But that’s just what I’ve been saying. Mel was the target. I’m not. So why am I being threatened?”
“Because it wouldn’t do any good to
“Especially since I’ve never played the game.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Except according to that, you have.” I pointed to the laptop, which had finally finished doing its thing. I hunched over and pulled up the document, DB_Profile.doc. I turned the machine and pointed. “Take a look.”
He did. “You’re right,” he said. “This is fucked.”
“You really didn’t do it?”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“I really didn’t. And look at this.” He tapped the screen and I leaned over to see the photo embedded in the document. “That’s a candid shot.” He met my eyes. “Someone’s been scoping me out. And someone knows me well enough to put together a profile.”
“Someone wanted you to be the target,” I said. “Wanted you enough to make sure you had a profile in the system.”
“Looks that way.”
“Have I mentioned I really don’t like this?”
He smiled, but didn’t answer. Instead, he just said, “What else?”
“What else is weird? Other than the whole situation? Well, the insinuation that I’m going to be dead before lunch tomorrow is a little off-putting.”
“I can see that it would be.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Considering the whole game is about killing people off, I think it makes a lot of sense.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Your support is overwhelming.”
He just smirked. I tell you, I was starting to like the guy.
“Look,” I said. “Killingthe target off is what the whole game is about. But I’m not the target.
That’s you,” I said, poking him in the chest to make my point. “So why am I the one with the ticking clock?”
“I don’t think I’ve got a free pass here. For one thing, we don’t have any idea what that message says. I
can’t even pronounce it, much less interpret it.”
“Devlin! That’s not the point. I’m supposed to be the protector. I may be entirely lacking in qualifications—sorry ’bout that—but that’s still my role. And the protector isn’t supposed to be the target. That’s the whole point of having those nice descriptive names.”
“Kill switch,” he said.
Since that seemed like a total non sequitur, I stared at him. “Kill who?” I finally asked.
Page 47
“The twenty-four-hour kill switch,” he said, this time speaking slowly, like I had a learning disability or something.
That ticked me off. “Okay, Agent Brady, let’s get something straight, okay? I don’t play this game. And
I didn’t spend months investigating some psycho who shoved the game into the real world. So don’t treat me like an idiot just because I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Okay?”
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “In the online version of the game, if you don’t start playing in twenty-four-hours, the target is terminated and the players can all move on to another game.
The point is incentive. So that the protector and the assassin aren’t waiting around waiting to play a game with some target who’s dragging his ass.”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“Nice,” I said.
“Not so nice in the real world,” Devlin said. “What kind of incentive is there to play, after all?”
I cocked my head, remembering. “Kill the target,” I said, remembering what Mel had told me.
She’d been poisoned. And she had twenty-four hours to interpret the clues that led her to the antidote. And let me tell you, according to Mel, that was some slam-bang incentive to getting her ass in gear.
I frowned, then, because the pieces still didn’t fit. “But that’s just what I’ve been saying. Mel was the target. I’m not. So why am I being threatened?”
“Because it wouldn’t do any good to
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