The Never Game

He drew his Glock and — habit — eased the slide back against the tight spring to confirm a round was chambered, then reholstered the weapon. Crouching, he moved to the front of the rustic cabin, not unlike the one Shaw and his brother and sister had grown up in, though this one was much smaller. The rough-sided house, Nantucket gray, would have three or four bedrooms. There was a separate garage and Shaw could see an SUV and a Mercedes parked out front.

This told Shaw that there were at least two minders with Knight. The man would be departing via helicopter; an orange wind sock sat nearby in the clearing. Two men would remain behind to drive the cars back.

Smelling pine on the cool, damp air, Shaw crept closer to the cabin, lifted his head briefly and dropped back to cover.

The image he’d seen was of Tony Knight on his mobile, pacing, gesturing with his other hand.

The CEO was dressed in weekend casual. Tan slacks, a black shirt and a dark gray jacket. On his head was a black baseball cap with no logo or team designation. This suggested his departure was imminent. He wasn’t alone. There were two minders nearby. They were the same ones who’d abducted him from the floor of the C3 Conference while all eyes were on the pyrotechnic announcement about Conundrum VI overhead. One was on his phone and the other watching a tablet, earbud plugged in. He laughed at something.

Shaw waited three long minutes and looked again.

The tableau had not changed.

He circled the building, planting his feet only on pine needles and bare earth, and checked what other rooms he could see into. It appeared that just the three men were inside.

He stepped to the front door and tried the knob. Locked. A window, then.

Except that he never got to a window.

A fourth man now joined the party, walking from the garage with a backpack over his shoulder and a duffel bag in both hands; he was squat and bulky, with a crew cut and long arms. Stopping quickly, he shucked the backpack, dropped the bag and started to reach for his hip. Shaw lunged; the man gave up on the gun — he couldn’t get to it in time — and drew back a fist. But he had no target; Shaw dropped his center of gravity, ducked low and executed a passable single-leg takedown, a classic college wrestling move.

The minder was heavy yet he went down hard, flat on his back, gasping, his face contorted. The wind had been knocked from his lungs. Shaw drew his own pistol and kept it pointed toward, but not at, the man.

He wasn’t stupid. He nodded quickly. Shaw pocketed the pistol, also a Glock, and patted him down for other weapons. There were none. He powered off the man’s phone and took a set of keys. Shaw moved his finger in a circle. The minder nodded again and rolled onto his belly.

Shaw zip-tied his wrists and ankles and turned back to the house.

Key in the lock. He turned it — silent — and, drawing his gun, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, aromatic with the smells of cooking: onions and grease. A glance around the dim place. The bedrooms, to the left, were dark. He’d have to take a chance on the kitchen. To look inside would expose him — because of a pass-through bar — to the men in the living room. The odds that there were five men here?

Small.

So, with a two-handed grip on his gun, Shaw stepped fast into the room, where the trio was sitting and pacing.

Knight dropped his phone and the “Jesus Christ!” he uttered was nearly a shout. The minders spun around, starting to stand.

“No. Down.”

They complied slowly.

Shaw had noted how each held his phone or tablet. “You.” Nodding to one. “Left hand, thumb and forefinger. Weapon out. Pitch it toward me.” The other was told to do the same with his right hand.

There was no opportunity here for heroics or clever tactics, only foolishness, and they did as instructed.

Shaw tossed zip ties to them.

“How do we...” one began.

Shaw offered a wry glance. “Just figure it out.”

Using their teeth to hold and tighten the plastic ties, they bound their own wrists.

Shaw spotted a light panel against the far wall and walked to it, then flipped the switches. The grounds were brilliantly illuminated. Then he stepped to a spot near the kitchen, where he could stand and have complete cover of the room and a view out to the yard.

“Is anyone else here, other than the one tied up outside?”

“Listen, Shaw—”

“Because if there is and he makes a move, he’s going to get shot. And that means there might be other shots.”

Knight said, “There sure is somebody. And you better...”

Shaw looked at one of the minders — the one who’d been enjoying his comedy on the tablet until the interruption. The man shook his head.

Knight growled, “The fuck’re you doing?” Odd how anger negates handsome.

“Lift up your jacket and shirt and turn around, then empty your pockets.”

After a defiant moment the CEO did. No weapons.

Shaw picked up the man’s phone and disconnected the call.