Page 18 of The Most Dangerous Games

“Depends on what you want it to be about.”

The man taps the paper once with his finger. “Something about war,” he says softly. “Something people read when they’re trying to make sense of dying.”

“There’s a few come to mind.” Rupert’s throat goes dry. He stands anyway. It’s muscle memory—standing to perform, standing to be judged.

“Have you read ‘In Flanders Fields’ by any chance?”

“It’s one I’ve memorized, sir, yes,” he says.

“Would you mind reciting it for me now?”

Rupert begins to speak in the strong, confident voice he uses for recitations.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly . . .

When he finishes, the tent is silent.

The man behind the desk looks at him for a long moment.

Then Rupert sees the tears in the man’s eyes. The man smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says.

Rupert sits back down, hands clasped tight in his lap.

“Are you okay?” the kid asks.

“I’m fine,” the man says. “It’s not that it’s sad. It’s that I know exactly how this ends.”

14.

Tent 13

Ant Tipton sits down like he owns the chair. Dressed in black, almost like one of the guards outside, he looks across the desk at a white-haired man who does not introduce himself and says, “May I ask a question before you have me on the clock?”

Ant has the uncomfortable feeling they’ve spoken before.

“By all means,” the man replies.

“Since you people are the ones who reached out to me,” he says, “wouldn’t it be more useful if I were the one interviewing you?”

Ant sees a flicker of something or other in the man’s eyes. Something changing in them. In Ant Tipton’s world, the ability to read people, the ability to pick up on the smallest subverbal indicators, can be the difference between life and death.

“It would not be useful, as a matter of fact,” the man says firmly. “It’s our job to establish your motives. Whether you see this chance you might have as a way to put yourself out in front of the crowd. Or if you simply see this as an opportunity to become stupidly rich?”

“Then let’s not waste each other’s time,” Ant says. “Nothing is going to change from the time I walk out of this tent until these games of yours end. Whatever those games are. I’m here to win.”

“Win what?” the man asks.

Ant smiles. “Whatever you put in front of me. I’m your man now and will be your man then.”

“The man to do what?”