Rules of the Game. James Frey

      An’s heart is full.

      After the explosion Nori Ko moved to the Defender’s backseat. She said in Mandarin, “Drive west.”

      He did.

      He watched the road slip under the car and continue to unfurl before them and he watched her in the rearview mirror and he watched the road and he watched her. The road and her. Road and her. He did not speak. He did not need words. He did not speak for over three hours.

      She did not bother him with words either.

      Chiyoko would have done the same.

       ChiyokoChiyokoNoriKoChiyoko.

      Now they’ve stopped to refuel. He’s outside. She’s in the car, her head propped against the far window. He’s in the stifling heat, a gas pump in his hand. The paved highway lies to the north. A few kilometers earlier they entered a jungle reserve and now trees rise all around, making the air a couple of degrees cooler than it is out by the open fields of jute and corn. Behind the filling station is a low concrete building, a white bull lolling under a jackfruit tree, its leafy boughs heavy with oblong fruit. Aside from the attendant in the air-conditioned booth, no people are around.

      An finishes and pays and gets in and drives.

      “West?” he asks.

      “West.”

      He merges onto State Highway 2, headed for Bishnupur. They drive through the jungle. An doesn’t see any buildings or signs of people except for the road they’re on and a brief glimpse of a derelict metal hut hiding behind the trees. He thinks nothing of it.

      After another quarter hour, An says, “I’m ready”—blink—“I’m ready”—blink—“I’m ready to talk.” SHIVER. “We have to talk.”

      “We do,” Nori Ko says. She moves An’s rifle from the front passenger seat and climbs forward. “You have questions.”

      An nods. “Why did you find me?”

      “I found you because I also loved Chiyoko.”

      His skin crawls at hearing another person say her name. Even this one, who comes from her stock and looks so much like her. He’s reminded of the British interrogator on the destroyer who insisted on saying it. That one who wielded the name like a blade. Drove it into An’s ears and twisted it. An almost tells his new ally that she should not say Chiyoko’s name either, but he knows he doesn’t have the right. Whoever Nori Ko is, she was someone to Chiyoko. That counts for something.

      “Chiyoko,” Nori Ko says quietly.

      Yes, it counts for something. But …

      The name is mine now, he thinks. Chiyoko. Chiyoko Takeda. My name.

      Nori Ko reaches across the inside of the car, her fingers yearning for the necklace that hangs around An’s neck, breaking his train of thought.

       SHIVER.

      He moves away from her.

      “It’s okay,” she says. “I want to touch her. Like you do.”

       BLINKSHIVERBLINK.

      She touches the necklace. After a moment Nori Ko returns her hands to her lap. Her fingertips rub together, the residue of Chiyoko on them.

      “I love her,” Nori Ko clarifies. “After what happened I couldn’t sit idly by. That’s why I found you.”

      “After what happened?”

      “I am Mu. A high member of the training council. I know much about Endgame.” She pauses, and then says quietly, “I saw a recording of your conversation with Nobuyuki. I saw how you killed him.”

       SHIVERSHIVER.

      “Yes, I saw it, Shang. There was a black box containing surveillance recordings that survived the fire in Naha. I heard what you said, what he said. I thought Nobuyuki was unfair to you. Under no circumstances would he have allowed you to Play for the Mu, but I thought it not right of him to test you like that.”

      “He deserved what he got,” An says.

      “No, he did not.”

       SHIVER.

      She says, “You didn’t need to honor his request for Chiyoko’s remains. You did not have to respect Nobuyuki the way you respected Chiyoko. But for that same reason, you should have spared him. Not for his sake, but for hers. Killing him dishonored Chiyoko, An. As well as yourself. It did nothing to tarnish the honor of Nobuyuki Takeda.”

       BLINKBLINK.

      Her voice is cold.

       SHIVERBLINKblink.

      “You speak like him,” An finally says.

      “I can speak like him. But I am not him.”

      An wrings the wheel in his hands. His knuckles whiten. He pushes the gas a little more. The car accelerates.

      Her voice is cold.

      Her words cut.

      “I loved Nobuyuki too,” she says. “But don’t worry, I’m not interested in honor like he was. I’m not here to punish you for his death.” The thought of this woman punishing him almost makes An laugh. She continues. “I chose you precisely because I’ve seen what you’re capable of.”

      Death, he thinks. She wants death.

      “What were you to her?” An asks.

      “A trainer. Bladed arts, karate, acrobatics, evasion, disguise. She was my best student. I’ve never met anyone faster or more ruthless. She was—”

      “She should not have died.”

      “No. She shouldn’t have.”

      Silence. One kilometer. Two.

      “You love her,” An says. “I love her. This doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

      “Because I want the same thing you want.”

      “And that is?” He’s glad to be wearing Chiyoko right now. She gives him strength. Allows him to speak without too many glitches or tics.

      So glad.

      She is like you, love, Chiyoko says to him.

      Nori Ko says, “What you want is as plain as the nose on your face, An Liu. Love multiplied by death—by murder—has only one solution.”

      Pause.

      “Revenge,” An says.

      “Revenge,” Nori Ko says.

      More silence. The sky is bright. They pass a multicolored Tata truck laden with rebar.

      She doesn’t lie, love, Chiyoko says. Her anger makes her strong.

      I know, An thinks. It is the same with me. Chiyoko doesn’t say anything to this.

      “How