Season 20, Episode 11 “… And Start Getting Real”
“… And Start Getting Real”
When embarking on a perilous journey, the last thing you want to see is Drew Ecklund in a puffer jacket laser-printed with the Sistine ceiling. “Welcome to ‘Keys of the Kingdom!’” He grinned.
“What if you don’t want anyone attached to you?” Erika asked pointedly.
“Then be fast! Once someone hooks you, only they can release you,” he continued. “But if you want to ditch somebody, all hope isn’t lost. There will be various markers along the way where you must unhook to complete the task. The real question is can you triumph alone?”
I glanced at Greta in her incongruous producer headset. “Brace yourself,” she mouthed.
Ecklund tossed his arms with the flourish of an amateur magician. “Whoever crosses that finish line together leaves with an equal portion of the largest prize in reality TV history!”
I was floored to even have that option. There was no way we’d all five agree to win in tandem, but one look at Imogen confirmed what we both were thinking. The two of us could end this together. Maybe Erika too…
Or maybe not. She immediately departed for the bathroom when Zara gave us a quick ten, and I noticed Barnes clustered with Fortune. “Think they’re teaming up?” Imogen asked.
“Fortune can accomplish the brute stuff while Barnes solves puzzles, I guess…”
“As long as Barnes doesn’t hitch his wagon to us.”
“Im, it’s okay if you don’t link up with me. In fact, you probably shouldn’t.”
She chuckled dryly. “Have you seen our track record when we don’t team up? We haven’t come this far to leave with a pat on the back.”
“I don’t deserve you,” I sighed. “And what about Erika?”
“Luke, winning together won’t suddenly make you pals again. It might even be more painful than if she outright lost. All you owe her today is to compete like you mean it.”
Greta strolled up, gesturing us to follow. “I now kindly invite you to Ragnarok.”
As we assembled before a mammoth projection screen, Barnes stepped beside me and whispered, “Be safe.”
“You too,” I grudgingly replied. My kids did need both parents back in one piece.
The screen then abruptly flashed with images…
Imogen and me, laughing poolside in the Caymans…
Barnes at twenty-six, hair messy, smirking…
Fortune, erupting from freezing water… Erika, sprinting through a Greek temple…
The moments we all began Endeavor. A montage of our careers—friends, foes, wins, losses—interspersed with a phrase: Perditio est Clavis ad Paradisum.
Latin. I had no clue what Clavis meant but I suspected this prophesied that we’d travel from perdition to paradise… via a clavicle?
The screen ripped away, unveiling five identical miniature cities, each ten feet by ten feet, made entirely of ice. Across the clearing beyond them were five iron gates, each bearing one of our names. Everyone stood dumbfounded until Ecklund gestured insistently. “Well, go!”
Fortune plowed ahead, discovering sledgehammers in the grass.
He began annihilating his town in full Godzilla mode, but what were we even looking for?
Barnes lingered, examining the ice. It was no time to be proud, so I followed his lead, stepping gingerly inside mine, awestruck by the detail of the frozen metropolis.
There were even little statues on the streets.
Statues. I knew what I was looking for. I’d passed it countless times the last few days. In the center plaza, I found the ice replica of the Dying Gaul… with a small key frozen inside. Of course. It would open my gate.
I discreetly swung at the sculpture with my hammer, freeing the key. I leapt to attach my carabiner to Imogen, calling for Erika to join us, but she stubbornly turned away.
“Luke, they’re coming!” Imogen warned. Fortune and Barnes indeed sprinted toward us, intent on tagging along. I unlocked my gate, pulling Imogen through, then slammed it as they collided with the iron.
Before Barnes could object, Imogen and I ran in tandem down a graded path.
We soon found five bicycles by a hilly lane, Ecklund waiting amidst a fleet of cameras in PA-chauffeured golf carts.
“Safety check! Unclip!” Ecklund announced, zooming ahead in a cart of his own.
“Follow the signs to your next checkpoint… ten miles away!”
Sweat was already pouring down my back as my feet dug into the pedals. I nodded encouragingly to Imogen, and with heavy breaths our legs churned away.
When Imogen and I won our first season, the final consisted of silly tasks dropped like breadcrumbs down a single beach. The entire thing lasted two hours and had seemed like such an accomplishment; compared to this, it felt like bragging about a middle-school spelling bee in middle age.
The New Zealand countryside sloped past, the hills burned a ragged gold in their winter hibernation.
We cruised by staggered fence posts and fields, the persistent wind chapping my lips, until we eventually reached Ecklund.
Five workstations stood beneath a giant board, draped in another chain mail curtain, and atop a nearby hill loomed a single gate.
Ecklund dramatically pulled the curtain, revealing a gallery of flags with numbers carved beneath.
“These flags represent previous Endeavor countries,” he explained. “Each flag has a random corresponding number for the equations before you…” We glanced at our workstations:
Chile minus India times Italy.
Grand Cayman plus China times Brazil.
Greece divided by Norway times Indonesia.
“These will give you the combination to unlock the next gate. Answer wrong, and you must run back down the hill before trying again.”
Imogen reviewed the flags. “I can identify most of these if you do the math.”
“Im, I suck at math.”
“You went to Dartmouth.”
“I was an English major.”
“Least helpful thing you’ve ever said.”
We were still sorting the flags when Barnes rode up solo, the cardio likely hindering Fortune. “No,” I snapped as Barnes came to help us.
“Imogen, reason with him. I was on the Foreign Affairs committee in Congress.”
“Wow, you had foreign affairs too?” she muttered.
Erika arrived moments later and plunged into the equations, ignoring me as much as I rebuffed Barnes…
Imogen brought me back. “What about the pair with the Union Jack and crests?”
I squinted at the flags; one had a conch shell and the other a turtle riding waves. “Arjun bought me a turtle keychain in Grand Cayman?”
“Works for me.” She scribbled the corresponding 27. “I’m only debating Indonesia.”
We’d narrowed it down to two practically identical flags when Barnes dropped his pen, calculations complete. “Well, I’m finished.”
“Then go,” I answered.
As if on cue, a wheezing, dyspeptic Fortune dragged his bicycle down the road. He flung it like a twig, clamping his carabiner to Barnes. “Puzzle done?”
“Obviously,” Barnes answered. Before he could protest, Fortune began clomping up the hill, tugging Barnes like a yapping terrier. “Fortune, I was talking to them!”
“Im, we can beat them up the hill,” I pressed. “Just guess.”
She surveyed the two candidates. “Let’s hope Indonesia’s lucky number 3.”
As Imogen solved the equation, I tried one last time. “Erika, come with us!”
She refused to respond, and Imogen pulled me. “You didn’t want Barnes’ help either.”
We jogged up the hill, giving Fortune and Barnes a wide berth as we passed, until Barnes blurted out, “The code is 64-34-18! Don’t mess up just because you’re stubborn!”
I doggedly picked up the pace, but Imogen snagged. “I got 64-34-06,” she whispered.
I resented assistance from Barnes, but it was unlikely he was wrong. “Your call,” I said once we reached the gate and she grabbed the lock. Except it didn’t budge for 64-34-18.
“It’s not working!” she exclaimed when they arrived, Fortune erupting sweat like lava.
“Fortune, punch in 64-34-06,” Barnes ordered. He’d stalled us, and we fell for it. He then lunged at me with his carabiner, but Imogen yanked me back in time. “Would you two both just come on?!” Barnes said sharply, though I’d never accept his charity.
“You sure?” Fortune asked us. On principle, Imogen and I both nodded, and Fortune marched impassively into the trees, the unimpeachable steam engine with Barnes as his screaming unwilling caboose.
I apologized to Imogen on our obligatory run back down to the flags. It was evident that a two-on-two game would likely guarantee our loss, so I had no choice but to summon the tone I used when the kids proved disobedient. “Erika, you’re coming with us.”
Her back stayed turned, making it pretty easy to clip my carabiner onto her belt. “How fucking dare you?” she gasped.
“If we don’t play together, all three of us will lose to Barnes. Do you want to piss away everything you’ve fought for, or do you want to prove you can win?”
At that, a sleek white helicopter burst from the forest, no doubt who was on board. The camerawoman who had been silently tailing us panned from the sky to our reactions.
Erika glared, any prospect of victory evaporating without our help. “You’ll unclip the second I say so?”
“Scout’s honor,” I agreed. “Now, we’ve got a flight to catch.”