Chapter 14.
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?”
“Whatever it takes.” Ant’s smile holds.
The man studies him. “And if what we put in front of you is fear?”
Ant leans back. “Fear’s just a tool.”
“Are you willing to put your life on the line?” the man asks.
Ant doesn’t answer right away. He lets the silence do the work. “I’ve done it before.”
Silence.
“I’m willing to kill for a billion dollars if I have to.”
The man nods his head slowly.
“I’m getting the sense that you don’t suffer fools gladly, Mr. Tipton,” he says.
“So get to the point, then,” Ant says.
“Do you consider yourself a hard man, Mr. Tipton?”
Ant’s smile widens. “I consider myself effective.”
“Think of the other contestants as fellow soldiers,” the man says. “Would you be willing to betray one of them?”
“Betray a mate? Never.”
Lie.
And somewhere in the tent, something gives a soft, almost cheerful beep.
“Have you ever been convicted of a crime of which we are unaware?”
“Never.”
Lie.
“One last question,” the man says. “Do you consider yourself honorable?”
“Without question,” he says.
The biggest lie of all.