Page 151 of The Most Dangerous Games

She turns to Jack.

“Just—” Alek says.

He has a feeling he knows what it’s going to be. It’s the same one they’ve all been asking since they left Tuscany.

Alek asks it again, anyway, as much for her own benefit as theirs, because there’s one question that keeps looping in her head like an alarm that won’t shut off:

“Where’s Wyatt?”

104.

The view provided by the wraparound windows on the 147th floor is truly spectacular, even more spectacular than they had imagined it might be. The city spreads out below them—roads, towers, sunlight bouncing off everything—almost too neat to be real.

“If I look hard enough,” Jack says, “I can see my old rig in West Texas.”

Jack and Alek have taken seats on one side of a long conference table. Tipton and Marcelo and Zhi are on the other. Before they’d boarded the plane in Florence, The Host had only told them their next destination, not what the next test would be, even after teasing it.

“Will it be a grand finale? A spectacle?” he’d said coyly. “I guess we’ll have to just wait and see.”

The Host had not accompanied them on their flight to the Jetex Dubai terminal at Al Maktoum International Airport. He said he had another important stop to make before Dubai. So the five of them have been waiting at a mansion in Emirates Hills for the past few days. No phones. No explanations. Just the feeling of being watched.

The door to the conference room opens now. The Host appears. Impeccably dressed as always. Dark suit, white shirt, freshly shaven, no hair out of place. He faces them from the head of the table, the city spread out endlessly behind him.

“What happened to Wyatt?” Alek says.

“Not your concern, Ms. Andrich. He’s out of the contest. That’s the only thing of import.”

“We have a right to be concerned,” Alek says. “He’s our friend.”

The Host offers her a smile as thin as paper. “He’s one less competitor. And not your friend. Trust me on that.”

He lets out that disgusting laugh of his.

“He’s a big boy,” he says. “Though so often too big for his britches.”

Jack’s voice is low and dangerous. “Cut the games. What’s next?”

“All in due time, Mr. McHenry,” The Host says. “All in due time. Right now, I have a proposition for all of you.”

He leans forward, palms on the table.

“If you can agree among yourselves who should be declared the winner,” he continues, “I will immediately present checks of $25 million to the other four.”

He lets that sink in.

“What did you just say?” Alek asks, as stunned as the rest of them.

“Hold on,” Jack says. “After all of us have fought as hard as we have, you want us to decide the winner now by a vote among ourselves?” He shakes his head. “It will all come down to a damn show of hands?”

“Basically, yes,” The Host says. “Think of it as a parting gift. A clean ending.”

“And that’s it?” Alek says. “That’s how it ends?”

“If you agree to my terms, yes,” The Host says. “It’s time for us all to move on.”

Alek hears her own breathing. Too loud.

“And if we don’t?”