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Patrick almost smiled. He liked games, and as he walked over to the campfire to meet the other corporate superstars, he liked his chances against this group.

“I’m Patrick,” he said, and the others introduced themselves. The accountant from New York was a fish out of water. Same for the insurance executive from Chicago. The engineer from British Columbia might offer some competition, but surely he’d underestimate someone like Patrick, the “tech kid” who everyone assumed was more comfortable in the virtual world. He wouldn’t let on that he’d spent every summer of his boyhood camping and exploring the mountains of North Carolina, no video games allowed.

Javier brought them breakfast in a pot. Beans and rice.

“Same as last night’s dinner,” said the accountant.

“Which was left over from yesterday’s breakfast,” said Patrick.

Javier set the pot on a rock near the fire. “Better food to come. But only if you earn it.”

Patrick took the bait. “How?”

Javier removed a knife from his pocket and whistled. Only then did Patrick realize that each of his competitors also had a guide, as two other men and a woman emerged from Javier’s extralarge tent, alldressed in the same camouflage uniform. They stood in a group on the other side of the campfire, as if waiting for some form of entertainment to begin. Javier dropped to his knees and placed his left hand flat on the log, palm down, fingers spread.

“The challenge is on,” he said, as he unsheathed the large hunting knife on his belt.

The other guides hooted and hollered, egging him on.

“What the heck are you doing?” asked Patrick.

Javier held the hunting knife vertically, grasping the handle like a ski pole and placing the tip between his outstretched thumb and index finger. Slowly, he raised it and brought it down between the index and middle finger. Up again, then down between the middle and ring finger. Up and down once more between the ring and pinkie finger. Then he started all over again between the thumb and index finger, a little faster this time, counting as he moved from one to the next.

“One, two, three, four,” he said with each poke at the log.

The guides looked on with fascination, smiling and talking among themselves in Spanish. Patrick and the others found it harder and harder to watch. All was silent, save for the tapping of the blade against the log and Javier’s counting, the pace quickening.

“One, two, three, four.”Tap, tap, tap, tap.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” said Patrick.

The shiny blade moved from one position to the next faster and faster still. The tapping became like machine gun fire, the counting like one long word. The accountant jumped to his feet and hurried away, muttering something about the insanity of this place. Javier’s motion built to what seemed like controlled frenzy, if there was such a thing—back and forth, thumb to pinkie. The knife was a blur, the tapping nonstop, the rhythm ever escalating—until a deafening scream echoed in the mountains.

Patrick looked away, then back.

Javier emitted a second scream, even louder, as he thrust the unbloodied knife triumphantly into the air. It was his game, and Javierhad won. His steady hand and coordination had prevailed. He took the knife by the blade and offered the handle to Patrick.

“Now you try.”

“What?”

“You want better food, or don’t you?”

“Not at the cost of my fingers.”

Javier offered the knife to the others. “Any takers?”

Not a one spoke up.

Javier sheathed the knife on his belt. “Pussies. Pack up. All of you. We head out in fifteen minutes.”

Patrick and the others left the campfire without saying a word, stunned and confused by what they’d just witnessed. Patrick’s hands were shaking as he untied the tarp from the tree. He wasn’t sure what to make of this corporate adventure and the “games” they were asked to play. But one thing was certain.

There was something not right about this guide named Javier who loved knives more than fingers.

Chapter 16

Kate dropped a box of wineglasses on the floor of her new kitchen.

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