Callsign: Bishop (Erik Somers) (Chesspocalypse #5)

So, her son was coming home? She had hoped this day would never come, but once Dawoud heard from a source that his eldest heir wasn’t dead, after all, he’d moved Heaven and Earth to find him. Faiza still recalled his reaction when he learned that his flesh and blood had joined the American Special Forces. It had taken the repairmen a week to patch the hole in the wall, and the imported cherry wood dining room table had to be thrown away. She had never seen him so angry, not even when the infant disappeared from his crib all those years ago.

She shuddered at the memory. He had been angry enough to kill someone that night, and she and the other wives had wisely stayed out of his way. Their son’s identity had been discovered a year ago, and in the time since, her husband had turned his attention to ways to bring his estranged son home and make a patriotic Iranian of him. It was all he talked about now, and his anxiety and happiness grew exponentially the closer he came to achieving his goal. And now, it seemed, the day had come for his dream to be realized.

But how angry would Dawoud be when he learned the truth?





11.



Bishop’s phone buzzed, and he looked at the screen. A text message from Deep Blue.



EXAMINATION OF ADDITIVE COMPLETE. VIRUS FATAL. INCUBATION PERIOD OF LESS THAN A MINUTE.



Bishop texted back:



SYMPTOMS?



After a few minutes, his phone buzzed again.



SIMILAR TO LSD: HALLUCINATIONS, VOMITING, ERRATIC AND VIOLENT BEHAVIOR. DEATH OCCURS IN ABOUT 24 HOURS. NO CURE. SENDING HELP.



Bishop typed his reply.



ALMOST TO TARGET NOW. WILL ADVISE UPON COMPLETION OF OBJECTIVE.



Thirty seconds later, his phone buzzed again.



GOOD. FRIENDLY AGENTS SHOULD BE USEFUL. BE CAREFUL.



Agents? As in more than one? Bishop looked at CJ, who was flying the plane and peering through the windshield. Was he supposed to have a partner? If so, what happened to him?

“Did you have a partner, CJ?” he asked.

CJ looked over, his customary smile gone. “Not anymore,” he said.

Bishop took the hint and let it drop, but it still seemed strange. If CJ had recently lost a partner, then wouldn’t Deep Blue have known about it? Deep Blue’s text specifically said agents, plural, and he rarely made mistakes. Though it could have been a typo.

“There,” CJ said, pointing out the right side window. “Our landing site.”

Bishop looked, expecting to see an airport, but instead found himself staring at a rock face with four huge cross-shaped carvings cut from the stone. He recognized it from travel brochures as Naqsh e-Rustam, the burial site of four ancient kings. Why were they landing here? He had thought they were flying to Shiraz.

The answer came as a sharp pain in his throat. He whirled around in his seat, grabbing CJ’s arm and yanking the needle out of his neck. He reached for his pistol with his other hand, but his arm seemed slow and heavy, and he only managed to get it around to the back of his waist. He could feel the grip of the pistol, but he couldn’t close his fingers around it. Bishop’s breathing increased as he began to wonder just what CJ had put in his system.

“Relax,” CJ said. “It’s not the Ergot B, if that’s what you’re thinking. If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it a thousand times already.”

Bishop tried to reply, but could only manage a grunt. He focused his will on making words, and managed to croak out a slurred “What did you do to me?”

“It’s just a hefty muscle relaxer,” CJ continued. “Nonfatal, but you won’t be feeling like yourself for a little while.”

“Thought…Abbasi…”

“Oh, I’m taking you to Abbasi.” CJ winked. “I just couldn’t have you pulling your gun out and pointing it at him. I couldn’t take the risk that you might actually shoot the guy. Then I’d never get paid.”

“Son..of…a…”

“Terrorist?” CJ offered, laughing. “Nope. That’s you, my friend. And he’s very anxious to meet you.”

Bishop tried to reply again, but he could no longer move his jaw. A few seconds later, he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

***

The sleek black Sikorsky S-70 flew south toward Shiraz, with Massai and Ahmad seated in the back. The state-owned aircraft was specially modified for speed, and it sped across the sky at over 450 kp/h. They had contacted Shahid, their commander, the moment they drew close enough to Hassi to receive a signal on Massai’s cell phone, and he had arranged for the S-70 to pick them up.

After boarding the plane, Massai had called Shahid back to confirm their pickup. To save time, he turned the phone on speaker, so everyone could hear, including the pilot.

“Not Shiraz,” Shahid said. “Naqsh e-Rustam.”

“The tombs? Why?”

“That is where Abbasi is, and we have reason to believe that Joker will take Somers there to meet him. Our contact has hinted that something big is happening there, somewhere deep inside the stone itself.”

“A contact, who remains anonymous,” Massai replied. He had little use for such contacts.

“A contact that has not proven incorrect yet,” Shahid reminded him. “It is not a request, Lieutenant Massai. It is an order. You and Ahmad will go to Naqsh e-Rustam right away.”

“Yes, sir,” Massai replied, and ended the call. He turned to Ahmad. “I guess we are going to Naqsh e-Rustam.”

Ahmad nodded. “So I heard.”

“‘Somewhere deep inside the stone itself,’” Massai repeated. “How do we get inside the stone?”