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

“Okay.”


“Given Ridley’s other works, he was probably trying to enhance the ergotamine. Most likely trying to make it more potent or volatile. Ergot has some medicinal uses, some of which carry over into Ridley’s genetic attempts at immortality. It might have something to do with his manipulations of the Hydra’s blood. Some of my staff theorize that he used the alkaloids to stop or stall the Hydra’s regenerative processes at different stages, which would help him to observe the changes and document them.”

Jacobs almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself of his own words.

“But you don’t agree, do you?” Duncan asked.

Jacobs turned his chair around. “No. I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s just that ergot is a potent substance already, and ergotamine is nasty stuff. Not only that, but there are plenty of other poisons, including several powerful neurotoxins, that can instantly halt biological activity, many of which are readily available to labs and don’t require any alteration. If you ask me, I think he meant to use this on people. Probably after building that ‘New World’ of his.”

Duncan shook his head. The revelation should have been shocking, but when Richard Ridley and Manifold Genetics were involved, shocking was standard operating procedure. “What would that do to people?”

“I don’t know. In its regular form, ergotamine is similar to LSD. Enhanced? Who knows? Maybe instant death or severe brain damage. Without the rest of the data, the only way to find out would be to test it on someone.”

“Let’s not.”

“Agreed.”

“So is this why you called me here? You could have told me this over the phone, Eli.”

“Not exactly. The weaponized ergotamine is bad, but it’s not the worst part.”

“It gets worse?”

“I’m afraid so.” Jacobs pulled a manila folder off the table and handed it to Duncan. “Read this.”

Duncan opened the file and started to read. Less than two paragraphs in, he felt the blood drain from his face. By the time he finished the first page and looked at the pictures, he had seen enough. He closed the folder and handed it back.

“How recent is this? Are you sure it’s not old data?”

“It’s dated two days before the raid on this facility. Ridley probably never had a chance to act on it since he was fighting off Sigler’s team at the time.”

“I have to go,” Duncan turned and walked briskly out of the lab, not wanting to waste any time. He needed to get to a secure line as soon as possible, and he didn’t trust any of the phones in Manifold Alpha. Some of them could be tainted still, or monitored. The entire facility was in the process of being retrofitted for Chess Team’s use, but until the job was complete, he couldn’t take that chance. Too many lives were at stake.





2.



Erik Somers—Callsign: Bishop, sat in front of his computer, waiting for a file from a contact. In his hand was a cup of green tea sweetened with stevia. The contact, who Bishop knew as CJ—an undercover operative who had supplied valuable intel in the past—had e-mailed him the day before, claiming to have some news for him. Bishop knew CJ was currently in Iran investigating suspected terrorist cells, but he couldn’t figure out what it might have to do with him. Contacting him directly was a breach of protocol, especially now that Bishop was no longer officially part of Delta. For all intents and purposes, Chess Team no longer existed. The team hadn’t just been disbanded, they had ceased to exist. Records of the team’s actions were deleted, and the team members’ military records ended just before they joined Chess Team, listing each as KIA. Killed in action. There were plenty of people who had personal experience with the team, like CJ, who knew, or could guess better, but any official inquiry into the team would come up blank.

It was all smoke and mirrors. Chess Team still existed, only now they were off the government radar. They had gone from an elite Delta team to strictly Black Ops, which gave them a heck of a lot more freedom to do their jobs. Not having the government sniffing around their every move freed them up to be more creative in dealing with threats to the country. Of course, the same lack of support also made the job more dangerous, because whenever they went out they had only themselves to rely on. Still, Bishop preferred it that way. At least now, they could act without the risk of public exposure.

The computer beeped, and Bishop looked up. The message he’d been waiting for popped up on the screen:



INCOMING FILE FROM CALLSIGN JOKER. ACCEPT? Y/N