Callsign: King (Jack Sigler) (Chesspocalypse #1)

The main house—what Fulbright had called the ‘Brainstorm facility’—was a palatial two-story villa that might have been transplanted from the south of France or the Catalina hills of California. Sara was escorted to a luxurious private room where Graham invited her to “freshen up” and join him for a meal if she was so inclined. A closet full of clothes, ranging in style from dress casual to blue jeans and T-shirts—all of them clothes that she might have purchased for herself, every garment the correct size—was provided, and the bathroom was stocked with her favorite brands of toiletries. Someone had been doing their homework.

No demands were made of her, but there was little question that she was a prisoner. Nevertheless, she took advantage of the chance to shower away the residue of her plunge into the Indian Ocean and the general grime of days spent in the field.

As the hot water cascaded down on her shoulders, she pondered her next move. Things were so much clearer in Jack’s world. If you were captured, you would fight back, resist, try to escape or confound your enemy’s goals in any way possible. But it was different for her. Yes, she wanted to escape, but she could not afford to so easily dismiss what her captor was attempting. Even if she was being lied to, even if they were secretly trying to turn the discovery into a weapon, the opportunity to do research on the contagion and to find a way to counteract it, was not something she could easily pass up.

It was the best way she had to fight back, resist, and confound her enemy’s goals.

The door was locked from the outside, but as soon as she knocked, it popped open revealing an empty hallway. As she stepped into the hall, Graham appeared on the staircase landing, midway down the hall. “This way, Dr. Fogg. Lunch is already set.”

The kitchen furnishings, like everything else in the house, were modern, giving the whole place the feel of being on a space station designed by a 1950’s science fiction writer. She found Fulbright seated at the oval-shaped glass dining table, pensively eating a sandwich.

“I can only provide light fare right now,” Graham apologized. “But I promise dinner will be superb. I don’t get the chance to entertain here very often, so I will be pulling out all the stops.”

“I’d hate for you to go to any trouble,” Sara replied, with undisguised sarcasm.

Fulbright looked up at her, but said nothing.

“No trouble at all.” Graham elected to ignore the venom. “There’s no reason your stay here has to be unpleasant.”

“That sounds like something he might say.” Sara jerked a thumb at the rogue CIA officer. “As a threat,” she added.

“Please understand, Dr. Fogg. You have important work to do here. Work that will benefit us all; the entire human race.”

Sara settled into a chair and started assembling a sandwich from a plate of assorted cold-cuts and cheeses. “Fine,” she said at length. “I’ll play along, but I can’t have you telling me how to do my research. You need to give me whatever I ask for.”

“Within reason, of course.”

“First, I want you to stop sedating Felice Carter.”

Fulbright looked up sharply. “Weren’t you paying attention back there? She can infect people, maybe without even thinking about it. If she feels the least bit threatened…” He snapped his fingers. “Poof, we’re mindless drones.”

“That’s exactly why I need her awake and alert. Just because she’s unconscious doesn’t mean that her fear response is turned off. She needs to know that she isn’t in any danger. I can explain that to her. More importantly, I need to be able to talk to her in order to figure this thing out. The answers are all in her head.”

Graham was about to say something, but was interrupted by a buzzing noise from his pocket. He took out a smart phone and looked at the display for a moment, then tapped a few keys and put it away. “I’m sorry. Unrelated business. With respect to your request, Dr. Fogg, I certainly think we can accommodate you if you feel it’s that important. I trust you will take all the necessary precautions.”

Sara looked at the older man sidelong. She couldn’t quite figure out just what his role was in all of this.

“You need to run this past Brainstorm,” Fulbright declared, clearly unhappy about what Sara was demanding.

“And that’s the other thing I need,” Sara broke in, quickly. “I’m tired of dealing with lackeys…I’m tired of dealing with him.” She pointed an accusing finger at Fulbright. “If you want me to do this, I need direct access to Mr. Big himself. I need to be able to talk to Brainstorm.”

Graham gave an odd smile. “Done.”

# # #

After the meal, she was taken to the laboratory facilities, which were she surmised, in a basement level beneath the villa. The lab was accessible only by elevator, and she was pretty sure that it had gone down, not up, but the spacious windowless area could have been almost anywhere.

Graham showed her a computer workstation and logged her in. “This terminal is linked to a pair of Cray supercomputers which you can use for gene sequencing, and any other applications that will help you design a vaccine. And this icon here—” He clicked on a tab on the desktop display—“This allows you to send instant text messages to Brainstorm.”

“I don’t want to text Brainstorm,” Sara countered. “I want to talk to him. Face to face.”