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

“I’ve tracked the plane ahead for six hours. It looks like they’re still in Africa—Algeria, to be precise.”


King’s screen showed an overhead view of a plane sitting at the end of a runway, and a road that connected the airstrip to a large fenced compound nearby. There were no other roads or buildings anywhere in the featureless brown landscape.

“I can’t find any records connected to that property,” Deep Blue continued. “In fact, according to the maps, it’s supposed to be a national park.”

“Money and influence. Bribe the right official, and do as you please.” King clicked on a button to zoom in on the compound. “It doesn’t appear to be built-up.”

“I’ll have the Crescent deploy our UAV and recon the area so we can determine how well defended it is. I’m afraid the rest of the team is unavailable and—”

“And the rest of the U.S. military is off limits to us now that we’re black, I know,” King said. “Tell me again why we went underground?”

But King knew why. The less people that knew about the…evils Chess Team faced, the better off the world would be. And it was just as likely that more military would get in his way, or turn this into an international incident, which wouldn’t be a good thing for a fledgling black op, especially one directed by a former U.S. President.

“I could hire some mercenaries,” Deep Blue said.

King laughed, but when Deep Blue didn’t join him, he asked, “You’re serious?”

“We have a budget for it now.”

King had some military friends that had become mercs. They were trustworthy, and a few extra guns would be nice, but ultimately, this had to be a solo mission for one very important reason. “This contagion, whatever it is, seems to be triggered specifically by a threat to Felice’s safety. If we raid the compound, it’ll probably scare the hell out of her, and believe me, you don’t want that to happen.”





26.


Brainstorm facility, Algeria



“What is the status of your research?”

Sara jumped at the sound of the electronically produced voice. After hours of conversing with Felice in a tone so low it was almost a whisper, the computerized speech was almost ear-splitting. “Is that you Brainstorm?”

“Affirmative. What is the status of your research? You have not yet drawn blood or tissue samples for analysis. How do you intend to conduct research and develop a vaccine without collecting specimens for study?”

Sara detected a very uncomputer-like note of sarcasm in the utterance. It was however the truth. She had not taken a single sample nor performed even one diagnostic test. She had simply listened as Felice recounted a bizarre tale of past lives and what sounded very much like spirit possession. Sara didn’t believe in reincarnation or ghostly hauntings, but she had come up with an alternative theory.

She put her hands on her hips. She didn’t know if Brainstorm had eyes as well as ears in the room, but she wanted him…or maybe it...to know she was defiant. “If you’re such a genius, why don’t you do it yourself?”

“Are you stating that you no longer wish to be involved in the research?”

Sara sighed. So much for defiance. “Look Braniac, this is what I do and I’m very good at it. So give me some time and space. Nagging me won’t make things happen any faster.”

“There is a 69.4% probability that you are purposefully delaying. It would not be in your best interests to attempt to prolong this process as an act of resistance. Your survival is contingent upon your usefulness. This is also true for your patient. The research can be conducted equally as well using samples taken post-mortem.”

Sara wanted to scream, Don’t you get it? There isn’t going to be a vaccine. Not for this. Kill her, and you kill the whole human race! But revealing her suspicions about the “contagion” to a soulless computer was probably a very bad idea. She had seen too many science fiction movies where sentient computers decided that the world would be better off without their human creators. If Brainstorm realized the true potential of what Felice had discovered, then there was no telling how that might affect its grand scheme.

“Fine,” she said, evincing defeat. “I’ll take some blood samples if it will make you happy.”

At least, she thought, I know it's not eavesdropping on us. Indeed, if Brainstorm had been listening in, it would already know that she wasn’t actually stalling, and it would know the sheer futility of trying to develop a vaccine.