Prime (Chess Team Adventure, #0.5)

Keasling’s face was a mask of barely contained rage. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”


The abrupt end of the fight sapped the last of King’s strength and for a moment, he thought he might collapse. But as he panted to catch his breath, he saw the other faces in the room. Tremblay was grinning in unabashed admiration. Parker was doing a slightly better job of concealing the same emotion. Even the big Ranger, Somers, looked impressed. Zelda was leaning wearily against the ropes, but her face wore the same expression.

He had proven something to her…to all of them.

He took a deep breath, let it out, then another. He straightened to the best approximation of a position of attention that his exhausted limbs could muster.

“Well sir, you instructed me to put together a new unit—the best of the best. I was just conducting tryouts.” And then, as if he needed to say nothing more in his own defense, he turned to Zelda. “She’s hired.”

Keasling continued to scowl at King, but the simple fact of his silence told King that he’d said the right thing. His new mission—the new unit, whatever it was—had already taken him out from under Keasling’s direct authority. After a moment, the general shook his head. “Fine. She’s all yours.”

Zelda’s eyes went wide in disbelief. “Now just a damn minute—”

“Deal with it.” Keasling kept his gaze on King. “Your new handler wants to brief you, ASAP. Get cleaned up.”

It didn’t appear to be in Zelda’s nature to “deal with it,” but she refocused her ire on the man chiefly responsible for it. She stalked forward and put a gloved fist against King’s chest. “You don’t own me, and you sure as hell don’t get to just claim me like some prize.”

King gently pushed her hand away. “Zelda… Sergeant Baker, I think you’re going to like the job I’ve got for you.”

“I already have a job.”

“Now you’ve got a better one.” He smiled. “Welcome to Delta.”





NINETEEN


There was just enough time for King to towel off the perspiration and get Parker to slap a butterfly suture on the cut under his right eye, before Keasling took him aside for the conference call with the new handler.

The general handled the introductions…sort of. “I have Jack Sigler—callsign: King—here with me.”

King didn’t know what to say, so he ventured a vague: “Hello?”

The voice that issued from the speaker sounded strange. It wasn’t just the normal crackles of squelch or the vagaries of radio transmissions. The voice had been electronically distorted, making it impossible to even begin guessing at the person’s identity. King couldn’t say with certainty whether it was a male or female voice. “King?” The distant unseen person seemed to be savoring the word. “A rather fortuitous choice. You can call me Deep Blue.”

“Deep Blue?” King could just imagine what Tremblay’s response to that declaration would be—something off-color, no doubt—and the thought brought a smile to his face. King however, correctly recognized the origin of the name. “Like the chess computer?”

“Exactly. It’s my job to know everything and be one step ahead of our enemies.”

The auto-tuned and digitally modulated voice could have been the voice of a computer, for all King knew. It was not a very comforting thought. The obvious implication was that this mysterious Deep Blue was going to be playing chess on a grand scale, with King and his new unit as the pawns. He didn’t like the idea of his fate being controlled by some mysterious entity, much less one that might not even be human.

“Or rather I should say,” Deep Blue continued, “to keep you one step ahead of your enemies.”

“I’m listening.”

“Operational Detachment Delta was created to give the President the ability to act—or react—rapidly, without having to wade through the mire of politics and command structures. But like everything else in government, it has gradually become a victim of the bureaucracy it was supposed to circumvent. Now, as you have personally witnessed, it has been compromised. The worst part is that we have no idea where this attack came from, much less who can be trusted. It will be General Keasling’s job to root out any bad actors still lurking in the shadows, but last night underscores the importance of having a quick response team—one with virtually unlimited resources—as a surgical option for the President to use as an alternative to the military.”

“You don’t need to sell me on this, sir.” King wasn’t sure if he was supposed to refer to his handler as ‘sir,’ but when in doubt… “What’s the mission?”

“First, build your team. From what the General tells me, you’ve already started recruiting.” The electronic distortion made it impossible to tell if Deep Blue was joking.

“Why me?”

“I think you already know the answer. Right now, you and your men are above suspicion. Additionally, the fact that you survived last night tells me that you are someone who can beat long odds.”