Prime (Chess Team Adventure, #0.5)

When he finally found a map that showed Maragheh, King’s first thought was that it wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought. The ruins of the ancient astronomical observatory were located in the remote northwestern part of Iran, only about a hundred miles from the borders with Iraq and Turkey, and at least four hundred miles from Tehran.

When he’d showed Keasling, the general had just rubbed his forehead as if the news had given him a migraine. “God damned Iran,” he muttered. “Well, it’s not my call. You’ll have to take it up with your new boss.”

Deep Blue received the news with no discernible reaction whatsoever; one of the advantages to being little more than a disembodied voice was that you could always just hit the ‘mute’ button if you didn’t feel like letting the person at the other end of the line know just how pissed off you were. After a longer than expected pause, Deep Blue said simply: “What do you need?”

King explained his plan for the team to execute a High Altitude, High Opening (HAHO) jump. Unlike the High Altitude, Low Opening jump that Tremblay and Alpha team had used to get on the ground fast by free-falling most of the way and opening the parachutes at almost literally the last second, at HAHO jump required a paratrooper to deploy his chute at around 25,000 feet, and then glide the chute to a drop zone as far as thirty miles away.

“That will get you in unnoticed,” Deep Blue replied, “but you’ll still be a good fifty miles from the objective. Let me see if I can’t come up with a better alternative.”

The mysterious handler didn’t give any details, but directed them to proceed immediately to the airport, where Keasling’s plane would bear them to their next, as yet unrevealed destination. With that, Zelda and Shin packed up what few personal belongings they had accumulated during their time in Mandalay, and buttoned up the safe-house. Forty minutes later, they were in the air, and four hours thereafter, they were on the ground at Bagram Air Field in Afghanistan.

A five-ton military transport truck, driven by a pair of US Air Force enlisted personnel, rolled out to meet them on the tarmac. Bagram was a primary entry point for Afghanistan, and over the course of his military career, King had spent more than a few days cooling his heels in transitional housing there while waiting for a connecting flight or ground transport to some remote FOB. This time however, they didn’t leave the flight line. Instead, the truck delivered them to one of several non-descript semi-cylindrical hangar buildings along the perimeter of the airstrip; the only noticeable difference about this particular structure was the fact that it was shrouded in darkness.

With only the beams of the airmen’s flashlights to guide them, they were escorted into the Quonset-hut style hangar and up the boarding ramp of a large aircraft. King suspected it was some kind of stealth plane, but its interior looked more like a cargo transport. When they were all aboard, the ramp closed and the interior space became filled with an escalating whine as the aircraft’s engines started powering up.

As if to answer the question King knew better than to ask, Keasling gestured airily about the hold. “I know I don’t need to tell any of you that you were never aboard this plane. Officially, it doesn’t exist.”

“And unofficially?” asked Zelda, beating everyone else to the punch.

“Unofficially… Welcome aboard the CR-41 SR, stealth reconnaissance and transport aircraft, code named ‘Senior Citizen.’”

Tremblay snorted disdainfully.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” the general said, without missing a beat. “Once we’re aloft, we’ll be flying at Mach 2—which should put you at the drop zone in a little less than two hours. That’s how long you’ve got to get ready. Oh, and King…got some Christmas presents for you.”

Keasling gestured to a stack of large plastic containers that were secured to the deck with heavy nylon straps. King immediately went about loosening the straps so he could remove the lids. Inside the containers, nestled in hollows cut from protective foam, was all the equipment they would need for their mission, but this wasn’t just the replacement gear he’d asked Deep Blue to provide. The box held the newest, most cutting-edge—and most expensive—military hardware available.

One box held five sets of AN/PSQ-20 infrared/thermal night-vision devices, ASIP satellite radio sets with earbuds and lip mics and two ruggedized laptop computers. Another contained a bulky olive drab pack, labeled with stenciled letters that read: ‘STARS.’

King was impressed with that. Deep Blue had actually signed off on his crazy plan.