And distracting.
The others paused where the ruins met the shoreline. Ridley walked past them, and strode into the lapping waves of the Gulf of Tunis. He knew that the shallows ran twenty feet out before the shelf dropped 80 feet. He had SCUBA dived here on several occasions, exploring the area well.
The others hung back, still unsure of why it was necessary to make haste for the shoreline.
The sun would soon be peeking over the eastern horizon across the sea. The sky grew lighter. Ridley checked his watch. 4:00 a.m. on the dot.
Showtime.
Richard Ridley raised his hands into the air, facing the sea. He began shouting commands into the air. As usual, when he used the mother tongue, his mind heard the commands in his head in English, but what came from his mouth sounded guttural, strange and distorted.
A Bible verse flitted through his mind and brought a smile to his face.
The Lord killeth, and maketh alive: he bringeth down to the grave…and bringeth up.
Up, Ridley thought. I bringeth thee up!
FORTY-THREE
Queen leapt nimbly over the rubble and scrambled up Bishop’s body onto the second level, through the shattered kitchen. She checked that the hallway was clear, then helped Bishop work his massive frame — made bulkier by the impact armor — up into the hallway of Sub Level 2.
They both sat panting on the floor. Queen kept her weapon trained on the length of the hall, while Bishop focused on the nearby turn toward the north stairwell.
It had been a long hard slog, first blowing a hole through the wall into the storage room, and then again into the lounge. Then they had found the collapsed kitchen in what looked like a cave. In each room except the cave, they had needed to exchange gunfire with the mercenaries in the hall. The men seemed to be pacing them. Queen didn’t know if the mercenaries knew about the collapsed kitchen, but if they didn’t, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out that their prey had fled upward.
She keyed her throat microphone. “Deep Blue? You read?”
Still no answer.
Although Knight had gotten the internal communications working, she couldn’t reach further afield. She had tried Domenick Boucher at CIA too, but hadn’t been able to get a long distance signal.
Probably interference from the structure. We’re pretty far underground.
They’d need to get topside before she could call in reinforcements. Queen had tried Rook too, but she couldn’t raise him. She tried not to think about it. If King was gone and Rook bought it too, she didn’t know what she’d do. She still had a hard time wrapping her head around King being gone — just like that.
It seemed impossible.
King had always been there. His skills in the field and casual attitude had been the glue that held Chess Team together. Each member of the team would have willingly died a dozen times over for King. He never asked for their respect, but he had earned it just the same. He never backed down from any threat, and his maverick, hare-brained approaches to getting things done had continually impressed.
She just couldn’t believe he was gone.
“If we’re gonna go…” Bishop started.
“I know,” Queen said. “Let’s go.”
They both stood, and not a moment too soon. A door just down the corridor opened as a man stuck his head out, followed by the barrel of an MP-5.
Queen took aim, but stopped her trigger finger just in time. “Mr. Sigler?”
Peter came rushing out of the room with Lynn close on his heels. The two aging spies were out of breath from their quick sprint down the carpeted corridor.
“Have you seen our daughter?” Lynn asked as she turned to keep an eye on the hallway behind her.
“She’s with Knight. Let’s go. This way.” Queen started for the south stairwell.
Lynn held up a hand. “CCTV in the office. The stairwell is full of men below and above. Can’t go that way.”
Queen turned to Bishop and nodded. The big man turned toward the nearer end of the corridor, and the right angle turn that led to the north stairwell. When he got to the corner, he placed the barrel of his weapon at the edge of the wall, then darted his head around it. The others followed him without a sound when he pushed forward.
He paused at the door.
“Knight and Pawn are on the floor above us,” Queen said. “Rook’s out of touch.” Not having to mention King’s status felt wrong. She filled the gap with the obvious. “Whoever is below us is hostile.”
Bishop opened the door and threw his last grenade down the stairwell, then stepped back, allowing the door to close. A few seconds later, an explosive roar shook the stairwell. Smoke rose up past the small window in the door. “That was my last.”
“I’m out too,” Queen looked to King’s parents. She couldn’t imagine what they must be going through. “Lynn: you’re my Pawn. Peter, you’re with Bishop. Stay by our sides, and we’ll try to get you out of here alive.”
Lynn’s only response was to hand Queen two extra magazines for her MP-5.
Peter nodded.
Bishop led the way, spraying the upper stair landing with a hail of bullets as he lunged into the stairwell. His legs pistoned up and down as if he were a track star, instead a of a mountainous war machine. Queen nudged Peter to follow Bishop, then Lynn was next, and she took up the rear, keeping her eye on the lower flight of stairs. They encountered no resistance.
At the top of the stairs, Bishop lurched out of the door, throwing himself to the smooth floor of the corridor. He fought the instinct to just spray bullets into the hallway, which was what he might have done if he had one of his chain-fed machine guns. But spraying and praying was just a quick way to waste ammo with a submachine gun. Instead, he fired controlled bursts at the small group of men fifty feet away. He picked his targets one by one, dropping them with accurate gunfire. Knight would be proud.
Queen took the lead with Lynn at her side. They moved into the Microbiology Lab, and made for the janitorial closet. By the time she had the door open, Peter was with them. Bishop ducked inside the door to the lab, as gunfire ripped through the corridor again. One of the mercenaries at the end of the hall must have survived. Either that or more of them had arrived.
They’re like cockroaches, Queen thought. If we can just leapfrog our way out like this…
But the long tunnel beyond the janitor’s closet could be a killing field, the perfect place for an ambush — and this mission had already cost them too much.
“Knight, Rook, if you can hear me, Bishop and I are bugging out with Peter and Lynn, I suggest you do the same.”
There was no response.
Fuck.
“Lynn, you’re a good shot, right?”
“Pretty good.”
“Cover our six. Bish, up front with me. Anyone in our way is hostile. Shoot until you’re out of bullets.”