There was a scattering of somber nods.
“If you are about to be overrun or captured, you will use your incendiary device to ensure that no evidence remains. Do I need to repeat that?”
He didn’t.
“One last thing. We all kind of got thrown together without any preparation; it sucks, I know, but we’re all professionals. The only constant is change, and you either roll with it or get rolled over. Here’s the latest order.” He made a purposeful decision not to look at Parker. “We have a new team designation, and each of you will have a new operational callsign. Tremblay, you will be called ‘Rook.’ Shin, you are now ‘Knight.’ Somers, henceforth, you will be ‘Bishop.’ Baker, you’re ‘Queen.’ I will continue to use the callsign: ‘King.’ And just in case it’s not already clear — Tremblay, pay attention, this is for you — those are all chess pieces.
“Kids, we are now the Chess Team.”
INDIVISIBLE
THIRTY-SIX
The Chess Team dropped from the sky like avenging angels descending from the heavens, but no one took note of their arrival. They were silent wraiths, moving through the darkness, like their namesake pieces on a game board, maneuvering for maximum strategic effect, preparing and pre-positioning for the battles that would surely come.
Their LZ was just north of the bulbous white temporary structure that had been erected over the ruins of the Maragheh Observatory. Ironically, their ultimate destination also happened to be the best place to land their parachutes, well away from the orchards and vineyards that lined the outskirts of the city. While it was possible that they might have escaped notice in the agricultural fields, it was equally likely that they might spook a dog or do something else to wake up the occupants of the nearby farmhouses.
Working quickly, they established two concealed over-watch positions, each about a hundred yards from the white dome. Dawn was lightening the sky as they finished this task, and they hastily retreated into the camouflaged dugout blinds. King crowded into one with Knight and Bishop, while Queen and Rook took the other.
As the day passed, they studied the exterior of the observatory, following the movements of the archaeologists and researchers who came and went without ever suspecting that there were never less than two gun barrels trained on them at any given time. The observers took careful notes, assigning a number — and in some cases, a nickname — to each person they saw.
King’s greatest fear was that Rainer would show up during the day, when the team didn’t dare move from concealment, but that did not happen. Most of the people who visited the site exhibited a familiarity that could only indicate that they were employed there.
Dusk fell, and activity at the site dwindled to nothing, but the team remained where they were for two hours more. King would have preferred to wait until well after midnight, but time was a critical variable. He keyed his mic. “Queen, meet me at the door.”
“Roger. Moving.”
In the display of his night-vision device, he saw her, a bright human shape rising from the grass like some kind of spirit emerging from out of the ground, but in the near total darkness, she was virtually invisible to the unassisted eye. She stayed low to the ground, but hastened toward the dome.
King also rose from hiding. “Bishop, you’re with me.”
The big man didn’t say a word, but unfolded himself from the cramped burrow, and fell into step right behind him. They crossed the open ground in less than a minute and joined Queen at the large doorframe set into the west side of the dome, which provided the only access to its interior.
Queen tried the door — locked — and then produced a set of lock-picking tools. King felt a momentary twinge at the sight; Parker had always been his go-to guy for opening doors, and watching someone else do the job was a reminder of the hard choice to leave his friend behind. He still believed it was the right decision, and he hoped Parker would eventually understand that.
The door knob yielded to Queen’s efforts, and she eased it open a crack, watching and waiting for an alarm to sound. When that did not happen, she swung the door wide and moved inside.
The interior of the dome looked little different than the surrounding terrain. There were few structures inside; all that remained of the Maragheh Observatory were the cut stone foundations and a few crumbling walls. The trio of intruders fanned out, familiarizing themselves with the ruin under the dome, identifying several places where the archaeological team had begun the two-fold task of excavation and restoration, and more importantly, verifying that the site was not being actively monitored with remote surveillance devices. After about ten minutes of reconnaissance, they regrouped at the first dig site and descended a cut stone staircase into a sub-chamber.
A scattering of artifacts — strange devices and machines that had once been used to map the night sky — were arrayed on folding tables, but there was no indication that the room had once been a repository of documents. King photographed everything with a digital camera, then gestured for the others to follow him back out.
The second site, another subterranean chamber, had been only partially excavated, but the artifacts that had been recovered were strictly utilitarian — cooking utensils and pots, plates and cups. They moved on.
The next site was very different. The vast stone room had been completely excavated, revealing a maze of wooden shelves, the wood splintered and decaying, but nevertheless laden with ceramic tubes and leather chests. More interesting however, was a collection of tables with a dizzying array of modern laboratory equipment and hibernating computers.
King swept the room with the beam of his flashlight, which had been equipped with a dark filter that emitted only infrared light — invisible to the naked eye. He saw paper tags, inscribed with elegant modern Persian script, affixed to the shelves.
“Bishop. What do those tags say?”
The big man scanned a few of them. “Numbers and letters.”
“Some kind of filing system?” ventured Queen.
King nodded and gestured to the tables at the center. “See if you can find the catalogue.”
Bishop stared at him. “Me?”
“You’re Iranian aren’t you?”
“I grew up in Illinois.”
Queen snorted in amusement.
Behind his night-vision goggles, King rolled his eyes. “I read your file. It says you speak Farsi.”
“I took a couple of classes. I know how to order coffee and ask for the restroom.” Bishop heaved a sigh. “I’ll do my best.”
As Bishop began flipping through notepads and ring-binders, perusing their contents with no evident confusion, King decided that his teammate was either selling himself short or he had picked up more in those classes than even he realized.
“I’m looking for anything written by al-Tusi, right?” the big man said after a few minutes. “There’s a lot here. Is there any way to narrow it down?”
Before King could initiate a call to Parker, his earpiece crackled with an incoming transmission. It was Rook. “King, there’s a vehicle approaching. You’re about to have company.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
The passage of time did not cool Daniel Parker’s ire. Instead, the longer he sat, alone with his thoughts, chewing the gristle of his bitterness, the more convinced he became that his old friend had forsaken him. Why exactly, he could not say. Maybe King was enamored with his new teammates…maybe just having me around reminds him how badly he bungled the last mission…