Instinct: A Chess Team Adventure - By Jeremy Robinson Page 0,13
wall of the rec room, twenty feet back, where a month ago Knight had installed a small mirror next to the ceiling-mounted television. Rook saw the mirror and, though it was far away, had no doubt that Knight’s eagle eyes could see his cards across the distance.
Men from other units who had been watching TV, playing pool, or reading books stopped and turned to watch as Rook stood up, towering over Knight like a Swiss giant, and shouted, “You little bitch.”
Knight hopped out of his seat as Rook came around the table for him. He began whipping his cards at Rook, biffing him in the forehead with each shot. As Knight laughed hysterically, he stumbled over King’s extended foot. This was all the time Rook needed to catch Knight by his silk button-up shirt.
Knight suddenly stood still and stopped laughing. “Don’t mess with my shirt, Rook.”
Rook began hocking up a wad of spit, snorting loudly with his nose for good measure.
“Rook . . .”
Even the normally silent Bishop was laughing. This confrontation had been brewing for a month and the three members of the Chess Team not involved were enjoying every minute of it. It was the beginning of what was to be a nice week of R & R, kicked off the following day by the barbeque at Camp David, no less. They were scheduled to leave that night and their bags were packed. Of course, they might be delayed pending any injuries. Rook was stronger and bigger, but Knight was fast and a skilled fighter . . . and apparently, had luck on his side.
“King!” The voice was commanding. Urgent. Which wasn’t unusual for the one-star Brigadier General Keasling, but the person accompanying him into the lounge was very unusual.
Not only was Queen the only female Delta operator, she was the only woman in all of the Special Forces units at Fort Bragg. With a population topping twenty-nine thousand, there were plenty of other women on base, but they didn’t enter the barracks very often, and they certainly weren’t seen in the company of the short, grisly faced general now storming toward King. But this one stuck to the general’s side like a prom date, and she looked, in every way, to be Queen’s opposite. Power suit. High heels. Stiff.
“The rest of you, clear this room, now!” Keasling yelled. Thirty seconds later, the rec room was emptied except for the five Delta operators, the general, and the woman, who was now fidgeting nervously.
King stood and greeted the perfectly uniformed general with a casual salute, which garnered a strange look from the woman. “General, what can I do for you?” King said. “As you can see, we were in the middle of something.” King motioned to Rook, who was still holding on to Knight’s shirt, a phlegm wad in his mouth.
“You’re shipping out in two hours,” Keasling said.
King squinted, assuming there was a miscommunication. “Actually, we’re not heading out until tonight.”
“Not anymore you’re not.”
King crossed his arms over Elvis’s face. “General, pardon me for being a dick, but unless your trip involves a barbeque with the commander-in-chief, you’re going to have to find—”
A large hand came to rest on King’s shoulder. It was Bishop. His next words were the first he’d spoken all day, and they stopped King in his tracks. “Jack, something’s wrong. Listen to him.”
King turned to Keasling. “What is it?”
“The president died yesterday,” Keasling said matter-of-factly.
Rook let go of Knight and all five faces around the table fell. King’s mind raced. If the president was dead, and the government’s reaction was to mobilize his crew, that meant only one thing: the President had been assassinated. With that assumption in mind, he had only one question left. “Who’s the target?”
SIX
KEASLING SIGHED, TOOK off his hat, and wiped his arm across his forehead. He sat on the back of one of the nearby couches and said, “That’s the thing, Jack. There isn’t anyone to kill. Not yet, anyway.”
“Then what’s the deal?” King asked.
Keasling motioned to the woman, who was chewing on her lip and looking around the room. “She is.”
King turned to the woman. “And you are?”
The woman said nothing in return. She was still scanning the room with her deep brown eyes, absorbing every detail, sound, and color.
“Hello,” King said loudly. “Miss?”
The woman snapped out of her distracted state and met King’s eyes. For a moment her brown eyes fluttered, but not in some kind, flirtatious way. She looked more like an android recalling some bit of