Prime (22 page)

THIRTY-FIVE

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.

A third was opened to reveal five XM8
carbines equipped with custom sound suppressors—one was also outfitted with an
XM320 grenade launcher, and King passed it to Somers, who inspected the weapon
almost reverently.

Beneath the top layer of foam lay dozens of
plastic box magazines. These were already loaded with 5.56 rounds for the XM8s.
There were also several ammunition cans containing grenades and other ordnance.
King picked out a cardboard box that was not rendered in bland military olive
green, like the others, and he handed it over to Tremblay.

For a moment, Tremblay stared at it
uncomprehendingly, but then his eyes lit up as he deciphered the strange code
printed on the label:
.50 AE.
“Oh,
Santa,” he crooned. “Stan was a very good boy.”

As if transported to heaven, the blond Delta
operator sank into one of the jump seats, took out his Desert Eagle pistols,
and began pushing rounds into the empty magazines.

The normally quiet Shin watched him for a
moment, and then with a grin said: “You’ll shoot your eye out.”

Tremblay threw him a one-fingered salute.

King indulged in the laughter that followed,
but only for a few seconds. He wasn’t looking forward to his next task. “Danno,
Casey…a word in private.”

He could see in their faces that they’d
already done the math; seven Delta shooters, but only five sets of gear.
Bellows’s expression momentarily creased in disappointment, but then just as
quickly transformed into a poorly disguised mixture of guilt and relief.
Parker’s eyes however, flashed dark with rage. Keasling seemed to sense that an
eruption was building and stepped over to join the men, but he did not speak;
this was King’s show now.

No
point in sugar coating it
, King
thought.
Just tear the band-aid off
.
“You guys are staying in the rear on this one.”

Parker, who was incapable of concealing his
emotional state, trembled visibly with the effort of holding back an explosion
of anger. In a tight voice, the words scraping past the knot in his throat, he
said, “May I ask why,
sir
?” The last
utterance was filled with palpable contempt.

King regarded his friend coolly for a moment,
but then he turned to Bellows. “Casey…”

“No need to spell it out boss. There’s always
gonna be bad guys that need killin’ but I’ll only get this one chance to hug my
kid.”

He offered his hand, and King took it. “It
was an honor serving with you, soldier. Now, make us all proud and do something
really important: change some diapers, and shit like that.”

The joke lightened the mood, but only until
Bellows moved off to rejoin the others, who were now making a conspicuous
effort to look busy by taking inventory of the new equipment. When he was gone,
Parker wheeled on King. “What the fuck, Jack? You wouldn’t even have this lead
if not for me...and now you’re leaving me behind?”

“Danno, that’s exactly
why
I have to keep you back.”

Parker blinked, uncomprehending.

“There’s too much that we don’t know, like
what Rainer plans to do with the manuscript once he’s decoded it. The only way
to get a step ahead of him is to figure out a way to translate the manuscript
first. That computer we recovered contains everything we know about the Voynich
manuscript, how to read it and what it can be used for. And you’re the only
person who can make any sense of it.”

“Sasha can.” As soon as he said it, something
seemed to click in Parker’s head. “God…you’re going to kill her, aren’t you?
That’s why you won’t take me.”

“At ease, soldier,” barked Keasling.

Parker stiffened, but his ire was approaching
full boil.

King wasn’t sure what tone to take with his
friend; he’d never seen the man so spun up before. Parker continued to glower
at him, breathing rapidly. “You don’t need to leave me behind. In fact, you
need me with you.”

King shook his head. “No. If everything goes
to hell—and lately, that seems to be happening a lot, I don’t want that
computer falling into the wrong hands. I need it, and you, to stay somewhere
safe.”

“Someone else can—”

“There
is
no one else.
Just you.”
He gripped Parker’s shoulder.
“Dan, I’m going to do everything in my power to bring her back safe.”

King could tell by the subtle shift in his
friend’s demeanor that he had chosen the right pressure point. There was more
to Parker’s outburst than his schoolboy crush on the stand-offish cryptanalyst,
but it was certainly a factor. And that, perhaps more than anything else, was
why King didn’t want his friend in the field on this mission.

Because if it came down to it, and there was
no other alternative, King absolutely would kill Sasha Therion.

He let the matter drop, sensing that further
discussion would only rub salt in the wound. Instead, he moved back to the
others. They had almost completely pilfered the contents of the containers, and
now they were all settling into their jump seats in preparation for take-off. King
braced himself against a bulkhead as the aircraft lurched into motion,
beginning its short taxi to the runway.

“If I can get your attention please,” he said
to the others. “We’re going to skip the standard pre-flight briefing—”

“Good,”
chortled
Tremblay. “I think we all know that our seat cushions will do fuck-all in the
event of a water landing.”

King nodded, but kept talking. “I do have a
couple of administrative announcements that might be of interest to you. As you
know, in about ninety minutes, we’ll be invading a sovereign nation—one that
would very much like to tangle with us, if only to show the rest of the world
that they’ve got the balls for it. If all goes as planned, we’ll do what we
need to do and beat feet out of there without anyone being the wiser. But you
all know how quickly things can go FUBAR, so we need to be ready for anything.

“Each of you should now have an AN-M14 TH3
incendiary grenade. You have this for one reason only. If you are killed in
action, one of your teammates will use it to cremate your remains and
completely destroy all your equipment. There can be no evidence whatsoever
connecting us and what we are about to do, with the government of the United
States of America. Is that clear?”

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

Maragheh, Iran

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.”