Callsign: Bishop - Book 1 (An Erik Somers - Chess Team Novella) by Jeremy Robinson, David McAfee
Authors: Jeremy Robinson, David McAfee
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bigger things, like running the universe.
“How long before we reach the site?” he asked, raising his voice to make sure Devan heard him from the back seat.
“The coordinates you gave me are not far,” Devan replied. “As long as they are correct, we will be there within an hour.”
As long as they are correct, Massai mused. The pilot was finding his courage again. He briefly entertained the notion of putting the fear of death back into Devan, but decided against it. When they reached the site, they might need all the courage they could get.
7.
The ride to the site didn’t take very long. What had taken the two men from Hassi that had inadvertently discovered the site, a day and a half to walk, took less than three hours on the bikes. Sometime around sixteen hundred hours, Bishop pulled his bike to a stop alongside a large concrete cylinder sticking up from the ground. Atop the cylinder was a solar panel ten feet long and half as tall. Not nearly enough of a panel to power any sizable outpost, even with the constant sunshine of the Kavir Desert to charge it, at least under normal circumstances.
But nothing about Manifold ever turned out to be normal. Ridley had already impressed everyone from physicists to guys with a PhD in engineering with some of his advanced technology. This would probably prove to be more of the same. Bishop made a mental note to take pictures of anything that looked like it might be useful intel, as he got off the bike and stretched.
“Still clear?” CJ’s voice crackled through the radio on his waist. Bishop grabbed it and brought it up to his face.
“Clear,” he said.
“On our way,” CJ replied. He and Ilias were about a hundred yards back, watching through field glasses. They had stopped at that distance to assess the approachability of the outpost. After watching through the binoculars for about half an hour, they’d had a short debate over who should make the initial approach. It ended when Bishop crossed his arms and looked down at his temporary partner whose thigh was about the same thickness as Bishop’s upper arm.
Bishop had approached with one hand on the throttle and the other on his pistol, fully expecting to be accosted by guards before he reached his destination. But nothing happened.
He heard CJ’s bike rev, and a few minutes later, they stood side by side looking up at the top of the cylinder. Ilias had remained behind, his rifle now mounted to a little tripod on the front of his four-wheeler. He would cover them if things went bad in a hurry.
“How good is he with that rifle?” Bishop asked.
“Pretty damn good,” CJ replied. “He might not look like much, but that old geezer is a product of the Iranian Special Forces. They forced him out after they discovered his palsy a few years ago, and he came to Hassi to live a quiet, nonmilitary life. But he’s still got the eye. As long as the rifle is braced against something solid, he could shoot the tail off a field mouse at five hundred yards.”
“Field mice don’t shoot back,” Bishop said, but even inaccurate cover was better than no cover. He turned his attention back to the cylinder and resumed his examination of the site’s exterior. There were no cameras or security devices that he could see. The only wires that ran into the structure came from the solar panel. In fact, the only other feature on the outside was a vertical set of metal bars that formed a crude ladder to the top. Since he couldn’t find any way in, he reasoned that the door must be on top of the cylinder.
“I guess we go up,” CJ said, echoing Bishop’s thoughts.
Bishop went first, climbing the ladder and pulling himself up and over the edge in less than two seconds. Once at the top, he noted the hatch. It should pull right up, provided it wasn’t locked. But what would he find when he opened it? An empty site? Or a small army of heavily armed terrorists? He turned toward Ilias and saw the man staring at
“How long before we reach the site?” he asked, raising his voice to make sure Devan heard him from the back seat.
“The coordinates you gave me are not far,” Devan replied. “As long as they are correct, we will be there within an hour.”
As long as they are correct, Massai mused. The pilot was finding his courage again. He briefly entertained the notion of putting the fear of death back into Devan, but decided against it. When they reached the site, they might need all the courage they could get.
7.
The ride to the site didn’t take very long. What had taken the two men from Hassi that had inadvertently discovered the site, a day and a half to walk, took less than three hours on the bikes. Sometime around sixteen hundred hours, Bishop pulled his bike to a stop alongside a large concrete cylinder sticking up from the ground. Atop the cylinder was a solar panel ten feet long and half as tall. Not nearly enough of a panel to power any sizable outpost, even with the constant sunshine of the Kavir Desert to charge it, at least under normal circumstances.
But nothing about Manifold ever turned out to be normal. Ridley had already impressed everyone from physicists to guys with a PhD in engineering with some of his advanced technology. This would probably prove to be more of the same. Bishop made a mental note to take pictures of anything that looked like it might be useful intel, as he got off the bike and stretched.
“Still clear?” CJ’s voice crackled through the radio on his waist. Bishop grabbed it and brought it up to his face.
“Clear,” he said.
“On our way,” CJ replied. He and Ilias were about a hundred yards back, watching through field glasses. They had stopped at that distance to assess the approachability of the outpost. After watching through the binoculars for about half an hour, they’d had a short debate over who should make the initial approach. It ended when Bishop crossed his arms and looked down at his temporary partner whose thigh was about the same thickness as Bishop’s upper arm.
Bishop had approached with one hand on the throttle and the other on his pistol, fully expecting to be accosted by guards before he reached his destination. But nothing happened.
He heard CJ’s bike rev, and a few minutes later, they stood side by side looking up at the top of the cylinder. Ilias had remained behind, his rifle now mounted to a little tripod on the front of his four-wheeler. He would cover them if things went bad in a hurry.
“How good is he with that rifle?” Bishop asked.
“Pretty damn good,” CJ replied. “He might not look like much, but that old geezer is a product of the Iranian Special Forces. They forced him out after they discovered his palsy a few years ago, and he came to Hassi to live a quiet, nonmilitary life. But he’s still got the eye. As long as the rifle is braced against something solid, he could shoot the tail off a field mouse at five hundred yards.”
“Field mice don’t shoot back,” Bishop said, but even inaccurate cover was better than no cover. He turned his attention back to the cylinder and resumed his examination of the site’s exterior. There were no cameras or security devices that he could see. The only wires that ran into the structure came from the solar panel. In fact, the only other feature on the outside was a vertical set of metal bars that formed a crude ladder to the top. Since he couldn’t find any way in, he reasoned that the door must be on top of the cylinder.
“I guess we go up,” CJ said, echoing Bishop’s thoughts.
Bishop went first, climbing the ladder and pulling himself up and over the edge in less than two seconds. Once at the top, he noted the hatch. It should pull right up, provided it wasn’t locked. But what would he find when he opened it? An empty site? Or a small army of heavily armed terrorists? He turned toward Ilias and saw the man staring at
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