Callsign: Bishop - Book 1 (An Erik Somers - Chess Team Novella) by Jeremy Robinson, David McAfee Page A

him through the scope of his rifle.
    CJ pulled himself up next to Bishop and casually reached out to open the hatch. Bishop grabbed his arm, stopping him. It’s a wonder the man is still alive , Bishop thought. He’s as quick to act, as he is to talk. “Slow down.”
    “Nobody’s home, B.”
    Bishop agreed with the man. There were no guards. No fresh tracks. But that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be any danger. Tracks could be concealed, as could security measures, not to mention traps. And Manifold was good at all of the above. “Pull the hatch on three. I’ll sweep.”
    “Roger,” CJ said. He took his place at the side of the hatch. He crouched and took hold of the hatch’s handle. “Ready,” he said.
    Bishop aimed his Sig toward the still closed hatch. If he saw anything move inside, it would get a bullet. Or three. “One.”
    CJ tightened his grip on the hatch.
    “Two…three!”
    CJ jerked the door upward.
    Bishop began to lean over the hole, sweeping the Sig from right to left. As he did, he saw the familiar shape of a shotgun barrel just a foot below. But instead of firing he flinched back, yanking his arms away from the opening.
    The shotgun boomed just as the hatch fully opened and a fraction of a second before Bishop pulled his arm back. There was a pinch of pain in his forearm but he ignored it when he saw CJ spill over the side.
     

 
     
     
    8.
     
    “Damn!” Bishop swore, skirting the now open hatch. With his free hand, he grabbed his radio. “Ilias, CJ is down. Repeat, CJ is down. Can you—”
    A string of coughs and curses rose up from the other side of the cylinder. “I’m okay,” CJ said. “—the hell happened?”
    Bishop looked back to the hatch. He could see the unmoving shotgun muzzle. “A trap.” He’d seen the shotgun with no operator when the hatch opened. It wasn’t exactly a deterrent to any force larger than two, but it could have killed one of them.
    CJ popped back up over the edge of the roof.
    “You hit?” Bishop asked.
    “No. I tripped.” CJ held up a finger and was clearly about to defend himself, but looked suddenly serious. He turned the extended finger toward Bishop’s left arm. “But you were hit.”
    Bishop looked at the arm. The sleeve was stained with blood. Not a lot, but enough. He rolled up his sleeve. The blood came from a small red hole where a single ball of buckshot had struck. He saw the lump of metal just beneath his skin, a centimeter away from the wound. He pushed his thumb against the ball of metal and pushed it back toward the wound.
    CJ sucked in a quick breath. “Geez.”
    The black ball popped out of the wound a moment later. Bishop picked it up, rolled it between his fingers and flicked it away.
    “That’s…hardcore, B.”
    Bishop leaned slowly over the open hatch, aiming his Sig down the hole. He saw no movement and the shotgun had been spent. It was a trap using a system of wires and pulleys, rigged to fire when the hatch was opened. Not likely to be the work of Manifold. Too crude.
    “You going to take care of that?” CJ asked, motioning to the wound.
    “It’ll stop on its own,” Bishop said. “I’m on point.”
    CJ nodded. For once, it seemed, he was out of bravado.
    Bishop checked the trap once more to make sure it couldn’t fire again. The shotgun was old, but clearly still functional. However, it had been loaded for just one shot. Without someone to pull the trigger a second time, it was technically disarmed. That didn’t stop him from kicking apart the wire and pulley system. With the trap in ruins, he put his pistol in his waistband and grabbed the top rung of the inside ladder.
    “Cover me,” he said.
    CJ nodded and pointed his Beretta down into the building. “If anyone pokes their head out, I’ll put a bullet in it.”
    Bishop lowered himself down into the structure. CJ would come down behind him. So far, the guy had proven pretty handy, if only he’d take this a little more seriously. He reminded Bishop