| CHESS PIECES Progression by Mark mark-coop4000@tiscali.co.uk “…well, I can assure you that this trip is vital.” Donna Hetman, the Black Queen, said as she continued to oversee the packaging of her overnight bag. “As the head of your security detail, I really must advise against it.” Tom Bauer replied. “After that attack against you last month in Dubai and the incident at your annual garden party, it’s clear that the White Organisation has targeted you.” “My dear Thomas,” Donna cooed. “Despite your concerns, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. However, in light of your excellent service over the last few months – especially with that whole Dubai incident - free to accompany me.” She directed her assistant Emma to discard the pair of shoes she had selected in favour of a pair of Jimmy Choo heels. “After all, I’d hate for you to lose any sleep worrying about me.” “Fine – however it would be helpful if you could tell me where it is that we’re going.” Tom said as he removed his PDA from his pocket. “We’re going to pay a visit to The Farm.” Donna replied as Emma zipped her bag up. “Emma, be a dear and take that out to the car.” * * * * “Although I’m glad that you’re here I didn’t realise that we were due a building inspection today Miss Proctor.” Andrew O’Shea said as he examined the notification that Abigail Proctor had presented him with. “Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise inspection if you knew about it in advance would it?” She replied. He nodded and gave her a weak smile – something about this woman set him on edge. It wasn’t the fact that she was dressed in a slightly severe trouser suit or that her brown hair seemed to be pulled into a bun that was ever so slightly too tight for her facial features, it was something about the way her eyes were darting around the room. Almost like she was looking for something. “Okay then, where do you want to start?” “We’ll begin at the top and work our way down.” Abigail said, pausing to pick up her slightly oversized briefcase. “I need to check the elevator shaft and the central control mechanism on the roof.” * * * * “The Farm? I’ve never heard of it.” Tom said as the armoured Cadillac drove through the quiet streets of Westchester, New York. “I should hope not.” Donna replied from the seat opposite him as she made a few notes in her BlackBerry before returning it to her bag. “It’s a highly sensitive location. The only records of it are all up here.” She tapped her head with her finger. “Oh, right.” Tom said. “And just why is it that we need to visit it?” “So I can make sure that everything is going according to schedule there.” Donna answered. “You’re a bundle of questions today aren’t you?” “I just don’t like surprises, that’s all.” He replied. “And yet…you seem to adapt to them remarkably quickly.” Donna countered. “I mean, you reacted admirably to that situation at my party…” “At the cost of Sebastian and Kate.” “Who would have still been alive had they been more capable operatives,” Donna spat. “However, after what happened in Dubai I think I’ve finally found someone who is actually competent.” “Thank you,” Tom felt himself blushing at the praise he was receiving. “However, I was just doing my job.” “You’re far too modest for your own good you know.” Donna answered. “You’ll go along way in this organisation my boy, especially with me as your patron.” She reached out and patted his knee while giving him a lascivious look. Donna leaned back, her ample frame taking up most of the car seat. “You know, it wasn’t that long ago that I was a simple Pawn looking to move up in the ranks – now look at where I am.” “Really? So, how did you get…started?” Tom’s curiosity was getting the better of him. “Oooh, it’s long and sordid story,” Donna answered. “Which I shall save for our flight. First of all, we have to pick up a colleague.” She pressed a button on the arm of the door. “Edwards, we need to stop in the city first of all…” * * * * The wind had picked up as Andrew found himself standing on the roof of the Capston Building next to the large maintenance sheds that housed the elevator mechanism. Even though the building was forty three stories high, it was still dwarfed by some of it’s nearby neighbours in the financial district. He was shivering as Abigail continued to inspect the outside of the structure. Satisfied that everything on the outside was suitable, she beckoned for Andrew to join her. “Okay, I need to check the winch system and the cables.” She said. He fumbled around for the keys that were in one of his pockets. He could tell that she was getting irritable with his inability to locate them. “Oh, here they are.” He said, pulling out a set of keys from between two different bundles. He inserted the correct one into the lock and twisted it. The door swung open and Abigail entered the room. Andrew followed behind her, grateful for getting out of the wind and closing the door behind them. He saw that Abigail was staring at the electronic control panel that maintained the operation of the skyscraper’s four passenger elevators and the smaller emergency elevator. “Excellent, now I’d like you to isolate the four main elevators on the ground floor and bring the emergency elevator up to the twenty third floor.” Abigail’s instructions made little sense to him, yet Andrew stepped in front of her and did as he was told. He manipulated the controls as Abigail watched the electronic display highlight the position of the carriages. After several minutes, Andrew locked down the elevators. “There you go,” He said before turning around. “Just as you asked…” Pfhtt Pfhtt The two bullets hit him in the chest, knocking him backwards into the control panel for a moment before he fell to the floor. Abigail leveled her silenced pistol and fired once more, sending a bullet into his brain. After all, she thought, she never liked to see dumb animals suffer. Locking the door from the inside, she opened her briefcase and pulled the carefully folded item of clothing out from within. A few minutes later and Abigail had discarded her trouser suit in favour of the rubber-based catsuit that she had carried with her into the building. Smoothing out the last few kinks in the outfit that clung to her body like a second skin, she knelt down to pick up the rubber soled pumps and soft leather gloves that sat at the bottom of the briefcase. Once she had put these on and secured her pistol in a holster strapped to her thigh, she was ready to begin. She approached the opening for the emergency lift shaft and opened it. A gust of cold air almost took her breath away as she prepared to rappel down it. Locking the electronic descent counter in place, Abigail stepped out into nothingness, descending the twenty floors from the roof to her target location in a matter of seconds on nothing but a thin steel cable that was unraveling from her belt. Her delicate landing on the top of the emergency elevator bought her exactly where she wanted to be. Taking a moment to check that the hatch beneath her feet was pliable enough to open, Abigail dropped down into the interior of the lift and pulled the leaver to manually open the doors. The emergency elevator was located at the side of the office floor, out of anyone’s line of sight, and therefore perfect for her insertion in this particular instance. The first few desks were been empty, as Abigail had expected. As she moved through the office they called “the secretarial pool” her adrenaline had begun to subside. Her eyes constantly scanned the series of cubicles as she crept between them – she then identified three separate figures working away at their desks. Even with her rubber soled pumps she didn’t want to take the chance of losing the element of surprise. She carefully pulled her silenced pistol out of its holster and stood up from her crouched position, walking with a purpose towards the first of the figures. As she got to within ten feet of the figure – she could tell it was a man – she raised her pistol and fired, painting the screen of his terminal with blood and brain matter. Even the reduced sound of the weapon was enough to be overheard in a near-empty office like this one. The second closest target – a rather pretty brunette – turned around at the sound, only to find herself staring into Abigail’s cold eyes. Her mouth began to open – to scream a warning to her other co-worker or to beg for her life? Abigail wondered as she pulled the trigger, destroying the pretty young face before she could scream. Abigail raised her pistol again, pointing at the last occupant of the room – only he hadn’t moved from his chair. Abigail paused for a moment, then realised that he had headphones plugged into his ears. She allowed herself a wicked smile – realising she could have some fun with this one she returned her pistol to it’s holster and walked up behind him. She watched him for a moment as she saw him tapping away at his keyboard – Abigail could see that he was typing an e-mail to someone, and judging by it’s tone and content it was probably his wife or his girlfriend. Abigail flexed her fingers as she waited for him to finish. His hand went across to the mouse and he clicked on the send button – then felt two hands grab his head. He reacted for a second, his hands reaching up and grasping Abigail’s wrists – she enjoyed the sensation of his struggles against her, however she acted too quickly for him to mount a serious defence against her actions, twisting his head sharply to the left. Abigail felt the sensation of the bones break as he involuntarily shuddered one last time before she left his lifeless body fall to the floor. Pushing his chair to one side she began to shut down the e-mail system and opened several files within the main core of the database. Taking a few minutes to make sure that she had managed to identify all the files she needed, Abigail plugged a grey USB memory stick into a port at the front of the PC. The progress bar on the screen began to fill up with a sickly green colour as the machine transferred the data across. Once it was complete Abigail placed the USB stick in a small pocket on her hip and keyed in another code on the machine – one that very few people had access too. The screen turned red as a message popped up asking her if she really did want to activate the purge system. The mouse cursor moved over to the “Yes” radio button and clicked it. Content that her work here was done, Abigail made her way back to the emergency elevator. If everything was going according to her schedule, her transport would be waiting for her once she got downstairs. As she walked she wondered whether she should get changed again. * * * * The car door opened and Abigail got in, once again attired in the smart trouser suit she had earlier been wearing. She sat down on the seat inside before acknowledging the presence of the others waiting for her, securing her briefcase before the car moved away from the side of the road. “Abigail, I trust the operation was a success?” Donna asked from the other side of the car. Abigail looked at her, then at Tom, and nodded. “I recovered our financial records from the office as you instructed.” Abigail replied, fixing her gaze on Tom. He suddenly felt uncomfortable in her presence. “You were right, it looks like the accountancy records were compromised.” “Did you encounter any problems?” Donna asked. Abigail shook her head. “Just a few analysts and one rent-a-cop, nothing I couldn’t handle.” She said, continuing to look at Tom. “Excellent,” Donna commented. “Abigail Proctor, this is Tom Bauer, my new Black Rook in charge of my security detail. Tom, this is Abigail, the Black Bishop.” “Pleased to meet you,” Tom said, extending his hand for Abigail to shake. She duly did so. “I thought that he was still a Pawn.” Abigail asked Donna, finally averting her eyes from Tom. “I was, however Ms Hetman thought I deserved a promotion after the Dubai incident.” Tom said, butting in before Donna had chance to speak. He caught a glimpse of Donna’s predatory smile on her face as Abigail took note of his comments. “Interesting.” Her dismissive reply infuriated Tom, however he tried not to let it show. Abigail turned her attention back to Donna. “So, what time is our flight?” * * * * Aiko Yoshida sat in the car that was trailing the Cadillac by some three hundred metres and found herself wondering just why it had stopped for ten minutes outside the office’s of a well-known and respected private law firm in the heart of Manhattan’s legal district. As they sat in the traffic she took a close look at the image she had captured on her camera phone of the woman they had picked up. She turned around and flipped the phone to one of her colleagues. “See if you can find out who that is.” She said as the car pulled out of the traffic again. * * * * The flight was expected to take about three hours, during which Tom had found himself under the scrutiny of the Black Bishop, Abigail Proctor. He knew from intelligence data that he had read about her before accepting this particular assignment that she was possibly the most ruthless operative within their group – even compared to Donna Hetman. “Would you like a drink Tom?” Donna asked from her oversized lounger. “No, I’m fine thank you.” He said. Donna frowned. “Very well,” she said, struggling to get out of the chair. “I’ll get you one if you want one.” He said, getting to his feet quickly. “Thank you – gin and tonic please.” Donna looked at Abigail. “What about you my dear?” “Vodka Martini.” Abigail said. Tom nodded, storing the drink order in his memory as he got up and approached the small bar. As he mixed the drinks, he could hear Donna talking. “I promised Tom a little tale or two from my dim and distant past,” Donna said, prompting Abigail to chuckle. Tom realised it was the first time she’d displayed anything other than a stone faced attitude since he’d met her. “You have plenty of those.” Abigail countered as Tom returned with the drinks. Donna gratefully accepted hers and took a sip from it almost immediately. “Indeed I do,” Donna said as Tom sat down opposite her again. “Now, let’s start at the beginning shall we…” * * * * Alvin Pearman was late. He found himself in a hurry as he placed his briefcase in the foot well of the passenger seat – so much so that he’d forgotten to have a shave this morning. As he pulled out of his driveway, he cursed the faulty alarm clock on his bedside table. Entering the morning commuter traffic, his car phone began to beep at him. Looking at the device he had recently had installed – and resembled a house brick – he realised that someone was trying to ring him. Juggling the steering wheel with one hand and the receiver with the other, Alvin realised he was going to have to pull over if he hoped to maintain a sensible conversation. “Pearman.” He barked as the car came to a halt. “Yes, I should be there around ten this morning – I have a few errands to run first and I have an appointment to get my haircut, but I will be there on time…okay then, I’ll see you there.” Returning the handset to its cradle, he ruminated on the device. “Mmph, height of eighties designs my arse.” Twenty five minutes later, Alvin had parked his car and was walking as quickly as possible to the small salon he frequented every six weeks. As he entered he found himself staring at an empty reception desk. “Hello there,” Alvin spun around – and saw a plump woman in her early twenties approaching him. “I’m sorry, but the receptionist is having a bad day and had to go home early. Do you have an appointment?” “Oh right,” reassured by the young woman’s confident demeanour, Alvin relaxed. “Yes, yes I do. Pearman at nine thirty.” The woman walked around the reception desk and looked at the appointment book. “Right then Mr Pearman, if you’d like to come with me we’ll get you sorted out.” * * * * The sound of scissors snipping was almost hypnotic – coupled with the massage that the hairdresser had given him when she was washing his hair – and Alvin found his eyes starting to droop on more than one occasion. As the woman reached for the mirror and showed him the back of his hairline, Alvin realised that he had no idea how long he had been sitting in the chair. “Would you like me to tidy up the back for you sir?” the hairdresser asked. Alvin found himself unable to respond initially – his brain clouded in a fog of relaxation. “Erm, yes, yes please.” He managed to mumble. Alvin saw her reach for the small straight razor from the counter and rub it meticulously against the emery strip for a few seconds before she returned to her position behind him. He closed his eyes as he felt the razor gliding against his skin, cutting away the hairs that remained on the back of his neck. Alvin suddenly felt a hand grasp his forehead and pull it back – his eyes flew open and he saw the light glint off the blade of the straight razor, moments before it was swept across his throat. The sensation of the blade slicing through his skin filled his mind as his hands grasped at his throat. In the mirror before him he could see the blood now flowing from the gaping wound in his neck. Alvin stumbled out of the chair, falling to his knees, catching brief glimpse of the calendar on the counter as he slipped. It was the first of the month. His right hand reached out for the counter, only to fail to find any purchase because of the blood smeared over it. His footing faltered again as he fell to the floor, looking up at the hairdresser standing less than eight feet from him. “Goodbye Mr Pearman,” she calmly said as she picked up his briefcase. “The Queen regrets this course of action, however your incompetence will no longer be tolerated.” She stopped as she walked towards the back door. “However, rest assured that I won’t make the same mistake as you did as the Black Rook.” Donna Hetman watched Alvin Pearman die on the floor of the salon. She then exited via the back door, stepped over the body of the receptionist she had shot earlier that day and left the establishment. * * * * “So, that’s how I moved up from a Pawn to the rank of Rook.” Donna said as she eagerly accepted a second drink from Tom. “You replaced Pearman then within the structure, I get that.” Tom said. “Is that how you moved up through the organisation then, you just removed those above you?” “Oh no, she didn’t always follow that particular career path,” Abigail interjected. “Tell him about the royal decree...” * * * * In her capacity as the Black Queen, Andrea Carter had surrounded herself with operatives she knew she could trust, whose loyalty was not in question. She liked to move behind the scenes, using guile and deception as ways to advance her position within the group – and right now, her most audacious plan to date was nearing completion. As a reward for her weekend of arduous planning and preparation, Andrea was taking advantage of Donna’s offer of a massage in her luxurious suite. Donna noticed Andrea beginning to relax. Andrea purred softly as Donna began working on her shoulders, her skilled fingers relaxing the tense, knotted muscles and coating Andrea’s upper back in a glistening film of oil. Donna gradually worked her way down Andrea’s back, her hands moving just under the towel and brushing just above Andrea’s toned buttocks. Then Donna started working her way back up towards the shoulders and on down each arms, her hands moving easily over Andrea’s smooth skin with the aid of the massage oil. “Is that hard enough for you Andrea?” she asked. “Mmm, harder please Donna,” Andrea whispered dreamily. She was so relaxed she felt like speaking was too much effort. Donna obliged, pressing harder and moving her hands slightly faster. She began to work her hands up along her legs, rubbing the massage oil into her muscles and moving further up her body before resuming to massage the Black Queen’s back. Andrea was lost in the sensation of Donna’s touch. She tried to turn over. To her horror she realised she couldn’t move. She tried again, willing any part of her body to respond but she failed. Even though she was paralysed she could still feel Donna’s fingers moving across the back of her body, which was both distracting and becoming extremely pleasurable. “Having trouble?” Donna asked, still massaging Andrea’s back. “It’s a muscle relaxant added to the oils, if you’re wondering why you can’t move.” Donna explained. “Combined with my massage technique it is extremely effective at incapacitating an enemy.” “Enemy…what are you talking about? I am the Black Queen…” Andrea spat at her, anger and bile rising inside her. Maybe if she could stall Donna then the muscle relaxant would begin to wear off. “The King has proof of your deception – and your plans to assassinate him at the Spring Equinox.” Donna replied, taking the opportunity to sit down in a nearby chair and light a cigarette. “He decreed that you were to be removed, and he has asked me to remove you.” “You bitch!” Andrea screamed. “How could you? You were the one who helped me plan it…” “Precisely,” Donna said as she took a long drag on the cigarette. “Which is why my name has been removed from all the documents and anyone who knew of my involvement has been silenced.” She took another drag from the cigarette. “And, now it’s time for you to die.” Donna stood up and walked to stand in front of Andrea. From her position the Black Queen could only see the tops of Donna’s large thighs, but then she felt something being slipped around her neck. She desperately tried to move but she knew it was useless. She had been careless and now she would pay. Donna looped the garrote around Andrea’s neck and pulled gently. There was no need to hurry things – it wasn’t like her target was in a position to fight back. She gradually increased the pressure until Andrea began to gasp for air. The Black Chancellor looked down and saw the Black Queen’s face turning red. She knew the woman was trying to move, that every instinct was telling her to get away. That’s why Donna loved to kill this way. The victim knew what was happening, but couldn’t stop it and Donna could enjoy feeling their life slip away from them. Andrea could hear a rushing sound in her ears and her head was pounding. Her chest was tight. Her vision began to blur and then fade, first to tunnel vision and then to a blurry, unfocused view. Everything turned to shades of red and she could hear herself gurgling and gasping. Slowly but surely, Andrea’s world faded out completely. Donna felt Andrea die. A last, soft gasp escaped her lips and Donna knew it was over. Even so, she kept the garrote tight for a few moments longer before releasing Andrea. She tilted the woman’s head back and kissed her forehead, stroking her flushed cheek. “Good night my Queen.” Donna whispered, hoping that maybe Andrea heard her in whatever she considered the after life to be. “And that, my dear Thomas, is how I became the Black Queen.” Donna said. Before anyone else could say anything, Edwards announced over the intercom that they would be landing shortly. * * * * The building resembled a large out of town shopping mall to Tom as he observed it from the front seat of the SUV. He had already noted the change in the climate and relative humidity around them, indicating that the flight from La Guardia airport had headed south of their original location. As Edwards steered the vehicle carefully along the narrow dirt track, a simple question kept nagging away at the back of the undercover man’s mind. “How do you keep this place secret?” He asked. “I mean, surely someone must know it’s here?” “That’s the beauty of this particular location,” Donna replied from the seat behind him. “The locals call it Anthrax Island – everyone was evacuated after a slight…health scare a few years ago.” “So that’s where that came from then?” Abigail commented. Donna nodded. “And I thought it was from a book I once read.” The SUV pulled up outside the building. Donna, Abigail and Tom all got out, leaving Edwards inside to await their return. Once they had passed through the security checkpoint, Donna lead them to a small office on the third floor where they were met by a bald middle aged man dressed in a white coat, sitting behind a large oak desk. His spindly frame looked like it was swamped inside the coverall, and beady green eyes peered out from behind narrow round spectacles. “Good afternoon Dr Goggins,” Donna said upon entering the room. “I trust that everything is in order.” “It’s good to see you again Ms Hetman,” The Doctor said. “Come with me, I have some exciting news for you.” * * * * Both Tom and Abigail found themselves somewhat dumbstruck as they sat in the small anteroom located in the basement of the facility. In front of them was a large window that was shielded from their sight by two heavy curtains. The air in the room was humid and uncomfortable. They had listened to Donna and Dr Goggins discussing the nature of the work that they undertook at The Farm and it’s purpose became clear to both of them. “Now, as you know there are always waiting lists for organ transplants,” Dr Goggins had explained. “And that’s where we hit upon the idea – growing synthetic organs from cloned cadavers.” His enthusiasm for the project was clear. “Now, these aren’t just regular organs – because, after all, if we only sell one organ to someone, where’s the profit in that? They are encoded with a particular genetic sequence that creates a cascade failure in other organs in the body around six to eight months after a successful transplant operation.” “So, someone buys a new kidney and six to eight months later he needs a new liver or a new heart, right?” Tom asked. Goggins nodded. “Precisely – it’s a never ending source of revenue.” He commented. “And you’d be surprised what people are willing to pay when faced with the reality of their own mortality.” Donna added. “How do you stop someone from identifying the pattern in organ failure?” Abigail asked. “The human body is a terribly fussy organism,” Goggins said. “So the failure rate is within the statistical norm for the volumes of these procedures that are conducted.” “But…if you can create an organ that can create this cascade thing, surely you can create one that doesn’t?” Tom asked the logical question. Donna looked at him and smiled. “Where’s the profit in that?” the room was silent for a moment. “However, that’s just the start of our work here,” Goggins carried on. “Once we had successfully begun the organ cloning program it was just a short step to our final goal.” “Which is?” Abigail said. “Project Lillith.” Donna answered. “The Koreans are already quite advanced in this field, however even they are just treading water compared to what we’ve achieved here.” Goggins then turned and pulled the curtains back. Behind them was a window that gave everyone a view into a sterile white room. In the centre of that room was a small metal pod with a multitude of cables and pipes running too and from it. “How far away are we from completion?” Donna asked the doctor as Abigail and Tom looked at the pod in the room. “Gestation is almost complete. We expect the project to come to term in the next twenty eight days.” “Is…is that what I think it is?” Tom said. Donna looked at him. “Yes my dear Thomas,” Donna had a large smile on her face. “Inside that room is a baby - cloned from my DNA.” * * * * No one really spoke on the flight back from The Farm. By the time that Tom had secured Donna inside the armoured Cadillac and made sure her luggage was secure in the trunk, the realisation of what he had just seen was beginning to sink in. He paused for a moment as he approached the rear passenger door as something caught his eye. “Incoming!” Tom’s warning could be heard inside the car, prompting Abigail and Donna to both make for the doors. Neither of them managed to get out of the vehicle before the rocket propelled grenade struck the front of the armoured vehicle. Despite it’s protective shell, the explosive device still created extensive damage to the front of the vehicle. The blast had thrown Tom clear of the car – as he got back on his feet again he saw that the engine and driver sections of the car were ablaze. Tom managed to grab hold of the door handle for the back compartment and yanked it open. Abigail almost fell out onto him immediately. She seemed dazed but otherwise unhurt. Once Tom had moved her out of the way, he climbed into the rear of the armoured car and grabbed Donna. Half dragging the plus size woman out of the car, Tom found Abigail struggling to get back onto her feet. “Come on, we have to get out of here!” He cried out above the sound of the flames. Abigail locked back and saw the danger. She grabbed Donna’s arm and helped Tom drag her away to safety before the car exploded. “What…” Abigail began to asked when Tom drew her attention to two figures approaching them. “Looks like a strike team,” He said. “I knew this trip was a bad idea.” Abigail shook her head and grabbed his arm. “Get her out of here,” She gestured to Donna’s unconscious figure. “I’ll hold them off.” Abigail realised that her pistol had been in the car and was now less than useless. She tried to shake the lingering confusion in her head as she crouched close to the burning vehicle. If they were any good they would probably check the wreckage for signs of corpses. As she huddled out of sight and trying to avoid the flames licking around the vehicle, she watched the two men circling the car, both carrying compact MP5 automatic weapons. As they advanced obliviously towards her position, she struck. She sprang up, set her feet and sent a kick to the throat of the first man before either of them knew what was going on. His hands went to his throat, and before her leg came down, Abigail was spinning. Her fist hit the other guard in the eye. He was dazed, but the stubby barrel of his weapon started to swing towards her. Abigail stepped into him. One quick elbow to his solar plexus and then a viper like strike to his throat made him stumble backwards, his windpipe crushed from her powerful blow and his death now inevitable. Abigail turned her attention to the other guard; quickly unloading three powerful kicks in into his chest. Abigail grabbed the barrel of his weapon and pushed it towards the ground as he pulled the trigger on reflex. The bullets sparked and ricocheted off the concrete. Concrete dust and bits of shrapnel flew all over the place. Abigail grabbed the rifle with both hands and pulled up on it as hard as she could. The extendable butt of the rifle struck its owner in the nose, blood spraying out from the broken bone within. Abigail hit him again before she snatched the rifle from his hands. She twisted the weapon around and fired once, the bullet striking him in the head. She stepped away from the burning vehicle and then set about trying to locate Tom and the Black Queen. Abigail wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard the sound of metal blades being struck against each other. * * * * “We had better make this look good.” Aiko said as she twisted the handle of her katana, twisting it free from the locked position Tom had managed to hold it in. He pushed her away from the unconscious form of Donna Hetman. “Your timing really sucks,” Tom said as the blades clashed again. “We have a major problem!” “My timing is poor?” Aiko Yoshida, the White Rook, asked. “We have a chance to remove the Black Queen – you should allow me to decapitate her and take her head back to the White Royalty, yet you’re defending her.” She continued to attack his defensive posture with her sword. “Ordinarily I would,” Tom countered as he blocked another blow. “But things have changed.” “How so?” Aiko asked. “Please tell me you tracked the plane?” Tom carried on. “Yes – it went to a remote island off the coast.” “There’s a facility there that needs to be destroyed,” Tom said. “And it’s got to be destroyed quickly.” Aiko swung her blade around in an arc which would have taken Tom’s head off had he not ducked at the last minute. To an observer it would appear that the two of them were engaged in a life-or-death battle, however the reality was that this was a dance they had choreographed for just such an occasion. “Elle sends her love,” Aiko said as Tom parried another blow, this one intended for his chest. “Tell her that I will come and visit her in the hospital soon,” Tom added. “Okay, try not to hit anything vital.” Aiko nodded, then drove the blade of her katana into Tom’s stomach with accuracy and precision. Even though he was expecting it, the pain from the wound was searing as the blade passed through his body. Aiko made to pull the blade free, only for Tom to grab her hand. “Promise me you’ll destroy the Farm.” Aiko looked into his eyes. “I promise.” She replied before lightly kissing him on the cheek. As her lips pulled away, she removed the sword quickly. Tom sank down to his knees as he watched Aiko disappear into the surroundings. * * * * When his eyes opened again, Tom found himself in a hospital. As he tried to sit up in the bed he felt the wound in his stomach reacting to his movements. He groaned out loud. “Hey, you’re back with us.” He recognised Abigail’s voice. “How are you feeling?” ”I’ve felt better.” Tom replied. “Did…?” “She’s fine – I managed to get a extraction team in here before it was too late for you.” Abigail said. “Donna wants you to get well and resume your duties as head of her security detail, personally I’d have left you to die at the airport.” Abigail reached into her bag and pulled out a small business card. “However, you showed me something today, so when you are back on your feet call me – we should have dinner some time.” |