Callsign: King - Blackout

2

King quickly withdrew the hypodermic needle from Bill Downey’s neck and after slipping the safety cap over the glinting metal tip, deposited it in the pocket of his dinner jacket. Then he drew back a few steps and breathed in through his nose, fighting an impulse to sneeze. The fragrance wafting up from the motionless form had triggered some kind of allergic reaction; it smelled like the man had practically bathed in some kind of cologne or body spray. A good sneeze would have been very satisfying, ridding his nostrils of the offending vapors, but the professional make-up artist who had, eight hours previously, transformed King’s rugged features into an almost perfect likeness of the power plant manager had cautioned him to avoid any activities that might dislodge the applique of latex and cosmetics.

“Sorry you won’t be making the party,” he told the unconscious man when the irritation in his nasal membranes subsided. “But look on the bright side. I spared you the disappointment of rejection. Here’s a tip for next time: subtlety.”

King suppressed a chuckle. Laughter was another proscribed action, as was eating, and as he knelt over Downey again, dragging the body over to the neatly made bed, a deep rumble in his gut reminded him of just how hungry he was.

He vividly remembered the last real meal he had eaten, that wasn’t a power bar or quickly devoured snack food. Two days earlier, he’d been enjoying a well deserved and much needed day off, relaxing with Sara and Fiona-his family-at a cabin in New Hampshire’s Pinckney Bible Conference Grounds, which had been turned back over to the owners and re-opened to the public. Manifold Alpha, the secret base hidden beneath the mountain behind the campground, had been converted to better suit Endgame, the new black ops organization of which Chess Team was the core. Endgame had also purchased a number of the cabins, which could be used by personnel for recreation. It had been a strangely perfect day, strange because for the first time in a long time, he hadn’t felt like ‘King,’ hadn’t felt like the field leader of an ultra-secret special operations team, but instead had savored the chance to just be Jack Sigler.

Except that wasn’t quite right. His Chess Team callsign wasn’t an alter ego, a secret identity that he put on and took off like some kind of comic book superhero’s costume. He hadn’t sublimated the ‘real’ Jack Sigler to become King. If anything, becoming a spec ops soldier, leading the lethal shooters of Chess Team into dangerous and highly classified missions against the worst kinds of terrorists, literally saving the world from threats that most people would find incomprehensible, was the very essence of who Jack Sigler was.

Or rather, who he had been. Lately, he had begun seeing things from a very different perspective.

Two days ago, hunched over the barbecue grill turning burgers and brats, with his girlfriend Sara lounging nearby sipping a Sam Adams and his foster daughter Fiona exploring the adjacent woods…that was when, for what seemed like the first time in his life, he’d gotten a taste of what it would be like to live as a normal person. And to his complete surprise, he found that he kind of liked it.

He didn’t harbor any resentment for the sacrifices he had made in the name of duty, no sorrow for the life he might have had. It wasn’t like that at all. He was proud of his service, proud of what Chess Team had accomplished. The world would never know how close or how often it had come to the brink of total destruction. If not for Chess Team, there would be no family vacations, no scenes of domestic tranquility, for anyone at all, and that was not something he took lightly.

From the moment he had enlisted in the Army, galvanized into action by the death of his sister Julie, who had herself answered a similar call by becoming an Air Force fighter pilot, he had never looked back on what might have been. There had been no need. His brothers-in-arms, and particularly his fellow Chess Team operators, were all the family he needed. He had never imagined finding happiness and contentment in a long-term romantic relationship, much less having children of his own. To his surprise, happiness and contentment had found him.

Sara Fogg, an infectious disease investigator for the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, had been his girlfriend for more than two years now. Her job kept her just as busy as Chess Team did him, and from the beginning, they both understood that theirs would be a relationship built on rare treasured moments together. Nevertheless, those moments seemed too few and far between. There was a reason, after all, that relationships were an endangered species in the world of military special operations.

And then there was Fiona.

The teenaged girl had come into his life as a refugee, the lone survivor of a diabolical act of terrorism, hunted by a relentless villain with almost godlike abilities, desperately in need of a protector, but had instead become something much more.

A woman he would be proud to have as a wife and a daughter he cherished… King had accidentally become a family man, and he deeply believed that family deserved more than just stolen moments between missions. Loving someone was a lot more than just protecting that person from harm.

As he had dropped one sizzling bratwurst after another into a line of split stadium rolls, assembling them in an orderly row on a serving platter, he’d considered just what possibilities for happiness the future might hold, and what path to take to get there.

An insistent vibration in his pocket had thrown a monkey wrench into his musings. His phone: Deep Blue on the other end.

“Can’t this wait?” King had growled, eschewing the normal pleasantries.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that,” the reply had come. “We’ve got him, King. We found Brainstorm.”

That had been the end of the picnic.