Checkmate

44

He found himself in an empty room. Judging from the thick layer of dust and windblown silt on the teakwood floor, it had been empty for years. He padded to the door, pressed his ear to it. Hearing nothing, he slid the flexi-cam under the door. The lens revealed an empty hallway. Unsettled by the camera’s passing, a dust bunny drifted past the lens like a fuzzy tumbleweed.

Fisher opened the door. Here, too, the floor was covered with an even layer of dust. There were no footprints, no marks. It was like freshly fallen snow. The rattan walls were bare, but he could see faint rectangular outlines where artwork had once hung.

What was going on here? Beyond the obvious lack of furnishings and the layer of dust, there was an odd feeling to the place. Abandonment. Neglect.

He looked around and found three other rooms like the first, each of those also empty. The hallway was laid out like a plus sign, with one room on each of the four quadrants. At the end of the north hallway he found a spiral staircase. He climbed to the next level.

Though half the size of the floor below, it was identical in layout. He checked each of the rooms with the same result: empty. He climbed the stairs to the fifth level and found the same empty quad of rooms. He moved on. At the top of stairs, he found a locked door.

He picked the lock and eased open the door. Its movement stirred up a cloud of dust that swirled in his headlamp. The dust was where the similarity to the previous levels ended. Measuring roughly ten feet to a wall, the space was stacked high with dozens of cardboard boxes. The open-faced windows were covered with plywood that had been painted black.

Fisher opened the nearest box. Inside, he found empty picture frames, wadded-up clothing, a hairbrush… Personal detritus. He checked another box: more of the same. He was turning to leave when something caught his eye. Behind one of the boxes, he saw the corner of a wooden footlocker.

Curious now, Fisher carefully moved boxes until he could reach the footlocker. He flipped the latches and lifted the lid. Inside was a thick, clear plastic bag, shrunken as though all the air had been sucked from it. Through the plastic he could see a gnarled brown… something. He leaned in for a closer look.

It took a few seconds for him to register what he was seeing.

Staring back at him was a human face.

He recoiled a few inches. Then leaned in again. Sealed in the bag’s airless environment, the face and body had turned leathery with dessication, skin stretched taut over sharp edges of bone. Still, Fisher recognized the face.

Bai Kang Shek.

He punched up the OPSAT’s comm screen, set the encryption buffers, and keyed his subdermal.

“Good news, bad news,” Fisher told Lambert.

“Good news first.”

“I found Shek.”

“Outstanding. Bad news?”

“He’s a shrunken apple.” He explained, then said, “I’ve got the first and second floors to check, but so far there’s nothing here. My guess: This place hasn’t been lived in for five years or more.”

“Well, someone or something’s there. Otherwise, why the security? Why the guards?”

“Both good questions. Are we still getting the CIA frequency?”

Grimsdottir answered. “No change. It looks like a beacon of some sort. Like an SOS.”

Fisher went downstairs, passing the previous levels to the second floor. It was a mirror image of those above it, though on a much larger scale. At twelve hundred square feet, each of the four rooms had the square footage of a small house. He headed for the stairwell and started down.

The main floor was different from those above in only two ways. Instead of four rooms, there was only one, so vast it felt like a warehouse. And there was no dust. There were no signs of furniture or furnishings. On each of the four walls was a set of massive wooden double doors leading outside.

Fisher stood in the middle of the space, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

He heard an echoing click.

He drew his pistol, spun around.

Behind him a rectangular outline of light appeared in the wall, and he immediately thought door. He sprinted to the staircase and up to the second floor, where he crouched down. He leaned forward until he could see the door.

It opened. A uniformed guard stepped out, shut the door behind him, and walked toward the nearest exit. Fisher made a snap decision. He drew the SC-20, flipped the selector to Cottonball, took aim, and fired. With a thwump, the projectile hit the guard in the thigh. He staggered sideways, swayed on his feet, and then fell over.

Time for some answers, Fisher thought.

To ensure their chat would be private, he lugged the guard’s limp body up to the top level and laid him out on the floor beside Shek’s footlocker/tomb. He bound the guard’s hands and feet with flexi-cuffs, then sat down to wait.

He’d used a thigh shot to dilute the tranquilizer. After twenty minutes, the guard started to come around. Fisher flipped on his headlamp and aimed it into the guard’s eyes.

The guard squinted, tried to turn his head away. He mumbled in Chinese, which Fisher guessed was something along the lines of, What the hell’s going on?

“Do you speak English?” Fisher asked.

After a couple seconds, the guard said, “Yes, I speak English.” It was heavily accented, but clear enough.

“If you make a sound or lie to me, I’ll shoot you. Do you understand?”

All remnants of grogginess cleared from the guard’s face. “What is happening? Who are you?”

Fisher ignored the question. “What’s your name?”

“Lok.”

“Who do you work for?”

“I do not know.”

Truth. “How did you get here?”

“I left the Army last year. A friend of mine was hired by a security company. They pay well. I joined. I was sent here.”

Truth. “How long ago?”

“Six months.”

Truth. “Not counting guards, who’s here with you?”

“No one.”

Lie. Fisher moved the pistol in front of the headlamp so Lok could see it. “That was your one free lie. Let’s try again: Who is here with you?”

Lok swallowed hard. “Six. They are down there, in the subbasement. I do not know who they are. They work in a room… we are not allowed in.”

“And you don’t recognize any of them?”

“No.”

Fisher believed him. Private security firms were a dime a dozen and the quality of their work and personnel ranged from back-alley leg-breakers to professional soldiers protecting high-profile clients. Lok was one of the latter. Lok and his compatriots didn’t need to know anything but where to patrol and what to guard.

Fisher asked. “Do you know the name Bai Kang Shek?”

Lok nodded. “As I boy I heard stories. He disappeared, I believe.”

“Disappeared to here.”

“That was one of the stories, but I have never seen him here.”

Yeah, well, you’re leaning against him, son, Fisher thought.

Fisher could think of only one reason why anyone would freeze-dry Shek and take over his island: anonymity. Conversely, there were several good reasons to maintain this level of security: one, to nurture the legend that Shek the Recluse was alive and kicking on his island haven; two, because there was in fact something worth guarding here. Whatever that might be, Fisher had no doubt it was somewhere in the subbasement.