CALLSIGN: ROOK
—Book I—
By Jeremy Robinson
and Edward G. Talbot
© 2011 Jeremy Robinson. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information e-mail all inquiries to: [email protected]
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FICTION by JEREMY ROBINSON
(click to view on Amazon and buy)
The Antarktos Saga
The Last Hunter - Pursuit
The Last Hunter - Descent
The Jack Sigler Thrillers
Threshold
Instinct
Pulse
Callsign: King - Book 1
Callsign: Queen - Book 1
Callsign: Rook - Book 1
Origins Editions (first five novels)
Kronos
Antarktos Rising
Beneath
Raising the Past
The Didymus Contingency
Short Stories
Insomnia
Humor
The Zombie's Way (Ike Onsoomyu)
The Ninja’s Path (Kutyuso Deep)
FICTION by EDWARD G. TALBOT
New World Orders
Alive From New York
2012: The Fifth World
Callsign Rook: - Book 1
Table of Contents
Chapter 01
Chapter 02
Chapter 03
Chapter 04
Chapter 05
Chapter 06
Chapter 07
Chapter 08
Chapter 09
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
About the Authors
Sample: THE LAST HUNTER by Jeremy Robinson
Sample: 2012: THE FIFTH WORLD by Edward G. Talbot
Sample: THE SENTINEL by Jeremy Bishop
Help Spread the Word!
1
“What the hell am I doing here?”
Stan Tremblay shook his head, and his abbreviated grin carried no trace of humor. Even with half the journey behind him, the lights of the small village seemed no closer. He knew he’d get there eventually, but trekking through the far reaches of Norway’s arctic in the dead of night wasn’t the act of a sane man.
Tremblay’s sanity wasn’t the issue. A member of an elite U.S. Special Forces unit known as Chess Team, Tremblay had survived much worse than a little cold and isolation. He liked to think that his call sign, Rook, described his role on the team as the man who specialized in direct, in-your-face action. But the last mission had dispersed the five Chess Team members around the globe and Rook had lost contact with them. After the killing of his support troops by Russian helicopters, Rook had only made it out of Russia thanks to the help of an old woman with more guts than any ten civilians he’d ever met. The woman, Galya, had given her life to save his.
Right now, he didn’t want to think about her. He didn’t want to think about her brother, the smuggler who’d helped him escape via boat, or the other woman on the boat who had disembarked with him but now walked in the opposite direction for reasons she hadn’t cared to explain. He didn’t even want to think about the rest of his team, three men and one woman who were like family. He just wanted to find a warm spot to lie down and close his eyes for a few hours.
Rook sensed movement in the darkness and stopped. The moon provided enough light for him to make his way along the dirt road without a flashlight, and his eyes picked up a change in the shadows. If the source of the movement was human, the person had to know Rook was here. His hand slipped to his .50 caliber Desert Eagle pistol, one of the few things he’d managed to bring with him out of Russia. He had just five of the seven round Action Express magazines though, and he didn’t have the forty-four barrel that allowed him to use the more common Magnum magazines, so he’d have to make every round count.
Multiple howls emanated from the night, and he switched on his flashlight. The light revealed a huge wolf with black fur standing a few feet away. He’d encountered wolves before during his extensive wilderness experience, and he recalled two things in particular about them. First, they tend to run away from people.
Second, they always hunt in packs.
Rook whirled, and the light picked up half a dozen more of the beasts forming a circle around him. Their coats contained the same jet-black fur as the first, but they looked smaller, more like good-sized male black labs. Unlike the first wolf, which stood still and just stared at Rook, these others growled and kept their bodies in motion. They were angling for an attack.
Rook’s harsh laugh drowned out their growls. “I don’t believe this shit. Okay puppies, let’s see if I can’t turn one of you into a nice fur-lined jacket.”
He considered using the Desert Eagle, but rejected the idea almost immediately. The sound would echo right up the fjord, possibly bringing more unwanted attention. Plus, after battling an enemy who had the ability to bring inanimate objects to life in the form of giant stone golems, dispatching the wolves with just his KA-BAR knife would not be much of a challenge.
He turned back to the large wolf and with no hesitation, sprinted straight at it. The knife was in his hand before the second step. The wolf jumped away, but not in time to avoid Rook’s lunging left hand, which made contact near the animal’s rib cage. A dog-like whimper lasted only an instant before an aggressive growl replaced it.
Rook pivoted and saw the large wolf now in front of the others. For a second, they locked eyes. “Didn’t think a big guy like me could move like that, did you? How about I declare victory and you and the pack move on?”
As if hearing him, the wolf turned and ambled away, the other wolves following a few steps behind. The leader showed no sign of the recent injury. Rook watched them go, until even with the flashlight, he couldn’t make out even the slightest trace of a bushy tail.
Rook turned off the light and continued down the road. His fatigue had disappeared, the brief action heightening his senses. The mission tonight was to find a place to sleep. He’d abandoned most of his cold weather gear during his escape, so he couldn’t rest under the stars all night. If he couldn’t find shelter, he’d have to keep moving.
An hour later, the road had started to tilt sharply downhill and the lights finally seemed closer. He passed two isolated shacks before reaching a larger house with a barn on one side. He saw no lights in the house—not surprising given that his watch read 2:33 a.m. He wouldn’t get a better opportunity than this, especially since the barn door had only a simple latch with a padlock that was not fully engaged.
The barn smelled like any one of a hundred he’d encountered before. Rook’s teenage years had included summers working on a farm in his native New Hampshire, and the odor of hay and horse dung was not unpleasant when you were accustomed to it. He allowed his lips
to curl into a smirk as he considered that even above the Arctic Circle, some things don’t change.
Rook could sense horses and perhaps other animals in some of the stalls, but he had no intention of spooking them by turning on his light. After allowing his eyes to adapt, he made his way to an empty stall. He’d endured far worse sleeping conditions than the pile of straw in the corner, and he drifted to sleep almost as soon as his eyelids slid shut. The Desert Eagle rested in his right hand.
His dreams included flames and explosions, from which a huge creature emerged at a full run. Rook could make out no distinct features except anger-filled yellow eyes, and he reached for his gun and tried to raise it. He couldn’t move his hand, no matter how hard he tried. When he looked down, something cold and hard hit him in the nose, and his head jerked upwards.
Then his eyes opened, dispersing the remnants of the dream. One object dominated his vision. A double-barreled shotgun jammed into one of his nostrils.
2
“Good morning, soldier.” The voice spoke Norwegian, a language in which Rook was fluent. Each member of Chess Team had learned at least half a dozen languages, and Rook’s blue eyes and blond goatee and hair made him the natural candidate for those of northern Europe. He decided to answer rather than disarm the man pressing the shotgun into his nose.
“Yeah, good morning. You mind pointing that thing somewhere else?”
“That depends. Do you mind telling me what you’re doing in my barn?”
Rook glanced up at the speaker and calculated some more. The man looked old, at least seventy to judge by the snowy hair and weathered face, but the gray eyes showed no fear or anger, just focus. A man who formerly must have commanded respect.
Rook didn’t wait any longer. His right arm was inches from the end of the shotgun, and in one motion he slammed his hand into it, pushing it in one direction and rolling his body in the other direction as a counter-balance. As the gun swung away, Rook grabbed it by the barrel and jerked it out of the man’s hands. The motion caused his roll to continue until he wound up kneeling, his Desert Eagle coming up into firing position.
As he aimed it, he noticed that the man had produced a small pistol. Not a bad move, thought Rook, especially for a senior citizen. He said, “I think this is what we call a standoff.”
“I thought you might try something like that.”
“Then why the hell did you get so close to me?”
The man chuckled. “I wanted to find out for sure.” He lowered the gun to his side. “So, soldier, no more standoff. But my question stands. What are you doing in my barn?”
“I was sleeping until you shoved a shotgun in my face.”
“I figured to get your attention. How did you come to be looking for a barn to sleep in, soldier?”
“Why do you keep calling me ‘soldier’?”
“I’ve seen a few of them in my time, and you could not be anything else. Are you going to answer my question?”
Rook considered before answering. What am I doing here, anyway? He knew he needed some time to get right with the loss of his entire support team, but that just wasn’t his style. He’d rather shoot out navels than spend time gazing at his own. But here he was.
He lowered the Desert Eagle and held out his left hand. “I wanted some time away. I started walking, and next thing I knew, I needed a place to sleep. I didn’t figure I’d find a motel around here, so your barn seemed as good as anything. The name’s Stanislav.”
The man kept his gaze steady and didn’t move to take Rook’s hand. “Seems like you might have left a couple things out between walking and sleeping.”
Rook laughed. “Yeah, I did. Especially the part about the wolf.”
The man raised his pistol again, and Rook didn’t see any wavering in the aim. “Tell me, Stanislav, what wolf are you talking about?”
Rook locked eyes with the man. “The pack of pitch-black wolves I met a few miles back, with a giant bastard the size of a small horse as their pack leader.”
The man lowered the gun again, and Rook said, “Make up your mind whether you’re gonna shoot me, okay? What’s this all about?”
Instead of answering directly, the man asked, “These wolves, did they attack you?”
“They sure as shit would have the way they were circling me. I cut their leader with my knife and they decided to find an easier target.”
Rook saw some doubt in the man’s eyes for the first time. Then the man put the gun in his waistband. Rook raised his eyebrows.
“You sure you wanna put that there? You might shoot off something important.”
“Son, at my age, they just are not that damn important anymore.”
Rook grinned. “Fair enough. So no more standoff?”
The man reached out his hand. “If you could cut the large wolf, there never was a standoff. I would never have hit you with the gun.”
Rook took the man’s hand, still grinning, though he kept the Desert Eagle in the other at his side. “That’s probably true. What’s your name?”
“Peder Bjork. So, Stanislav, where do you come from?”
“Russia.”
“Russia? I see. And when will you be moving on?”
All at once, Rook felt the urgency of the loss of contact with the rest of Chess Team. How long had it been? Too long, was the answer, and he needed to let them know he was only temporarily out of the game. “I don’t know. A while I guess. Do you have a phone? Maybe I can figure it out myself?”
“No phones here. And before you ask, no Internet, either. Not even mail or telegram.”
“I get it; we have a lot of people in, ah, Russia, who are the same way. Sometimes the damn things are more trouble than they’re worth. How about someone else in town who might let me use theirs?”
“I don’t think you heard me, Stanislav. In the town of Fenris Kystby, we do not have any of that.”
Rook blinked.
“Are you serious? What if there was an emergency?”
“Then someone would drive an hour or two and bring help. There is really nothing we need that we cannot provide ourselves or get during occasional trips.”
Rook opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. Maybe the guy was right. Maybe a few weeks with no distractions was just what he needed. He’d have to contact the team, but that could wait a little bit longer.
“I guess you’re right, Peder. I’ll be staying for a few days. Is there an inn or any kind of boarding house in town? Maybe a place where I won’t wake up with a gun in my face?”
Peder barked a laugh. “You have a lot to learn, Stanislav. There is not anything like that. You are better off just moving on.”
Rook felt the anger rising in his chest and he let his fingers flex around the Desert Eagle still at his side. “Yeah, well I like it here. I think I’ll stay. You got any suggestions or are we back to a standoff?”
Peder raised his eyebrows and twisted his lips in thought. “Well now, I do have one idea. I have a little pest control problem on the farm that maybe a man like you could help with. Since you like my barn so much, I could let you sleep here for a few days in exchange for your help.”
Inside, Rook groaned, his mind filled with images of chasing rats around the barn with the gun and cursing. But he had plenty of free time on his hands, and he didn’t have any better options. So he nodded. “That’s a generous offer, and I’ll take you up on it. Thanks”
Peder said, “Are you going to put that pistol away, or are you still waiting for me to draw on you?”
Rook looked down at the gun, and tucked it into the back of his pants where it would not be seen or put his boys in danger. “Better to have it handy and not need it than the opposite.”
“True, Stanislav, very true. You know, you are almost certainly the luckiest man in Fenris tonight.”
“Why’s that, because you didn’t shoot me?”
“In a way. You’re lucky you picked my barn, that’s all.”
“I didn’t feel lucky when I first o
pened my eyes.”
Peder chuckled. “If you had picked any other barn besides mine, you could have counted on one thing.”
“What?”
“No one else in town would have woken you up before pulling the trigger.”
3
After his rude awakening, Rook didn’t go back to sleep. Peder gave him a brief tour of the farm, which didn’t consist of much beyond the house, the barn, and some fenced enclosures for grazing. The barn housed half a dozen chickens, three cows, two pigs, two horses, and two goats, and Rook watched as Peder released them into their respective pens.
It reminded him of home in New Hampshire, which made him think of his fellow Chess Team members and how he needed to find a way to contact them. First, though, he wanted to find out more about the pest control problem Peder had mentioned. That, and get some breakfast. As Peder showed him the house proper, Rook broached the subject.
“So what exactly do you need my help with?”
Peder motioned to a faded blue couch that had seen better days. “Take a seat, Stanislav. We have a problem in this town no one wants to talk much about. Since it started taking my animals though, I’ve been trying to do something.”
Great, Rook thought. I’ll be chasing coyotes instead of rats. “Since what started taking your animals?”
Peder pursed his lips and looked at the peeling finish and the wood floors. “I don’t rightly know. But I used to have a dozen cows and thirty chickens. Every few days another one disappears. A couple of times I stayed up all night watching, but none ever disappeared when I was awake. One time I dozed off and when I woke up, another chicken was gone and I caught a glimpse of a huge form in the distance.”
Rook looked for signs that the old man was pulling his leg, but didn’t see any. He took a deep breath. “Well hell, probably just a bear or something. You ever try shooting at it?”
Peder shook his head. “I only saw it that one time. That was two days ago. When I found you this morning, I was hoping you were the culprit.”
Callsign: Rook - Book 1 (A Stan Tremblay - Chess Team Novella) Page 1
