by Tom Haase
* * * *
Bridget swallowed the last bit of food from her plate and made a contented yummy sound.
“Did you enjoy the tortilla Sacromonte?” Scott asked. “It is suppose to be the city’s most famous dish. My merluza en salsa de almendras was delicious. The only drawback to this trip is the high price we pay for everything over here now the dollar is so low.”
“That’s the only drawback?” Bridget joked. “How about all the dead bodies piling up?”
“Well, there is that.” Scott stared off into space for a moment.
What she’d meant as a joke ended up bringing on a somber mood at the table. What they needed was some partying to forget the danger they were in. “Are you going to join me for a night out?”
“No. You shouldn’t go out either,” he said. “You didn’t even bring your purse.”
“Party pooper.”
“I may be a pooper but I’m going back to the hotel to work on the code.” Scott signaled the waiter for the check. “This little chess set I bought is about the same size as the one I saw in the photos Wozniak took in the room where he discovered the manuscripts. The problem will be to arrange them on the chessboard and then to transfer them to the map. If the arrangement of these pieces is on a map of this city I believe then we’ll get a result.”
“That should be easy,” Bridget said as she drained the last of her wine. She sat back and glowered at him.
“You go have your fun.”
“Come on, Scott. You’ve got to loosen up. When was the last time you had any? Months? How long? You’re not still into…that lifestyle…are you?”
Scott blushed. “No.” He looked for the waiter to bring the check. “It’s not easy. Not now, sis, don’t go there, please.”
“Of course, it’s difficult if you stay in a hotel room. You must get over it and move on. Hell, you’re in super shape, now start to live a little.” She tried to encourage him without bringing up the past debacle.
“But, not tonight. I want to solve this riddle, and maybe we both will get credit for a great discovery. Maybe we can get rich, who knows?”
“There’s more to life than that,” she said, looking around at the other patrons in the restaurant.
The waiter placed the bill on the table and Scott placed his credit card on top. “I don’t want to argue about this right now. A man died in the curator’s office at your hand. He must’ve thought this was important to give his life. Not to mention that bastard in Madrid. This is real. We’re in trouble and you want to play.”
“He didn’t give his life. I took it. The bastard came at us with a knife and would have killed us. Whatever he thought was in the room was worth killing or dying for. We have it now and we’ll get whatever it is. It’ll be ours.”
The waiter returned and Scott signed the tab and took his copy. “I’m going back to work on our future and hopefully our fortune.”
Bridget stood. “You do that. I’m going to work on my present.”
* * * *
In the alley, Hashim and Jabril waited for over an hour and a half watching the Donavans enjoy a leisurely evening meal. The sight and smell of the food made Hashim salivating. He had not eaten since leaving Madrid. It had been all business since landing in Granada.
First, Hashim had used his contact with the Imam in Warsaw to phone the local cleric and they had met with some radical element of the Spanish Jihad Army. Then, while the Americans rested in their hotel room during the afternoon heat, Jabril procured a handgun from the Imam. The Imam offered his house for use if they needed it but asked them to stay away from the mosque.
“We’ve put up with this long enough.” Jabril turned to face Hashim. “I’m going over and kill them.”
“Jabril, wait. Think for a minute.” Hashim realized he’d exhibited more urgency than he meant to and moderated his tone as he continued. “The Americans are still in a public place and cameras cover the area for security. The police will hunt us down if they get our pictures. We must not act hastily in an open tourist area. This is not Tehran where you can control things.”
He stepped in front of Jabril. “It is better to wait until they are not in public. Also, we don’t have the copy of the Holy Koran the curator talked about. If you kill them we may never get it. It appears they are on a search to find something. They will lead us to whatever they are searching for. Maybe even to the book itself. That is our mission isn’t it?”
“I still want to kill her first, for what she did in Warsaw, then the other one.” He slapped his fist into the palm of his other hand. “But what you say makes sense.”
“Look, the man is leaving. The girl is alone.” Hashim tried to guide the man to a conclusion he wanted to control. “Why don’t we take her and use her to force the man to lead us to the manuscript?” Any decision that didn’t include killing the Americans would be better than Jabril’s current crazy plan. Hashim’s idea would at least give him some time and put him in control of the woman. The only alternative was to watch the two Americans die at the hand of this nutcase. That was not an option. He needed to find out what the woman knew as soon as possible before taking any action. His sole goal was to get a higher position in the Islamic operations in Europe. He would do whatever that took. That was his goal.
“You mean kidnap her?”
“If you think it would work,” Hashim said. He now felt that he had successfully led the man to the right conclusion, away from an open execution style murder. He hoped this plan would work.
“We can hold her at the Imam’s house. I’ll deliver a ransom note to him at the hotel, either deliver the Holy Koran or she dies,” Hashim added as Jabril started to move forward.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Hotel Lus Tilos,
Granada, Spain - 10:46 p.m.
Scott bought himself a soda from the hall vending machine and settled into a chair. He pulled over a small table and placed the chess set he’d purchased earlier at the kiosk on top. Satisfied, he spread out the paper on which he’d translated the Arabic for Bridget. She had drawn lines between the groupings to indicate the moves. He turned on the small TV in the room. There was a news program in English on one channel.
Even though he had played a few games in college to pass the time with fellow students during class breaks, he didn’t consider himself a chess player. Anyhow, solving the problem couldn’t be that difficult. He would show Bridget he could do this without her help or her knowledge of advanced gaming strategy even though she had been the high school chess champion.
The news program showed the Pope in Istanbul meeting with government officials, and Scott heard the commentator say the relations with the Vatican had always been strained but this visit was helping to reestablish a cordial atmosphere between the two. The pictures also showed the Pope and Prime Minister of Turkey shaking hands.
Scott took out his computer and opened the chess game program. He remembered seeing the icon in the menu bar but had not played computer chess before. He downed a swig of his drink and watched the computer screen. In no time the game appeared on his Apple laptop. White moved first by the computer, and a voice said, “Knight b1 to d3.” He moved a few more pieces and noticed a log beside the chessboard. This device recorded his moves in chess annotations when he moved a piece. He quickly figured out the manner of recording the chess moves.
“This can’t be all that difficult,” he said aloud.
The TV showed the Pope meeting a cleric who had to be some sort of Orthodox priest with the ornate dress and headpiece. Scott watched for a few minutes and the Pope handed the Patriarch a gold box. The commentator said it was a gift of the relics of St John Chrysostom, one of the greatest saints of the Orthodox world. The Vatican had them for centuries and was returning them. Real nice of them, Scott thought.
Turning his attention back to the chessboard, Scott used the sheet of paper to place the pieces. Then he moved it over the old map of Granada he purchased earlier
giving a representation of the city at the fall of the Moors to the Spanish crown.
He’d thought that everything would suddenly fall into place, but nothing made sense. He rearranged the setup but again failed to make any connection between the order of the pieces and the map. The bishops had not moved and the pawns were still in a straight line.
There had to be another key or setup. He rechecked the size and the board fit perfectly over the map. Still the placement of the pieces revealed nothing. The queen, the most powerful piece on the modern chessboard, should be doing something and the bishops should be over churches or monasteries, but neither provided him any information. He pressed on for over an hour. After repeated failures to understand anything that connected the chess pieces with the map, he took a break and logged into his email. He spent a few minutes answering friends and decided to look up some facts about the game of chess.
In the back of his mind, he wondered about Bridget. He hoped she would be careful out on her own, but she didn’t need a chaperone. Besides, she went off to Africa into the worst areas and always thrived on hardships. Scott knew that behind the tough appearance lived a soft, warm person who would love to find the right man and settle down. He also realized that she continually hunted for Mr. Special all over the world.
A pain flooded his mind as he remembered he had ruined the first Mr. Right for her. He still regretted what he had done. She hadn’t let him forget it either. It was always just below the surface despite their affection for one another. Someday, he hoped, she would find the mate she desired. He wouldn’t repeat his previous mistake ever again. Enough, he thought, I have to concentrate on the task at hand.
The web site he Googled offered information on the history of the game. He discovered the origin of modern chess rooted in the Arab culture. Scott already knew this fact. The internet provided so much information.
Scott read that when the Moors invaded Spain, they brought with them a game called Shatranj, the origins of which lay in an Indian game named Chaturanga. The game they played employed only four types of pieces: elephants, chariots, cavalry, and infantry. The Moors had modified the Indian game after the conquest of the Iberian Peninsula.
When the Christian rulers reestablished control of Spain new rules and pieces entered the game. They introduced something called castling, pawn advances by two squares and en passant. The queen, just a single move piece in Shatranj, became the most powerful piece, in tribute to Queen Isabella. Other figures took on the names encountered in the Spanish empire: bishop and knight.
Scott reeled in amazement at his discovery.
He was using the wrong pieces. These pieces didn’t exist at the time and the Polish major knew that when he solved the code. Scott now remembered that there were no bishops on the board in Warsaw. He thought it was odd at the time but only now realized its importance.
In a flash, he made the board contain only the pieces the Muslims would have used at the time Granada fell to the Spanish monarchs by removing the knights and bishops. Then he set the pieces in the positions found in the code. He realized anyone finding the map and code in the West would have had no idea of the rules or pieces used by the players of the game under Moorish rule. That is, unless they were scholars of the period. The Polish major in the room must have been one.
When he placed the pieces in position and transferred them to the ancient city map, the result struck him immediately. The various figures aligned on specific locations shown on the map. He had to reorient the map to get the elephants to sit on the gates of the town, the infantry pieces, now knights, on the main battlements outlined on the map. The queen rested on a monastery outside the walls of the city. This was a location near where the Sacromonte books were unearthed in the 16th century, Scott recalled.
He positioned the last piece on the board, the king, the most important piece at that time. He placed it where the original Arabic note indicated. Oddly, the piece did not rest on the old location of the central mosque, but on the Christian church in the center of the city next to an old monastery.
“That can’t be right.” He needed Bridget’s input.
“Where in hell is she?’ he exclaimed aloud. She should be getting back here by now. He looked at the clock. It was already past three in the morning.
He turned his attention back to the board. The king must indicate where to look for the treasure, he concluded. Where in a large church would the Moors hide their treasure? They must have left behind some clues. Scott looked at the code paper again. Dummy, he thought. This is the translation you made for Bridget. Go get the original Arabic. He searched his backpack and retrieved the document.
On a detailed examination, he found a small comment at the bottom of the paper. He had to use his glasses to read the miniature print. No wonder he hadn’t seen it before.
An ear-to-ear smile spread across his face. Now he had the answer. He clapped his hands in joy. He had found the code.
Scott drank the last of his soda before flopping down onto the bed.
Bridget would be back soon. Damn her, where was she? He wanted to tell her the mystery unraveled without her help. She might even be proud of him. He could accomplish cracking codes on his own. He smiled, snapped his fingers, and he felt invigorated for the first time in a long time.
Everything would have been perfect if Bridget were here.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gran Via de Colon - Granada, Spain - 11:02 p.m.
Bridget sat by herself for a few minutes after Scott’s departure. As she still twirled the stem of her wine glass her thoughts wandered until her mind settled on the chess set Scott bought on the way to the restaurant and she wondered if he would make headway on breaking the code.
Bridget’s eyes scanned the restaurant and she noticed a man taking her in. His handsome face, piercing black eyes, and jet-black hair captured her attention. She glanced away before her gaze returned to him.
After six weeks in the Ethiopian desert and a week of frantic preparation to get ready to go there after the spring semester ended, she had little time for herself. Now she was alone. Fondly she remembered the previous summers: the men, the sailing, and the mountain climbing. It was the only time she could do what she wanted and not fear repercussions at the university. There she walked the line. No playing around on campus was her rule.
The man rose from his table and walked toward her. “May I join you?”
She nodded and continued to examine him. These Spaniards were gorgeous hunks, and they played around with the foreign women. But woe be unto her if one of the Spanish women ever approached a foreigner. The men would call them whores. Not her problem, she reminded herself.
In a few minutes of conversation, she learned what she took to be the fictional story of his life. He said he was just out to have a good time.
“What kind of good time?” Bridget asked.
“I like to drink and have sex.”
“So do I. Order a bottle of wine for us.” She had already decided he would do nicely for a relief from desert boredom.
The man, who gave his name as Domingo, signaled for the waiter. Bridget estimated she was in for a good night. They finished the bottle in short order. She could see his eyes set on one thing and one thing only —her. She had a sudden feeling from deep inside her. She got up. “Where are you taking me?”
He didn’t hesitate for a second. “To my bed where I plan to ravish you,” he said in polished English.
“Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“It will be up as long as you need it.”
“I have a long need.”
“Then I have something very long for you.”
Later, satisfied yet exhausted, she dressed, and silently left the hotel room heading for the Gran Via de Colon. The temperature had cooled and the crowds of tourists had vanished. The now sparsely peopled sidewalk allowed her to hurry along. It was only a little after two in the morning according to her watch. After taking a right turn, she quickened her pac
e toward the hotel. Scott had probably gone to bed without figuring out the locations of the chess pieces, which he would never line up without her help. She was sure of it.
Tomorrow she would go for a long run. She hadn’t exercised for four days now and she felt sluggish. In the morning, she would fix that. She had enjoyed the sex and now felt refreshed and ready to attack the chess code. She looked forward to solving the mystery. It might be months before she allowed herself a night like this. But what the hell, she was over twenty-one and nobody could tell her what to do on her own time. She remained in thought but increased her pace. Her sense of euphoria about tonight and the future made her relax and enjoy the clean air.
* * * *
“Let’s get her now, the whore,” Jabril ordered. He started toward the girl from the recessed alleyway and Hashim followed. They had waited outside the hotel where the man had taken her.
“Shouldn’t we get the car?” Hashim asked.
“Yes, yes. You do it.” Jabril headed straight for the woman.
Hashim reluctantly left him, hoping Jibirl wouldn’t go back to his plan to just kill the American woman instead of kidnapping her. When he returned in the vehicle, Hashim saw her alive and walking with Jabril following at a distance. Hashim brought the car to the woman’s side of the street. He carefully pulled in to the curb but remained behind her.
Jabril walked pass the car and approached the woman. He sneaked to within three feet before she made any hint of concern, but by then it was too late. Jabril rushed forward and with expert skill slugged her on the head with the butt of his pistol.
She staggered. He caught her as she collapsed. Hashim moved the car forward. Jabril pushed the woman toward the car as it came along side. Hashim stopped directly beside them. He jumped out and opened the rear door. Jabril tumbled her into the seat and climbed in beside her. He shoved her across the backseat. Hashim returned to the driver’s seat and drove away.
