by Tom Haase
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 up 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 we had in the room was worth killing or dying for. We have the knowhow and we’ll get it. 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 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 and only engaged in this business since they landed in Granada.
First, Hashim used his contact with the Imam in Warsaw to phone the local cleric and they 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 in haste around 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 alternative was to watch the two Americans die at the hand of this nutcase. That wasn’t 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 within reason to achieve his goal.
“You mean kidnap her?”
“If you think it would work,” Hashim said. He now felt that he had succeed in leading 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.”
26
Granada, Spain
Hotel Lus Tilos - 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. A news program in English played on one channel.
Even though he played a few games when 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 hadn’t 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. He 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 appeared 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 the gift contained the relics of Saint John Chrysostom, one of the greatest saints of the Orthodox world. The Vatican held them for centuries and now returned 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 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 must be another key or setup. He rechecked the size and the board fit perfect under 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 always 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 did. She hadn’t let him forget it either. It always remained 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 Goggled 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 four types of pieces: elephants, chariots, cavalry, and infantry. The Moors 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 used the wrong pieces. These pieces didn’t exist at the time and the Polish major must have known 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 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 immediate result obvious to him. The various figures aligned on specific locations shown on the map. He needed 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 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. 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, 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 required 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 saw the answer. He clapped his hands in joy. The code found.
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 since Warsaw.
Everything would have been perfect if Bridget were here.
27
Granada, Spain
Gran Via de Colon - 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 sat alone. Fondly she remembered the previous summers, the men, the sailing, and the mountain climbing. In the summertime she could do what she wanted and not fear repercussions at the university. There she walked the line. No playing around on campus her unwavering 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. She knew it was time to break this off. This guy wasn’t her type and she didn’t want to do a one night stand with anyone. She realized they were on an important quest and this type of diversion would do nothing to help her.
“I like to drink and have sex.”
“So do I. But right now I’m going to leave you. Go hit on someone else.” She walked out and returned to the hotel without visiting Scott and dressed for her run. She took her time and walked for an hour before starting a long run.
Afterwards, the temperature cooled, but she sweated from her excursion during the run, and, at this hour, the crowds of tourists no longer roamed the streets. The almost empty sidewalk allowed her to hurry along. After taking a right turn, she quickened her pace toward the hotel a little after two in the morning according to her watch. Scott must have 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 another run. She felt good after not exercising for four days now. She enjoyed running and now felt refreshed and ready to attack the chess code as she remained in thought she increased her pace. Her sense of euphoria about the future made her enjoy the clean night air. She slowed to a walk a few blocks from the hotel to cool down.
* * *
“Let’s get her now, the whore,” Jabril ordered. He started toward the girl from the recessed alleyway and Hashim followed. They waited outside the hotel when she returned.
“Shouldn’t we get the car?” Hashim asked.
“Yes. You do it.” Jabril headed straight for the woman.
Hashim 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 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 close beside them and jumped out to open 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.
“Take us to the Imam’s house,” Jabril said. “Make sure no one follows us.”
“Of course.” Hashim wondered if Jabril thought him an imbecile giving obvious instructions.
These Iranians, they think they will rule the world, but they are only one part of Islam, Hashim thought.
Taking a circuitous route into the San Matias district, Hashim still arrived at their destination in less than ten minutes.
“Help me get her into the house and take the car somewhere else, in case someone back there saw us and might be able to identify it.”
“Yes,” Hashim said. His muscles tightened in his neck and shoulders.
Jabril pulled Bridget’s unconscious body out of the car and through the front door. He waited for Hashim’s return to help to carry her down the steps. There they locked her in a cellar room with no windows and one door. The heat in the room caused Hashim to sweat. With no ventilation t
he intense Spanish sun would turn this room into an oven in the daytime.
Jabril left for a minute and came back with two lengths of rope and a small roll of duct tape. He lashed her to the wood chair with duct tape around her feet and then rechecked the ropes on her hands for tightness.
“Go get me a rag and some more tape. I’m going to rape her and then cut her throat,” Jabril said.
Hashim hurried off to comply. After obtaining the items from the Imam, he returned. Jabril shoved the cloth into the mouth of the unconscious Bridget and secured it with the duct tape.
“That ought to keep her quiet. At least, until I’m finished with her,” said the Iranian member of the Presidential guard.
“Wait a minute. I thought you wanted to use her to get to the Holy Koran. She is a hostage now. If you kill her, she will be of no use to us. We need to keep her intact to prove she is alive if we have to,” Hashim said. “Please contain yourself until we have the book. Then do as you wish. Do you want me to write a note to the man at the hotel to state our demands, or will you?”
“You do it since you learned English. Make sure he understands we have her and he has to deliver the text of the Holy Koran or she dies.”
“You do see that we can’t kill her yet,” Hashim said. “We may need her to persuade him to do it. He might run if he thinks she’s already dead. Of course, we’ll still kill them both.”
“Just get it written and delivered to the hotel so he’ll get it in the morning.”
Hashim wrote the ransom note and in half an hour he believed the words conveyed the right demands and the correct amount of threats. Jabril approved the note. Hashim placed it in an envelope and walked to the hotel at a leisurely pace. He needed time to think of his own plans away from Jabril.
