Robert Tanenbaum - Counterplay

“I know you just said something important,” Marlene said. “But I still don’t get it.”

Ivgeney laughed. “Kane, who may or may not still be running the show, has played like a beginner. He kills the black bishop. He kills the black knight. He tries to kill the white bishop, kills a white knight, and tries to kill another. Then all those pawns, black and white. It’s sort of a ‘last man standing’ strategy that no chess master would pride himself on, unless-”

“Unless what?” Marlene and Tran said together.

“Unless he is using the Naranja gambit…once used by the Spanish chess master, Orlando Naranja, in a world championship match,” Yvgeny said. “Essentially, it entails sort of an all-out attack, a war of attrition in which he even sacrificed his queen. But it was meant to distract the opponent and force him to defend against, while Naranja’s real purpose was a simple three-move strike from another direction.”

“So what we think Kane or someone is trying to accomplish-the assassination of the district attorney of New York and his pesky wife,” Marlene said, “is really a distraction for the true purpose, which is to-”

“-place in checkmate the real white king, the Pope,” Tran finished. “And the white queen?”

Marlene looked at the television set. “Lucy,” she said.

Ten minutes later, the Homeland Security agent knocked on the door of the loft. “Sit, boy,” he said, pleased that the dog had followed his every command.

The door opened and Zak poked his head out. “Yes?”

“Oh, hi, where’s your mother?” the agent asked. “I brought her dog back.”

“She’s napping,” Zak replied, “and doesn’t want to be disturbed.” He took the leash from the agent and pulled the dog inside. “Thank you,” he said and shut the door on the bemused agent.

Andrew Kane approached the short, compact man with the tidy black mustache and held out his hand. “Colonel Grolsch,” he said to the head of the Swiss Guard security team. “Good to see you again.”

“Ah, Senore Hodges,” the man replied, shaking his hand. “Your people are in place, I assume?”

“Yes, indeed,” Kane said with a smile. “My people are in place. And yours?”

“Si …yes, two here in the back,” Grolsch said, pointing to each of two men at the back of the cathedral near the main doors where guests were passing through metal detectors and having their bags searched. “Plus two along the sides. And there will be two more up beyond the altar, along with myself, out of sight, but ready. Oh, and, of course, the two you can see standing behind where the pontiff will be seated, dressed in our traditional uniforms.”

Kane looked to where Grolsch indicated the two men clad in Renaissance helmets and blue, red, and yellow tunics. He knew from the Catholic history books he’d been forced to read as a child that the colors were those of the Medici family and the uniforms supposedly designed by Michelangelo. The men were armed with swords and halberds-a combination spear and battle-ax. Not much of a threat, he thought.

“It is a small group”-Grolsch shrugged-“but with all the other security efforts outside and inside, I am comfortable. And your people?”

“Similar placement,” Kane said. “But also two-females-among the nuns in the choir.”

“But can they sing?” Grolsch asked.

It took Kane a moment to realize the man had made a joke. “You know, I’ve never asked,” he said and did his best to chuckle.

“And where will you be, Senore Hodges?”

Kane smiled. “Why, right next to you. Just in case the unthinkable happens, we will be able to coordinate our response.”

“Buono,” Grolsch replied. “His Holiness would prefer no guards at all. Alas, we live in a world in which the man who represents peace and God’s love to so many must be defended from men of violence…. Now, if you will excuse me, I must speak with my people before I take my place.”

Kane returned the man’s small bow and watched him walk off. Thanks to Grolsch’s candidness, he was aware that the four men in the cathedral proper carried SIG P-210 pistols beneath their suit coats, and the two men out of sight behind the altar were also armed with Heckler amp; Koch submachine guns.

Not that it will matter, Kane thought, suppressing a giggle behind his hand. His plan was marching forward swimmingly with its twin purposes coming together at the appointed hour-soon the Pope, as well as Karp, his bitch wife, Marlene…and dear Lucy…would be in his grasp. He’d been told the twin boys wouldn’t be attending, which was a small disappointment-he’d hoped to kill them in front of their parents. But no matter. He’d make sure the parents understood that they were dead before the evening’s festivities were over.

He was so happy, in fact, with the way his plan had worked, he wished he could give himself a hug. The plan had been a masterful work of art, and he’d tinkered with it throughout. Even the death of the terrorist Akhmed Kadyrov during his escape had worked to his advantage when he had the number to the Iranian ambassador-who everyone knew was a tool of the Russians-placed in his pocket. Even the attempt on the old Russian gangster and his son, both known to be sympathetic to the Chechen nationalists, was meant as much for distraction as retribution.

Fey died for his treason, but also because it had been the former archbishop who’d told him the secret last fall that the Pope intended to visit New York to counter the bad publicity of the sexual offenses by priests. If Fey had been questioned about what Kane was up to, he might have given it away. And Flanagan could have recalled hearing the news from him as well.

There’d been a moment of rage and fear when Ellis told him about the king and queen chess pieces arriving at the Karp residence. Who was the traitor? Who was trying to warn Karp? Could Bandar have staggered the arrival of the pieces before his death? Was it the Russian, Malovo? He didn’t trust her-the Russians were always full of intrigue and playing one party against another for their own ends. How about Ellis? Was the cooperation of the two just a lie to get what they wanted while preparing to sacrifice him? But no, he’d made sure that they understood that if something went wrong due to betrayal, he’d salted away plenty of evidence to take them down with him.

Who then? he wondered as he watched the guests enter and take their seats. Behind his smile, he was sneering at their excited faces and small talk as they soaked up being among the chosen. Once they’d shown him those same smiles, talked the small talk, when they arrived at his dinner parties, flattering him with their empty compliments and contributions to his campaign when they thought that he was going to be the next mayor of their precious city. They’d disappeared after his arrest, quickly distancing themselves before he’d even been tried and convicted. Now, he could hardly wait to see their faces when he revealed himself and they realized that their lives were in his hands.

Samira was the most logical choice for the traitor. But that didn’t make sense either. When he last saw her with Malovo-both of them dressed as nuns and mixing in with the choir, who’d been told they were there for the Pope’s protection-her eyes glittered like black diamonds with the knowledge that at last she would become a martyr, striking a blow for Islam that would never be forgotten. He couldn’t imagine her risking the operation…unless her purpose was to ruin the personal aspects of his plan.

But then, Kane thought, what if it really is Samira playing a little game as a way of getting back at him? His fear, after Ellis informed him of the king and queen, was that Karp and Ciampi, along with Lucy, would remain home or locked away in some safe house. It wouldn’t have ruined the larger focus of the plan, but it would have taken a good chunk of the fun out of it. Just what Samira might enjoy.