CHAPTER 79

GREGORY EVANS ARRIVED AT THE BUREAU. He was clearly aware of the curious looks that fell on him from his coworkers. Some were just curious, others seemed to be bitterly jealous that he had been the one sent to D.C., but nothing worried him, other than the fact that he had to keep everything completely secret. He tried to remain silent, limiting himself to greetings and short conversations with the others.

Before they parted, Floyd Kenagan handed him a flash drive, which he said contained the voice recording made on the plane, during the terrorist's fateful call:

— Find out who it is, no matter what.

He simply took the drive and said goodbye, thinking about how he would succeed in this strange investigation.

There was practically nothing he could do to continue, except analyze the recording received from Mr. Kenagan, since it had not been possible to trace the number. If there was no data that could lead to the subject, at least the voice could be a good start to discovering his identity. He opened his audio editing and treatment software and began to work. He was not a master at sound work, but he knew enough to make the necessary analysis.

The man's voice was very modified, strong hissing ruined the sound quality and, even after using his resources to filter the recording and clean up its noises, Greg could see that in addition to digital processes to alter his vocal spectrum, he was speaking through some object, also physically altering any possibility of being recognized. Shit! What an annoying guy! He vented mentally, while trying to get something out of there.

Deep down, however, a certain admiration for his opponent's sagacity emerged. A strong anguish tortured him, nothing seemed to come out of the blue, nothing seemed to come up that would help him reach a possible suspect. He should have stayed in Washington!

— He thought.

They interrupted:

— Hey, Greg, how are you? What happened? — it was Martin, asking surreptitiously from his desk. — They're saying you went to the White House to sort something out. Is that true?

— Washington isn't just about the President. — he replied cautiously.

— I know, but that's what they're saying. — his friend replied.

— That's the problem with gossip, sometimes they're false, sometimes they're true...

— So tell me, what could be so serious that would make Inspector General Floyd Kenagan abandon the investigation into the terrorist attacks and rush there so suddenly?

— If I tell you, I'll have to kill you... — Greg decided to use his good humor as a way out.

Martin let out a smirk as he typed, and continued:

— I know, I know, and are you going to tell me where the Ark and the Grail are too, Indiana Jones? Come on, my friend, let it out!

— I know you missed me, Martin, but you don't have to show it so much, it's weird, you know? — he joked.

— One day you'll reciprocate. — he said laughing.

Martin didn't insist any further.

Greg was relieved, he didn't want to have to lie to his friend. He closed the audio program, because he concluded that nothing else would come of it.

— My God! Is there still something I haven't seen? — he asked himself distressed.

For a few minutes he despaired of finding no way out, he looked at documents, videos, photos, pinched himself, retrieved old notes and, of course, drank more coffee.

His trail of agony continued until his cell phone rang. It was a text message. Greg opened it to read it and didn't understand anything that was there.

The case is a lie! Pawns moving!

D5— E2— A5— A1— B3— E5— C5— C3— B4— A5— B3— D4— C3— A2— E5— D3— B4— B4— A5— E2— E4— A2

Capture all.

— What the hell is this?! — he said to himself.

Is the case a lie?

Pawns advancing?

Capture them all?

This pawn story again?

Gregory was excited by that message. The use of the analogy with pawns was nothing new, it was certainly a way for the writer to subtly say he was part of the plot.

Would this be the same person from the calls?

Or a third party?

In any case, that meant something important, but what was that code?

He found himself in a complicated situation, he was not allowed to reveal anything to anyone, but he needed help to solve the case.

Ah! To hell with it! Better success without permission than failure under rules! I'm going to call Clooney...

Brad Clooney was a contact Greg had within the CIA. He had met the man years ago, on a field mission. The job was a failure, due to superior decisions that always delayed the actions and culminated in shameful downfalls. Even so, despite all the useless effort, he left there with an interesting contact. The man was an eagle, he could get any kind of information and was gifted with an incredible knowledge of cryptography, codes, languages ​​and all that nonsense that Greg didn't understand.

If there was anyone in the world who could help him, it was Clooney...

— SERGENT CLOONEY SPEAKING — said a voice that was forcedly serious.

— Hello Brad, it's Greg — he replied amiably.

— Greg? — the man seemed to have forgotten.

— Gregory Evans, I worked with you on a few cases a while ago back.

— Oh, yes! How are you, my friend! I always follow your adventures in New York. Tell me, do you need anything? You're not calling to tell me that you miss me.

— I need your help, partner, I have a riddle to solve...

— Only if it's super secret, don't make me waste time with Google searches. — and he laughed.

Gregory sent the message to him.

— I'll look into it and let you know when I find out... — Clooney said.

— Thank you, my friend. It will be a great help...

AFTER THE CALL, GREGORY EVANS kept his mind on the problem, still trying to unravel that mystery.

Pawns?

Check?

Was the whole case like a huge game of chess?

If so, all he had to do was find out who the kings were and he would have the solution to the conflict. He suspected that President Kenan was one of them, the target king, perhaps, the victim, the one he needed to defend.

The big question was:

Who would be the black king?