TOM DUNCAN SAT behind the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office. His suit coat hung over the back of his chair, his sleeves were rolled up, and his tie dangled loosely. He looked like any other hardworking president, except for the fact that he was leaning back in the chair, staring blankly at the ceiling. For all the power his office granted him, he found himself momentarily immobilized. As the eyes of the world watched his every act outside the rounded walls of the Oval Office, scrutinized every word, every inflection of his voice, every facial expression—looking for a flaw—inaction became the safest course of conduct. With the wolves circling and out for blood, anything he did might make them attack.

What made this hard for Duncan was that he was also a wolf. As a former Army Ranger he excelled when in the movement. As president he applied his energy to the challenges faced by the country, and as Deep Blue, he focused his military mind on the Chess Team’s missions. But now he could only monitor and advise. A deeper involvement could expose and endanger the team. The Chess Team was hidden but not buried, not black. There had been no reason to hide their existence from the government he ran. But now …

The time for a new direction, a new plan, was upon him.

Hard choices and big changes needed to be made.

So he retreated to his office, cleared his mind of the media, of Marrs, and searched for solutions.

Before he could focus his thoughts, the phone on his desk rang. Its digital chime didn’t get a chance to finish as Duncan sat up and hit the speakerphone button. The White House switchboard had been given strict instructions to allow calls from a very short list of people through, each with a unique ring. This one belonged to Dominick Boucher.

“What’ve you got?”

“I’m faxing it over now.”

The full-color fax machine behind the desk blinked as the incoming file transferred.

“Is this about Ridley?”

“Yes sir,” Boucher said. “Two major developments. He rented a gold Peugeot 307 Cabriolet from Europcar at Heathrow. Europcar GPS chips all their cars and we tracked it to Wiltshire County.”

Duncan recognized the name. He’d been there once, in college, as a backpacking tourist. “Stonehenge?”

“We believe so, yes.”

“But why?”

“I couldn’t tell you that for sure, but if he’s interested in ancient languages, perhaps there is more to Stonehenge than we know. Something that hasn’t been uncovered yet. The site is incredibly old and we know very little about the people who built it. Whatever it is must be important because he’s taking bold risks to get it.”

“Are Queen, Bishop, and Knight ready to go?” Duncan asked. Keasling was on the task of debriefing and briefing the team, getting them geared up and ready to drop wherever King needed them.