He listened to the jungle. The large palm leaves of the trees overhead scraped against each other. The river bubbled as it rolled over rocks on the shoreline.

He listened to his men. Silent. Waiting.

He listened to the targets, Miguel and Nahuel Franco. Bishop opened his eyes. The Francos had gone silent, too.

Bishop peeked up over the log that hid him from their line of sight and saw both men still sitting on the sandy beach. But Nahuel was holding the shotgun and Miguel had produced a revolver. At first glance, Bishop thought the men had heard the same sounds in the jungle, but when he took a closer look he realized the awful truth.

They were looking toward him.

Not the jungle.

Bishop turned to his men and spoke quickly. “Ditch your weapons and night vision. Do not engage. Do not speak. I will come for you.”

He ducked under the water and disappeared into the darkness.

BP-One blinked twice in surprise. Then he nodded and passed on the orders. The team quickly put their weapons and night vision goggles into the water and let them sink to the muddy bottom. They’d all been warned that the Chess Team did things a little differently, but had yet to experience it firsthand. It seemed Bishop’s Pawns were about to get their first taste in truly unconventional warfare.

After a minute passed and Bishop had not yet surfaced, BP-One thought, suicidal warfare. Then he became distracted by the row of rifle muzzles sliding out of the jungle. Following orders, the team silently raised their hands.

Ten darkly clad Argentine National Gendarmerie soldiers exited the jungle, keeping their weapons trained on the intruders. Bright lamps from within the jungle and from the sandy beach filled the river with daylight luminosity. “Mantenga sus manos hacia arriba y salir del agua. Ahora,” one of the men commanded, his voice firm and in control.

Only BP-Three could speak fluent Spanish, but he remained silent, following Bishop’s orders to the T. Instead, he translated through his actions, stepping out of the water and entering the jungle, motioning for the others to follow. As BP-One stepped out of the river, he glanced back one more time, wondering how Bishop had remained submerged for so long. He could have swum away, but the river was wide and long. Anywhere he surfaced would have been seen.

While the Delta team was restrained in plastic zip-tie handcuffs, three of the ANG soldiers scanned the river, looking for signs of movement. They scanned with flashlights, highlighting every inch of the water’s surface and the far shoreline.

When five minutes had past, BP-Two shot BP-One a nervous glance. They were all wondering the same things: Where is Bishop? And is he dead?

*   *   *