by Rick Jones
“But I don’t like this feeling.”
“No one does, Kimball. It’s just one of many obstacles you must overcome to fully accept the Light that’s already inside you. The spark is lit and serves as a beacon through the Darkness. Use it wisely as you continue your journey.” “And what’s my journey? To save the planet?”
“No, Kimball. You nor anyone else can save the world…But you can surely save pieces of it.”
When the hand left his shoulder, so did the all-encompassing peace.
As soon as he turned to meet with the eyes of the man behind the voice, the corridor was empty. The long stretch harbored nothing. And Kimball knew that it was impossibly long for someone to walk its length and disappear within a blink or two of an eye.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
“Is anyone there?”
Silence.
Turning back to face Bonasero’s tomb, Kimball placed a hand on the shoulder that the hand had rested upon. It remained warm to the touch.
* * *
Returning to his chamber, Kimball laid on the edge of his bunk and took in his surroundings with absorption. The area was small, cramped and spartan, something he had grown used to over time. On the left side of the room and close to his bunk was a neighboring nightstand where he kept his collection of military manuals and periodicals, all of which were bundled into a pile. To the right of the room was the area of worship, a place that held a votive rack filled with candles that had never been lit, a kneeling rail that had never been knelt upon, and a podium that held a Bible that had never been opened. And in the center of the room high on the wall was a stained-glass window that held the colorful image of the Virgin Mary with her arms extended in invitation. During a certain time of day as the sun traverses the sky, the shine of its rays always passed through the pane to create a Biblical beam of slanting light that filtered through the window and to the floor. The light was there for him to touch, his fingers always dancing inches away from the shaft of light, but he could never allow himself to touch it since he didn’t believe he deserved the salvation of Her gift.
Today, however, as he sat there looking at the colorful pane of glass, there was no ray of light or hope for the offering.
Kimball sighed. And then softly, he asked, “What?…No invite today?”
As he waited silently, and eventually surrendering, Kimball fell into his bunk and faced the wall in a fetal position, and closed his eyes for a much needed sleep.And as a renegade cloud finally passed across the sun and no longer blotted out the light, a warm beam of illumination passed through the stained-glass window and fell upon the ground next to Kimball.
He would never learn of the offer from the Virgin Mother.
CHAPTER FIVE
Anacostia, Washington, D.C.
In the affluent area of Anacostia in Washington, D.C., in the basement of a brickfront establishment, a group meets around a large, oval-shaped table. They are people from all walks of life, both the rich and poor, the young and the old, the healthy and the infirm—all who share the common belief that ‘Man shall bend to the will of God, and God shall never bend to the will of Man.’ They sit within the shadows as the dim glow from a single lamp on the table sheds minimal light over a score of biographical records. Two of the manila folders were opened to expose the histories and photos of Fathers McKenzie and O’Brien, whose faces had been crossed out with a red marker.
After a pair of hands closed the files, they then pushed three additional folders into the circle of light on the table. They were the biographical records of clergymen who were targeted for ‘dismissal.’
“The FBI has gotten involved,” stated a voice that was distinctly male.
“Was there any question about that?” asked a female. “Since we’ve made no attempt to disguise who we are.”
“No,” replied the male.
“We simply need to be smart about this,” she told him. “No matter who’s involved, we will not stray from our duties to remove the disgraces that stain the church. Father McKenzie gave spiritual deliverance to those who wickedly committed the sin of abortion. Father O’Brien because of his weakness for the flesh.” Then she pointed to the stack of unopened folders lying on the table. “And more shall kneel before God and be judged by their sins as well.”
After a period of roundtable debate that was created to justify the actions of assassination, the woman held her hands out to receive the grasp of others, and bowed her head. “Shall we pray?” It was more of a statement than a question as everyone at the table reached their hands out to those sitting beside them, and prayed.
At the end of the invocation that asked God for support, the female voice finished off with: “For I am Hydra…”
And then in chorus from everyone around the table, they said: “…And we are many.”
CHAPTER SIX
The Papal Chamber
The Vatican
Fathers Auciello and Essex served as the co-directors of Vatican Intelligence, the SIV. And since the Vatican had diplomatic ties with 90% of the worldwide nations, and with insurgencies rising at every corner of the planet, Vatican Intelligence monitored the hotspots in allegiance with The Mossad, The CIA, MI6, and other intel agencies tied to the European Union.
They were inside the pontiff’s chamber with John Paul III sitting behind his ornately designed desk. The floor-to-ceiling drapery was made of thick velvet with scalloped edges and gold fringe. An entire wall served as a personal library whose shelves were filled with religious texts and tomes. And a fireplace with a veined marble mantel and burning logs within its hollow, the flames warming the chamber on an unseasonably cool day in Vatican City.
On the opposite side of the desk sat the SIV co-directors with Father Essex in possession of a manila file.
“I’m quite disturbed by the happenings in Washington, D.C.,” the pope stated, while tenting his hands and bouncing his fingertips nervously against the point of his chin. “Even more so, I’m disturbed by the fact that the Nocturnal Saints have reappeared after centuries of going underground.”
The Nocturnal Saints were a religious order that developed in 1517, when Martin Luther nailed his Ninety-five Theses to the church door in Wittenburg, Germany that started a schism within the church due to the practice of selling indulgences, which were certificates believed to reduce the worldly punishment for the sins of loved ones in purgatory, with this cited abuse by the clergy clearly spelled out in detail by Luther. From this Protestantism formed—though it remained as a form of Christianity—with a complete divide from Roman Catholicism. The Nocturnal Saints, however, taking Martin Luther’s Theses as a galvanizing view to rectify the ongoing abuses within the church, though refusing to break from the values of Roman Catholicism, became an order within the church who sought to police and negate these internal corruptions, all by the will of God. In the seventeenth century, the Nocturnal Saints began to cull the wicked from the saintly with their signature execution, the upside-down crucifixion—with the hanging significance representing unworthiness. Since these assassinations lasted for more than a century, the church had been shaken to its core by this circle of killers who had chosen to remain faceless. Then late in the eighteenth century, the killings stopped.
The pontiff pointed to the folder in Father Essex’s possession. “Information, I’m assuming, about the killings?”
“Yes, Your Holiness. Along with photos.”
Sliding the manila folder across the pontiff’s desk, Pope John Paul III peeled back the flap to expose the data regarding Father McKenzie, who was killed five days before Father O’Brien. Father McKenzie was a sixty-eight-year-old who had served the same church for nearly two decades. Though his hair had gone pewter in color, some of the photos dated back to when his hair was raven black. Further information regarded Father McKenzie as a beloved cleric who had no infractions or misguided allegiances to factions, or temptations that would cause him to step beyond the boundaries of his faith. On paper, Father M
cKenzie was the quintessential priest who followed every mandate and protocol that had been outlined by the church. The man was sinless.
Yet he was looked upon by the Nocturnal Saints as a stain upon the spiritual landscape. And for whatever sins he may have carried upon his shoulders as a burden, his redemption came by way of assassination.
The pontiff began to leaf through the photos of the crime scene. Father McKenzie had been nailed upside-down to an overpass billboard that advertised an abortion clinic who claimed safe and discreet services. Most motorists of the morning commute paid no attention until one motorist did, calling 911. First responders—po-lice and fire—immediately converged on the scene with the firefighters engaging a telescoping ladder to reach the scaffold. Nailed to the advertisement of a smiling clinician holding a stethoscope, hung the inverted priest in mock crucifixion. His face was a road map of veins having gone black and purple from lack of blood flow. His eyes were beginning to film over with a milky-sheen. And nine-inch nails had been driven through both wrists and feet. To the right of his crucified body, and covering the clinic’s contact number in bright red spray paint, were the words:
THE NOCTURNAL SAINTS.
Of course this made the news, the murder of a priest under the mantra ‘if it bleeds it leads,’ which propelled television ratings and a media storyline of a cult making a statement regarding abortion. Further investigation into Father McKenzie’s background reported that he was providing council to those who had had abortions, and were suffering in the aftermath of their decisions. The media then added embellishments and reported the news before the facts could be corroborated. And because of this Father McKenzie quickly became the bullseye-target of the media. Within hours insubstantial claims had been made regarding a good man who had been painted black by the broadcasting hounds, which irritated the Vatican and the Holy See greatly. Then the story summarily shifted to the Nocturnal Saints with questions as to who they were. And once again, inflated interpretations had made their way to the front pages instead of authenticated proof. The Nocturnal Saints had been labeled as a cult rising against abortions, which they saw as an abomination in the eyes of God. And this, subsequently, led to a chain of events with the discussion of abortion ending up within the legislative circles as a topic of legality. Within the day the case had become so high-profile, Pope John Paul III had his SIV unit collect whatever data they could about the crime scenes. Then came the second killing five days after the first with Father O’Brien, a priest of questionable morals. Unlike Father McKenzie who was nailed to the board, Father O’Brien had been mutilated and suspended upside down from a wrought-iron fire escape with the words
NOCTURNAL SAINTS
written on a brick wall.
The pope examined the photos carefully.
Then: “Did they ever find his genitalia?” the pontiff asked.
Father Essex shook his head. “No.”
More examination of the photos by the pontiff, until he eventually set them inside the manila folders and closed the covers. “I set a ruling to have all priests serve as counselors to those who had aborted their children, and were suffering a spiritual consequence for their decisions. Father McKenzie was providing services to those in need, which, at least from my viewpoint, was the reason why he was murdered. He was simply following the orders of the church.”
“The Nocturnal Saints,” said Father Auciello, “are an extremist group of Catholics who would deem this as blasphemy, since abortion is seen as an unforgiveable crime in the eyes of the Lord. To offer aid to those who have no chance of salvation may be the reason why the Nocturnal Saints came out of the darkness after all these centuries. To rectify what they see as a wrong by acting as troubleshooters, and readjust the church back to conservative viewpoints, if not back to conservative extremes. Obviously, Your Holiness, they see your liberal tolerance as a departure from the norm. And perhaps a breaking away from what they hold true.”
The pontiff nodded before whispering, “Man shall bend to the will of God… and God shall never bend to the will of Man.”
“And if this is the case, Your Holiness,” said Father Auciello, “this faction may see you as the galvanizing threat behind the changes…and turn their attention on you.”
“Do you believe that I’m in danger?” he asked them.
“This faction is not a cult as the United States media is making them out to be. They’ve been around for centuries. They’re a shadow order with a lot of power.
Worse, they’re faceless and nameless. And that’s what makes them so dangerous because there is no intel on them outside of the ancient texts in the Archive.”
“Is it possible that a cult caught wind of the existence of the Nocturnal Saints, and are using their history for the reasons behind their resurrection and insurgence?”
“Anything is possible, Your Holiness. But if they are the Nocturnal Saints and are no longer dormant, then they’ll be difficult to counter should they decide to take charge and make change. We can’t afford to be complacent on this.” The pontiff appeared to be mulling over his thoughts while softly nibbling on his lower lip. The Nocturnal Saints were a very powerful group who were seen as the policer of religious improprieties. But if they did survive over the centuries, then their ranks could have grown immensely, making them far more powerful than they were ages ago.
“Fathers McKenzie and O’Brien were not the only priests who were serving the mandates of the church. There are others whom I fear are in jeopardy as well. If the Nocturnal Saints are making examples of them as a suggestion to me, I will not be threatened to change my ideologies under duress of terrorism.” He looked directly at his co-directors. “Yes,” he said, “times have changed. And today we have something the church didn’t have when the Nocturnal Saints rose to prominence centuries ago,” he told them.
Then from Father Auciello, who appeared baffled. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“We have the Vatican Knights. More so, Kimball is back to lead the team.
There are members of the church who will need protection. And I want Kimball Hayden to lead a unit into Washington’s deepest, darkest corners to ferret out this organization.”
“Vatican Intelligence has contacted Washington through the Holy See,” said Father Essex, “with our concerns on the matter. So the FBI has been stepping it up since their investigational jurisdiction covers serial killings, especially those with ritualistic ties.”
“So I’ve been told by the Holy See. Does the FBI know who the Nocturnal Saints are?”
“Not the way we understand them, Your Holiness. Right now they’re working on the premise that they’re a cult exercising their intolerance against the church.”
“The Nocturnal Saints are so much more than that,” the pontiff commented.
And then: “I want Sister Tammy Godwin on this as well.”
Father Essex leaned in with a questioning look. “I’m sorry, who?”
“Sister Tammy Godwin,” he answered. “She’s a historian and a remarkable one at that. If there’s anything to know about the Nocturnal Saints, she’s the one to ask. If something comes up that needs factual support regarding the Nocturnal Saints, she’ll be able to offer valuable advice. In the meantime, notify Kimball. I want him to assemble a team immediately. His unit, along with Sister Godwin, will be briefed by Vatican Intelligence as to the mission core, which is to find the Nocturnal Saints and to neutralize them, if possible, with the aid of the FBI, which I believe is being spearheaded by Special Agent Shari Cohen.” Pope John Paul III knew Shari Cohen due to her history with Kimball Hayden, a somewhat complicated matter. Emotions were involved between them and could serve as a detriment to Kimball, since he held a loving affinity toward her which she refused to reciprocate.
The pontiff got to his feet, went to the fire, and held the palms of his hands toward the flames to warm them. “Please advise Kimball of the importance of the mission. Clerics in Washington D.C. have become potential targets to an extremist grou
p whose cause is to kill in the name of God, while waving the banner of the Catholic Church. We cannot afford to have Shari Cohen serve as a distraction to him.”
“Kimball Hayden can handle anything that’s thrown at him,” Father Auciello insisted.
“Normally, I would agree with you,” said the pontiff, as he kept his palms towards the flames. “But sometimes the unattainable heart of a woman can often bring a man to his knees…and keep him there.” He pulled away from the fire within the hollow, went back to his desk, and returned the manila folders to Father Essex. “This is difficult enough for Kimball,” he said, the folders exchanging hands, “even if Shari Cohen wasn’t involved. But she is. And he’s still acclimatizing psychologically and emotionally since the loss of Leviticus, making him somewhat vulnerable. Throwing him into the situation might be the best thing for him. But we can’t afford Kimball to be less than one hundred percent focused on the mission at hand, which is the deactivation of the Nocturnal Saints. They’re entirely dangerous. And Kimball needs to know how dangerous without outside distractions.” Fathers Essex and Auciello knew exactly what the pontiff was stating. Kimball had a tendency to be bipolar during operations by going from rage to compassion, depending on the situation at hand. Since the loss of Leviticus, Kimball was vacillating between strong and weak emotions. To throw him back into the mix was what Kimball needed, it was his world. But Shari Cohen was front and center of his affections, this everyone knew, with the exception of Shari. What the pontiff worried about was Kimball’s inability to focus on the situation when he needed to, should he lose sight of the mission core by fawning over a woman to fill a gaping wound inside him.
“I believe Kimball is more than capable of rising above the affairs of the heart,” stated Father Auciello.
The pontiff proffered a light smile. “Great men have said the same thing only to fall. So Kimball will have two enemies to contend with on the battlefield. The Nocturnal Saints…and the affections of a woman who sees not in him what he sees in her.” The pope’s smile widened. “But Kimball is still Kimball. And if there was ever a force that I would want to rush to the aid of the church, I can think of no other.”
