In Between God and Devil

by Rick Jones

  “They would be of great value in the next step of Allah’s war, don’t you think?”

  Akeem remained quiet, believing the question to be rhetorical.

  Then from Ali: “Ready the team, Akeem. We go in and take all who are of value.”

  “And those who are not?”

  “Send them to Hell where they belong.”

  “Yes, Ahmed.” Bowing enough so that his triangular beard brushed against his naval, Akeem began to shout orders for Ali’s men to ready up. Soldiers clad in black got into a convoy of pickups with mounted .50 caliber Browning machine guns. Whereas other vehicles were simply for transportation to haul manpower. After Ali got into the lead pickup that drove to the crest of the desert hill that overlooked the DWB campsite, he led the charge as a fleet of vehicles followed. Behind them, as they made the run towards the camp, rooster tails of dust were kicked up in their wake and filled the air.

  * * *

  A pair of nurses, one male and the other female, who were outside enjoying a smoke, noticed the plume of dust and the trucks speeding their way. Flicking aside the butts before entering the tent, the nurses ran inside shouting warnings about vehicles with machine guns heading their way.

  Questions immediately arose from all points of the tent from too many mouths.

  How many vehicles?

  Who are they?

  What do they want?

  Americans?

  Is it the Islamic State?

  But the nurses could only tell them what they saw without assumption.

  What turned out to be fact was this: there wasn’t enough time to prep and move the wounded.

  Doctors Gregor and Mayne felt hopeless, even though they realized that this day might come. The Islamic State was scattered over the terrain, nothing but small bands who were rebuilding throughout the land trying to converge as a collective of One. These cells were coming from all points of the compass as if they were on a pilgrimage or spiritual calling, with central Syria becoming the new Mecca.

  “What do we do?” Mayne asked Gregor.

  All Mayne could do, however, was shrug and shake his head. What could they do? They had no time to prep the wounded for transport. Had no forwarding information. The time of their reckoning had finally come. Everything now rested upon the decisions of those who were closing in with their mounted machineguns.

  Removing his disposable face mask and tossing it aside to reveal a look of absolute defeat, Doctor Mayne asked the nurse, “How long before they get here?”

  The answer was quick: “Minutes.”

  Doctor Mayne blinked as if coming to, the man suddenly sobering up to the fact of what was about to come. Then he saw Father Savino administering aid to the wounded. “Father Savino,” he called, his voice filled with a sense of urgency.

  When the priest turned around, he saw nothing but bone-dread fear in Doctor Mayne’s eyes.

  * * *

  Father Savino had been administering comfort to those who were healing, only to be called away by Doctor Mayne. For days the priest had been trying to ease the suffering of the injured by praying and holding their hand within his. And he did so with unwavering conviction no matter how exhausted he was becoming or how weak his knees were under the threat of fatigue. He was their spiritual representative and one of God’s many faces to His one voice.

  As soon as he approached Doctor Mayne and read the lines of his weathered face like the fine print of a book, he knew that his work here was done. These people, after providing them with a wealth of spiritual guidance over the course of their stay, were now bankrupt.

  Standing before Doctor Mayne, Father Savino said, “These people need me.”

  “No less than they need Doctor Gregor or me, or the staff of nurses that tend to them.” He pointed to the priest’s Roman Catholic collar. “Remove that,” he told him. “If these people find out who you are, they’ll place your head on a pointed shaft and display it at the gates for all to see.”

  “I’m a priest. Even those who practice the Islamic faith recognize Jesus as one of God’s greatest messengers.”

  “They’re animals,” Doctor Mayne said dryly. “They kill innocent people simply to make a point. And you, Father, would be a clear example that no clerics outside of imams will be tolerated, not even Catholic priests.”

  “I’m not afraid of dying.”

  “And you dying would serve a purpose how?”

  “An expression of my faith.”

  “You gave everything you could to help these people, Father—admirable for sure. But your sacrifice is needless when you still have a lifetime to serve others.”

  “Are you asking me to refrain from showing my true station as to my spiritual calling?”

  “No, Father. I’m asking you to dress down so that you can live another day to serve others. Even God recognizes the fact, I’m sure, that you have the right to live on to serve, no matter the means to do so.”

  Father Savino took in a deep breath through his nostrils and looked skyward, debating.

  Intuiting this, Mayne added, “These people won’t be the last who will need you, believe me. Not here. Not in this wilderness. Even though they worship another, they looked upon you as their savior and someone who gave them hope.”

  “Only to fail in the end.”

  “When one builds a wall, Father, and it’s torn down by an enemy, does not the people band together to rebuild it? Does not a village come together when times are at its worst only for the people to be at their best?” Then more authoritatively, he said, “Take off the collar and put on a pair of scrubs. Live to preach another day. Those who will be left standing will need your guidance from here on in. Me being one of them.” The doctor got to his feet and added: “From here on in, you’re Doctor Savino. Clear?”

  The priest hesitated, sighed through his nostrils, and removed the collar.

  “Now dispose of it,” said Doctor Mayne. “Don’t let them find that on your person.”

  Nodding, Father Savino, now Doctor Savino, deposited the cleric’s band into a hazardous waste dispenser and donned a pair of scrubs.

  * * *

  The vehicles stopped with the tires kicking up cloyingly thick clouds of dust, as Akeem jumped from the bed and barked orders while waving his hand for his men to circle the tents. Men in black attire moved as a well-trained unit that converged against those who did not protest and gathered them into a single tent. There were ten in all, mostly men. Only four were women.

  Ali appraised his recent captures who had their eyes cast submissively downward except for one. When this man refused to submit, Ali directed his weapon at him. “You there,” he stated sharply in clipped English, “what’s your name?”

  “Ettore Savino.”

  “And what is it that you do here . . . Ettore Savino?”

  After a long hesitation that was apparently drawing the impatient ire of his inquisitor, he answered, “I aid these people.”

  “You are a physician, yes?”

  “I aid these people,” he repeated. Not accustomed to lying, Savino gave an answer for which Ali assumed based on an ambiguous answer.

  “Then you will be of value.” Ali lowered the point of his weapon. Then he assessed the others and asked questions, making evaluations as he went along. The men he kept. The women, however, were dragged from the tent screaming as they extended their hands to those who were unwilling to reach out to save them.

  As their screams faded but not entirely extinguished, Ali circled amongst the wounded and calculated their worth like a modern-day Mengele, who once determined the fates of those with a flick of his cane when they entered the camps. Ahmed Ali’s scrutinization was no different as his sizing eyes held a coldness to them. With a smile on his face and even going to the length of providing reassuring pats as he went from bed to bed and from person to person, he then went to Akeem, leaned close to the man’s ear, and spoke in hushed whispers. When Ali finished, he continued to maintain his faint smile that was pleasant and k
ind and almost paternal in nature as he stepped aside and became a spectator, as Akeem began to shout orders in Arabic.

  Every point of a manned rifle was unitedly raised and directed on the injured.

  Suddenly cries erupted, all imploring demands as hands with splayed fingers were raised from those lying on their beds to ward off the coming rounds, the gesture futile as loud reports of gunfire went off. Sheets that were once white magically turned red in multiple spots, the peppering of bullets missing no one. Hands fell quickly, the actions of people suddenly having their lives smashed from their bodies.

  Then as the gunfire eased while the smell of gunpowder remained heavy in the air, the silence was not quite absolute. In the background, faint cries of the women could still be heard.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Papal Chamber

  Inside the Apostolic Palace, Vatican City

  The Following Day

  The Cardinal Secretary of State chaired over the Holy See Secretariat of State, which is the oldest and most important dicastery of the Roman Curia and performs all the political and diplomatic functions of the Holy See and Vatican City. The Secretary of State is often described as the prime minister of the Holy See, even though the nominal head of government of Vatican City is the President of the Pontifical Commission for Vatican City.

  The day after the DWB in Syria was believed to be seized by Ahmed Ali, Cardinal Secretary of State Enzio Savino was notified. When there was no response from the campsite to a supply-line caravan, a quick flyover was conducted by neutral choppers not affiliated with the Americans or NATO. After discovering that the tents blanketed the surface and that three of the motor-pool vehicles were burning and three more were missing, a survey of the area was made by members of the team as they landed and disembarked. What they discovered was nothing less than gut wrenching. The stakes had been removed, causing the tents to fall and drape over multiple bodies killed by obvious gunfire, except for three female nurses who were found tied, tortured and raped. Everyone else was missing and presumed to be under the capture of Ahmed Ali. This also included the Cardinal Secretary of State’s younger brother, Father Ettore Savino, who had dedicated his life to helping the sick and the wounded.

  Managing the steps with difficulty due to arthritic knees and hip, Cardinal Secretary of State Savino finally made it to the papal chamber, which was guarded by a pair of Swiss Guards. Providing the cardinal with a stiff salute, one of the guards opened the door. Once the cardinal entered, the door closed behind him.

  Pope Pius XIV was seated behind his desk that was covered with doctrines in need of signing. When he saw the cardinal labor to one of the two chairs before the papal desk, Pius immediately went to the cardinal’s side and aided the man into the seat. “Why did you not call for the aid of bishops to see you here, Enzio? Why do you continue to prove to yourself that you don’t need help when it’s obvious that you do?”

  “To admit to such defeat, Your Holiness, would only confirm the truth—that I’m getting older.”

  “That’s because you are.”

  “So my body tells me.” Then in a more serious and sober tone, the cardinal said, “You’ve heard about the incident yesterday in Syria regarding Doctors Without Borders?”

  “I have. Word reached me this morning.”

  “And you’re obviously aware that my brother was in service to provide comfort to those who needed it most?”

  The pontiff nodded. “I do.”

  “And now he’s gone missing among others.”

  “I was told that several were discovered dead.”

  “Ettore was not among them, thank God, or the physicians and male nurses. The females who were in attendance, however, may have met with a horrible end, as I understand.”

  The pontiff appeared disturbed by this after receiving the graphic details. Since Father Savino was a member and an interest of the church, the Vatican had been notified. “Believe me, my friend, I feel for you. I do.”

  “My question to you, Your Holiness, and with all due respect, what are you doing about it?”

  Pope Pius XIV leaned back into his seat which rocked a bit against his weight and regarded the cardinal. “I know what you’re thinking and you’re right. But the Vatican Knights are on a mission at the moment, in Africa. I cannot pull them from duty, not when the lives of children are at stake.”

  “So, my brother is to be written off as a casualty of war, is that it?”

  “No, Enzio, that’s not it at all. I have sent a message to Kimball from the center of Vatican Intelligence. But priorities are what they are, and they are clear. When it comes to the welfare of the citizenry, especially when it comes to the welfare of children, the children always take precedence. The Vatican Knights, as we speak, are converging on hostile forces. Everything depends on the success of the mission, of whether the operation is a success or failure. Your brother, it’s assumed, was taken hostage. If this is the case, which is most likely, otherwise his body would have been discovered at the site, then the Vatican Knights will be duly dispatched.”

  “Do you even know where my brother is.”

  The pontiff pointed to the papers on his desk. “I have a detailed report here from Vatican Intelligence which they received from the CIA, which spells out that a terrorist by the name of Ahmed Ali intruded upon the campsite. It’s also believed that the physicians and nurses might have been conscripted into the ISIS ranks to serve as a medical team to aid the wounded belonging to members of the Islamic State. Otherwise, there would be no other reason to take them.”

  “My brother is not a doctor.”

  “No. But perhaps he’s masquerading as one. In the eyes of the Islamic State, a Catholic priest would suffer the same fate of Christian believers who are ceremoniously executed.”

  The cardinal nodded at this. “I pray that you’re right.”

  “I pray, Enzio, that I am as well. There is so much madness going on today that the Vatican Knights are spread thin. The world is becoming sicker by the day with faith a dimming light in the hearts of people who used to hold the Illumination with an inflexible grasp.” The pontiff pursed his lips before sighing. “We’ll find him, Enzio. Vatican Intelligence is trying to locate Ahmed Ali. And I’ve also been informed that the CIA has a man inside the terrorist group, an infiltrator. We’re now in coalition with Langley regarding Ali’s training unit in Syria. But Ali is not there, at least not yet. Vatican Intelligence believes that Ali is returning to base camp to establish a medical clinic using the members of the DWB.”

  “Believes?”

  “We’re using geospatial satellites to find him, my friend. I know it’s hard but try to be patient.”

  “Men who exhibit great patience are often anointed as saints. I haven’t been anointed.”

  “Be patient,” was all the pontiff said.

  Laboring to his feet, the cardinal reached for the Fisherman’s Ring and kissed it. “Obviously,” he said, releasing the pontiff’s hand, “I’ll be awaiting with restrained anticipation.”

  “Understood.”

  After a pause, the cardinal, added with a slight grin, “We’ve climbed this ladder together to be where we are today—you and I. There’s no reason for either one of us to fall off it now while the other slips away.”

  “I will always keep you close, Enzio. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “If you find my brother or Ali, please call upon me.”

  “I will, my friend.”

  “As soon as the Vatican Knights free themselves from their current situation, I pray that they have enough in them to seek Ettore.”

  “They will,” the pope stated evenly. “After all, they are the Vatican Knights.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Somewhere in Nigeria

  The goal of the Sunni Islamist group of Boko Haram is to overthrow the Nigerian government to establish an Islamic state. And though Boko Haram appreciates the support from Africa’s al-Qaeda affiliates such as financial funding, a st
eady supply of weapons and cross-training, the organization is not a formal ally of al-Qaeda. Not to be entirely dependent on other groups, Boko Haram launched a campaign to subsidize their establishment through the flesh trade. Several months ago, the organization was responsible for the kidnapping of 300 Nigerian girls and sold them as part of a human trafficking network. As recent as six days ago, the organization threatened the interests of the Catholic church by kidnapping twenty-seven girls from a Christian academy. That was when the Vatican Knights became involved.

  From a stand of trees along the perimeter of a small clearing, a six-man team of Vatican Knights was watching the terrorist group as they sat and chatted before a fire. To the west, the last of the day’s fading light was almost gone as the stars to the east began to make themselves known.

  In the brush, Kimball Hayden watched the campsite from a pair of binoculars when Isaiah and Jeremiah returned from their recon mission of the area. Those who remained by Kimball were Joshua, Noah and Jonah, those who were considered the most elite members of the team.

  Kimball lowered his binoculars, turned to Isaiah, and whispered, “I have eyes on nine tangos in the camp.”

  Isaiah nodded. “There are six more guarding the perimeter and three watching the children, all heavily armed.”

  Kimball turned to Jeremiah for his assessment. “Confirmed,” he returned softly. “Six are guarding the perimeter and three are minding the children. With the nine in the camp, that’s eighteen tangos total.”

  The math was simple at three-to-one. But the members of Boko Haram were mainly unskilled militants whose training compromised of jumping over obstacles and climbing knotted ropes. What they didn’t have was the preparation of the game’s mental aspects. To win a war it took more than physical toughness, it also took the ability to remain mentally strong under certain conditions. Once the terrorist group realized that their position had been compromised, they would no doubt respond in pell-mell fashion by grabbing their guns to shoot randomly at things they couldn’t see, hardly the actions of a properly trained order. But the real advantage here was that they were at ease with their surroundings, the members for the most part complacent.