by Gar Wilson
Gerald Gardener found no comfort in the Briton's remark.
5
Ali Hussan Kamal held the flame of a wooden match over the ceramic bowl of his hookah. He drew softly on the stem of the hose attached to the water pipe, and water gurgled inside the hookah as the sweet stench of hashish rose from the bowl. Kamal sucked the smoke into his lungs and smiled with pleasure.
"That's a disgusting habit," Mohammed Radmeni complained as he stomped across the ornate floor of the Room of the Evangelists. "Hashish is as bad as the alcohol that's used by the infidels."
"Of course," Kamal agreed with a shrug. "I plan to give it up. Until then, I'm sure you'll ask Allah to forgive my human weakness."
Radmeni glared at Kamal, but did not bother to respond. The young Iranian was a devout Shiite Muslim, fanatically dedicated to the Islamic Jihad and the Ayatollah Khomeini. He considered Kamal to be a nonbeliever and a mercenary. This evaluation of Kamal was, indeed, quite accurate.
Ali Hussan Kamal understood the Iranian zealot. Kamal was fourteen years older than Radmeni. He had once been a dedicated follower of a simplistic cause, blindly loyal to the fiery leaders who promised change through violence. Physical aggression and the desire to belong to a group were common traits among young men regardless of their nationality. Kamal was a Syrian. He had been raised to hate both Jewish infidels of the State of Israel and their capitalist allies from the West.
Kamal had been an ideal recruit for the Black September terrorist faction. He had participated in numerous hit-and-run attacks against Israelis and Americans in the Middle East and Western Europe. None of these assaults had had any real effect on Israel. They did not help unite Arab nations or benefit Islam. The leaders of Black September had seemed to quote Karl Marx as often as the Koran.
Gradually Kamal had become disenchanted with the terrorist organization he had belonged to. He had abandoned all belief in politics and religion. Now he questioned the importance of religion. If Islam was the true faith, why did Allah permit so many of his children to suffer in poverty and ignorance? If the Jews were the Chosen People of God, why had millions of them been murdered by the Nazis? Why was Israel constantly besieged by enemies and why was the country on the verge of economic ruin? And Christians, Buddhists and Hindus had not fared any better.
Each religion promised an eternity of paradise as a reward for living according to the laws of one's faith. Of course, Kamal knew that no one could prove or disprove such a claim. They could claim that the Koran or the Bible was the Word of God, but those books were written by men. Kamal had decided it was all lies and superstitious nonsense used to keep the masses under control.
Kamal felt that the Vatican supported his theory. It was splendid, full of magnificent art and architectural beauty, yet it had been built on the backs of the poor. It was supported by Catholics, often poor Catholics, who donated money because they were afraid of fiery damnation and shadowy purgatory.
Kamal enjoyed sitting on the great throne between the ancient sculptures of Saints Peter and Paul. His Russian-made Kalashnikov rifle was propped against the statue of Peter. The faces surprised Kamal. The features of Peter and Paul had eroded over the centuries. Their marble noses were worn and distorted. The faces of the saints looked as though they belonged to veteran prizefighters.
"The Europeans and Americans want to interview some hostages," Radmeni told Kamal as he paced the decorative marble floor.
"Did the diplomats or the news reporters make this request?" Kamal inquired.
"Both," Radmeni replied with a smile.
The Iranian enjoyed meeting with the officials and the media. He liked the attention, and he played the role of angry young revolutionary to the hilt. Radmeni wore his fatigue uniform with combat boots, a pistol on his hip and three daggers in belt sheaths.
Radmeni did not worry about being photographed, recorded or videotaped. He was not concerned about having his description and voice print on file in every major Western intelligence network.
Kamal was more careful. He allowed Radmeni to have the limelight, but Kamal was the brains behind the operation. He had conceived the idea, planned the mission and organized the people needed for the job. Kamal used others just as he had once been used by the leaders of Black September. He knew that terrorists were cannon fodder, human pawns to be used to achieve the goals of one clever enough to manipulate them.
"Let the press interview some hostages," Kamal decided, gently tapping the stem of the hookah hose against his teeth. "Especially the American television people. They're not controlled by their government. They like filming dramatic scenes that get emotional responses from the public. American news prides itself on never taking sides on issues. That means we can present views to them that won't be censored."
"I've seen American news coverage of events similar to this," Radmeni said, laughing. "The commentaries made by the anchormen always urge for a peaceful solution and insist that retaliation would only cause more incidents and more retaliation. Their cowardice is amazing."
"That's why we'll let them interview hostages," Kamal stated. "Be certain to select captives who have no visible bruises or wounds. Make certain they understand what we want. They're to tell the press that they haven't been harmed and that we're treating our hostages well."
"I thought we were supposed to strike terror in the hearts of the infidels," Radmeni complained. "Why comfort them with such games?"
"Because we need time to accomplish all our objectives," Kamal insisted. "If the infidels think we're mistreating prisoners, they might decide to launch an assault."
"They have no stomach for fighting," the Iranian replied with contempt. He glanced up at the elegant carvings and paintings on the ceiling. Saints and cherubim gazed down at him. "Look at the symbols of their religion! Pacifists and weaklings. Martyrs who died like sheep because they didn't have the courage to live like men."
"Don't underestimate the opposition," Kamal warned. "Push them hard enough and they'll push back. Even a rabbit will bite if it's cornered."
"If you were a true believer in Allah and the Ayatollah, you wouldn't fear death," Radmeni sneered.
"I'm not in a hurry to die," the Syrian answered. "Seizing the Vatican is only part of our mission. We have to survive to accomplish the rest."
"You're only concerned about the treasures of the Vatican," Radmeni stated. "Your interest is purely mercenary."
"Every revolution needs to be financed," Kamal told him. "Your country has been at war with Iraq for several years..."
"Iraq and Iran have been enemies for centuries," Radmeni corrected.
"But you've only been shooting at each other recently," the Syrian explained. "Thus far the war has been more or less a stalemate. Iran has a much larger population, and Iranians are no less courageous in battle than the Iraqis..."
"The Iraqis are cowards," Radmeni snapped. "Allah will give us victory over them."
"He hasn't done it so far," Kamal said with a shrug. "The fact is, Iran doesn't have the finances or weaponry to equal that of Iraq. If your country acquires enough wealth to purchase better weapons, technology, medical supplies and rations for its troops, then your victory over Iraq would come swiftly. If the Islamic Jihad is to succeed, it will need more than a righteous cause and human sacrifice. It will need money and influence. Ironic, isn't it? In order to defeat Western capitalists, you will need capital."
"We're also opposed to the Soviet Union," Radmeni reminded him. "Unlike you Syrians, my people won't crawl into bed with the Russian scum. Those Communist atheists must be crushed by the followers of the true faith."
"Naturally," Kamal said, a slight smile pulling at his lips. "But currently Iran has only four real allies: the PLO, Syria, Libya and North Korea. The first three have been on friendly terms with the Soviets for a number of years. Of course, North Korea is a Communist country with a puppet government manipulated by Moscow. Obviously the top priority for the Islamic Jihad is to defeat the Western democracies."
"Did the infidels request any other terms?" Kamal inquired.
The Syrian was eager to change the subject. He realized he had come close to pushing Radmeni too far. The Iranian was dangerous. A careless remark could trigger the fanatic and cause him to do something violent. Perhaps the hashish had relaxed Kamal's mental guard. The Syrian made a note to be more careful with Radmeni and the others.
"The government negotiators want us to release the women and children," Radmeni said with a shrug. "I told them that their women are whores and their offspring are vermin that would simply become adult infidels."
"We discussed this before," Kamal said sharply. "I thought we agreed that the women and children should be released when the enemy started negotiations."
"Why surrender hostages?" Radmeni complained. "Women and children can be our insurance against attack."
"There is no insurance," Kamal insisted. "We can't be certain what our opponents will do, but past incidents suggest they won't take aggressive action as long as they believe negotiations will work. We need time, Mohammed." "We already gave them many of the wounded," Radmeni said bitterly. "Why surrender more?"
"We're keeping the women and children separate from the men," Kamal stated. "That means we have two groups of hostages to watch instead of one. It requires too many of our people, and they can be put to better use protecting the walls and collecting the Vatican's art, gold, jewels and other treasures that we can use to raise money for the Jihad. It's to our advantage to get rid of the women and children. Keeping them will only make us appear to be unnecessarily cruel and callous. The infidels make war on women and children. Not the Jihad."
"But we keep the male hostages?1' Radmeni asked.
"Absolutely," Kamal agreed. "Especially the priests."
"All right," the Iranian said at last. "But I think the infidels are trying to stall us anyway. They say they need more time to contact Israel in order to negotiate the release of Shiite prisoners and to raise the ransom money."
"They have to say that," Kamal assured him. "That is standard procedure. We can't expect them to give in to all our demands immediately."
Actually, the Syrian did not expect that the negotiations involving ransom money or the release of prisoners would accomplish anything. There was little likelihood that Israel would agree to release any of the Shiite terrorists from their prisons unless it was in Israel's interest to do so. If the Western nations agreed to pay the fifty-million-dollar ransom, the money would probably be in counterfeit bills or marked with some sort of infrared substance. Kamal knew that only governments could successfully blackmail other governments.
The hostage exchange and ransom demands were a blind. Kamal hoped they would focus everyone's attention on the hostages instead of on the treasures of the Vatican. The blind was also meant to distract Radmeni and his followers. The real prize was the cache of priceless artifacts. Kamal wanted these for himself, and he wanted as much as he could get.
"We might have trouble with the Basque guerrillas," Radmeni warned. "They're Westerners themselves. They were raised as Catholics, and most still consider themselves Christians even if they also claim to be Marxists."
"We might have trouble with them," Kamal agreed. "Those Basques are a strange lot. The Marxist separatists are similar to some of the Italian Communists who still regard themselves to be good Catholics. We must watch them carefully. They only agreed to join us after I promised they'd get a large share of the profit to aid in their struggle against the French and the Spanish. I also assured them that no harm would come to the pope or to any of his Curia."
"They're very unhappy about that cardinal or bishop or whatever that priest is," Radmeni added. "The one who was wounded by a stray bullet."
"That was an accident," Kamal said with a shrug. "I thought the Basques understood that."
"I don't trust them," Radmeni insisted, pacing the floor faster as he spoke.
His gestures were short and jerky, and he was speaking faster, excited by his own apprehension. Kamal was worried about Radmeni. He knew that terrorists were all paranoid, psychotic and mentally unstable. The Iranian seemed determined to talk himself into a panic. If Radmeni came apart at the seams, so would Kamal's plans for the Vatican.
"We'll keep them in line, Mohammed," Kamal assured him, his voice soothing as if trying to calm a skiddish horse.
"I don't trust those damn Japanese either," Radmeni continued. "How can you trust men who constantly hide their faces with masks?"
"You do not need to see our faces, Radmeni-san," a voice whispered softly in rather choppy Arabic.
Both Radmeni and Kamal were startled by the voice. Neither had heard the dark shape enter the room. They turned to face the shadowy gray figure that stood at the threshold of the Room of the Evangelists.
He called himself Fukuda, but Kamal doubted that it was the ninja's real name. However, Fukuda was a highly trained warrior and an expert in infiltration, camouflage and, most of all, assassination. He was a chunin, a ninja subchief of the Komo Clan. Fukuda was the unit commander of a team of the most deadly killers in the world.
The Komo Clan, unlike most ninja, were absolute mercenaries. Anyone with the proper connections and enough money could hire these uniquely trained and highly professional assassins. Kamal had hired the ninja killers for the Vatican mission. It had seemed a brilliant strategy at the time, but Kamal was having second thoughts about that now.
Kamal had assumed the ninja would simply follow orders and sit on the floor and meditate until instructed to do otherwise. He had been very wrong. Fukuda and his men were hard-nosed realists, not brainwashed fanatics like the Iranian and Basque terrorists. The ninja were champions at acquiring intelligence, and Kamal was beginning to fear that Fukuda suspected the Syrian's true goal was to claim the Vatican treasures, not to achieve some absurd political coup.
"I didn't know you spoke Arabic, Fukuda-san," Kamal remarked.
"Perhaps I neglected to mention that fact," the ninja replied. The cloth mask across his lower face concealed his mouth, but Kamal was certain Fukuda was smiling with smug satisfaction.
The cunning Japanese hit man had probably been eavesdropping on conversations for sometime. Kamal was certain Fukuda had not revealed his linguistic knowledge by mere chance. The ninja had subtly informed them that he knew more about the operation than Kamal and Radmeni had thought.
Killing Fukuda would not be easy. Unlike the masked acrobats in the movies, a modern ninja is familiar with modern weapons. Fukuda carried a Beretta 9 mm pistol in shoulder leather and an Uzi submachine gun. He was also armed with the traditional ninja weaponry. A sword was strapped to his back, and the black hilt of a knife jutted from the obi sash around his narrow waist. Kamal knew Fukuda also carried an assortment of other ninjutsu weapons hidden in his clothing. The Syrian could only guess as to the sort of arsenal the ninja might have.
"My genin know their job," Fukuda declared. "I saw no need to supervise them at this time. So I have come to speak with you."
"Of course, Fukuda-san," Kamal replied quickly. "We've been very pleased with your work and the work of your ninja agents. I hope the feeling is mutual."
"If we have reason to feel dismay, I shall discuss the matter with you, Kamal-san," Fukuda promised.
"I'm sure you will," Kamal said with a nod. He noticed that the ninja seemed to be talking directly to him and not to Radmeni. "May I ask if you have some other matter to discuss at this time?"
"I apologize for this intrusion," Fukuda said humbly. "However, I thought you might like to know that at present there are eight Italian army tanks outside the Vatican. The cannons are pointed in our direction."
"May Allah pr
otect us," Radmeni whispered.
"I have never known of any god that protects people from artillery," Fukuda remarked. "There are also about a hundred soldiers outside the gates."
"We may have to use your earthquake device, Ali Hussan," Radmeni told the Syrian. "I hope it will work."
"It will work," Kamal said grimly. "If the Italians fire a single tank round, they will find out just how well the earthquake device operates. And, unfortunately, so will we."
6
Phoenix Force traveled across Rome in the bus, but they saw little of the city. They passed the great Arch of Constantine and the fabulous Colosseum. Large portions of the arch were shrouded by canvas tarpaulins to protect the marble from the elements. The ornate carvings that decorated the ancient monument had begun to crumble from centuries of erosion due to pollution from man's machines and the weather. Efforts to preserve the arch had been less than successful, but at least the erosion process had been slowed down.
The marble pillars of the Colosseum — the most famous arena in the world — were barely visible from the speeding bus. Once gladiators and wild beasts had fought bloody battles for the enjoyment of spectators. Christian martyrs had perished in the arena, and vicious executions by torture had been conducted to the delight of bloodthirsty crowds.
The Colosseum, despite its bloody history, is an enormous symbol of the glory that had once been Rome's. Used as a quarry for a thousand years and partly destroyed by Christian zealots in the sixth century and earthquakes in the Middle Ages, the amphitheater has survived the passage of time. A popular legend claims that when the Colosseum falls Rome too will fall, and so will the rest of the world.
The bus also passed the Forum and Trajan's Column, but the men of Phoenix Force would have to enjoy these sights later — if they survived. Within minutes, they were on one of the city's main avenues, the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, heading for the Vatican at a frantic speed.
