The Lost Cathedral

by Rick Jones

  “That’s not Kimball’s way. Not anymore. Kimball has seen the shadows of Darkness and the brilliance of the Light. And he has made his choice.”

  “Don’t forget, Isaiah, Kimball has yet to forgive himself when all others have. He still carries with him a sense of Darkness as a burden. And Darkness has a way of reclaiming the wills of men. I’ve seen it firsthand with the Youth. I’ve seen good boys turn towards the Abyss preferring damnation over salvation . . . It’s just the way they were programmed by the Nazi faction; to take fear in the consequence of one’s failure.”

  “Not to worry, Your Holiness. You’re safe.”

  “I see,” the pontiff said wearily. “And when Kimball finds Gunter Wilhelm?”

  “Then Kimball will be Kimball,” was all Isaiah said.

  Bonasero Vessucci knew exactly what he meant.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The reach of the Order of Fallen Angels ran far and wide, having disciples all over the globe. So when Phinehas needed assistance to leave Italy, he was able to secure the necessary support to leave the country. Getting across Italy’s border undetected to Bern, Switzerland, he then boarded a chartered plane to Morocco. With additional aid from members of the order he was able to board another commissioned jet to Colombia, where it landed at 3:36 a.m.

  When he disembarked from the plane a vehicle was waiting for him, an old Citroën with battered rear panels. Inside the car a man sat silhouetted behind the wheel.

  After Phinehas entered the vehicle and closed the door, the driver pulled away. It wasn’t until they exited the airport that the two finally spoke.

  “The Luminaries are not happy with your failure,” Father Corvecci stated. “And you know the consequences of failure.” Father Corvecci was not a priest at all, but a disciple of the order who usurped Corvecci’s position when the pope started to dispatch clerics to impoverished areas, by killing the real Father Corvecci upon his arrival to the village. The bones of the true Father Corvecci lay at the bottom of a deep well several kilometers outside the village. And though this Corvecci preached at the village church, he did so under the guise as a Catholic priest who was actually the eyes, ears and mouthpiece of the Order of Fallen Angels beyond the jungle’s outskirts. He was their conduit of anything amiss. So when the Vatican contacted him and insisted that he provide full cooperation to an arriving emissary of the Church, a man by the name of Kimball Hayden, a red flag went up. Of course, the Church didn’t know that this Father Corvecci was a poor substitute. Only that he had been placed here to serve four years ago—with communication so bare that the man was all but forgotten by the Vatican.

  Until recently.

  When a bishop of the Holy See contacted him, the bishop only knew that Father Corvecci was a residing clergyman for the village and a name on the Vatican’s registry. With so many Catholic priests dispatched all over the world, it was easy for a man like the new Father Corvecci to get lost within the fold and become a part of it.

  “Did you know that the Vatican sent a team of emissaries to seek out the cathedral?” Father Corvecci stated casually.

  This caught Phinehas’s attention, causing him to turn and face Father Corvecci. “What are you talking about?”

  “Emissaries. I received a call from the Holy See yesterday informing me that I was to meet a man and to give him full cooperation. He knew of the cathedral. Question is: how did they know?”

  “I gave them a location close to the area where Shepherd One went off radar—where they assumed the plane went down. Which is several hundred kilometers away.”

  “What you gave them led this man to question otherwise.”

  “Does this man have a name?”

  “Kimball Hayden.”

  Phinehas remained quiet.

  “This man was dressed like you were when you first came aboard. Pious from the waist up, military from the waist down. He’s a Vatican Knight, yes?”

  “He is. And you said he came with others?”

  “Yes. He made that very clear. And I, on the other hand, had to give him everything he asked about without trying to compromise my position.”

  “So you gave up the location of the cathedral?”

  “Hardly. What I did give him was a helping hand. A local who believes that he’ll be doing God’s work by taking these Vatican Knights into the jungle before turning back. Superstition still runs deep with the locals. But he’ll serve his purpose enough to achieve the means.”

  “The Vatican Knights operated jungle missions before. They won’t get lost.”

  “Getting them lost was never my intention. I’m running them right into the Huecuvus,” Father Corvecci said. “The Evil Spirits. Kimball Hayden and his team will be dead long before they get anywhere near the order.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  Corvecci turned on Phinehas as if he was about to admonish him for saying something egregiously blasphemous. Instead, he said, “You think this unit can take on the shadows and shapes? . . . And survive?”

  Phinehas hesitated as if pulling from memory. “I can’t remember the Vatican Knights, even though I try. But I do remember Kimball Hayden. And if the others are like him, then yes. They have more than a chance against the Evil Spirits.”

  “A chance. But never a victory. The locals keep the legend alive for a reason,” Father Corvecci added. “In there,” the faux-priest pointed in the direction of the jungle, “glimmers of dark shadows moving within surely is the promise of certain death. These Knights, Phinehas, will disappear and the Vatican will be less inclined to follow with subsequent teams.”

  Phinehas closed his eyes, trying to remember who he was or where he came from. Everything was blank with the exception of Kimball Hayden, who seemed to be a fresh memory.

  “Something wrong, Phinehas?”

  The former Vatican Knight opened his eyes. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

  The drive thereafter was long and silent. And when they finally reached a porous part of the Brazilian border, it was Father Corvecci who spoke first. “You know where to go from here,” he said evenly. He was referring to a subterranean corridor that led directly to the site of the cathedral. Of course Kimball wasn’t made privy of this because (a) the jungle would slow the team down, and (b) he deliberately set them on a collision course with the Huecuvus, the Evil Spirits. Since there were no obstructions inside the tunnels, Phinehas would be before the Luminaries by dawn, just as the Vatican Knights were prepping for their jungle journey.

  Father Corvecci then handed Phinehas a penlight. “Tell the Luminaries that the Vatican Knights begin their march in a couple of hours,” he told him. “They’ll seek to motivate the jungle shadows to come alive and to do what they do best. By noon, this Kimball Hayden and his team of Vatican Knights will be dead.”

  Phinehas said nothing as he closed the door and stood by the vehicle. When the Citroën finally pulled away, he stood in the darkness watching the red lights grow smaller, and then disappear.

  The jungle wall was thick and dense, the shrubbery itself like an impenetrable wall. When Phinehas broke through the front line of growth, he made it to a circular concrete encasement that rose about two feet out of the ground. On top was a thick, steel hatch. The handle was a combination dial that had a marked point on the dial which had to hit certain numeric values on the numbers’ plate to open the lid, the mechanism working on the same principles as a safe lock. When he hit the correct combination, he lifted the lid. The interior was so dark that the beam of his flashlight was able to penetrate so far until the darkness seemed to push back. After closing the hatch and securing it, he then followed the tunnel all the way to its destination point of the lost cathedral.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Inside the Chamber of the Luminaries

  “You failed,” Gunter said. He was sitting in the center chair of three, an ornate throne. The other two Luminaries, Hermann Braun and Albrecht Krause, flanked him in lesser designed chairs. Fredric Austerlitz
had died long ago.

  Standing aside from the Luminaries was Simon, who wore a cowl that was filthy and ragged.

  “At least Mordecai died during the commission of his duties,” Gunter added softly. “I put my trust in you, Phinehas.”

  “The security was too great. I’m sure that Franz was sequestered inside the Apostolic Palace. To make another attempt against so many would have been foolhardy on my part. So I have returned to fight another day.”

  “That may come sooner than later,” said Albrecht. “The message you bring from Father Corvecci is quite disturbing.”

  “I said nothing of this location. And Kimball Hayden is not a stupid man.” What he did remember about Kimball was that he had the ability to cut right through the subterfuge and see through the lies and secrets of people, a preternatural sense. Apparently Kimball had seen through him.

  “So it appears,” said Gunter. “But no worries. We’re well defended here. They’ll never get by the Huecuvus.”

  “And if they should?” Phinehas asked.

  “Impossible,” was Gunter’s response. “But if they do, then it is up to your team of Vatican Knights to finish what the Huecuvus started. Is that clear? You will keep this cathedral safe at all costs.”

  Phinehas bowed his head. “Yes, Your Luminary.”

  “The Huecuvus is active,” said Gunter. “Get your team ready . . . Just in case.”

  Phinehas gave another bow of his head, turned on his feet, and exited the hall.

  When he was gone and the last echo of the door closing faded away, Gunter Wilhelm eased back into his seat and grunted against the burning agony in his crotch, hips and thighs. The pain was spreading. And the twisted features on his face did not go without notice.

  “Your Luminary,” said Simon, sounding concerned and stepping forward.

  Gunter waved him off, however, while willing his pain to subside with pursed lips.

  He was dying, this he knew, with the only mystery being how long—days, weeks, maybe a month at best? Either way, it was a stop everyone had to make someday. And he knew his stop was very close.

  Another grunt as every nerve-ending seemed to flare up. Then it began to subside. And as it did he allowed his mind to wander rather than to concentrate on the discomfort. He was a man susceptible to obsessions and addictions to rule and command. Rebuilding the Third Reich was his passion and hope, a goal to strive for. But long ago he abandoned that dream and watched his Reich become nothing more than a cult. His type of fanaticism gave way to extremist attitudes such as the Taliban, Al-Qaeda and ISIS. A new age and a new wave of persecution equal to Nazism that was just as cruel. And this realization he kept to himself, as he continued to subsist on appropriated funds from members and disciples as he stripped them of their minds, souls and bank rolls.

  The only thing that was within his power was to see Franz Kleimer-Schmidt dead. And now that obsession seemed just as much of a failure as his dream to resurrect the Third Reich.

  My entire life has been one failure after another, he told himself. Franz Kleimer-Schmidt lives. And he will continue to do so long after I’m dead.

  “This Kimball Hayden,” Gunter mustered. “He is close to Franz, yes?”

  Simon nodded. “I believe that’s what Phinehas said.”

  “Contact the Huecuvus. Tell them I want Kimball Hayden alive and to kill the others. He can get close to Franz and do what no other man can do. He’ll win over Franz’s confidence before he kills him. And as Franz is dying within this man’s hands, I want him to see me in Kimball Hayden’s eyes.”

  “It would take many months to wash him, Your Luminary,” said Simon. In other words: you’ll be dead by then.

  “That’s why I need a commitment by all of you in this room today. Find Kimball Hayden and do with him as you did with Phinehas, Mordecai and all the others. Turn him into a weapon that Franz will never see coming. As homage to me, all I ask is that you honor this one wish. Will you see this done?”

  Simon looked at Braun and Krause, who nodded to each other: Of course.

  “Yes, Your Luminary. As you ask, the Huecuvus will bring you Kimball Hayden alive.”

  Gunter nodded as if pleased. Thank you.

  But Simon had another thought on his mind: First they had to catch him. And according to Phinehas any attempt to corral Kimball Hayden would not be an easy undertaking. In fact, the Huecuvus might even find it somewhat, if not completely, impossible.

  And the Huecuvus were about to find out how impossible that task would be.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  “The mission goal is the search and rescue of fourteen cardinals and four Vatican Knights,” Kimball said, addressing his team. “You’ve all been briefed. And you know what needs to be done to achieve the means. Just keep in mind that the Knights are probably in a state of mind similar to Phinehas and Mordecai. Which means they’re probably not completely responsible for their actions, if that makes any sense. I’m sure their minds have been washed and erased. So none of you may be recognizable to them. If that’s the case, then you have the right to defend yourselves. Combat is combat. It’s not child’s play. But if they can’t be saved, keep in mind that our priority is to rescue the cardinals and return them to the safe haven of the Vatican. Questions?”

  There were none, the members of the team having familiarized themselves with the details.

  There were eight in all, including Kimball and Leviticus with everyone wearing military issue rather than Vatican Knight attire, with the exception of the cleric’s collar, which was mandatory. They were wearing garb close to emerald green with brown-gray patterns to blend in with the background of the jungle brush.

  By dawn, as stated by Father Corvecci, their guide Pasqual showed up wearing a sheathed machete strapped to his side. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and he wore a straw hat. He was skinny and lean with sharp facial features and had the beginnings of bearded development that appeared to be about as long as the hairs would get, an adolescent growth.

  The ride to the edge of the jungle was a bumpy one inside the van as Pasqual drove to the area that would provide the least resistance to crossing the border. Less than fifteen minutes into the drive, the van pulled to the side of a road that had obviously been carved out by constant tire travel—with two thin lanes of dirt that were divided by a grass median.

  The Vatican Knights jumped out the back and congregated along the edge of the jungle. Each was holding an MP5 assault weapon.

  Kimball looked at the wall of thick growth. Then he turned to Pasqual, who removed a machete from a sheath he wore by his side. Twenty kilometers—or twelve miles—in this kind of floral density, would prove to be a long day, Kimball thought.

  And Pasqual seemed to read this thought. “Machete sharp,” he said. “Quicker than you think.”

  “Yeah, well, let’s hope so.”

  Pasqual began to hack his way through the thickness, the limbs and saplings falling quickly from the arcing sweeps as he blazed a trail through the jungle. The man was quick, Kimball admitted to himself—the wispy-thin guide having incredible energy in such heat and humidity, the man slowing little as large Rorschach blots of sweat appeared against the back of his shirt and armpits.

  Along the way the Knights remained silent as they constantly scoped their surroundings for indigenous forms hiding within the bush, like a venomous viper dangling from the limb of the small tree. When they reached the four-kilometer mark, which was a boulder that bore the markings of an ancient god with squared teeth and a sun-shaped crown, the guide held them up.

  “This marker one,” he told Kimball. Then he pointed to the carved path. “Trail still be here on your return. Jungle not grow that fast. Now, we drink water. We rest. Five minutes.”

  Kimball raised his hands and splayed his fingers. “Five minutes,” he confirmed to Pasqual. “Five.”

  “Sí. Cinco minutos.”

  Kimball turned to his team. “Rest,” he said. “Take five.”


  Kimball took a seat next to Leviticus. Both were drenched in their own sweat, but neither complained.

  “Two and a half miles in,” Leviticus said. “We’re one-fifth of the way and ninety minutes in. Not bad.”

  Kimball nodded. “We should be at the cathedral by mid to late afternoon. Sun will still be high.”

  “Kimball,” Leviticus let the word hang for a moment. “Twelve miles in this heat and humidity . . . some of the cardinals are aged, perhaps too old to make the journey back.” On most missions, at least within close proximity of the mission, there was an extraction point. But this particular jungle provided them with nothing.

  “We’ll adapt,” Kimball returned. Vatican Knights always did. Then he added something additional: “Remember the photo of Mordecai and Phinehas at the airport and the man they were with, Gunter Wilhelm?”

  “I do.”

  “He’s old, late eighties and obviously feeble. Yet he was there. So tell me, how does a man of such condition make such a journey twenty kilometers into hostile territory?”

  Leviticus considered this. “There’s another way in. Which means another way out.”

  “Exactly. You would think there has to be. We just have to find it . . . And we will.”

  They sat quietly for the next few minutes, playing things out in their minds, such as engaging other Vatican Knights; the safe withdrawal of the cardinals; and dealing with Gunter Wilhelm, all which weighed more on Kimball’s mind than on Leviticus’s.

  When the five minutes were up Pasqual said something to Kimball in Spanish, which galvanized him and the team to press deeper into the jungle.

  And they did so with Pasqual leading the way.

  #

  At the halfway point they came upon a second gruesome marker, this time with the carving against a stone wall of the same god sacrificing of another human being. The victim appeared to be sprawled out on a stone altar with a hole in his chest, while the sun god clutched a heart in his fist. The organ was draining drips of blood as the god looked skyward as if in homage.