The Lost Cathedral

by Rick Jones

  That’s when Leviticus started to scale the broken-down pews to reach Kimball.

  And that’s when the ceiling gave.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  The AK-47 went off long and loud, the gunfire striking the dome of the ceiling and taking out chunks and hand-sized pieces of rock. Kimball responded with a series of knee assaults to Phinehas’s abdomen and ribcage. But the former Vatican Knight brought an arm down to absorb the blows, then threw knee strikes of his own to counter, which made the duo look as if the entire exchange was a drunken dance.

  Then everything changed—like that.

  The floor began to shake. The walls began to rumble. By the time they looked up giant slabs of stone weighing nearly a ton started to rain down, the ceiling crumbling, breaking, and falling.

  Kish, who lay wounded but observant with Zadok beside him and unconscious, instinctively raised a hand against the tumbling block of stone heading his way. It was massive with a slight bowl shape and rough edges. When it struck Kish and Zadok, the weight of the stone smashed through their bodies and the floor, revealing a hollow level underneath with no bottom to speak of, an Abyss.

  Kimball pushed away from Phinehas just as a rock formation the size of a compact vehicle struck the floor beside them, caving it in. The stones along the edges of the hole began to fall. Slowly at first. Then the momentum of the falling rocks along the edge began to pick up, the hole getting bigger, rounder, and wider, like the mouth of a vortex growing to swallow everything whole.

  Phinehas dropped his weapon as self-preservation kicked in, the man starting to race away, as did Kimball. But the mouth of the hole widened quickly, drawing Phinehas and Kimball down into its maw.

  They fell as the spreading began to slow, and then stop. Stones continued to drop and fall into darkness. Just as the floor slanted and threatened to fall into the abyss, Phinehas and Kimball fell and began their slide on the angled slab of rock toward the opening. Phinehas clawed for purchase to stop the slide, but failed, his hands unable to grab anything as the drop got closer. Kimball did the same, but was able to grab a divot in the slab that was previously chipped out by a falling rock. Kimball’s slide was halted as he was able to maintain a grip with the fingertips of one hand curling inside a recess that was no deeper than an inch or two. But as Phinehas slid over the edge he reached out and grabbed Kimball’s leg, the added weight causing Kimball to grit his teeth and cry out. The weight was too much as Kimball’s hold started to give.

  Phinehas wrapped himself securely around Kimball’s legs and looked up. He could see that the domed ceiling was gone and the beautiful blue sky that took its place. Then to Kimball he said, “Come with me down into the darkness. It’s where you belong.”

  Kimball started to feel the strain as his fingers began to weaken.

  “Come with me down into the darkness,” Phinehas repeated firmly. “It’s where you belong.”

  Kimball looked heavenward. The sky was blue. And for a moment he thought he felt an overwhelming peace fall over him. Or perhaps it was the acceptance of death and not peace at all. But simply a realization that dying was a stop everybody had to make at some point in time.

  Feeling the strain too much to bear with his fingers no longer having the strength to hold both their weights, Kimball Hayden closed his eyes and released his hold, which began their slide into darkness.

  #

  Leviticus reached over the edge of the maw and grabbed Kimball’s wrist just before he fell beyond reach. The edge surrounding the landing that Leviticus lay upon started to crack in protest against his weight, as he continued to hang on with whatever strength he could muster. His teeth were clenched and the veins of his neck stuck out.

  There was no way he was going to be able to lift Kimball up and over the edge as long as Phinehas corralled Kimball’s legs. The weight was too much. Worse, the landing started to sound off like ice cracking.

  “Leviticus, let me go,” said Kimball.

  “No!”

  “Leviticus . . . look at me.”

  He did, their eyes locking.

  “The landing around you is cracking. It’s about to give. You can’t do this. You can’t save us. You need to lead the team out of here. That’s your priority.”

  The cracking started to get louder.

  Then from Kimball and in a voice that was low and soft and peaceful, he said, “It’s all right, Leviticus . . . I don’t think I’m afraid anymore.”

  Leviticus looked deep into Kimball’s eyes. Kimball had been looking for redemption his entire life, but always thought himself beyond salvation’s reach. And when the end of his life truly came, he always believed that his transition would be one of damnation.

  But there was something in Kimball’s eyes—something soft and accepting.

  Did he finally believe?

  Cracks started to trace paths beneath Leviticus as he laid there, the landing starting to give.

  Kimball continued to look at him with an exceptionally calm demeanor. Then: “It’s all right, Leviticus. Let go. Let . . . go.”

  Leviticus knew he could never raise Kimball to the landing and began to agonize over the decision.

  Kimball smiled gingerly at him, then nodded his head. It’s all right.

  So Leviticus released his hold and watched Kimball and Phinehas drop into absolute darkness, his eyes never detaching from Kimball’s as they remained connected all the way through the fall. When Kimball finally disappeared, Leviticus raised his head and screamed in rage that carried far beyond the walls of the cathedral.

  Kimball Hayden was forever gone.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Gunter and Simon were nowhere to be seen when Leviticus took the west-side stairway to the tunnels beneath the altar. The tunnel to the east had collapsed with boulders blocking the way. The corridor to the west was wide open as if in invitation, offering the Vatican Knights the only route of escape.

  After double-timing for the first eight kilometers through the access, or nearly five miles, it was obvious by the etchings along the walls that the tunnel was as ancient as the cathedral—at least three hundred years. Though the channel was subterranean, Leviticus considered the possibility that it was once above ground and connected one steppe pyramid to another, a walkway that had been reclaimed and buried by Nature over time. At the end of the ancient corridor the structure changed drastically from old to new, from ancient stone masonry to geometrically squared walls of concrete.

  This was where Gunter used some of his appropriated funds—to build a passageway all the way to the jungle’s outskirts and to the roads. This was how Gunter was able to bypass all jungle hardships and access the nearby villages when necessary. It had also taken decades to build and countless man hours to carve out, this Leviticus was sure of since the Mexican cartels did it all the time along U.S. borders.

  At the end of the passage was a wall with ladder rungs leading to a hatch, and then to the surface. Pulling back the latch and lifting the lid, Leviticus noted that the surroundings were as dark as pitch. Night had fallen. And quickly.

  The Vatican Knights exited the hatch and used their flashlights to lead them through the thicket and to the road, which was approximately ten meters from the hatchway.

  In silence that was heavily weighted by somberness, the Vatican Knights headed northwest towards the village.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Father Corvecci had just finished tolling the mission bell to observe the 9:00 p.m. hour, the last for the evening. As he was about to remove his vestments for the day he was surprised to see the Vatican Knights standing by the altar, with some kneeling at the votive racks in prayer.

  Father Corvecci counted seven. One was missing.

  “The big man,” he said. “Where is he?”

  Leviticus ignored the question. “I need to contact the Vatican,” he said. His face betrayed nothing.

  Father Corvecci took a step to the side to reveal a doorway, then gestured with a sweep of his hand for Levi
ticus to enter the room. “Of course,” he said. “Did the mission not go well?”

  Leviticus continued to ignore him as he stepped into the room where the communication center of the church was. Softly, he closed the door behind him to lock Father Corvecci out.

  Father Corvecci watched the warriors in prayer and couldn’t help the inward smile.

  One law, one rule, and one religion, he thought.

  You have failed because there is no room for Christianity here.

  Father Corvecci looked at the image of Christ hanging on the cross and thought little of it.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Apostolic Palace

  Vatican City

  Leviticus was relieved when he heard that the pontiff was doing remarkably well and was on the mend, a surprise given the man’s age.

  After he had coordinated a pick up at the extraction point, matters would be discussed in earnest before the pope, a briefing that would take place inside the papal chamber.

  When he and the rest of the Vatican Knights arrived in Rome, then to Vatican City, Leviticus entered the Apostolic Palace with no sleep. He looked tired and disheveled with dark half-moons beneath his eyes. And an overwhelming and disturbing sadness seem to shadow his face.

  The night had been long and the flight seemingly endless. But here he was, standing next to the pontiff’s bed.

  Bonasero held a hand out to him. “My son,” he said.

  Leviticus took the pontiff’s hand within his. “You look well.”

  Bonasero held back no punches. “The cardinals?”

  Leviticus shook his head. “They were dead long before we arrived. And those who were Knights were too far gone.”

  “And those we lost?”

  “One,” he managed to say.

  Bonasero Vessucci looked beyond Leviticus. Besides Isaiah, the nurse and the physician, the room was empty.

  “Why is Kimball not here?” he asked.

  Leviticus could see deep into the old man’s eyes—could see that he already knew the answer. “He was lost to us,” he finally answered. “He fell into an abyss.”

  The pontiff’s face started to break. Then he caught himself. “So his body is lost to us as well? No way to retrieve it and give him a proper burial beneath the Basilica, where he belongs?”

  Leviticus tried to answer but only managed to choke back a sob as a sour lump cropped up in his throat.

  The pontiff leaned over with his free hand and patted the Vatican Knight’s hands gently to placate him. “It’s all right,” he told Leviticus cooingly. “It’s all right to feel for your friend. There’s no shame in it . . . It’s what makes us human.”

  “He did say something to me that may be important. Something you should know—” Then he cut himself off, a choking sob trying to work its way out.

  “Take your time, Leviticus.”

  After a beat the Vatican Knight stated, “He said he didn’t think he was afraid anymore. And then he was gone.”

  The pontiff smiled and shed tears at the same time. Maybe, he told himself, maybe Kimball was saying that he finally accepted his salvation.

  Nothing was ever mentioned about Gunter Wilhelm, however.

  Nothing at all.

  PART FOUR

  Last Man Standing

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Kimball Hayden had been laying in the rubble beneath the collapsed floor of the cathedral with two dislocated ankles, a broken tibia, three cracked ribs and a severe concussion for the past two days. He moved in and out of consciousness, his mind burning with fever. But during moments of lucidness he could smell the odor of rot and decay. From the debris beside him he could see a clawed hand that was mottled reach out to him, but was forever suspended in death.

  Phinehas?

  Through the seams of the cairn of stones that covered him, light filtered down. In great pain Kimball was able to push back some rocks. Setting aside some of the stones he was able to see Phinehas, who stared at him through eyes that had glazed over with a milky sheen. Even in death Phinehas seemed to be saying: Come with me down into the darkness. It’s where you belong.

  Kimball groaned in pain and turned away.

  The smell of death was incredible.

  Then there was the movement of rubble above him and shafts of light became more numerous. He could feel the sun on his face, the warmth it brought him. And then came the chill that raced along his spine like an electric charge, his fever spiking.

  Faces hidden within hooded cowls looked down on him. Their voices were distant, like whispers, the figures inquiring about this man who wore the cleric’s collar—this priest who was not a priest. It sounded like insects chattering, the voices speaking all at once.

  When the fever chill subsided, Kimball looked beyond the hooded shapes and to the hole in the floor above him. A forty-foot drop. Above the open ring in the floor, a dome-less cathedral gave view to a wondrous blue sky.

  The insect-like chitter became louder, as did the whispers, Kimball understanding nothing as hands reached down and pulled him from what surely would have been his grave.

  With little regard to his broken body as they removed him, with pain so great, the black around the edges of Kimball’s eyes closed in until there was nothing but absolute darkness.

  #

  Gunter Wilhelm had grown so infirm over the past few days, walking had become a complete impossibility. Now he had to be wheeled from location to location with Simon serving as Gunter’s personal valet.

  They were inside a chamber reminiscent of an old-time Russian gulag that was cold and empty, with stone walls that seemed to drip with perpetual hardship and oppression. In the center of the room lying unconscious on a table was Kimball Hayden. His leg had been placed in a cast and his ankles placed firmly back into their joints. His ribs were bandaged. And his chest rose and fell in even rhythms as a drip-line from a saline bag provided necessary fluids. In general, the area was quite spartan as medical needs went.

  Gunter motioned to Simon to wheel him next to the table. “Will he live?” he asked.

  “He was lucky that the fall didn’t kill him,” he said. “I’m assuming that the impact was cushioned by Phinehas, who wasn’t so lucky.”

  “Answer my question: Will he live?”

  The member gave a light shrug. “At this point, who knows? There doesn’t seem to be any internal injuries—at least none that I can see. I’d say his chances are good.”

  “Do what you must to keep him alive.”

  The man in the hooded cowl bowed his head. “Yes, Your Luminary.”

  “And tether this man down with chains,” Gunter added. “Injured or not, he can be dangerous.”

  Another nod from the man in the cowl: Yes, Your Luminary.

  With a wave of his hand to Simon, Gunter Wilhelm was wheeled from the room and down a corridor that led to the residential chambers.

  “Herr Hayden lives,” Gunter said as a comment to start a dialogue.

  “We’ll turn him,” said Simon.

  “How long?”

  “Depends on the person,” he responded evenly. “Each man’s conviction is different. The deeper his faith, the longer the washing in order to have the proper effects.”

  Hayden could take months, Gunter thought. Several, in fact. By then Gunter would be dead because his disease would have stolen away his final breath by then. And Franz Kleimer-Schmidt would still be alive.

  “You know what to do in my absence,” Gunter said, but not as a question.

  “To see the dream of the Reich fulfilled.”

  “But more importantly?”

  “To see Franz Kleimer-Schmidt dead.”

  Gunter Wilhelm nodded. “At least from the Abyss I’ll be able to look up and smile when Franz looks into the eyes of a man he trusts in Herr Hayden and sees me instead.”

  At that point Simon wheeled Gunter along the corridor in silence, with nothing sounding off but the occasional squeak of a wheel starting to warble.

  CHAPTER SIXT
Y-ONE

  Three Weeks Later

  Apostolic Palace, Vatican City

  Pope Pius XIV, or Bonasero Vessucci, remained in bed. The Vatican’s Secretary of State remained as the interim leader during the pontiff’s recovery, but did so with the input of Bonasero on most papal matters.

  The pope appeared healthy, though his wound was slow to heal. His eyes were sharp, bright and alert. His skin took on a healthy glow rather than the pallor of near-death. And his vital signs remained steady and within positive ranges.

  From his bed he was reading documents. His glasses were situated at the end of his nose as he liked to read with a slight downcast to his eyes. When Leviticus entered the room, Bonasero greeted the Vatican Knight with a smile. “Leviticus,” he said. “How are you?”

  “I should be asking you that question.”

  “I’m fine,” the pontiff said.

  Leviticus sat in one of the two chairs next to the pope’s bed. “The media’s been reporting the good news of your recovery,” he told him. “And now that you’re close to returning to the pontifical chair, we don’t know if there’re others out there waiting to take pot shots at you. ISIS has already said that they’re about to march on Rome. Phinehas’s actions may have encouraged copycats or regimes against the church.”

  “There was always that threat, Leviticus. And I understand your concern. I really do. But I will not give in to threats, whether they be from members of ISIS or from the likes of a man like Gunter Wilhelm, who are too sick to see anything beyond the scope of their intolerances. I will not hide in the shadows. If I do, then they win. Kimball was right about that.”

  Both men felt a sudden pang since Kimball remained a sore spot for them both, the lack of his presence still painful and sometimes unbelievable, with both men expecting Kimball to walk through the doors to the papal chamber with a cocky half-smile, a hitch to his gait, and a wink from his eye telling them that everything was all right.