Pandora's Ark (Vatican Knights)

by Jones, Rick

And then his head fell back, slowly, his eyes growing vacant as his life left him.

  When Sayyid was dead Kimball released him, and then looked over the railing at the Basilica with grave concern.

  What have I done?

  #

  The mood inside the Basilica was a festive one. The Ten Commandments sat inside the Ark, two bullet-shaped tablets with engravings detailing the laws brought down from Mount Sinai by Moses.

  People heralded the Ark, the tablets, defining this moment as a great time in history for all of mankind.

  People banded about, smiling, Arabs and Jews and Catholics becoming a unit of one. Politicians had their spirits lifted, willing to take back with them what they had seen and felt, the goodness of overwhelming light and indescribable being, and then to share it amongst their constituencies.

  And then the joviality came to a resounding halt, smiles withering, ears perking to the sound of something alien.

  From the depths of the Ark came the resonance of a hum, low at first, but growing in volume like the nest of agitated wasps ready to take flight.

  People backed away.

  The waspy hum grew louder.

  And then there were cries of pain and fear and the misunderstanding of what was happening.

  Their skin begin to itch and turn red, like the beginnings of a rash, their flesh being needled as pinprick bites began to take their toll.

  Outside the Basilica doors, no one could hear their screams.

  #

  “Leviticus, do something!”

  Leviticus was a computer expert and hacking his forte. Decoding and deciphering runes, symbols and encryptions was his specialty. His skills surpassed by few.

  He grabbed the laptop, noted the scrolling symbols, and began to type in his own set of commands.

  From a distance of 400 meters they heard something quite odd. Coming from Vatican City was the unmistakable sound of a waspy hum that grew with every passing moment.

  “Hurry up, Leviticus. We’re running out of time.”

  He typed furiously. The symbols continued to scroll.

  The hum got louder.

  #

  There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The dignitaries ran to the nearest exits in self-preservation, their flesh now burning as beads of blood began to surface. They battered frantically at something they could not see, slapping their bodies, their faces, rashes now becoming open wounds, bleeding.

  And Bonasero was no different. He was human and life to him was precious. More so, he was still a creature and as all creatures do, took flight as his skin began to be eaten away, his mind going into flight syndrome. But his humanity also kicked in, directing others to the rear of the Basilica in a futile attempt to get away.

  More cries. More screams. The church filling up with anguished shouts.

  And then he gave in to his fate, the pope falling to his knees, his garments becoming bloodied.

  And he prayed to God.

  #

  Leviticus typed quickly, his fingers not missing a required key. And then he hit the ENTER button.

  They watched the screen as the symbols stopped scrolling. A moment later the monitor winked off, and then on, a new series of commands taking place, scrolling.

  Leviticus had powered down Sayyid’s programming with one of his own.

  But the hum continued.

  And Kimball thought of one thing and one thing only: We’re too late.

  #

  As Pope Pius lay there with his skin on fire, he was cognizant enough to realize that the hum was quickly dissipating. And he chalked this up to his soul departing and leaving the corporeal world behind. The sound, the sensations, everything in life was leeching from his body.

  But when the sound faded he opened his eyes and looked at the Papal Altar. People lay about while some belly crawled to nowhere in particular, whereas others struggled to their feet. Everyone was bloodied. And to Bonasero it looked like something apocalyptic, the survivors lost and in ruins as they wandered about with no aim or direction, just . . . walking.

  Reaching down to whatever reserve he had, Bonasero gained his feet, wobbled until the dizziness faded, and began to help others.

  What had been a blessing had turned into a nightmare, he thought, turning towards the Ark. Even after all that happened, it continued to maintain its extraordinary luminosity.

  He looked upward at the stained glass, at the images, and then looked at the statues of Christ, and then at Michelangelo’s Pieta. The Church was unharmed.

  What happened was inconceivable.

  But they were alive.

  And for that he was grateful.

  #

  Kimball and his team did not waste any time. They raced back to the Basilica, went in the back way where they ended up at by the Baldacchino, and summarily headed into the main area of the Basilica.

  The people looked war torn, far worse than those in regions where the Vatican Knights performed rescue duties by saving the lives of Third-World refugees. These people looked like they had battled for their lives, their bodies bloodied.

  Kimball stepped forward, helping and aiding those in need.

  And then seeing Bonasero he went to his aid, making sure that the pontiff took to the floor and rested.

  Kimball knelt beside him, a hand on Bonasero’s back to keep him in a seated position. “Are you all right?” he asked with concern.

  “I’m fine,” he answered almost breathlessly. “The others?”

  “Battered, bloodied, but nothing life threatening.”

  The pontiff forced a smile. “That’s good,” he said. And then: “What happened?”

  “It was Sayyid,” he told him. “He and his team were here. They’ve been neutralized.”

  The pontiff seemed to understand this and nothing more needed to be said or asked. Kimball had come through, his team of Vatican Knights defusing the situation like so many times before. They upheld the sovereignty of the Church, its interests, and the welfare of its citizenry. They had saved the lives of those who couldn’t save their own.

  “Please,” said the pontiff, pointing to the dignitaries, “help the others.”

  And Kimball did.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Tehran, Iran

  Al-Ghazi was livid to the point where he smashed valuable items within his office. His team had failed. His reputation in the eyes of his supreme leader all but lost.

  He sat at his desk running his fingers through his hair.

  At least he had the disc. He could start over. He could revamp a team and create what Sakharov had perfected.

  He went to his wall-safe and opened it. Other than a firearm and a few American dollars, which he pocketed, he grabbed the disc and held it up toward the light, watching the iridescent waves cross over the disc’s surface. He then placed the disc inside the inner pocket of his sport jacket and turned to leave Tehran for the last time.

  Only he was not alone.

  Two men stood in the doorway.

  “And who may you be?” he demanded.

  The men looked impassive and remained unmoving.

  This was not good.

  Al-Ghazi stood tall, showing an air of defiance and bravado. “Who gave you the right to enter my office unannounced?”

  “I did,” said the man on the left. The man then produced a weapon with a suppressor as long as the pistol’s barrel and aimed it at al-Ghazi.

  Al-Ghazi blanched.

  In an act of self-preservation he raised a hand as if to stay the oncoming shots. But it didn’t. His fingers took flight as the bullets smashed through his feeble defense and into his face, killing him.

  The operatives stood over his body, the one man holstering his firearm as al-Sherrod entered the office, smiling with his yellow teeth. He leaned down, reached inside al-Ghazi’s jacket, and removed the disc.

  Al-Ghazi had served his purpose, he considered. And now the data regarding Sakharov’s findings were solely in the hands of Iranian authority.
/>   Ahmadinejad would be pleased.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Rome, Italy, Gemelli Polyclinic

  Pope Pius XIV lay in bed at the Gemelli Polyclinic in Rome recuperating. Although he tried to put on an air of good spirits, Kimball knew better as he sat beside the pontiff’s bed.

  The news media hit the nail on the head and cited the incident as an act of terrorism. Whereas the religious dignitaries wanted to believe in the more mythological aspects that it was intervention of a spiritual kind, dark or otherwise, the political principals where more down to earth, believing that the Ark was tainted with some kind of bacterial, chemical or airborne virus that was unleashed.

  Al-Qaeda took the blame and proudly, letting the world know that this was the beginning of the end of all infidels, even though they were not apprised of al-Ghazi’s death, and therefore without Sakharov’s data to move forward. Nevertheless, it was still a scary proclamation. But there was no information by the media regarding the truth behind what really happened—that it was nanotechnology and not the chemical, bacterial or virus scenario that it was made out to be. The truth was far more dangerous. Far more terrifying.

  “Nanotechnology,” commented the pope. “”It can be used for good applications. But it can also be used for wrong purposes as well.”

  The pontiff looked at Kimball; the man’s face was blotchy and scabbed, like a bad case of shingles. The rest of his body didn’t fare well either. It was completely bandaged. Nor was he alone. All the dignitaries suffered from the same maladies but were guaranteed that they would be going home shortly, since there would be no lingering effects.

  Kimball leaned forward. “The SIV has learned that al-Ghazi was assassinated in Tehran,” he told him. “They believe by Iranian Intelligence. But nothing is confirmed. Sakharov remains missing but presumed dead, which wipes out any connection or ties to al-Qaeda. We believe that Iran maintains Sakharov’s findings, which, in the long run, could prove costly to the safety and welfare of nations across the world.”

  The pontiff focused his sight to the ceiling. “Not a good scenario,” he commented.

  Kimball sat back into his seat.

  And Bonasero sighed. “It was a good notion,” he finally said, “to have the Ark serve in a capacity to bring us all together, only to cause doubts in the end. A shame. The imam, the rabbis in attendance, all the political dignitaries wanted to believe that it was something magical, when the magic was in their hearts all along. And now it’s gone.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Kimball.

  But the pontiff knew better as he lay there, staring.

  “The new secretary of state,” he finally began, “how is he doing during my absence?”

  “Cardinal Estanzio is performing quite well,” said Kimball. “But he’s no Bonasero Vessucci.”

  This drew a genuine smile from the pontiff’s face.

  “And tell me, what ever happened to Cardinal Angullo?”

  The pontiff’s smile broadened. He just couldn’t help himself. “Let’s just say that he’s probably enjoying a dish of Dim Sum right about now.”

  Kimball didn’t know what he was talking about.

  #

  Beijing, China

  Cardinal Giuseppe Angullo, now Cardinal Bishop Angullo, was given the vacant position to serve as leader of the Beijing Diocese. Although he served a Catholic citizenry of 2.8% of the city’s population, it still amounted to more than 30,000 people.

  He sat in a spartan office overlooking the city. Some days it was beautiful. On others it was dirty and smog-ridden, the masses of people intolerable. Worse, he found it difficult to learn the language, his mind unwilling to focus or care.

  He then came to the bitter conclusion that he had lost his ambition, and with it his faith.

  And that Bonasero Vessucci, he considered, was right after all: He had lost his way.

  Staring out the window with the city of Beijing in view, with a blanket of smog descending upon the masses, he sighed, resigning himself to his fate of a man who had paved a road closer to Hell than to Heaven.

  EPILOGUE

  Geneva, Switzerland, The Museum of the arts d'Extrême-Orient

  While Kimball stayed behind with the pontiff, Leviticus and Isaiah acted on behalf of the Vatican working as emissaries, making sure that the Ark of the Covenant was properly situated according to the Imam’s agreement.

  After the debacle inside the Basilica, the Ark was immediately transported back to the Micron Laboratory where the false bottom was located and the composite removed. The Ark then went through more rigorous examinations, the results negative. But in order to be accepted by the Museum of the arts d'Extrême-Orient, certain precautions had to be taken.

  The Ark was hermetically sealed in a thick Plexiglas container, which meant that oxygen was pumped out and argon gas pumped in. Once the lab gave the clearance that the Ark no longer posed a threat and was thoroughly sealed, only then was it accepted.

  The trip was by plane. And the Ark had been placed in a grand-size showroom as the focal point of all the ancient pieces exhibited.

  In its casing it showed magnificently, its gold aura expanding in its purest form. And despite what happened in the Basilica, people from all over the world visited the museum and swore that they could feel enlightenment within its presence, an uplifting, a sense of goodness that overshadowed anything else.

  Others felt nothing at all, saying that those who experienced anything at all did so only because they wanted to believe that the Ark was something mythical, and provided solace when solace was nothing more than a state of mind to begin with.

  But Leviticus and Isaiah knew better as they stood there in suit and tie, feeling something over and above solace. It was absolute peace.

  Once the Ark was in place, after they had been shown the state-of-the-art security system that was unsurpassable, they left Switzerland and returned to the Vatican, knowing that Kimball would be standing on the tarmac ready to brief them on their next mission.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Nobody fulfills a dream without a superb support staff behind him. So here are mine, a roll call of names that made it happen:

  Sean Ellis, who has no idea how valuable he’s been to me lately. You can find his wonderful line of books here.

  To the three exemplary authors who got it all going:

  1) Jeremy Robinson

  2) Richard Doetsch

  3) David Sakmyster

  Kent Holloway, whose never-ending kindness is keeping me afloat. You can find his great line of books/eBooks here.

  Cheryl Dalton, Queen of the BookClub; and to all the members of this wonderful organization.

  The 36 members of the Wingmen Group, you know who you are.

  And finally, to the Hive Collective

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