Sinners and Saints

by Rick Jones

  Kimball agreed. “You’re right about that,” he said. “This was planned specifically to avoid a confrontation with authorities. Whatever is going on is a military operation in which Switzerland and Italy are not involved with.”

  They continued to look out the window, could hear the blades turning as the choppers hovered close to the cars, even though they could not see them.

  Whatever unit was involved with usurping command and control of the train, they were now onboard.

  The question was ‘why’?

  Kimball stood up, went to the door, and put his hand on the lever.

  “What are you doing?” Becher asked him.

  Kimball turned to him. “I’m going to find answers to my questions.”

  “Kimball, this is not our fight.”

  “Who said anything about a fight?”

  “Kimball, we don’t know who these people are or what they’re after. This does not fall under any of the criteria of involvement as a Vatican Knight.”

  Kimball leaned into the room. “And that’s where the difference lies between you and me,” he told him. “You follow the rules…I skirt them.”

  Becher just looked at him.

  And then Kimball was gone, the door closing behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ásbjörn Bosshart heard the team touchdown on the train’s rooftop, which was subsequently followed by the footfalls as the members of the unit scrambled topside to commandeer the car from both ends in a typical flank maneuver.

  But then came a hitch in an operation.

  Buffeting winds had knocked one of the commandos off balance and to the edge of the car, the man kicking his legs for the landing that was not there. A moment later he slipped, his grip failing him as he became smashed along the rocky divide between the tracks and the wall, the body ending up as a hideous-looking tangle of smashed limbs, the sight of the broken man turning Bosshart’s stomach as he watched it all unfold from his position by the window.

  Falling back from the window, Bosshart grabbed the thermos, unscrewed the under-cap, and stared at the glowing vials. The antimatter was throbbing and pulsating in the rhythm of a heartbeat as if they had lives of their own, the soft reflections of iridescent light coloring his face.

  He knew the team was risking everything for these vials with the cost already the life of one man. He had believed that the transfer of products would take place in Rome, an equal trade for his family. Then he looked toward the roomette’s ceiling and thought: But that isn’t the case, is it?

  Suddenly there was a burst of gunfire outside his door, which was followed by a brief cry of pain. A moment later a second burst, this too followed by a short howl of pain.

  He returned the under-cap to the canister, placed the thermos by the tablet, and began to pace the cabin from side to side while raking a hand nervously through his wild tangle of hair.

  These people were here for the vials, this he knew. And they were willing to take it by using extreme measures.

  What will happen to me? he asked himself. What will happen when they take the vials?

  Will they kill me?

  My family?

  His mind swirled with a maelstrom of questions, his thoughts and emotions becoming anxious confusion.

  Back and forth, pacing from one side to the other, even though it took only two strides to do so.

  A moment later there was a short burst of gunfire with someone crying out, a man for sure.

  Then demands were yelled out to all occupants, demanding full cooperation.

  Another burst of gunfire. Another cry, one that was quick and final. This time a woman.

  Then silence.

  A moment later, the door to his roomette opened.

  Standing in the opening was a man clad entirely in black. He was wearing a ski mask beneath a Kevlar helmet. He had on shoulder, knee and elbow pads made of composite plastic for protection. A vest. Military boots. A rig to hold his knife, one that appeared to hold one with an extremely long blade. And the point of his weapon, an MP7, with a ribbon of smoke curling ceilingward from the barrel’s mouth, was directed at his face.

  “Doctor Bosshart?”

  The scientist nodded.

  “The products acquired?”

  Bosshart pointed to the thermos with a shaky finger. “Sixteen vials.”

  The eyes of the commando, clearly Asian through the opening in his mask, allowed his eyes to gravitate towards the canister. And then: “Ma!”

  Kwan Ma was standing beside Che, who continued to level his weapon at Bosshart, though the scientist posed no threat whatsoever. With a nod of his chin towards the thermos, Che ordered Ma to exam the contents within.

  Ma, stepping into the roomette, grabbed the canister, undid the under-cap, and held up the vials in display. They were glowing within a super light-weight gel, their pulsating measures constant and even. Inside the little recesses were sixteen vials for a total of 448 grams.

  “It’s all here,” Ma said to Che in Korean.

  Che nodded. Then to Bosshart, he said: “It’s time, Doctor, to take a ride.”

  Bosshart’s eyes lifted toward the car’s roof. He could clearly hear the choppers hovering close by, if not right above his cabin.

  “That’s right,” said Che. “We’re going to take a nice long ride.”

  Bosshart’s eyes went to the mouth of the weapon’s barrel, which was still smoking from recent use, and tried to swallow the sour bile in his throat before he meekly stated: “OK.”

  Ma looked at his watch. They had five minutes left, well ahead of schedule.

  But a lot could happen in five minutes.

  And it did.

  Chapter Thirty

  Switzerland

  Close to the Austrian Border

  Emily Bosshart was wide awake and completely free of sedatives. She was also restricted to quarters that was a well-guarded module that was spartan in its comforts. All she had was a cot, a small table, a foldout chair, and two blankets. On top of the table was a small container packed with three containers of bottled water, and a package of six power bars.

  When she tried to peek between the partially drawn window slats, she saw two guards standing sentinel in the front with assault weapons. From what she could gather, though she had no idea where she was, she was being held captive in some type of mobile command center. She spotted trailers, some with open-siding that gave her a clear view of the modules that were serving as GPS- and BGAN-system stations, though she had no idea what these were or their purpose. She also noted numerous technicians and soldiers that milled around the campsite, the troops clad in full battle attire.

  In the distance she saw mountains with nothing but foliage in between. Wherever they were, they were far from any villages or towns. In fact, they were completely isolated.

  A moment later, the mouth of a gun’s barrel appeared in front of her, its eye an ominous-looking hole that promised great harm. And then the soldier holding the weapon barked something in a language she did not understand, but the message was clear.

  She pulled away from the blind and fell back into the module.

  But two things were certain to Emily: One, the man who held the weapon was clearly Asian. And two, there didn’t seem to be any chance of escape.

  Wherever they were, whoever held her captive, she was at their mercy.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Office of the Federal Criminal Police

  Geneva, Switzerland

  Andolf Bauer was sitting at his desk when he received a series of photos from Interpol’s satellite imagery. In the hours preceding the murder of Nann Bosshart, only a canvased truck was seen entering and leaving the facility. Faces could not be seen or determined despite the capabilities of VisageWare to zoom in and develop the images. They simply didn’t have enough angles to mark enough facial landmarks to garner recognition from those who were involved. And the registration plate of the vehicle was too fuzzy to work out a single detail—such as a letter
or number. And additional photos that were attached to the file had tracked the vehicle for approximately forty kilometers before the satellite eventually lost its feed, the truck traveling beyond the satellite’s orbital fix at low altitude.

  Bauer sighed as he fell back into his seat fully disgusted. Technology had its values, he considered, but it also had its limitations.

  Then came a light rapping on the door, three soft taps, which was the hallmark knock of his secretary. When she popped her head inside his office, she informed him that two men were there to see him—priests, in fact.

  Bauer arched an eyebrow in puzzlement. Priests?

  “Please show them in,” he told her.

  A moment later two men walked into his office wearing the garments of clerics, which included the Roman Catholic collars that marked the station of their faith. One was tall and slender with distinguished silver hair and olive-colored skin. The other was short and stocky with Anglo-Saxon features.

  Bauer got to his feet and gestured his hand to the two open chairs before his desk. “Fathers, please.”

  Fathers Auciello and Essex took the seats they had been offered.

  Bauer took his seat as well before asking: “And how can I help you two gentlemen?”

  It was Father Auciello who spoke on behalf of both priests. “It’s good to meet you, Detective Bauer. My name is Father Auciello, and the man sitting to my left is Father Essex. And we’ve come to you from the Vatican regarding a matter of crisis.”

  “The Vatican?” That’s when Bauer noted the stitched symbol of two crisscrossing keys—one silver and the other gold—beneath the papal crown upon the pockets of their shirts.

  “More specifically, Detective, we’re from the SIV.”

  Bauer nodded. “The Vatican Intelligence.”

  The SIV, or the Servizio Informazione del Vaticano, was the Vatican’s Intelligence Service.

  “We’ve been monitoring the current situation regarding the theft of four hundred forty-eight grams of antimatter from The CERN, and we also know that the suspect in question, Ásbjörn Bosshart, boarded a train from Geneva to Rome.”

  “That, with all due respect, is privileged information.”

  “Privileged information,” said Father Auciello, “is to be shared with all intel agencies, as you know, regarding potential acts of terrorism.”

  “This does not concern the Vatican.”

  Now it was Father Essex who spoke. “Actually,” he said with a British accent, “it does. We have two people on that train who are invaluable to the church. Both are soldiers, one who is active.”

  Bauer perked up at this, seeing the potential to neutralize the situation before the train was redirected to Milan. “Is he capable of defusing a threat?”

  “Let me put it this way,” said Essex. “His particular skill set cannot be taught to others. It comes naturally to him. If there’s a threat on that train, Detective, our man can resolve the situation.”

  “Communication, as I’m sure you already know, is down because they’re in a dead zone for a period of an hour or two.”

  “We know that. We also know that you plan to redirect the train to Milan to neutralize the situation with snipers, if necessary.”

  “I see that you’ve been monitoring the channels between us and Interpol,” said Bauer.

  “The people onboard that train are very valuable to us and to the church,” Essex responded. “They’re important to the pontiff.”

  Bauer was intrigued. “Two soldiers?”

  “More than you can imagine.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “The Vatican is willing to offer assistance in the matter. We understand that the antimatter that had been stolen from The CERN has the destructive capability five times the bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Like I said, our man onboard can safely neutralize the situation without harm…And then there’s the matter of the girl.”

  “Emily Bosshart?”

  Auciello nodded. “The assumption here is that Doctor Bosshart’s family was kidnapped and was used as leverage against him, which obviously prompted the theft. And we both know that Ásbjörn Bosshart is not a man of violent means.”

  “I agree.”

  “We also believe that he was coerced to commit this crime on behalf of a party who remains unknown at this time.”

  Bauer concurred with this as well.

  “But our interceptions of your communication with Interpol further acknowledges that the transfer of the antimatter for Bosshart’s family was to take place in Rome.”

  “That’s the logical presumption, yes.”

  “We disagree.”

  “Do you now?”

  Auciello nodded. “The missing girl remains in your jurisdiction. The photos you received from Interpol regarding the truck that left the warehouse in Zurich, shows the vehicle moving to the northeast toward Austria.”

  “You appear well informed. I must commend the SIV on their abilities to track and intercept highly classified forms of communication.”

  “Detective, what’s happening with Bosshart is now out of your jurisdiction. But the child is in the custody of those who hold Bosshart under strict control. That truck was not going to Rome. Therefore, there will be no transfer as presumed by Interpol and the Swiss Federal Office of Police. So something else is going on.”

  “Like what?”

  “We’re not sure,” said Auciello. “But if you find the girl, then you find the answers to all of this. We believe that the girl is still within your jurisdiction, which places you in charge.”

  “We lost the imagery of the vehicle once it moved out of the satellite’s orbital fix. Apparently the satellite was redirected to concentrate on the hotspot areas in the Middle East. The life of a young girl apparently isn’t paramount enough.”

  “Detective,” Father Essex leaned forward in his chair, “the pontiff is extending his hand to you by offering his help. We have the resources to find her. We have the people to go in and get her.”

  “People? I have my own team.”

  “Your team, Detective, with all due respect, may not be capable of dealing with this particular hostile element.”

  “We don’t even know who they are.”

  “That’s correct. But the profile suggests that this might be a unit with high-end military sophistication…and perhaps has the backing of a foreign government. What you need, Detective, is an elite military force to counter this faction.”

  Bauer sat there for a moment, the man thinking before he spoke. And then: “Are we talking about the Vatican Knights?”

  Auciello nodded. Yes.

  After the assault on the Vatican by terrorist forces, the church formerly announced to the world its need to protect itself beyond the ranks of the Swiss Guard. With more than 90% of the countries in the world having diplomatic ties to the Vatican, there was a need for forces to handle military operations beyond the borders of the city. So the Vatican Knights, once a covert clan of elite operatives, were made public to the global community as a military creation by the Vatican to help those who could not help themselves.

  “I’ve heard they are beyond exceptional,” said Bauer.

  “They are. And one of the two invaluable people we mentioned that are onboard the train, Detective, is their commander. His name is Kimball Hayden.”

  “And he can get the job done from his end?”

  “We have all the confidence in his abilities,” said Father Auciello. “He’ll get the job done. And in the process he’ll detain Bosshart and safely secure the samples of antimatter. When that train rolls close to whatever location they have in mind before it reaches Milan, they’ll be no need for snipers. We’ve already sought the permission of the Gendarmerie to intervene since the pontiff has a lot of pull with the authorities. So no one needs to get hurt here, Detective. Believe me, Kimball Hayden will take care of the situation.”

  Bauer looked at the wall cl
ock. “The train entered the Dead Zone about twenty minutes ago. You won’t be able to contact him until the train starts to make its run into the valley in about sixty or seventy minutes, maybe longer.”

  “Our team at the Vatican has already sent Kimball images of Ásbjörn Bosshart and the mission objectives. As soon as he gets within range to receive the data, he’ll respond accordingly.”

  “Sounds like you have everything covered,” said Bauer.

  “All but the child, Detective. This is still your jurisdiction. We can act only on the permission of the organization you represent. The pope is offering his help. If you want answers as to where she is, the Vatican Knights will get them for you.”

  Bauer continued to think this over. The Vatican was offering a helping hand and the utilization of elite resources. How could he turn the Vatican down? “I accept,” he finally told the priests. “But do you have the resources to track Emily Bosshart?”

  “We do,” said Father Essex. “And we will.”

  Bauer looked at the wall clock once again. There were sixty to seventy minutes left for the drive through the canyons of the Dead Zone. The Vatican had a man onboard, an elite fighter. And Bauer was sitting pretty with aid that was above and beyond his first-team responders.

  “Let’s find the girl,” Bauer added. “I’m sure your man on the train has everything under control.”

  But that assumption could not have been further from the truth.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Kimball Hayden stood at the connecting threshold between cars H and G looking through the glass pane into G. Two people were lying on the floor, obviously deceased, a young woman, maybe late teens, and a young man, perhaps early twenties with a small backpack, who had been gunned down because they didn’t give enough of a wide berth for the assault unit who boarded, shouting commands in Korean which they probably didn’t understand. They simply did not respond fast enough.