by Rick Jones
She looked at his collar, a Roman Catholic collar. “Are you a priest?”
He laughed. “Not quite,” he told her. “But I do work for the church.”
“Which church?”
“Well, I actually work for the Vatican.”
“These men are bad.”
He gave her a wink. “It’s going to be all right,” he said, flexing his fingers as a gesture for her to reach for his hand. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.”
She reached out and grabbed his hand, which was gentle in its grasp.
And Isaiah, speaking into his lip mic, said: “I have the package, Leviticus. And she’s well.”
“Copy that.”
Isaiah gave her another wink of reassurance and said: “Let’s go home, Emily.”
The child, giving herself over to this man, could not take her eyes off the pristine-white collar he wore around his neck.
* * *
Leviticus was inside one of the two satellite trailers. Up against one wall and on their knees with their hands on the tops of their heads were the techs. Jeremiah held them at gunpoint while Leviticus pored over the data on the monitor screens and scattered paperwork, which all happened to be in Korean.
The Vatican Knight spread the paperwork across the table, and with his cellphone took photos of the intel. Then he took a thumb drive and downloaded all the data from the computers. Once he was done, he disabled all forms of communication and all the vehicles, stranding the techs for incoming forces that would be called in by Bauer now that plans had been intercepted and duly interpreted, as an encampment that housed a faction with hostile intent.
Through his cellphone, photos of documents had been sent to Bauer, who in turn sent the photos to the Einsatzgruppe TIGRIS, the specialized tactical police unit attached to the Federal Criminal Police, and to Interpol, who was now working the jurisdictional front in Italy, through the BGAN laptop system.
By the time the documents and information had been sent to colluding agencies by Bauer, the Vatican Knights had returned to the chopper.
As they approached the helicopter's bay, holding Isaiah's hand was a young girl, Emily Bosshart. When Bauer slid the door aside, the rotors of the vehicle began to fire up, and Bauer turned to Leviticus before he turned to the girl and asked: “The techs?”
“They’re not going anywhere,” he said. “All means of escape have been disabled. You call in the forces?”
Bauer nodded. “Even if they scatter to the winds, we’ll catch them. There’s nothing but miles of open land. The armed personnel?”
“Neutralized.”
“All of them?”
Leviticus gave a woeful nod. Taking a life was never an easy task for a Vatican Knight, only one of necessity.
Bauer then turned his attention to Emily Bosshart and gave her a gracious smile. “And young lady, with whom do I have the pleasure of meeting,” he said, offering his hand for her to shake.
The young girl smiled shyly and took his hand. “My name’s Emily.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Emily. My name is Andolf Bauer. And I’m so glad to meet you.”
Once the girl was lifted into the bay of the helicopter, the rest of the Vatican Knights boarded and the chopper lifted, heading home.
* * *
During the flight back, Bauer gleaned as much information from Emily as possible, and relayed it back to colluding agencies. It was obvious that she had minimal news to offer outside what they already knew. Emily Bosshart was to be used as a vessel to manipulate her father, this he was sure of.
Then when the discussion ended, Emily asked one question: “What happened to my mother?”
Bauer looked at her while her eyes welled with tears. She already knows the truth, he told himself. So without having to lie, or to tell her that everything was going to be all right, he held his arms out to her in invitation and said, “Come here, sweetheart.” The moment she fell into his embrace, she pressed her face against his shirt and openly sobbed.
The Vatican Knights felt for the child since they were orphans themselves, all of them.
Bauer, stroking the child’s hair in an effort to soothe her, and knowing the Bosshart would eventually come within the crosshairs of snipers, wondered if she would also become an orphan by day’s end.
Chapter Fifty
After Agent Jean Pierre of Interpol received the photos and data from Bauer with an added note that the faction was believed to be from North Korea, the encrypted writings, at least to a degree, had been interpreted and decoded to indicate that the North Koreans had targeted Ásbjörn Bosshart as a high-priority target, with an extraction attempt to take place while the train was in the Dead Zone of the mountain’s pass, a high-risk venture. Two choppers would make the attempt with a military crew of six commandos. Once Bosshart had been removed, then the choppers would head to an encampment west of the Austrian border, where additional operatives would see to their covert withdrawal to more amenable territories.
A second operation was also to take place, the kidnapping of Emily and Nann Bosshart. They were to be used as pawns to ensure Ásbjörn Bosshart’s cooperation, a plan that worked out well. There was also mention that Nann Bosshart had been removed from the equation, the woman no longer a factor in the scheme of things, since she would have become a burden with the coming machinations of the project.
This they knew, her body had been discovered inside the warehouse in Zurich. What they didn’t know was the extraction attempt within the pass. If this was true, if Ásbjörn Bosshart had been removed from the train along with the particles, there was no mention of the mission’s success or completion; therefore, the question remained if Bosshart was still on the train.
On a final note, the one that would prove to be the most damning to the North Korean government, was the admission for the particles’ uses, as well as Ásbjörn Bosshart’s seizure. The intent of the North Korean regime was to utilize the particles for the application of developing weapons with a massive destructive force, and to convert a particle for means of developing an inexhaustible fuel source.
In the global community—though North Korea would disavow this and point an accusing finger at the United States and its allies—sanctions would be forthcoming.
But looming questions remained: was Ásbjörn Bosshart still on that train? Or were they able to extract him? And what about this man the SIV spoke about in high regard? This Vatican Knight who was allegedly capable of handling any situation?
Jean Pierre was immediately on the phone with Father Auciello.
“We’ve received the same information as you did from Andolf Bauer,” Auciello informed him. “We knew nothing of the extraction. If they did take Bosshart from the Dead Zone, they would have been long gone before the train was able to establish communication which, of course, we know wouldn’t happen until they exited the area.”
“Precisely,” said Pierre. “The question is: Did they succeed in their endeavors? Is Ásbjörn Bosshart now in the hands of the North Koreans with a possible weapon of mass destruction?”
“Unknown, since the train is still in the Dead Zone for what—another thirty minutes?”
“At least. Since we were able to prove the involvement of the North Koreans, I’ve contacted Italy’s command, who are sending the Aeronautica Milatare to intercept any airborne vehicles. But my question to you is this: What about your man onboard the train? Your Vatican Knight.”
“The Vatican Knights are ruled by three principles needed to respond to a situation, one being to protect the welfare of its citizenry. Knowing Kimball Hayden, and regardless of the citizenry, Catholic or not, he will respond simply to protect those who cannot protect themselves. If he so much as sees one person in danger, he will act.”
Jean Pierre looked at his watch. “If the train is on schedule,” he said. “He will not be able to communicate with you for another thirty minutes as you said. That’s a long time.”
“Trust me, if Kimball Hayden interceded and
is still alive, he’ll make contact.”
“I hope you’re right, Father Auciello. If he’s not, and if Ásbjörn Bosshart is no longer on that train, and the airborne craft cannot be discovered by satellite or the Aeronautica Milatare, North Korea can become a world threat almost overnight.”
“I guess we’ll both get our answers within the next half-hour, Agent Pierre, won’t we?”
Pierre nodded, realizing that Father Auciello couldn’t see him from his end of the line. “I guess we will,” he answered.
I guess we will.
Chapter Fifty-One
After narrowly escaping the cutting blades of the helicopter, Kimball Hayden made his way to the fore-section of the engine’s compartment. After taking the rooftops of two cars, he then climbed down the ladder to the platform that divided D- and C-Cars, and took the corridors all the way to the front. When he entered the platform that divided A-Car from the engine compartment, he saw two men lying within pools of blood that had become as thick as oil.
Sliding the door to the engine compartment aside and stepping inside, the area smelled highly of copper. Though the console had been riddled with bullets and rendered completely inoperable, especially the radio command center, the LED readout of the train’s speed remained consistent at 140 KPH, with no possibility of slowing down.
Kimball grit his teeth in frustration, realizing that the lives of more than 400 people onboard the express were now in jeopardy. A train traveling at 140 KPH is an immoveable object, even when it barrels right through a restraining wall, until the law of physics finally takes command of it and brings the vehicles to a final halt.
He tried all the levers and switches, pressed every button and turned dials. Nothing responded to his touch.
Looking out the engineer’s side window, he realized they’d be out of the Dead Zone as soon as they crossed the final bridge of the pass, which was a stretch that spanned above a 1,200-foot gorge.
Then he felt for his cellphone in his shirt pocket, removed it, and looked at the screen. He was still out of cellphone range, according to the display. But at least it was showing one bar instead of the five needed for reception.
Returning the phone, he looked out the window as the wind buffeted his face, and saw the bridge above the ravine. From his location it appeared thin and flimsy-looking, the stretch not appearing strong enough to allow such a heavy-weighted vehicle to travel over its rails. But he knew that the bridge was stalwart and had supported trains many times before.
One last obstacle, he thought. But how do you stop a runaway train that was moving at 140 kilometers per hour?
Looking at the smashed control panel, he then exited the car and began to make his way to the rear compartments.
Chapter Fifty-Two
“A priest,” Kwan Ma commented as a ribbon of smoke coiled upward from the barrel of his weapon. After he hid the canister in the vacant roomette opposite Ásbjörn Bosshart’s room, he and Yeong Che began a sweep of the cars. In most of the roomettes people huddled in fear. But when they slid the partition aside to this particular room, a man wearing a cleric’s collar directed the point of a weapon at them, an MP7, which prompted Che and Ma to fire their weapons in unison, the rounds punching through the old man’s torso before he could even get off a shot.
With the smell of gunpowder heavy in the air, Ma reached for the MP7 in Becher’s grip and examined it. “It’s Pae’s,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
Ma nodded. “It has his mark on it.”
Che stepped inside the roomette and appraised the dead man. “He’s too old to have taken down Pae,” he said. “Which means there has to be another—someone who handed him the weapon.”
“Sobong is still missing,” said Ma. “Which means that whoever this man was working with”—He pointed the point of his weapon at Becher—“may also have Sobong’s MP7 as well.”
Che looked at Becher and tried to figure out the scenario. “A priest,” he stated in such a way that he sounded baffled. “In possession of a weapon.” Then he saw the emblem of the Vatican, the two crisscrossing keys beneath the papal crown stitched on his lapel, which told him that this man was a direct emissary from Vatican City. On the pocket of his cleric’s shirt, however, was a different logo—a blue shield bearing a silver cross with two heraldic lions supporting it, a coat-of-arms insignia.
Though Kwan Ma had no idea of its meaning, Yeong Che did, since he sat on one of the highest seats within the Office 35 organization. It was his duty to know.
“A Vatican Knight,” Che finally said. And then everything suddenly became clear to him. Pae and Sobong remained missing. Both choppers had been downed. “Of course,” he said softly and more to himself.
“Of course what?” asked Ma.
Che used the point of his weapon and indicated to Ma the logo on Becher’s pocket. “It’s the coat-of-arms crest belonging to an elite military force stationed at the Vatican. They’re known as the Vatican Knights, a force established by the church to protect those who cannot protect themselves. They are, without a doubt, one of the best forces in the world.”
Ma looked at Becher. “This guy must be close to ninety. He doesn’t look like much of a warrior to me.”
“Once a Vatican Knight…always a Vatican Knight. The emblem is worn for life. This man,” he said, jabbing Becher with the nose of his MP7, “was not a warrior, but most likely in the company of one, considering the size of this roomette. And if that’s the case, he’s still out there doing what Vatican Knights do best when pressed.”
“And what’s that?” asked Ma.
“They hunt men.”
Ma looked at Becher, seeing little by way of a threat. “There are four of us,” he finally said.
“Vatican Knights are shadows and shapes, even in the daytime. I’ve heard soldiers say that they would rather go up against a tiger with their bare fists, than to go up against a Vatican Knight with all the weapons they can carry.”
“Better than us?” Ma pushed him, knowing that such admittance would be grounds for proceedings back in North Korea.
But Che lied to him, knowing better. “No,” he said, though his voice lacked confidence. “They’re not better than us.”
“And they never will be,” said Ma. “Now let us turn the tables and become the hunters, yes?”
Che nodded as Ma led the way.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Just as Kimball left the engine compartment, he spotted Kae and Tang making their way to the fore, the combatants checking the rooms along the way with both men demanding compliance from the patrons inside, by way of threats.
They know, thought Kimball. They’re looking for me.
Kimball watched them close on his position, the soldiers being thorough in their search. They’re trying to lock me in.
Kimball eased away from the window, thinking. He could take to the roof and make his way behind them, then take them by surprise. It was a limited option, he knew, if not the only one.
The Vatican Knight took to the ladder knowing that a stand had to be made. Once he reached the top, the dynamic forces of a battering wind pushed him from behind, making his footing less sure, which was always the risk with these rooftop excursions.
Kimball ambled his way forward, the force strong, as he tried to make his way behind the hostiles. And then he lost his balance and fell to his knees, hard, the impact like a loud knock on a door.
Kimball swore beneath his breath.
* * *
Kae and Tang moved from roomette to roomette looking for an adversary. But all they found were cowering passengers who posed no threat. In their search they barked orders and issued commands in Korean, their harsh tones and aggressive body-English getting their points across.
Then came a sound from above, a loud bang.
Tang turned to Kae. Kae looked at Tang. And both knew immediately what the other was thinking as Tang pointed to the ceiling.
“He’s above us,” he said.
; Then in unison they directed their weapons toward the ceiling and set off a volley of gunfire, the rounds punching through the ceiling.
* * *
Bullet holes appeared along the rooftop and stitched their way towards Kimball, the rounds scattered. Kimball remained on his knees and watched, the moment fleeting, however, as bullet holes erupted all around him, but missing, some by inches as they zipped past him as waspy hums.
And then one found its mark, the bullet stinging as it entered and exited his side, the pain equal to someone shoving a hot knitting needle through his flesh, then growing to an agonizing measure of white-hot pain. Though the wound wasn’t damaging, it wasn’t superficial either. It was more soft-tissue damage than anything else. But still, the pain never mitigated.
Kimball fell to the rooftop as pieces of the train’s hull exploded all around him. Some pieces stinging his face, as he grit his teeth against the pain.
Then when the gunfire finally subsided, Kimball realized it was because they had ejected their empty magazines and were reseating others. So he got to his feet with a hand to his side, made sure his weapon was still slung over his back, and stumbled toward the end of the car.
And then it started all over again, the second volley of gunfire. The rooftop was becoming riddled with holes with the topside hull beginning to look like a sieve. But Kimball continued on with five meters to go, then three—bullets exploding upward around his feet and punching holes around him, the Koreans getting close to finding their mark. And then Kimball dove and slid to the ladder with his hand catching the top rung, his momentum carrying him over the side where he slammed hard against the ladder, the Knight hanging on by the power of his grip.
