The Bridge of Bones (Vatican Knights)

by Rick Jones

  Pope Pius sat at the head of the table with three cardinals sitting to his left, and three to his right.

  The debate on whether or not to send the Vatican Knights to Paris had met with opposition among the conservatives in the council, for the simple fact that it did not meet with any of the written criteria of the Vatican’s bylaws for engagement.

  “There is such a thing as exigent circumstances,” Pius stated. “Yes. I understand that her situation does not meet with the sovereignty, interests, or the welfare of citizenry guidelines. But let’s not forget that Shari Cohen placed her life and the lives of her family on the line when she aided the Knights in finding Amerigo, Pius XIII, all those years ago, when he was taken by a rogue military force in the United States.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together in an attitude of prayer. In a voice that was soft and paternal, he said, “All I’m saying, all I’m proposing, by using exigent circumstances as my groundwork for Vatican support, is that we allow aid to Shari Cohen due to the fact that she has aided the Church in the past.”

  Cardinal Sambini, a stalwart conservative, believed that any divergence from the written rule was the beginning of the end of stability. If one could justify changing protocol for any reason, then it could be understood that more rules would be changed, until the original set of guidelines evolved into something completely unfamiliar. “The easiest thing to do,” he said, “is to justify any act, no matter what that action may be—right, wrong, or indifferent. You’re laying the groundwork of your argument under the justification of ‘exigent circumstances.’ But, Your Holiness, once we begin to manipulate the protocols of what governs our judgments as to when to send in the Knights, then there is a breakdown of order within our group. Each one of us is throwing in a reason why we should act accordingly to something that is not set as one of the three criteria: the sovereignty and interests of the Church, and the welfare of its citizenry.”

  “And your opposition is a strong one, no doubt. But Shari Cohen was made an Honorary Knight, in spirit, by my predecessor. If this is the case, would you not agree that she is now a part of the citizenry?”

  Cardinal Gardenzio raised a halting hand. He was tall and thin with somewhat of a scholarly look to him, a learned man who should have been teaching from behind a podium rather than preaching from behind a pulpit. Behind his glasses were eyes the color of emeralds that sparked with immeasurable intelligence. Gardenzio, however, like Sambini, was steeped in the political aspect of maintaining a strict accordance to the written word or protocol. “I, with all due respect, Your Holiness, concur with the good Cardinal Sambini. I agree that Ms. Cohen’s efforts in saving Pope Pius’s life years ago deserves merit. However, setting personal emotion aside, let us not forget that we are a Church, first and foremost. We send the Knights into conflict because one, if not all, of the criteria are met. In this case, none are met. Let us not forget that Ms. Cohen is a woman of Jewish faith. And a person of Jewish faith does not believe that Jesus Christ was the son of God.”

  “That didn’t matter to Shari Cohen at the time she saved the pontiff’s life,” Pius countered. “She looked upon the pope as a man, a person, and a human being, without denomination. And if you want to use the Church as the foundation of your stance, are we not all the children of God?”

  “We are,” he answered. “But my stance is purely set in political protocol. My point being, her religious affiliation disallows her citizenry, regardless of whether she was made an Honorary member of the Vatican Knights. It is what it is. The protocols, as they now stand, are what they are. And under the current set of rules, she does not qualify.”

  Sambini added to this thread. “Besides, you stated yourself that there is a more pressing issue brewing the Philippines. A church and its members are being harassed by an insurrection of Muslims with very radical viewpoints. It seems to me that the Vatican Knights are needed there, to mandate peace between the groups, if possible. What is happening to Shari Cohen is unfortunate, but the need of the Knights is clearly spelled out. Per the criteria, the precedence is that they should be readied to act if the citizenry in the Philippines are threatened any further.”

  “We have the resources to spread the Vatican Knights out, if need be. We can handle both situations.”

  “Of course, you are the pontiff,” stated Gardenzio. “You have the right to overrule us.”

  Bonasero Vessucci, Pope Pius XIV, waved him off. “If I was to do that, then there would be no point in the Society of Seven. I would simply make the call. And at this table, by the end of the day, it’s the majority rule. Arguments are proposed to maintain a balance, so that rules, as you adamantly made your points, don’t evolve to the point where certain demands no longer have any weight to them by becoming suggestions, rather than the written law. It is for the good of the Church in the end. But please keep in mind that we are also a compassionate people who believe that God is too big for one religion, and that He has many faces but only one voice. And as a compassionate people, I use ‘exigent circumstances’ as my point of argument. We’re talking about the woman who risked her life to save Amerigo’s life when he served upon the papal throne. More importantly, we’re talking about two children who are terribly frightened and have no idea what lies before them.”

  He sighed and appeared somewhat dejected as his face took on a hang-dog look. In his mind he believed his stance was too weak, his audience lost. Then: “There are four other cardinals sitting at this table who have said nothing, but no doubt each one carries an opinion. I cannot deny that the good cardinals Sambini and Gardenzio proposed strong arguments. They did. So when we vote, I must ask all of you to vote accordingly to what you believe to bear more strength: that the laws can and should be amended under exigent circumstances, or that we continue with the strict observance of the current criteria.”

  The pontiff stood. “I propose a yea for the mobilization of the Vatican Knights to aid in the matter of Shari Cohen.”

  Cardinal Sambini stood. “I vote nay.”

  Cardinal Gardenzio stood. “Nay.”

  And one by one the cardinals stood to proffer their votes.

  In the end, as the cardinals spoke their preferences based on the amendment of ‘exigent circumstances’ or to keep to the strict adherence of current law, ‘exigent circumstances’ was upheld by a majority rule. Anyone one who would serve the Church in the capacity to better its welfare would now benefit from Vatican aid.

  The amendment had been passed.

  And Shari would once again be in league with the Vatican Knights.

  “Good Cardinal Sambini, would you be so kind as to notify Kimball Hayden and have him report to my chamber immediately? And contact the archdiocese at la rue Barbet-de-Jouy in the 7th arrondissement and have them send the archbishop to Shari Cohen. Time is becoming critical, and we need to amass the teams quickly.”

  “Of course, Your Holiness.”

  Pius held his hand out so that the cardinals could kiss the Fisherman’s Ring as they passed him by.

  When Bonasero Vessucci stood alone in the chamber, he examined the ring by holding his hand in front of him and splaying his fingers wide. The ring was simple in its design yet magical in its symbolism; the authority it wielded within its forged metal was certainly all-powerful within the Vatican and beyond. But as much power as it granted him, he no less felt impotent. His powers to help Shari Cohen beyond prayer were limited. The only true power, he considered, rested within one man.

  It began and ended with Kimball Hayden.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Inside the Papal Chamber

  The Vatican

  Pope Pius was sitting behind his desk when the knock came at his door. “Yes.”

  The ornamental door was opened by a security member dressed in a scarlet sports coat, gray slacks, and a black tie. In his ear was a communication bud. “Your Holiness, Kimball Hayden is here to see you, as requested.”

  “Allow him in, please.”

  A moment after
the security member left, Kimball entered the room and closed the door behind him. “Morning, Bonasero.”

  Through the years they had become good, if not, the best of friends. During the first US war with Iraq, while Kimball served clandestinely under the Joint Chiefs of Staff and for some of the political incumbents that turned a blind eye toward his deeds as a political assassin, Kimball had ventured deeply into enemy territory, far enough until his position was compromised by two shepherd boys. In a judgment nurtured by a sense of duty, he killed them.

  It had also become the turning point in his life, the very moment he pulled the trigger.

  Some people called it an epiphany.

  Kimball Hayden called it agony.

  In White House circles, he was known as a man who worked with the cold fortitude of a machine—a man with no conscience. And in truth, he was proud of that image and the way it stroked his ego, killing with impunity so that his legend would grow.

  But the night after he buried those boys, he lay between the two mounds of desert earth looking skyward, as the stars sparkled with pinprick lights. With a hand on each mound, on each grave, his heart truly asked for forgiveness—not from God, but from the boys who lay beneath the dirt.

  He never received an answer. Not from the boys. Not from God. The only sounds he heard throughout the night were the whispers of a desert wind.

  By the following morning, when the sky was already white with heat, his outlook as to who and what he was had been completely different from who he wanted to be.

  The legend of what he had become no longer mattered to him. So he absconded from service and was believed to have been killed during the commission of performing his duty by the JCOS, and he was therefore given a memorial with posthumous honors. But the only thing that was buried on that day in Arlington was the legend of what he had become.

  In the days to follow under the hot Iraqi sun, Kimball made his way north to safer havens. He eventually wound up in Italy. In a small bar, while watching the Iraqi war finally getting fully under way, a small man wearing a cleric’s collar and a genuinely warm smile took the seat opposite him.

  At first Kimball was taken aback, feeling territorial since he had claimed the booth as his own and wanted to be alone with his drink. But the man was infectiously kind and warm, almost paternal in the way he conducted himself.

  He informed Kimball that he, and they—whoever ‘they’ were—were watching him. And that he would be welcome into their fold with open arms, as long as he could provide the Church with certain services, specifically his very particular skill set, which would save lives rather than take them away. Kimball recalled that he was stunned by the fact that they—whoever ‘they’ were—knew every aspect about him, that he was not the nasty little political secret he thought himself to be in Washington, D.C.

  And in return for his services, they would give him the one thing he wanted most in life.

  They would give him salvation.

  By the conclusion of his drink in that tiny bar in Italy, by the time Kimball could feel the inexplicable warmth of camaraderie crawling through him, a friendship as strong as any brotherhood had been created.

  But through the years, it had become so much more. It had become a tandem team of a father and his son.

  Kimball took a seat made of fine leather before the pontiff’s desk.

  Pius leaned forward and placed his elbows like wings along the desktop. “How are you, my dear friend?”

  “Very good, Bonasero. You’re looking good as usual.”

  Bonasero Vessucci waved a dismissive hand in a friendly gesture. Stop brown-nosing me. You’re not making any points.

  Kimball knew the gesture and the meaning behind it, could almost read the man’s thoughts. He laughed.

  “It’s been a while,” the pontiff finally said. “I’ve been busy. But that’s no excuse for not calling upon you for an invite as a friend. I should have.”

  “You have more important issues to consider than me, Bonasero.”

  The pontiff’s face steadily darkened, which Kimball recognized to be concerns of the most serious nature.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked him.

  The pope fell back into his seat, a winged-backed chair that framed him. “Normally I would call you to the lower chamber where the Society of Seven would propose to you a mission. But there are matters that you and I need to discuss openly—things I did not want to air before the eyes and ears of the assembly.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “Kimball, I need you for a mission. But I cannot call upon you if you’re going to be emotionally compromised.”

  “Emotionally compromised? Have you ever known me to be emotionally compromised on any mission?” He was somewhat insulted by the pope’s suggestion.

  “Once,” he quickly returned. “Just once.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Shari Cohen,” he said.

  Those words struck Kimball hard, like a hammer blow to the solar plexus. Immediately he could feel himself deflate in his chair, the warrior somehow sensing himself growing smaller and more diminutive in size. Though he thought of her often, he never thought that her name would ever be spoken by another again. Over the years she had remained a steady staple of his thoughts, an image he often fed upon to get him through the day. Sometimes she would be his first thought in the morning when he awoke and the last thought at night when he went to bed.

  She was also a very married woman.

  “You brought me up here to talk about Shari Cohen?”

  “Kimball…she’s in trouble and she needs our help. She needs your help.”

  His interest suddenly piqued. “What’s the matter?”

  Pius reached across his desktop and grabbed the memo. “She has personally requested that you help her find her children,” he said.

  Kimball’s lips mouthed the word ‘children,’ as his face surrendered a questioning look.

  “We believe they were abducted by a human trafficking ring, while the family was vacationing in Paris.”

  Kimball remembered the children well. He’d even held them in his embrace after he’d rescued the family from a team of assassins one night in D.C., when he and Shari were getting too close to the truth as to who really kidnapped the pope.

  “They’re now fourteen and sixteen,” Bonasero added.

  Have they grown that much since I lost saw them? Has it been that long since I last saw Shari?

  “Kimball, this is dire and we need to act quickly. There is an apparent timeframe in which to find them, before the window of opportunity closes. I have asked our liaison in Paris to contact them as soon as possible. I’ve also requested that the Servizio Informazione del Vaticano get involved as well.” The SIV was the Vatican’s intelligence agency, which rivaled the best agencies in the world, including Mossad and the CIA.

  Kimball shot to his feet. “I’ll assemble a team immediately.”

  “Kimball, please. Sit down.” The pope waved the large man back to a sitting position. “Though she has requested you, I have to question your ability to lead properly in this situation. I cannot afford you to be emotionally compromised. What I’m trying to say is that I know you care for her more than you should.”

  Kimball could not deny it. “I can do this. If nothing else, I will do this with the passion for what I am assigned to do.”

  “I would like to think that you go into every mission with passion.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Exactly. And that is why I’m pressing this particular issue… Kimball, she is still a married woman. And I know it can be difficult to suppress certain emotions, especially when tensions get high, which they surely will be.”

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Bonasero. That’ll be a path I’ll have to cross later. But right now the optimum thing is to find those kids before it’s too late. The more time I sit here is more time wasted. I need to assemble my team.”

 
“Kimball, should this fail—”

  “It won’t, Bonasero. I promise you.”

  “If I allow you to lead the team, then I must ask you to act accordingly, in the eyes of God. Suppress your emotions in a way that will not destroy your chances of finding the salvation you seek.”

  Kimball stood, looked at his close friend, and nodded. “I can’t do that,” he told him. “And I’ve known you too long to lie to you. With or without your blessing, Bonasero, I have to—I need to undertake this mission.”

  Kimball could have sworn that he had seen a shadow fall over Bonasero’s face, one of overwhelming sadness. “Then I shall pray for you,” he said solemnly.

  “That’s all I ask.”

  After Kimball left the pontiff’s chamber, an odd quiet fell over Bonasero like a pall. He had always seen Kimball to be his surrogate son, in constant need of direction—someone he needed to show the way, by giving him a moral compass to guide him. But Kimball continued to skirt the ‘Light of Loving Spirits’ by continuously making unhealthy decisions along the way. And a man, no matter how many times he’s been shown the way to the Righteous Path, had to eventually take its course. But for whatever reason and despite all the judicial guidance of pious men, Kimball Hayden always found a way to get lost.

  Bonasero Vessucci began to mouth words that could be heard only between him and his God, and he prayed for Kimball like he had never prayed before.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Hotel de La Motte Picquet on the Rue Cler

  Paris, France