by Rick Jones
Kimball held his hand out to her. “Hi, Stephanie,” he said soothingly. “It’s time to go home.”
But Kimball read the features of her face like the lines of a script. It was obvious to him that she didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Which was something he couldn’t quite understand. “What’s the matter, Steph?”
“My mother and sister,” she said, pointing to a place beyond the wall. “The ugly man left them alone in a room several minutes ago. I don’t know if they’re alive or not.”
“His name is Božanović,” he informed her. “Did you see him come back this way?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Kimball realized that Božanović bypassed all the doors and took the faster, unimpeded routes of the corridor to the ship’s bow. “Stay here,” he told her.
She lashed out and grabbed his bad arm, causing him to wince in pain. “Don’t leave me alone, please.”
He gently removed her hand. “You’ll be fine,” he said gently. “I’m going to get your mother and sister. Once I do that, then Isaiah here will take you all to freedom.”
“Who?”
Kimball pointed to Isaiah, who was standing in the doorway. She would recognize him as well. They had both been there on that night several years ago—angels in dark clothing.
Kimball then eased her into Isaiah’s clutches, went to the hatchway against the far wall, turned the wheel, and opened it. With his weapon leveled and taking prudent steps, Kimball entered the room. Unlike the other rooms, the light was on in this one.
Although it was spartan, it did have a desk, a chair, and an intercom system with little else. Sitting in the corner as a huddled mass were Shari and Terry, with Terry mounted on her mother’s lap, Shari cradling the girl in comfort.
The instant she saw Kimball, her eyes flashed with the spark of recognition and surprise. “How did you find us?” she asked, standing.
“You can thank Gary for that,” he told her.
“Is he all right?”
“He’ll be fine,” he said, omitting the fact that Gary’s face had seen better days.
She walked up to him with Terry by her side, mother and daughter in tight embrace. Though her eyes were red and raw, Shari couldn’t quite hide the endearment behind them from Kimball. Slowly, she reached out to him, pulled him close, and rested her head against his chest. And in return he raised his arms and wrapped them around her, pulling her so close that he could smell her scent and feel a different kind of warmth that only she could exude. It was at this moment that he wanted to kiss and hold her forever, and to be able to look down at Stephanie and Terry and be able to call them his own.
But he knew that could never happen.
Some things in life were just unattainable.
When she finally drew away, he could tell it was with reluctance.
“Stephanie’s with Isaiah in the next room. It’s time for you two to leave.”
“Kimball.”
He never took his eyes off her.
“About Božanović,” she said. “There’s something you need to know about him.”
“Yeah, I know. I found your notes on the desk.”
“They were incomplete,” she told him. “Several months ago, the unit leader of Interpol compromised one of Božanović’s deals. Almost four weeks after he was found dead at his residence in Lyon, France. The killing had all the hallmarks of a Božanović slaying, but nothing could be proved. A few months after that, Colonel Majors of the London team raided the Aleksandra, one of Božanović’s ships that was about to set sail to North Africa. Same thing: One month later he was found dead in his flat in London, presumably by the hand of Božanović. And again, nothing could be proved.
“My point, is that Božanović has what is called reciprocity. Jadran Božanović would travel the world to make a kill, to appease some internal conflict that he had been bested. He has to retaliate to feel vindicated once the murder is complete.”
Kimball waited, knowing that she was driving toward a particular point.
She suddenly took on a look of shame. “I told him who you were,” she told him. “He wanted to know about the people who compromised his establishment in Les Halles. He knew I had some sort of a tie with you and the team.”
He grabbed her softly by the triceps area. It was a touch of assurance. “It’s all right,” he told her warmly. “It doesn’t make a difference.”
But she continued to justify her betrayal. “He had a knife to my baby’s throat.”
He looked down at Terry and smiled. She looked so much like Gary, he thought. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Shari. You know I understand.”
“Thank you.” Then: “There’s more.”
He offered her a perceptible nod, the slight inclination of his chin telling her to go on.
“He knows who you are and where you come from. Given his personality traits, if he gets away, he may return in a few weeks and cut a path right through the Vatican to get to you. Everyone you care for might be in jeopardy, including Bonasero. Jadran Božanović believes in the power of making statements, especially ones that strike a psychological chord with his enemies.”
Kimball looked over her shoulder and toward the direction of the bow. For every passing moment, Božanović was getting away. So it was time for him to strike a chord of his own with the Croat. “All right,” he finally said, “time to get everyone out of here.”
He ushered Shari and Terry toward Isaiah. Once they were reunited, Kimball turned to make haste toward the bow of the ship, which was, at least by Isaiah’s concerns, the wrong way.
“Kimball, we need to hook up with Leviticus.”
“You and Leviticus take charge,” ordered Kimball. “The two of you are more than capable. So pair up and take point, while Shari manages the children. You can do it.”
“You’re going after Božanović, aren’t you?”
“It’s something that has to be done.”
“Kimball, we’ve completed our objectives. The children are safe. We need to get them out of here.”
Leviticus stepped forward in support of Isaiah. “He’s right, Kimball. Going after Božanović to cut his life short isn’t what we’re about. We go in as a team, complete the objective, and get out—mission done. Božanović can be somebody else’s mess. Right now, the important thing to do is to see that these children get back home.”
“I won’t disagree with you there, Leviticus. These children need to be home with their families. But there’s no way I’m about to let Božanović off this ship.”
“The objectives have been met.” Isaiah sounded heated, his words tense. “Kimball, the Vatican Knights are not about going beyond mission boundaries. We only take lives as a means of self-defense or in the defense of others. Going after Božanović out of a sense of personal vendetta is against the protocols of what we do. Let him go.”
“Let him go? Are you kidding me? And then what? We just let him go so that he can set up shop somewhere else and take someone else’s kid next week? Or maybe ten kids the week after that?”
“If you take him out, Kimball, somebody else will just take his place. This is a war that’s not ours to fight. It’s not our responsibility.”
Kimball shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Isaiah. A world without Jadran Božanović is still a better place. And making the world a better place is what we’re about.”
“But not like this, Kimball. The Church would never agree with your actions.”
Kimball stood motionless for a long moment before reaching up to remove the Roman Catholic collar from around his neck.
“What are you doing?” asked Isaiah.
Kimball stared at the pristine white band. “You’re right,” he told him. “I will not sully the image of the Church.” He put the collar in his pocket. “But I can’t let it go, either.”
“Kimball, you have to let it go. It’s always been loyalty above all else, except honor. That’s what we live by. That’s what we�
�re about. There’s no honor in personal vendettas.”
“What you’re talking about is the law, Isaiah. What I’m talking about is justice. They’re two different things.”
“They’re the same in the eyes of the Church.”
“What I’m about to do,” he told him, “the Church would never condone. I know this. So what I’m about to do, I do of my own free will. Maybe it’s wrong in the eyes of the pope, and maybe it’s the wrong in the eyes of God, but I can’t stop being me, Isaiah. I kill people. It’s what I do… It’s what I’m good at.”
“Kimball—”
“Just get the children out of here. Make sure they get home safe.”
“Are you sure this is the path you want to take?”
Kimball’s face didn’t betray a single emotion. “I just need you to understand me on this,” he told them, “as friends. I need both of you to understand this.”
Isaiah pursed his lips and nodded. Then he placed a closed fist over his heart and got to a bent knee. Leviticus did the same. And in unison, they said, “Loyalty above all else, except honor.”
“Thank you … Thank you, both.” Kimball then disappeared into the rooms beyond and headed for the area of the bow.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Though Gary was severely beaten, he did not prove to be a burdensome, either. By the time they reached the second tier, he was capable of moving without assistance, though he continued to show minimal bouts of weakness with missteps and dizziness.
“Are you all right?” Jeremiah asked him.
Gary nodded, his face bloodied and one eye swollen shut. “Yeah.” He was warring with himself, the man constantly looking over his shoulder, because he questioned himself about running away from Shari’s position, when he wanted to run toward it.
“She’ll be fine,” Jeremiah told him. “Trust in them. They’ll find her.” And then: “Are you capable of handling a firearm?”
Gary looked at him with a cyclopean stare. “It’s been a while. And I only have one good eye.”
“That’s all you need,” Jeremiah said, removing the Glock from his holster. “A trigger finger and one good eye; it’s the perfect combination.” He handed Gary the weapon. “Božanović’s forces are on their way. We’ve been compromised.”
Gary looked at the weapon for a long moment, and then tested its heft.
“Are you up for this?” Jeremiah asked him.
Gary continued to weigh the weapon in his hand, could feel the power it brought. But he knew that he was too weak from a concussion, his world still dizzy. He returned the gun back to Jeremiah. “I can’t,” he said. “In fact—” Purple rings from at the edges of his eyesight began to close in, causing him to teeter in his stance, the vision from his lone eye squeezing down to a pinpoint of light, but he had enough vision to see Jeremiah lash out and grab him by the forearm to keep him from falling. As soon as Gary’s sight righted, Jeremiah released him. “I’m sorry, man. I’m not right.” So you’re going to have to man the front lines all by yourself on this one.
Jeremiah holstered his weapon. “Understood.”
Footsteps sounded from the stairway leading down to their level. So Gary took position alongside him behind the bar.
Three men entered the area carrying weapons, all Croats, bearded and angry looking, their heads moving from left to right, with the points of the barrels leading the way.
When a Croat leaned over to check behind the bar, Jeremiah reached up, grabbed the man by the collar, and yanked him over the side. The Croat’s finger responded by pulling the trigger of his weapon, which sent rounds into the bar, smashing bottles and sending liquor everywhere.
As the Croat lay there trying to register the quickness of the Knight’s action, Jeremiah came down with the point of his elbow and struck the man at the bridge of his nose, rendering him unconscious.
Gary pulled himself into a tight mass, enfolding his arms around his legs and bringing his knees up into acute angles.
Jeremiah then rolled to his left and away from the bar, catching the remaining men in the open. He pulled the trigger of his MP5, strafing the weapon in a horizontal sweep, the rounds catching a Croat and sending him through a walled pane of tempered glass, the pieces shattering and spreading across the carpet like chips of diamonds. The third soldier ducked beneath the volley and took to hiding behind a stainless steel table that complimented the couch.
Getting to his feet and moving forward, as the smell of gunpowder and smoke drifted in the air, Jeremiah never relented on his pull, until his magazine ran dry. He looked at the Croat. The Croat looked at him. The quiet moment between them passed, as their minds tried to adjust to the sudden pause.
When the Croat got to his feet and attempted to direct his weapon on Jeremiah, the Vatican Knight lashed out with a roundhouse kick and knocked the weapon free of the Croat’s hands.
The Croat then grabbed Jeremiah’s weapon and tried to wrench it loose from his hold. With a free hand, Jeremiah grabbed the man by the back of his head and forced it downward into an oncoming knee and connected. The Croat saw a brief flash of internal light a moment before collapsing to the floor.
“Gary,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”
Gary raised his head above the bar. The three Croats were lying across the floor of the salon. The glass was smashed. And bullet holes pocked the woodwork. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.
“We have to move … Now.”
Gary did move, and quickly, rounding the corner of the bar and joining Jeremiah. As soon as he reached the Vatican Knight his vision swayed.
“Gary?”
Gary nodded as his sight slowly returned. “I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
They pressed forward.
They had heard the gunfire on the second level, which caused the children to gather, each finding reassurance in the clutches of another.
Jeremiah was clearing them a path from above.
But they knew he couldn’t do it alone.
Leviticus lowered his lip mic. “Jeremiah.” All he got over his ear bud was static and white noise. “Jeremiah.”
“Yeah. Go.”
“We heard gunfire.”
“Contact with tangos. Three down. We’re moving toward the stern and the first level.”
“Hold your position,” Leviticus told him. “I’m moving up to support your push. Do you copy?”
“Copy that.”
Leviticus raised his lip mic and addressed Isaiah and Shari. Without saying a word, he handed Shari his Glock. “You know how to use this. Use it if you have to. Jeremiah and I will clear a path topside. I need you two to keep the children safe at all costs, you understand? At all costs.”
She took the firearm.
Leviticus looked at the sea of children that seemed to extend to the end of the ship. This was an evacuation.
Then back to Shari: “At all costs.”
He raced down the corridor and up the stairway to join Jeremiah for the final battle to freedom.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The door opened uncontested, as Kimball stepped inside Božanović’s personal maze.
“Welcome, Vatican Knight.” Božanović’s voice echoed throughout the hull, making it impossible for Kimball to pinpoint his exact location. “You do know that your attempt to bring me down, just like all those attempts before yours, will fail, don’t you?”
The man’s English was flawless.
Kimball took a step into the first corridor. The hallway was thin; the walls were just wide enough to give his shoulders the necessary breadth to walk through without brushing against the panels.
“Kimball…Hayden,” the voice said.
Kimball stopped in his tracks and raised his weapon.
“That’s right. The woman told me everything.”
“We found the children, Božanović.”
Silence.
“And they’re going home. Every…single…one of them.
”
More silence.
Then: “Let me tell you something right now, those children aren’t going anywhere. My team will see to that. Besides, there’s always more where they came from. There are always more children—always more product.”
“Not for you, Božanović. I’m here to make sure that your days in the trade are over. I’m here to dismantle your Bridge of Bones piece by piece, bone by bone. And I’m starting with you.”
Božanović laughed at this. His arrogance and confidence knew no boundaries. “Come forward, Knight. Come forward and take me out…if you can.”
“Oh, I can,” he said, taking careful steps inside the maze.
The corridors ran into other corridors, with those corridors running into dead-end walls. It was literally a maze to which Božanović obviously knew the precise route. And Kimball knew that he had made the wrong choice by entering. Every wall, every hallway, looked the same as any other.
He was lost.
“The thing about you, Vatican Knight, is that you don’t even know that you’re already a dead man.”
Kimball stopped in his tracks. What?
“I need to join my team,” Božanović called out. “Those children, my products, will be gathered like the cattle that they are and returned to the stall you found them in. Your teammates will die by my hand; this I promise. And they will die in a manner I see fit. And that manner, I’m sure, you know quite well.”
“You’re underestimating my team,” he returned.
“The same way you underestimated me?”
Božanović was right. Kimball had underestimated him. A third of his team had already been eliminated, and he wasn’t sure about the rest.
“Urbana legenda,” the Croat finally said. “I guess the one they call ‘the priest who is not a priest’ is a myth after all. I was hoping that the legend would be true and that I was in for more of a fight, more of a challenge. But all I got was you.” There was a pause of dead silence, then: “Good-bye, Vatican Knight. Have a good death.”
