by Rick Jones
When Shepherd One landed in Washington, D.C., the hour would be early and the sky still dark. But in Malta, the Santa Marija festival would begin to kick off its festivities as the first streamers of dawn’s light began to rise from the country’s horizon.
Auciello looked at his watch. Time was critical, this he knew. And yet as fast as Shepherd One was, it could go no faster.
Calcagno gave him a wink and a smile, the gestures meant to calm and pacify. “It’ll be all right,” he told Auciello. “We still have plenty of time.”
Auciello had to wonder: Do we? Do we really?
And then Father Auciello closed his eyes, praying that the cardinal was right.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The White House
Washington, D.C.
President Burroughs was halfway through his second term and had weathered many political storms, one of which included the kidnapping of the pope several years prior. The kidnapping, as it turned out, was done by an in-house team made up of rogue militants, all U.S., with the exception of one man who was believed to be a Kidon assassin from Israel.
Now the pontiff was sending a pair of emissaries on his behalf on a matter of great importance. So great, in fact, information could not be transmitted through appropriate channels for fear of appropriation by hostile intelligence.
Now Burroughs had to wonder. The SIV was one of the best intelligence agencies in the world. In fact, they had been a great service to the CIA, the NSA and the DIA when it came to intercepting data from insurgent groups manifesting in Europe, especially those who had been radicalized by ISIS. So for the pope to send a message by way of couriers, then the situation had to be grave.
It was two a.m., and time was moving at a glacial pace as Burroughs wondered as to what it was that the president of the Vatican and a chief member of the SIV had to offer. But no matter how terrible or how critical or threatening the situation may be, Burroughs had already determined it to be something his administration could handle since there was a solution to everything, whether it be political or military.
Only this time, the president had no idea how damning the information would be.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Headquarters of the Servizio Informazione del Vaticano, the SIV
The Vatican
In the subterranean levels beneath the Basilica where the headquarters of the SIV lie, Father Essex was leading the Jesuit team in search of high-end intel and the continuing decryption from SAD resources and materials.
The optimum priority at the moment was to target the man called Bates, no first name, the intel libraries probably filled with ‘said’ name. But the Jesuits keyed into the CIA database by opening micro-windows through mainframe firewalls long enough, perhaps a nanosecond, for a data breach after bypassing security codes.
Facial images appeared on the screen as fleeting images while the program waded through numerous records regarding covert operators with the last name of Bates. Not too long into the library, a match marked as ‘High-Probability’ surfaced on the screen.
Name: Bates, Chesney
Born: 5/10/1985
Birthplace: Chicago, Illinois
Status: Active
Department: Field Operator
Domain: In-Field Surveillance, Strategist
Theaters of Operation: Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq, United States, Russia, Libya, Turkey, States of Europe including France, Belgium, Germany, Malta, Pakistan
Aliases: Clive Billingham, Carl Boykin, Cam Bailey, Charles Barnes, Cliff Barnum
Current Assignment: Malta
Operations: Calamity, Destitute, Geronimo, Golden Parachute, Incite
Availability: Malta (In-Theater Contact)
“We got him,” commented Father Essex. “Close the breaches before the CIA gets a full whiff of the cyber track. Divert all trails to points in Russia, since they appear to have an affinity for hacking into American accounts.”
Fingers typed quickly as orders and commands promoted red-herring trails to mask their own.
Now they had a face and a file, though the information was minimal. To dig deeper into the CIA mainframe would only jeopardize their anonymity. So they reformed their procedures to take less evasive maneuvers in order to appropriate data without discovery.
First, they took all the aliases and input them into the computer regarding hospital and medical records in Malta, or recent mailings under any of those fictitious names. They received two strikes, one medical and one mailing, with the medical record under the name of Carl Boykin, and a delivery to Cliff Barnum from Italy, with both confirming a single address in Valletta. Boykin and Barnum were one and the same. And both were the aliases of Bates. The problem was, however, that there was no indication that Bates—or Boykin or Barnum—had ever entered Malta on a recent passport. Both corroborating records suggested that the medical record was a result of an infection three weeks ago. And the received shipment was around the same time. Bates or Boykin or Barnum, whatever name he was going by, had somehow gotten through Customs without having been indicated—probably because he was carrying illegal goods; like plastic explosives.
Since then there was no information regarding the operative.
The man a vapor in the wind.
But since they had an address, they had charted the coordinates in Malta by using the simple tool of Google map. Moments later, an overhead satellite image showed a series of apartments not too far from the retreat center.
“Download the file photo into the FRSP,” commanded Father Essex.
The image was downloaded into the facial-recognition-software program. Almost immediately computer points and lines began to analyze the facial features for storage within the SIV’s library. Once the face had been stored to memory, Father Essex gave the command of locating Bates by tapping into the security and CCTV cameras in Valletta. If he was there, they would find him.
The problem was, and the question begged to be asked, would they find him in time?
Father Essex prayed that they would.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The BGAN system in Malta received an immediate transmission regarding the man called Bates, no first name, with a ‘High-Probability’ hit on a classified identification.
Jeremiah activated the Skype screen and the shared link, the two locations connecting with visual sharpness on their monitors. Jeremiah then split the screen in two: one connection was to the SIV’s location on one side of the screen, and Kimball’s location—though there was no visual but an audio feed—a snowy view on the other. Now there was a shared audio link between the Vatican, Jeremiah, and Kimball Hayden.
“Who are you people?” asked Deveraux.
Jeremiah ignored him as he worked the computer’s keyboard and the linkups with a typist’s dexterity.
“Hey, Cowboy, I’m talking to you.”
“We’re everything you’re not,” Jeremiah finally answered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jeremiah continued to ignore him.
After a few key operations on the laptop were performed, Jeremiah was able to contact Kimball through his earbud mic. “Kimball?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re on a three-way feed with the SIV who’s sending me information regarding Bates.”
“Go ahead.”
“Patching you through to the SIV,” said Jeremiah.
Father Essex voice came over the buds with crystal clarity. “Kimball?”
“Right here.”
“This man Bates appears to be an in-theater operator with a background history in areas that include Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq, Turkey, France, Belgium, Germany and Malta. His real name is Chesney Bates, CIA, with several aliases. ‘Incite’ appears to be one of the listed operations he’s been assigned to field manage.”
“Anything about the SAD liquidation squad?”
“No. Nothing. He may be independent of that particular mission.”
“But he may know where their Base Co
mmand is?”
“Inconclusive on that as well. The files don’t seem to connect.”
Kimball sighed. “What can you tell me about Bates?”
Father Essex gave a brief description of the man, such as height, weight and particular features. And then he gave Kimball an LKL, a Last Known Location.
“Anything on Incite?” Kimball further asked.
“Negative. Files only report that he’s the in-theater manager of the operation.”
“Copy that. Stay online with Jeremiah in case anything else surfaces.”
“Will do.”
“Jeremiah,” it was Kimball.
“Right here, Boss.”
“Keep the feed active,” he told him. “I want to hear all of your voices all the time. Clear?”
“Affirmative.”
“Father Essex?”
“I hear you.”
“Whatever intel comes in, then I need to know as soon as you do. That’s imperative.”
“Understood,” answered Father Essex. “And, Kimball?”
“Go ahead.”
“So that you know, the pontiff has sent an envoy to meet with President Burroughs regarding the current situation. Cardinal Antonio Calcagno and Father Auciello.”
Kimball understood the nature of politics to a small degree, but he completely understood the importance of black operations and the measures to keep them covert and under containment. ‘Deniability’ was the operating word in which governments across the world often gravitated to when a mission went sideways. And Kimball was an expendable threat, a nuisance, a man with secrets so dark and vile he could be seen as nothing less than a great threat. Even emissaries who wore the cloak of pious fitting, he knew, meant little in the world of politics.
Then from Kimball: “Copy that . . . and out.”
#
Kimball tapped the earbud, killing it.
Up ahead they could see the lights of Valletta, the city about three miles distance.
Behind the wheel was Leviticus, who heard snippets of Kimball’s exchange with Jeremiah and Father Essex. “We have a three-way link?”
Kimball nodded. “We’re tapped in.”
“And the SAD?”
Kimball shrugged. “As of right now, we’re still in the dark,” he told him. “There’s no information beyond what we already know. But Essex found a file on this man Bates, who’s apparently the in-theater specialist regarding ‘Operation Incite.’ If we find him, then maybe we can locate the Base Command of the Special Activities Division.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then I’ll rip Bates apart until I find out when and where the explosives are located. We can at least try to neutralize that situation. I’ll deal with the liquidation squad on my own. Just get me off Malta. I’ll set it up so that I’ll take the war away from the Vatican.”
“You won’t stand a chance.”
“No. Maybe not. But it’s a personal war, Leviticus. One I will not bring home to the St. Peter’s Square. In fact, I plan to bring it right to the senator’s door.”
“We’re your brothers in this, Kimball. Don’t forget that.”
“I haven’t. But the people in these liquidation squads are faceless. That puts everyone in jeopardy because we don’t know who we’re up against.”
“If that’s your reasoning,” said Leviticus, taking his eyes off the road for a brief moment to look at Kimball. “Then that means you’ll have to leave the Vatican Knights and go on the run. You’ll be in exile.”
Kimball nodded. I know.
Leviticus turned back to the road. “And the Vatican’s place in all this?”
“Father Essex told me that the pontiff sent Father Auciello and Cardinal Antonio Calcagno to serve as his proxy, and that they would discuss matters with the president.”
“President Burroughs is a good man.”
“President Burroughs is a politician whose first priority is to see America grounded in stability. If he sees me as a threat to that stability, then I’m expendable no matter how hard the Vatican tries to intervene.” Then: “I will forfeit my right as a Vatican Knight . . . And I will fight this war alone.”
Leviticus wanted to say something positive, but couldn’t find the words because he knew that Kimball was right about everything. The Special Activities Division was a liquidation squad who were committed to sanitize anything that posed a threat to U.S. security and sovereignty—the missions, the operations, all developed to maintain the national confidence in the eyes of the nation’s populace. They were faceless and nameless and without shape or form or consistency, right up until the time when an operative puts a bullet inside your head. And because they were so phantasmal in the way they operated, they were called ‘spooks’ for a reason.
“But there’s something we need to do,” said Kimball. “It’s almost time for the Santa Marija celebration. And somewhere, in Valletta, more than one hundred people will die if we don’t do something about it now.”
“I hear you.”
Kimball gave Leviticus an address, which was in an area not too far from the retreat center leased by the Vatican. They would look for a man called Bates and mine him for information. If Bates remained insistently uncooperative, then Kimball would remove the cleric’s collar and work on him like he did with Deveraux, with heartless fortitude.
And since he would no longer don the collar, his most prized possession, knowing that he would be on the run for the rest of his life, his demons now real, he became deeply saddened as a dark shadow seemed to eclipse him. And it was at this moment that Kimball realized that his journey for the Light of Redemption would be forever lost to him. There would be no more strides toward salvation, no more chances at finding true happiness that had always been clouded in Gray. He could only run so far and so fast. And there would be nothing at the end but a cold Darkness that was absolute and complete.
Kimball removed his collar.
Leviticus turned to him. “What are you doing?”
“My journey’s over,” he told him.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s over, Leviticus. This is a fight I can’t win.”
“We can beat the SAD.”
“I’m not talking about the Special Activities Division.” He looked at the band within the palm of his hand. I’m talking about fighting my way toward the Light. I can’t do it. Not anymore. Then instead of placing his treasured possession in his pocket as he had always done in the past to keep it close, he placed it on the dashboard.
The man had given up.
Completely.
He now walked in Darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Lab of the Image Analysis Unit
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
Hartlin’s team had forwarded the proposed plan by Chesney Bates to Senator Rhames and a few others supporting the method of achievement. The proposed location of the St. John’s Co-Cathedral was acceptable. The location of placing the devices, however, at least to Senator Rhames, was unacceptable.
In the early morning hours from the senator’s home study, he was in a council meeting with a selected few via a monitor on his study wall, the screen split into two windows. CIA Executive Director Steven Butrose was in one window, and Deputy Director Hartlin was in the other, both via Skype from their locations.
“I’ve read over the proposal,” said Senator Rhames. “The hardware is in the hands of the SAD?”
Then from Hartlin: “Yes, Senator. Three units.”
“I’ve read over Mr. Bates’ suggestions regarding locations of detonation. I asked for positive effect.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now I know Semtex is as bad of a plastique as an explosive can get, so I’m elevating the performance to maximum effect. I want more than just a bellyache of an explosion here, Hart. I want a complete gutting.”
“Are you sure, Senator? We’re talking about a much greater casualty rate.”
“The loca
tion is fine. Bates was spot on with his choice. My point is, I want to topple the castle completely. Do you know about the structural architecture of St. John’s Co-Cathedral?”
“Hardly.”
“I’m going to send you a schematic of the architectural design with new coordinates to fix the devices. These new positions will assure maximum effect with maximum casualties.”
On screen, the deputy director nodded in acknowledgement.
“Contact Mr. Cooper and advise him of the changes. This information, Hart, is highly restricted. No one is to know about these changes with the exception of you, CIA Director Butrose, Mr. Cooper, his squad, and myself. That is the circle of knowledge. Keep it tight.”
“Yes, Senator.”
“Director Butrose will be sending an encrypted diagram to you shortly. Wait for it.”
Another nod from Hartlin.
The senator then addressed Butrose. “Have you anything to add, Director?”
Butrose did. “Schematics will be there within the hour. The new set of locations will be specifically marked.”
“And Bates?” asked Hartlin.
“His mission’s complete,” said Butrose. “So he’s gone silent. The mantel of operation is strictly in the hands of your team. See it done.”
Hartlin nodded. “Will do.”
“Any sign of Hayden?” asked the senator.
“That’s negative,” said Hartlin. “The man went completely off the grid. He might even be off the island by now.”
“I agree. I’ve already had Butrose contact a liquidation squad in Rome. If Hayden gets within a foot of their border, he’ll be taken.” Then to Director Butrose. “Is everything a go in Rome, by the way?” he asked him.
Butrose nodded on screen. “We have two operating units. One is spread evenly across the entry points into Rome. The other’s at the Vatican. They’ve been briefed accordingly. They know what Hayden looks like, his skill set, everything they would need to know to confirm a targeted killing. We have long-distance shooters, female operatives, and we’re using every means to catch him off guard.”
