by Rick Jones
. . . 00:00:26 . . .
. . . 00:00:25 . . .
. . . 00:00:24 . . .
Twenty-four seconds. It would take him longer to get downstairs to the nave and through the rear transept, far from the masses. His heart began to palpitate inside his chest, the drumming a steadily rapid beat. At the opposite end of the hallway, which was the rear of the church, stood a stained-glass window with the image of Jesus holding his hands up as if welcoming Job into His embrace.
. . . 00:00:19 . . .
. . . 00:00:18 . . .
. . . 00:00:17 . . .
Job was quick. He raced for the far end cradling the bricks. When the time eventually ran down to zero moment, the cold fuses would receive an electrical charge from a secondary source that was powerful enough to detonate the explosives within a nanosecond of its ignition.
Job ran as fast as his legs would take him, the man driving towards the stained-glass image, towards Jesus, his Savior smiling and beckoning him to come into His glory.
A tear slipped from the corner of Job’s eye, remembering his love of walking through St. Peters Square. He remembered his welcoming brothers like Leviticus and Isaiah and Kimball, men of character who showed him the Way.
. . . 00:00:13 . . .
. . . 00:00:12 . . .
. . . 00:00:11 . . .
He remembered his life as if played out in his mind’s eye. He recalled the exact moment of becoming an orphan. Then the subsequent embracing and acceptance by a cardinal by the name of Bonasero Vessucci, who saw in him the means to better himself rather than to become wayward.
He had seen his entire life play out to its fullest within a span of seconds.
He had seen it all.
And he smiled just as he lifted off his feet and smashed through the glass, his body taking flight and arcing away from the church, the man barely from boyhood falling in a time that moved glacially slow. His body turning in such a way he could look heavenward to see a uniform blue sky, a perfect backdrop.
And Job smiled.
In the end he was grateful for what he had in his short life.
And in the end there was no pain.
No pain at all.
So he closed his eyes.
Detonation.
#
As the small fishing vessel pushed itself away from Malta, the island became a mere stretch along the horizon. The sea was tranquilly calm and peaceful, the surface like glass. But within this calm came the loud sound of an explosion, which was followed by an erupting mushroom ball of fire that quickly turned into black smoke.
Malta was under attack.
Kimball’s jaw dropped. And then his mind began to work furiously as he proposed a million questions to himself all at once.
Were the Vatican Knights all right?
Leviticus?
Isaiah?
Job?
Did they fail because I failed them?
More questions, more doubts, all pushing him deeper within himself.
As the distant black smoke boiled skyward, Kimball felt completely hollow.
Still, he did not pray to God for the welfare of his friends because he knew that God would not listen to his pleas for a simple reason: God did not bargain with the damned.
The boat continued to fade away into the distance, eventually becoming a pinprick dot that disappeared altogether.
#
The blast was powerful enough to take out part of the cathedral’s wall in the rear, with the concussive blast of the explosion sending stones from the wall and into the church like shots from a catapult.
Rock debris ranging in sizes from a man-sized fist to Volkswagen Beetles, launched into the church’s interior as stones impacted against the walls and columns, either cracking or smashing them, as well as bowling through the pews as the wood from the benches exploded upward and outward.
People raced through the aisles of the nave, screaming. But the structure held.
Isaiah and Leviticus helped to usher those in the rear of the church to the church’s façade in front, with each aiding the fallen back to their feet and then carrying them from harm.
When the last of the projectiles no longer posed a threat, fast-moving boils of dust clouds moved inward to envelope everybody within thick, cloying plumes, the interior entirely laden with dust the color of desert sand.
The church shook and the floor rocked.
Yet the ceiling and its supports held.
As the last of the audience made its way into the square amongst hundreds more, the loss of life was miraculously held to a single loss.
Job had made the ultimate sacrifice by turning a situation where nearly 500 people should have died, and turned it into a situation where nearly 500 people lived. Though he would never be anointed or canonized, Job would always be recognized as a savior who lived and died by the tenets of the Church, and by the tenets as a Vatican Knight.
As the last of those inside the church exited with everyone being dust covered and unrecognizable, Leviticus and Isaiah departed from the scene as law enforcement officials converged on the scene.
St. John’s Co-Cathedral, though damaged, continued to stand tall and proud as a glorious structure with glorious strength, that would eventually be restored to its former grandeur through the love and passion of its worshippers, and with the aid of the Vatican.
With injuries minimal and only a single casualty to note, everyone in Malta had witnessed a miracle: From the ashes of devastation would come immeasurable strength. People and strangers would come to unify as brother worked with brother without judgment or prejudice. Strangers would become friends and allies supporting a cause for justness. And souls would begin to mend, becoming stronger and steadier.
And St. John’s Co-Cathedral would stand as a testament to all of this.
#
Jeremiah received a communication relay from Leviticus. And the news vacillated between two extremes.
The explosives detonated causing damage to the cathedral, though not significant enough to bring the structure down to its foundation. Lives had been spared with some injuries, mostly to those who had fallen and been trampled during the rush after the backside of St. John’s blew inward from the concussive blast. The tragedy, however, was the loss of one of their own. Job had offered the ultimate sacrifice in order to save the lives of others.
Job was a Vatican Knight.
Closing communication with Leviticus, Jeremiah started to pack up.
The mission was over.
“You plan to leave us here?” asked Deveraux. “Or do you plan to take us out since we’re no longer of value?”
Jeremiah closed the lid of the laptop with authority as a show of his anger. “So that you know,” Jeremiah said as he fought for calm, “Operation Incite failed. Some damage to the church . . . But only a single loss of life.” Then he turned to Deveraux and Bates and offered them a venomous stare. Deveraux, however, shot back a challenging look while Bates didn’t have it in him to look in Jeremiah’s direction. “That one life was a good man. So I hope you two can live with yourselves.”
Deveraux smiled from the corner of his mouth. “I can live with myself just fine,” he told him. “Just . . . fine.”
Bates said nothing as he closed his eyes to wait for the assassin’s bullet to strike. But the bullet never came.
Jeremiah picked up the laptop. “The authorities will be notified in two hours as to your location. By then we’ll be long gone.”
Without saying anything additional, Jeremiah left the stone hut.
#
Next Day
By evening, Malta had become front and center in global news. The bombing was still under investigation and, of course, accusing fingers immediately pointed to ISIS as the main culprit. However, ISIS never made any admission of guilt or fault. Instead, the organization remained oddly quiet about the entire incident.
On the following morning, the Vatican had conscripted a team of sanitizers to remove the bodies from
the Retreat Center, friend and foe, with their bodies to be shipped to their respective countries. The priests to the Vatican, the members of the SAD to Washington.
Deveraux and Bates were never seen again once the authorities had been clued in to their whereabouts. The men were questioned and discharged after a higher authority ordered an immediate release of the hold that had been placed on them. Who the higher authority happened to be was never known.
The Santa Marija was halted as expected, the homage statues returned to quarters of safety. But within a week Malta was back in action regarding tourism, the country showing its resilience.
On the third day, the Vatican Knights paid tribute to Job as they buried his empty coffin beneath the Basilica. Everybody was in attendance, including Vatican heads of state, with the exception of Kimball Hayden.
Soon afterward life began its normal routine. The Vatican Knights trained, they worshipped, and they held the Lord with high esteem. Politics went on as usual, and the administrative arm of the Holy See conducted business to fit the City State’s needs.
The one void, however, was the vacuum left behind by Kimball’s absence.
It was felt by everyone ranging from the highest level of the pontiff’s chair, to the emptiness felt by everyone within the military ranks of the Vatican Knights.
Kimball Hayden was sorely missed.
And he would forever be.
But in the end he had made his choice.
Kimball Hayden was no longer a Vatican Knight.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Inside the Papal Chamber
Vatican City
Leviticus sat inside the papal chamber with the pontiff. The doors to the balcony were left open, the drapes surrounding them billowing softly with the course of a slight breeze.
Leviticus laid the white band of the cleric’s collar on the pontiff’s desktop, before taking his seat.
Pope John Paul III grabbed the strip to examine it. “It was Kimball’s most prized possession,” he commented.
Leviticus agreed. “He would never give it up readily, unless he was going to be true to his word.”
The pontiff returned it to the desktop. “Did he tell you why?”
Leviticus nodded. “He didn’t want his personal war to follow him to the Vatican. He said he couldn’t put us in a position of harm, and saw himself more as a burden rather than a blessing.”
“We have an accord with the United States government,” said the pope. “He’s safe.”
“I don’t think Kimball puts much stock or faith in accords, especially when it comes to governments. You have to remember that he was one of them—a part of its machine. He’s afraid of shadow groups that work outside the scope of the president’s knowledge. If he’s still categorized as a threat to the government, three years from now his death could be seen as an accident with the Vatican unable to question the construct of the setup, or as a design to see Kimball erased.”
“Did he tell you this?”
“In so many words.”
The pontiff seemed to weigh this for a moment. Then: “I think it goes much deeper than that,” he said. “I believe Kimball questions his plight for Redemption.” Then he pointed to the collar on the desk. “On one hand, Kimball is a man you truly don’t want to counter in certain situations, his fortitude indomitable. But on the other”—The pontiff raised a hand so that it resembled a balancing scale—“he can be quite fragile. There has always been two sides to Kimball Hayden. And his collar that lies on my desk, his most prized possession, tells me that he has surrendered his goal of reaching the Light because of something deeply personal. Bringing the fight to the Vatican may be a large part of his reason why. But not all of it. There’s something else, Leviticus. Was there anything he might have said to you? Anything disturbing?”
Leviticus did recall something: a mantra. “He did say something earlier which, at least for Kimball, seemed natural at the time.”
“And what was that?”
“He said: I kill people. It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at . . . And then he finished it up with: It’s the only thing I’m good at.”
The pontiff nodded at this. “This was the one thing Bonasero was afraid of concerning Kimball,” he said. “He was terrified that Kimball would divorce himself from the man he had become . . . and once again become the man he used to be.”
“Kimball would never fall back to what he was. Not now. Not after what he did for the church and the Vatican.”
“Darkness has its power too, Leviticus. And it always had its grip on Kimball. But I believe you may be right and I pray that you are. Though Kimball may not be able to run from his past, which I believe he’s trying to do, I don’t believe God is quite through with him yet.” He picked up the band and toyed with it between his fingers, praying and hoping for Kimball’s return to the church.
“Leaving that behind,” said Leviticus, indicating the cleric’s collar, “makes me wonder if Kimball’s decision to stay away from the Vatican is a permanent one. He’s told no one where he was going.”
“No,” said the pontiff. “But we know where he is. Along with his new passport was a credit card matching the name on that passport to use for mobility. The SIV has been tracking his movements.”
“Where is he?”
The pontiff stopped toying with the white collar and looked Leviticus squarely in the eyes. “He’s in the United States.”
By being in the States meant one thing to both men: Kimball Hayden was about to condemn his soul to damnation.
And there was no one who could stop him.
PART FIVE
THE MAN IN BLACK
Chapter Sixty-Six
The Estate of Senator Rhames
Washington, D.C.
Senator Rhames was lying in bed unable to sleep, because his mind continued to work. He had tendered his resignation, as requested, with the media citing it as a medical issue for the reason. Though he was a little overweight and had marched his way to obesity, he had never felt better. His mental status, however, was altogether a different matter.
For more than thirty years he had clawed his way up the senatorial ladder to become a stalwart figure in Congress. He had pulled his weight for the party, even made sacrifices that were against his judgment, because he believed it to be best for the nation in the long haul. Some of the measures panned out, some didn’t, but that was the theory behind political science. Inferences were determined by past histories, so decisions were made by the teachings from those lessons. And for three decades he had built his reputation from the ground up working for the pinnacle reward of someday sitting in the highest political seat in the land. But that achievement was forever gone, a goal no longer attainable the moment he signed his resignation along the dotted line.
His life was over as he knew it. The one thing that kept him going, the one thing that allowed him to function, was knowing that he could command at will. But now he had been stripped, the man a pariah in the eyes of those who knew the truth about extending his boundaries.
If I had the courage, he told himself soon afterward, I would have put the point of my weapon to my temple and pulled the trigger.
But true courage had abandoned him.
Sighing heavily through his nostrils and knowing that sleep would not come, he got out of bed, tied on a robe, and went downstairs.
The house was dark. The shadows in the hallway long and still and eerie, giving the entire house a tombstone quality to it. After descending the steps to the study, Senator Rhames closed the door behind him and started for the light on his desk by the many shelves of books.
From the opposite corner of the room where a winged high-back chair sat catty-corner from the desk, a light winked on.
Kimball was sitting in the chair wearing his black cleric’s shirt minus the collar, black military pants and boots. In his gloved hand was a suppressed firearm that was directed at the senator. “Good morning, Senator. Do you mind taking a seat along the couch and
not behind the desk, please? I’d like a full view.”
The senator appeared stunned. “How did you get in here? The alarm system is on.”
“Not anymore.” He pointed to the couch with the tip of his Glock. “Have a seat.”
The senator did. Once he shifted into a position of comfort, he said, “And now you’re here to kill me.”
“Did you expect anything different?”
“No, I guess not. Not after you told Cooper that I was on your list.” The senator sounded as if he conceded to his fate, the man not caring if he lived or not.
“You don’t seem to be afraid,” said Kimball.
“Maybe in the beginning,” he said. “I even made sure my gun was fully loaded because I was afraid of this very moment. But I’m no longer afraid because I no longer care. If I had the courage I’d do it myself. Put a bullet in my head, I mean.” Then: “I’m sure you found my weapon, seeing that you’re in my study where I keep it.”
“I found it.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Why don’t you care anymore?” Kimball asked him.
“Because the powers that be claim that I don’t have the moral center as a politician and can no longer serve due to bad decision making on my part. In their eyes, I’m a so-called threat to the Establishment.”
“Like the way you saw me? As a threat to the Establishment?”
“I worked to solidify and strengthen the regime, not diminish it.”
“As you saw fit by skirting the boundaries and laws because they didn’t apply to you? That these laws were mere suggestions to you and not legal guidelines?”
“Pushing the boundaries is what makes greatness. If you don’t change or adapt, then you drown.”
“And pushing these boundaries, how did that work out for you?”
