by Rick Jones
Their apartment was a two-bedroom, two-bath residence that had a balcony that provided an astonishing view of the Basilica’s dome that was across the Tiber. Today, the sky was a uniform blue with a few scudding clouds, and the sunshine warm against Kimball’s face as he stared skyward with his eyes closed.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Shari walked onto the balcony to stand beside Kimball and placed her hands along the stone railing. “It’s like a dream—almost surreal.”
Kimball opened his eyes. “Rome is God’s country with few cities as beautiful as this one.”
“You’re at peace here, aren’t you?”
Kimball nodded. “Yeah, I am.”
Shari leaned into him, which was cause for Kimball to wrap his arm around her and pull her close.
The scenery from their balcony was magnificent as the two admired the architecture that dated back to five hundred years or older, with these lasting structures a memorial to one of the world’s greatest historical periods.
To Kimball, it was an architectural marvel; to Shari, it was romantic.
They stood on the balcony and appreciated the view from their new home together, the two thinking how perfect and wonderful their world was at the moment.
Soon, however, this idyllic moment would come to a crashing halt.
Darkness was already approaching.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fiumicino Airport
Rome, Italy
The Following Day
Unlike the day before when it was sunny and balmy, the wet weather was vacillating between a drizzle and a downpour, but never stopping.
At the airport’s exit gate where a woman waited, she wore a hat that had an overlapping brim which covered her brow, eyes, and part of her face. Since meeting with Pope Clement XV, she had maintained a low profile. She avoided the CCTV scanners that appeared at every corner of every intersection, whenever possible. Of those cameras she could not avoid, she merely lowered her head so that the hat’s brim obstructed the cameras view. Big Brother was apparently everywhere, even in Rome.
Even though the plane from the United States had been delayed by two hours, she was a patient woman. And as it taxied on the runway and to the gate, she released a collective sigh. Her team had finally arrived.
Once they went through the security and passport stations, four men, all with bulked-up bodies, met the woman at the gate. Though she was dwarfed by their sizes, she stood amongst them as a giant, nevertheless.
As soon as they entered an awaiting SUV whose rear seating section was cordoned off from the front seat by a Plexiglas panel, the woman pounded the heel of her hand against the pane as a predetermined signal that informed the driver to move.
As soon as the vehicle merged with the traffic, she spoke with a voice made rough by smoking. “Have you all received the e-jackets I sent you on the targeted killing?”
Everyone nodded. They had received the biographical history of Kimball Hayden that had been provided to her by the pontiff, with the data sent from members within his inner circle instead of Vatican Intelligence.
The woman looked over the members of her team who were young, virtuously spirited and had served at least twelve years as special forces operators. For the most part, they had maintained grizzly appearances with unkempt beards and untamed eyes. She also took note of their rings, which were the insignia jewelry of the Nocturnal Saints. Unlike hers, which had a ruby-stone face, theirs had gold lettering on a silver backdrop.
“Kimball Hayden,” she finally said. “Who is no stranger to the Nocturnal Saints.”
An ex-Delta by the name of Carl Mannix cocked his head slightly as though perplexed. “The one who took out your D.C. program?”
She nodded in confirmation.
“So, this is a hit of vendetta rather than a justified separation from the church.”
“No. This is a sanctioned hit.”
“By whom?”
“That matters not,” she told him. “What matters is that Kimball Hayden is an abomination who is in service to the church. It’s clear that such a person is well beyond the reach of the Light, no matter how much he tries to redeem himself.”
Chance Stallworth was an African American and an ex-Seal who performed missions across the globe. His top-tier standing as a military operative within the Nocturnal Saints had placed him at the pinnacle of the order’s military totem pole. “And what about his team?” he asked her.
“Not a factor. Kimball Hayden is the primary target since his past crimes are unforgiveable. His membership to the church is nothing short of blasphemy.”
“And yet the church sees him as an asset given his past history?” This came from an ex-Army Ranger by the name of Shonn McKinley, who was also a martial-arts specialist who had a number of belts and dans attached to his name.
The woman nodded. “He was chosen by another to serve the church. But the man continues to be wayward with his mark continuing to be a stain to the values of the institution. Our handler believes that Kimball Hayden’s full removal from the ranks of the church is necessary in order to purge whatever Darkness remains within the hallways of the Vatican. And I agree. Any man who walks these hallowed corridors after stealing away the lives of innocent women and children is a blight to the religion, not a minister to it.”
The woman’s personal viewpoints were made clear: there would be no tolerance of this man’s faith, regardless of how much he sought redemption for past sins. There would be no second chances or opportunities to find peace, no future rewards. Kimball Hayden had become a marked man for his past decisions, unforgivable decisions, decisions guided by Darkness. Nor were her diehard perspectives and intolerances unique. It was rather a shared understanding within the order of the Nocturnal Saints that anything less than conservative values would not be accepted. And for those who walk within the Hellfire or on the fringe that borders it, then the answer was clear: terminate those with extreme prejudice and purge the church of burgeoning sin. And was not Kimball Hayden the epitome of burgeoning sin, the one who walks the halls with a soul made black by Satan’s guidance?
“We must also do this without drawing suspicion from the leadership of the Vatican Knights or Vatican Intelligence,” she continued. “The last thing we need is for the Vatican Knights to run interference.”
“Even if they do,” said Dave Bienemy, the second of two ex-SEALs in the team, “we’ll just deal with them.”
“You don’t just deal with the Vatican Knights,” she returned harshly. “And never underestimate your opponent. Believe me, I saw what they can do firsthand. I was there when they took out my D.C. program, all men who were hardened vets like you. All tough and rugged and believing there was no equal. But they were wrong. I was wrong. And I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
“You have an idea?” asked Stallworth. “Something to work with?”
She nodded. “Hayden is in Rome with a woman, a federal agent for the FBI. Our handler believes that she can be used as a pawn to draw him close. If he calls upon his Vatican Knights, then she dies. If he contacts law enforcement, then she dies. If he in any way decides to do anything other than what we tell him, then she dies. She’s the bargaining chip in play here.”
“Is she an innocent?” asked McKinley.
The woman nodded. “No,” she answered. “She’s in league with the devil’s advocate. Her sin is egregious enough because her soul apparently has no moral recognition between right or wrong. And since she knows of his sins and turns a blind eye against them, it is up to us to purge the church of any sinful threats, which Hayden and the woman are.”
“You said the woman’s a federal agent?”
“She’s a heathen like Kimball Hayden,” Antle returned. “Like him, she wears the veneer of an angel but has the soul of a demon. When it comes time to commence the operation, you’ll be wearing Kevlar masks with voice modifiers to mask any possibility of being identified, should matters go south. Kimball Hayde
n will be apprised of the woman’s abduction and provided with a list of demands. Believe me when I say that this man would move mountains to get to her. So hopefully, he’ll be compliant to assure her safety. Once he’s within our authority, he will be tried according to his transgressions along with the sins of the woman, and then they’ll be sent to Hell where they belong. The church will finally be purged of the cancer that’s been Kimball Hayden.”
The former commandos nodded and listened, as Antle provided them with the mission outline. Though the plan at the moment appeared to be rather thin, it would soon be fleshed out and well-muscled. At the immediate moment, the intention was to pull Kimball Hayden into battle with Shari Cohen serving as his enticement. They would threaten her life forcing Kimball to show up on his knees begging for her life. As Kimball Hayden had turned a blind eye against God, the Nocturnal Saints would do the same by sending them both to the much-deserved underworld where they belonged. Only then would the blemish within the church be forever removed, with the threat of approaching Darkness having been battled back.
“Yeah. No problem,” said Mannix, who’d been the established commander in the field.
“I’ll inform the handler that you’ve arrived,” she told them. “And then we’ll start with the first stage of the operation.”
As the SUV continued along through the streets of Rome, no one stated a word or voiced an opinion since the objective had been made clear: Kimball Hayden, along with the woman, were to be terminated.
CHAPTER NINE
Paris, France
As soon as the Bangladeshi received his money and moved it as cryptocurrency, it didn’t take him long to hire a team of known mercenaries with military backgrounds, though they had not come from specialized forces. The pay was exorbitant and appealing with seven-figure amounts, enough to last two or three lifetimes in the Seychelles, or perhaps on a Tahitian island. Either way, he was able to piece together a working team.
Now that the currency had been moved into cyberspace and into offshore accounts, the Bangladeshi was finalizing his plans to assure the success of a three-way campaign. One man would head for Tel Aviv with the second man going to Washington, D.C., both through backdoor channels to assure that his couriers would go undiscovered by authorities. Whereas his target site would be Vatican City.
Strategies had been designed with the approval of two men who would be known as the Man from Paris and the Man from Munich. These men would use the Bangladeshi’s connections to get them through sentry posts and border patrols. Once the weapons detonated and the cities destroyed, only then would they receive their final installment into their virtual wallets as cryptocurrency.
After the last details had been hammered out and his team dismissed, the Bangladeshi stood inside the shed looking at the Goliath Chamber with keen appraisal. He noted the carvings of winged demons who were guardians and keepers of the Unholy Trinity—and were perhaps the metaphoric images of the destructive power within.
As the lightbulb burned dimly from a crossbeam running along the ceiling, he could see the suitcases inside. Satan, the Antichrist, and the False Prophet were about to be unleashed on an unsuspecting world. Though the powers of each contained a one-kiloton blast, the effects would be enough to atomize anything within a square mile. The spread of radiation beyond that would simply be an added bonus with Rome, Tel Aviv and Washington, D.C. all becoming poisonous wastelands for a thousand years.
Taking his bony hand and using the back of it to caress the suitcases with loving passes, the Bangladeshi realized that chaos would soon follow, and scores would die. Inwardly, he was not motivated by the causes of others, but of building a financial empire. A half billion-dollar selloff was not only a triumph, but a financial windfall that most men could only dream about. And it was Faruk who had taught him that everything was about money and that the universe revolved around it. And, in time, as the coffers grew, the mounting funds would bring with it an untold power and the right to rule over one’s personal kingdom. But the caveat was that he would always be the bullseye within an adversary’s scope.
But the Bangladeshi dismissed the crosshair theory because Abesh Faruk had foolishly lived his life in the open for the most part, and as a result of this he had paid for that mistake with his life.
The Bangladeshi knew that he would be more chameleonlike, out of sight and of mind.
Shutting off the dangling overhead light, the Bangladeshi left the shed, chained the doors together, and returned to the house that was mired and hidden within the thick brambles and behind gnarled and twisted trees.
CHAPTER TEN
The Pope’s Chamber, Apostolic Palace
The Vatican, Vatican City
Pope Clement XV was sitting at his desk when his phone rang. He hit the speaker button. “Yes.”
The voice on the other end was raspy, and a voice he instantly recognized. “The pieces are in place,” the woman informed. “Target acquisition goes three nights from now.”
“Excellent,” responded Pope Clement. “Acquiring the package will give you leverage over the Vatican Knight, which in turn will render him incapable of calling upon his team. Certainly, your unit can take one man alone, yes?”
“Presumedly so . . . And the target?”
“If you’re to commence the operation three nights from now, I will personally see that Hayden is somehow separated from his team. The last thing I need is for the corpses of Kimball Hayden and the woman to be discovered before your team has a chance to leave the continent. I can assure you that the Vatican Knights will run interference should they learn the truth. But by burying Kimball Hayden and Shari Cohen, you also bury the truth. Take the woman to a place beyond the reach of Roman authorities. I will personally see that Kimball Hayden is unable to lean on those he trusts most within the Vatican Knights. If he even considers dismissing our demands and breaks his commitment of silence, then he runs the risk that Shari Cohen might be terminated upon his inability to follow through with the proposed agenda. I can promise you one thing: Kimball Hayden would never put the woman in a position that would jeopardize her life.”
“And the area of your choosing?”
“There’s a World War Two bunker thirty miles north of here. It was once a shelter for Mussolini and his Fascist party. Since then, however, it has become a tourist attraction. Currently, the bunker is under renovations and is closed off to visitors. The bunker is isolated and sits off a less-traveled road between neighboring fields and a copse of trees. This secluded area will become your battleground. Here, you will kill the woman and the Vatican Knight, and then you’re to pitch their bodies inside a grave so deep that they’ll never be found. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
“After their disappearance, I will forward the presumption that the two have decided to live a life away from the church and Rome. This, of course, may be questioned and perhaps viewed suspiciously by the Vatican Knights, but the presumption would be hardly contestable since Kimball has often separated himself from the church to commit himself with personal odysseys, most of which was to run from his demons. But his demons never seemed to have a problem in tracking him down.”
“Once the mission has been completed, then we’ll sanitize the killing ground for trace evidence,” she informed. “When we’re through, there won’t even be a fiber of hair left on the premise.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear, Sister. The last thing I want is for anyone to discover anything that would point an accusing finger at the Vatican. Sanitize your trails and abscond from the continent as soon as it’s done.”
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
“Let me worry about Kimball Hayden, not you. I’ll take care of him.”
“When Kimball Hayden’s involved, there’s always cause for worry.”
“Once you have the woman, he will do everything that’s asked of him. He will not call upon the aid of the Vatican Knights or contest us knowing that Sh
ari Cohen might be killed in the process. Believe me, Kimball Hayden may possess the devil’s soul, but he bleeds like all men. Remember that. I’ll get the coordinates of the bunker’s location to you soon. See that this goes off without a hitch.”
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
Killing the call by tapping the speaker button, the pontiff eased back into his seat, tented his fingers, then began to bounce his fingertips against the point of his chin in thought. Kimball Hayden was a man like any other, though much larger than life than most men, he considered. Nevertheless, the woman and her team of Nocturnal Saints would be up to the task. For years, Kimball Hayden had been a deeply embedded thorn in his side and a nuisance. But the man who had become his obstacle would soon be erased, and the Vatican Knights would be completely under his thumb and rule.
All due to Kimball Hayden’s deep affection for a woman, the pontiff thought.
She would also be his Achille’s heel.
* * *
“Yes, Your Holiness.” As Antle hung up, she was standing next to Michelangelo’s Pietà, while her team knelt before the altar with their hands held together in prayer to pay their devotions.
When the unit was done with paying their observances, the woman led them to an awaiting vehicle, a truck. Inside the bay which appeared more like an armory with assault weapons and dragon-skin body armor, the woman closed the doors and then hammered the heel of her fist against the wall, three hard knocks. After that, the truck began to move.
With the bars of light inside the truck giving off excellent illumination, the woman took a seat along the bench that ran along the interior’s wall. Her face was heavily seamed from premature aging due to heavy smoking adding decades to her features instead of years. At forty-seven, she looked to be more in her late sixties or early seventies.
With a birdlike hand, she pointed to body armor that hung from hooks. Next to each vest was a Kevlar helmet with an attached mask that imitated a human skull. The bottle-green eyes, however, were NVG lenses for night vision. And the circular mouthpiece that was roughly the size of a silver dollar was an automated voice changer. Whenever someone spoke into the built-in mic, the voice changer would automatically distort the speech pattern by giving the tone a metallic sound, though the communicative dialogue would remain articulate.
