The Iscariot Agenda (Vatican Knights)

by Jones, Rick

  “You’re very perceptive.”

  “The man has a conscience that cannot be placated, so he serves the Vatican in order to achieve redemption. But for him to do that, he believed that saving you after he destroyed your life was a way to make amends.”

  “Touché.”

  “Then you were nothing more to him than his own personal puppet?”

  Ezekiel looked away. “He tried to save me.”

  “Sure he did.” Obadiah removed several photos from his jacket pocket and spread them over the tabletop. They were postmortem shots of the members from the Pieces of Eight. “I’m impressed with your handiwork,” he told him. “Our intelligence knew about the Pieces of Eight, but we could not determine who these people were or what their role was. But when we were informed that they were being terminated, our sources had to find out why ex-GI officials were being eradicated, whether the reason was political or otherwise.” He tossed another picture on top of the others, this one taken through the lens with NG capability. It was a photo of Ezekiel leaving the ranch house moments after he killed Hawk. And then another photo was laid down by Obadiah, this one showing Ezekiel on the rooftop with a sniper rifle moments before he shot one of the Hardwick brothers with pinpoint accuracy.

  “And then we realized that this had no political implication behind it at all—that this was nothing more than a personal vendetta.” Obadiah tossed a third photo down, this one of Kimball Hayden from a distance. “And it was this man you wanted dead, isn’t it?”

  Ezekiel stared at the photo, said nothing.

  “When I saw this photo I recognized this man right away. I knew it was the man at the depository who freed the pontiff and took out my team. I never thought I’d ever see him again.” Obadiah picked up the photo and examined it. “Kimball Hayden was a member of the Pieces of Eight, and now a warrior for the Church. Talk about extremes.”

  “What do you want, Obadiah?”

  “My own redemption,” he quickly told him. “When I saw this photo as the man targeted by the grandson of a powerful senator now bearing very particular skills that rival my own, I saw the opportunity for my own salvation. So I waited, hoping that you would fulfill your goal of terminating this man from our lives.” He laid the photo down and sighed. “But you failed in your quest.”

  “I have not forfeited my goals,” he said. “Kimball Hayden is one of the best in the world at what he does.”

  Obadiah rubbed at the scar on his arm. No one knew better regarding that statement than he did.

  “Now he’ll be waiting for me, which makes my agenda all the more difficult to achieve.”

  Obadiah stopped rubbing the scar. “And that is why I am here,” he stated. “It appears that Kimball Hayden has become our white whale. So I offer you a proposal.”

  “A proposal?”

  “Work with my group,” he offered. “Kimball Hayden may become a liability in future ventures. Therefore, he must be taken out of the equation. Against one of us, the odds are even; but against two, then the odds are skewed in our favor.”

  “Why would I want to join league with a man who tried to assassinate the pope?”

  “What I did was purely business with political aspirations behind the motive. But in the end, when I realized the mission was over, I was the one who cut the bonds of the pontiff’s chains and set him free. I may be a fanatic in my duties to my organization, but I also recognize the fact that if the journey is over, then it’s over. There was no point in killing the pope.”

  “But your team tried.”

  “And they suffered the ultimate cost at the hands of Kimball Hayden and the Vatican Knights.” He held up his arm, the scar still ugly and purple. “Including myself.”

  “Looks like a small price to pay considering that the others paid with their lives.”

  “True. But he hampered my skills somewhat. But nevertheless, I’m still skilled.”

  The men measured each other carefully from across the table for a long moment.

  And then, from Obadiah, “Do we have an alliance, Mr. Cartwright?”

  “I go by Ezekiel.”

  Obadiah smiled, and then lifted his hand as an offering. “Fine,” he said. “Then do we have an alliance, Ezekiel? Shall we hunt the white whale together?”

  Ezekiel looked at the proffered hand, then at Obadiah, noting stoicism on his face.

  The former Knight lifted his hand and joined it with Obadiah’s. “Are you Mossad?” he asked.

  Obadiah smiled. “Perhaps,” he said. And then with a wave of his free hand the three red dots disappeared from the center of Ezekiel’s chest.

  And a new alliance was born.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Vatican City

  Pope Gregory stood inside the papal chamber when a knock sounded at his door. Standing alongside him with his hands clasped together was Cardinal Angullo. They had been in discussion on many levels. Now it was time to implement new changes.

  Pope Gregory rounded his desk and took a seat. “Come in.”

  Cardinal Vessucci entered, leaving the door open for Cardinal Angullo who headed out of the chamber. When he passed Cardinal Vessucci he stopped and bowed his head with Vessucci reciprocating, no doubt a certain tension between them existing, and moved on. The cardinal then closed the door softly behind him, leaving Vessucci alone with the newly elected.

  “Please,” said the pontiff, gesturing to an empty chair before his desk. “We’ve much to discuss.”

  Vessucci took the chair. “Congratulations, Constantine. The position has been well selected by the College.”

  “My understanding is that it was close. It appears that many in Cardinal Angullo’s camp amended their votes, making it closer than it was. But that is something we will never know for sure. But the fact, Bonasero, is that I am the newly elected pontiff.”

  Bonasero Vessucci bowed his head in homage.

  “And there are things to discuss,” the pope added. “Things that need to be clarified.”

  “Of course, Your Eminence.”

  “But first let me say that I’m sorry for the loss of Pope Pius. I know he was a close friend of yours. He was a good man.”

  “He was a great man.”

  Pope Gregory nodded. “I can’t argue with that,” he said. The pope fell back into his chair in leisure, studying the cardinal before him. And then: “A few months ago I sat in that same chair talking to Amerigo, who lobbied on your behalf. And we ended speaking about secrets should the Apostolic See become mine.”

  “There are secrets, yes.”

  “I know. And I informed him that secrets were kept because it was my opinion that there was something immoral attached to them. But as I found out about The Third Secret, that is not always the case. The Third Secret must be kept because of the nature of the calamity should the secret prove true.”

  “I understand.”

  “But there are other secrets, aren’t there? Secrets you’re privy to.”

  “There will always be secrets,” he returned.

  “Pius told me so. He also told me that if I should sit upon the throne of the Apostolic See, then you are obligated to tell me the secrets held by the Vatican.”

  “He told me the same.”

  Pope Gregory leaned forward. “It has come to my attention that you are a member of—what they call—the Society of Seven. Does such a group exist?”

  The cardinal hesitated. The group had been covert for years. Their name had never been whispered to anyone outside the legislative body. But apparently it had.

  “Does such a group exist?” he repeated.

  And then: “It does.”

  “And you are a reigning member?”

  “I’m a member, yes.”

  “Was Amerigo a member?”

  “He was.”

  “And who else is involved?”

  “Besides myself, there are five others. Pope Pius served as the group administrator, as did Pope John Paul the Second, and many popes before him.”


  “John Paul—how long has this group been around?”

  “Since World War Two when the Nazi’s began to occupy surrounding territories.”

  Pope Gregory appeared literally stunned, his jaw dropping slowly. “I see.” Then: “And what exactly is the purpose of this group?”

  “To protect the Vatican on all fronts,” he said. “We make sure that the sovereignty of the Vatican, its interests, and the welfare of the citizenry is protected throughout the world.”

  “And the seven of you do this alone? This . . . Society of Seven?”

  “No. We delegate a force to troubled spots around the globe.”

  “A force? You mean members of the Swiss Guard?”

  Vessucci nodded. “No,” he said. “I’m talking about a very special force with very special people.”

  Gregory waited patiently.

  “As you know, Your Holiness, the Vatican has diplomatic ties with over ninety percent of the countries worldwide. And in a good number of them a skirmish will arise from time to time with members of Catholic citizenry getting caught in the middle.”

  “So you dispatch this force?”

  “Yes.”

  The pontiff began to roll his fingertips across his desktop as he sat there mulling over the dialogue. “Not the Swiss Guard?”

  “No, Your Holiness.”

  “And is this group one of the secrets Pius was alluding to?”

  “That’s possible. I wasn’t here during the course of your discussion. So I can’t inform you as to how much he let their existence be known to you.”

  “Then why don’t you enlighten me,” he said. The pope stopped drumming his fingers, the room growing absolutely quiet.

  “They are known as the Vatican Knights,” he said. “They’re an elite group of commandos sent on missions as directed by those within the Society of Seven. Their duty is to go into hotspots and salvage a situation before the situation is completely lost.”

  “Are you talking militants?”

  “I’m talking soldiers—”

  “You’re talking militants who go into battle situations under the waving banner of the Vatican?”

  “I am.”

  Pope Gregory leaned forward. “This isn’t the Middle Ages where we spread Christianity with the point of a sword.”

  “It is not their intent to spread Christianity,” he said. “They are sent into situations to save lives. And like I said, it is our duty to protect the sovereignty, the interests—”

  “And the welfare of the citizenry,” he completed. “And the duty is not for us to save. Fate is the governing hand of God. Not a militant group!” The pontiff fell back into his seat, keeping a steady eye on the cardinal. And then more calmly, “Have these Knights ever killed anybody?”

  “They have.”

  The pontiff nodded. “Since when did murder become an agenda of the Vatican?”

  “They don’t murder,” he retaliated, perhaps louder than he wanted. “They do whatever is necessary to achieve the means.”

  “There will be no mercenaries under my watch,” he told him firmly.

  “They are not mercenaries. They are protectors of the faith.”

  “The word of God is the protector of Faith.”

  “The word of God alone will not protect the Vatican or its interests or its people of what is about to come. It’s a different world out there and Catholicism is becoming a target for fanatics. Even past popes saw the right to protect the Vatican and its interests. And the Vatican Knights have been that way for over sixty years.”

  “I will not support or sanction militants under the banner of God,” he returned adamantly. “If the citizenry should fall victim by the sword, then let those who fall by the sword be accepted into God’s grace while those who yield it fall into God’s fury. We are not a military unit!”

  “Your Eminence, it was the Vatican Knights who saved Pope Pius in the United States when he was kidnapped by militant factions, and it was Kimball Hayden who saved the pope’s life aboard Shepherd One when the plane was hijacked.”

  “Kimball Hayden?”

  “He’s the team leader.”

  Pope Gregory seemed to reflect on this for a moment. “And where is this unit housed?”

  “In a building next to the Old Gardens,” he answered.

  “On Vatican grounds?”

  “Yes, Your Holiness.”

  Pope Gregory nodded. “This is a new regime, Bonasero, you know that, yes?”

  He nodded.

  “I will not have a military faction of any type existing under my campaign as pope of the Vatican, is that understood?”

  “Your Eminence, I plead you; their importance to the salvation of what’s coming makes them a necessity. They are the shield that protects the Vatican beyond city limits. To disband them would surely leave us wide open to assaults across the world.”

  “You have to have faith, Bonasero, to believe that the world is not this Hell you make it out to be. The word of God is strong enough to penetrate all hearts.”

  “That is true. But some people see and hear God differently. And sometimes what they hear is not always the words of kind rhetoric.”

  “Faith,” was all that the pope countered with.

  Cardinal Vessucci closed his eyes. He was not surprised given the nature of Marcello’s mindset, which was widely known within the College of Cardinals.

  “You will disband this unit immediately,” he told the cardinal. “And I mean today. They will not spend another night on holy ground and defile everything Catholicism stands for. Is that understood?”

  “Your Holiness—”

  “I said, is that understood?”

  The cardinal nodded. “It’s understood.”

  “And you will say nothing to anybody about these . . . Vatican Knights. Is that also understood?”

  “Yes, Your Holiness.”

  The pontiff clasped his hands in an attitude of prayer. “There is also another matter,” he said. “There are alleged improprieties going on at the archdiocese in Boston. On most accounts I would say that most of these claims are bogus. But I need someone such as yourself who holds the judicial skills to wade through the facts and allegations and set matters straight.”

  “But I’m the secretary of the state,” he said. “My duties lie here, at the Vatican.”

  “Your duties, my good cardinal, are whatever I see is for the good of the Church. You are being reassigned.”

  “To the United States?”

  “To Boston, yes.”

  “And what about my position as the Vatican’s secretary of state?”

  “That position now belongs to Cardinal Angullo,” he said. “He will make an excellent addition. And I’m convinced that he will perform his duties admirably.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  The pontiff looked him squarely in the eye. “I do what I do, Bonasero, because the Church needs a new direction. The direction God intended us to follow.”

  “Even God recognizes the right to defend one’s self, or the right to defend those who cannot defend themselves.”

  “You leave for Boston the day after tomorrow,” the pope stated immediately.

  Obviously the war of principles was over as far as Pope Gregory was concerned, so the cardinal labored to his feet.

  “One more thing,” said the pontiff, refusing to look up as he grabbed a pen and held it over a sheet of parchment. “I want the names of the five cardinals involved with this Society of Seven.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t have to explain my intentions to you. I merely ask and you provide.”

  “Will they also be reassigned? Sent to some obscure place for punishment for doing what they believe to be the right thing to do?”

  “Names, Bonasero. Now!”

  The cardinal took in a deep breath and let it out as a gesture of his mounting frustration.

  And then he gave the pontiff what he wanted.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

 
; Vatican City

  The Congregation of the Clergy

  Inside the office of Monsignor Dom Giammacio, the air hazy with cigarette smoke, Kimball sat in his rightful chair as the monsignor waited for him to galvanize the dialogue.

  This had been the first visit since the incident in Necropolis when the point of the pick missed Kimball’s heart by less than four inches. The tip, however, wedged deep and perforated his lung, causing blood to fill the sack as if it was a bladder. Along with his other wounds he was incapacitated for weeks, moving in and out of fevers as infections came and went.

  Now that he rebounded to the point of mobility, he still felt sore, his breathing sometimes labored. But it was his emotions that panged him more; the loss of Pope Pius and the betrayal of Ezekiel.

  Kimball raised his hand and began to rub the throb in his forearm where the Chinese star broke the bone, which had to be pieced together by pins and screws.

  “Are you still ailing?” asked the monsignor.

  Kimball stopped rubbing. “I’ll be fine,” he told him. And then he fell back to his stoic manner.

  “Kimball, I’m sorry about the loss of Pope Pius,” he began. “His loss has struck all of us who knew him well. But you, in particular, appear to hold a deeper lament. We can talk about it if you want.”

  “It’s not just him, Padre. There are other issues involved.”

  “Such as what went on in Necropolis?”

  “That’s part of it.”

  The monsignor leaned closer. “Are you sure it’s not most of it?”

  Kimball gave him a sidelong glance. “Have you ever been betrayed?”

  The monsignor seemed to muse over this for a moment, and then, “I’m sure I have been.”

  “Have you ever grown close to someone that you may have considered being a part of you like a son?”

  “No.”

  Kimball looked away, his eyes growing distant, detached, his mind visualizing something only he could see. “Do you know what happened in the Necropolis?”

  “I know you were severely injured down there. I believe you received a broken arm and perforated lung for your efforts in saving the good Cardinal Vessucci.”

  “The cardinal was never in jeopardy,” he said. “It was all about me. I was being tested.”