God's Lions - The Dark Ruin

by John Lyman

  The pope paused as he looked around at the flickering patterns of light on the cavern wall created by the dancing fire. “Einstein once said that God doesn’t play dice with the universe. It’s a saying I’ve always cherished, because I wholeheartedly agree with Mr. Einstein’s observation. Now is not the time for us to lay odds on whether or not there exists an entity we call the Antichrist, because I can assure you he will soon make his presence felt in the world of men, and for those who need it we now have scientific proof in the form of a code in the Bible to back up my statement. As to whether or not mortal man can do anything to change a biblical prediction is where Mr. Acerbi and I part ways in our thinking. Although I shudder at the thought, I feel that the human race is in for some very dark days ahead, and it is my belief that we must prepare for the inevitable. Therefore my question is this. Will you go back and tell your leaders that they must prepare for the darkness that is to come, or will you tell them you’ve just spoken to the pope ... and that he is stark raving mad?”

  CHAPTER 29

  In Vatican City, the rain was coming down in sheets as groups of cardinals emerged from the Apostolic Palace and made their way to a row of waiting limos parked in the San Damaso courtyard. Walking in the opposite direction through the downpour, Bishop Anthony Morelli’s small umbrella offered little protection from the driving rain’s horizontal assault, leaving him thoroughly drenched by the time he reached the residence hall.

  Choosing the stairway instead of the elevator, Morelli huffed his way up past Baroque paintings and marble statues depicting various religious tableaus of saints with their faces turned upward in anguished pleas to heaven above. Arriving on the third floor, he shook the water from his coat and used his key to enter his small apartment. “I thought the meeting would never end,” he said to the man waiting for him inside.

  Francois Leander peered down into a cloistered garden from the only window in the room. “What did you find out?”

  “You might want a stiff drink first, Francois.”

  “I’ve already had one. There’s one for you on the table over there.”

  Morelli quickly downed his drink and wiped his mouth. “They voted for Delacroix, who then mysteriously stepped aside for some reason and handed control of the Church over to Cardinal Acone.”

  “Acone!” Francois’ eyes widened in disbelief. “They gave temporary control of the Church to that pig of a man!” Francois was livid. “Forgive me, Bishop, but there’s something I should have told you sooner, but it didn’t make sense until now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Leander downed the rest of his drink and set his glass on the table. “Last week I had my people check the meanings of the names of all those who make up the College of Cardinals. Would you like to know what turned up when we entered Acone’s name?”

  “Go ahead. Something tells me it was most appropriate.”

  “The word chilling would be a better description. Acone’s first name, Serafino, is from the Roman form of Latin. The literal translation can mean either the burning one or the serpent.”

  Morelli’s eyebrows arched as he looked down at his empty glass. “Go on.”

  “His surname, Acone, also has a Roman Latin origin. It’s actually a toponym for an ancient Roman settlement that was called Pontus Acone, which was located in Britinia.”

  “Britinia?”

  “It’s the old Roman name for modern day Turkey.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “No, Bishop, I’m not. Put the two names together and you have ...

  “The serpent from Turkey,” Morelli finished the sentence.

  “A very appropriate name for someone who could very well be the representative of the Evil One, don’t you think?”

  “This is all very interesting, Francois, but the origin of a man’s name proves nothing.”

  “Maybe not,” Francois agreed, “but there’s something else. Acone is from Orencik.”

  “Orencik!” Morelli repeated. “When did you find that out?”

  “When we were researching his name.”

  Morelli loosened his collar and refilled his glass. “This has to be more than mere coincidence. We have to find a way to contact Pope Michael. Any word yet on where he is?”

  “The last time I spoke to him was right before I smuggled him out of Vatican City through the catacombs in the middle of the night. He told me then that he would contact us through messengers because he didn’t want any of his communications intercepted.”

  “If there was ever a time when we needed his council it is now.” Morelli’s posture slumped as he thought about Acone sitting behind Pope Michael’s desk in the Apostolic Palace. “What about that computer worm that struck Israel. Any indication that it’s spreading?”

  “Nothing definitive, but I can promise you that the Israelis will find the source of the worm, and when they do they’ll be taking action against whoever sent it.”

  Morelli stared down at his empty glass. “That goes without saying, and you can bet they’re probably making preparations to do something about it right now. Unfortunately, we’ll never find out what they’re planning, because those people can keep a secret better than anyone else on the planet.”

  * *

  At Mossad headquarters in Tel Aviv, a burst transmission received from an Israeli sub off the coast of Gibraltar had everyone scrambling.

  Flash traffic – Top Secret

  Subject: Action request

  Status: Urgent

  From: Danny Zamir, Director, National Intelligence Agency

  Believe source of worm originated from computer in underground facility below Eduardo Acerbi’s palace in Babylon, Iraq. Send Special Forces Team 5 to scout area and report back. If able, recover Acerbi’s son and return him to Israel.

  End transmission

  CHAPTER 30

  Even though the sun had just settled over the horizon, the steel deck of the Israeli warship was still warm when Israeli Special Forces Team 5 boarded two of their new stealth helicopters and strapped in before lifting off and skimming over the waves of the Arabian Sea. Circling high overhead, a specially modified Boeing C-17 surveillance aircraft began jamming Iraqi defense radars, sending the pilots of the choppers into a state of high alert, for even though the Iraqis radar was now useless, they were now aware that something was headed their way even though they couldn’t see it.

  Through her cockpit window, Gabriella, the blonde female pilot everyone called Gabby, could see the tendril-like outline of the Pleiades in the star-filled sky above as she flew over the beach and hugged the glistening dunes—trading the safety of altitude for the danger of an unlit desert floor filled with rising obstacles and hostile patrols armed with stinger missiles.

  Sitting behind her, Captain Ben Zamir, Danny Zamir’s son and the commander of team 5, watched the desert rushing by outside the open door. A blast of cooler air hit his face when they flew over a reedy inland marsh before the terrain changed into an obstacle course ringed with red stone spires that rose into the sky. Threading her chopper through a narrow pass, Gabriella dove back toward the flat desert floor and leveled off over a wadi that shimmered in the moonlight. Wadi was an Arabic word that meant valley or dry riverbed, and they were always a welcome sight to pilots who knew that flying over their winding, reflective surfaces at night made navigation easier, especially when they had their GPS units turned off.

  From the open door, Ben looked back over his shoulder at the black-painted faces of his men as he tried to stay focused on the mission ahead. He hadn’t heard from his father in days, and despite the problems they were having with secure communications he couldn’t help but worry. His father was one tough bird. He had fought in almost all of Israel’s wars, and as the current head of the Mossad he had been involved in numerous clandestine missions that no one outside his tight-knit band of black-ops warriors would ever hear about. Just the same, Ben knew his father was only human—and that he had a big target on his
back.

  The briefing Ben and his team had received onboard the ship before they took off had been just that—brief. Team 5 was accustomed to being thrown into sudden combat situations, but this time things were different. The intelligence officers who had conducted the briefing had come equipped with week-old satellite images of the area, and the details about the target were so inadequate that Ben came close to declaring the mission unsafe for lack of planning.

  Simply put, they were to fly to Babylon and land in the Iraqi desert somewhere near Acerbi’s walled compound. From that point on they were pretty much on their own. After scouting the area and taking note of the size of the force guarding the palace, they would decide if it was safe to proceed or if they should pull back and call for an air strike.

  Along for the ride was Daniel Meir, Israel’s chief cryptographer. He had been assigned to Team 5 as their computer specialist in an effort to help them achieve their main objective—to pinpoint the source of the worm that had infiltrated every aspect of Israel’s communications infrastructure. For now, the only information he had to go on was Eduardo’s observations and the fact that the worm had been traced back to a computer in the vicinity of Acerbi’s compound, so as soon as they arrived on target he would be especially interested to see what kind of satellite dishes and antennas sprouted from the rooftops of the compound. If he could pin down the exact location of the source computer, he and the team had orders to enter the compound and either steal it or destroy it, and from Eduardo’s description, stealing it would be out of the question.

  At the end of their pre-mission briefing, the intelligence officers had added one more thing to Team 5’s to-do list. With straight faces, they had asked them to locate Acerbi’s sixteen-year-old son Adrian, and if it looked like they could safely nab him, they were to fly him back to the ship—and they were to do all of this before the sun came up.

  An hour and a half after they crossed the beach, the two choppers settled down behind some dunes a mile from Acerbi’s compound. In the distance, they could see the lights of Babylon casting an orange glow over a quiet desert that contrasted with a black sky sprinkled with stars. Checking their watches, the team set off at a jog across the sandy terrain, stopping every so often to listen for the sound of approaching vehicles or voices in the darkness. By now it was almost midnight, and just as they topped a large dune on the outskirts of Babylon, they spotted Acerbi’s lighted compound spread out below their position.

  The soldiers were shocked by what they saw. Halogen floodlights lit up an area that hummed with activity as vehicles entered and left the compound in a constant flow. Sentries with dogs could be seen patrolling outside the walls, and farther out the Israelis could see that Acerbi’s people had taken perimeter security to a whole new level. Five-man teams of specialized soldiers equipped with night vision goggles and carrying heavy weapons could be seen moving out into the surrounding desert, and it was a no-brainer to figure out that they would be on top of the Israelis’ position in a matter of minutes.

  Although Team 5 had been briefed on the fact that the compound surrounded a large palace, the real scope of the place was just beginning to sink in. The building and grounds covered at least 30 acres, and the walls surrounding the compound were twelve feet high and topped with spools of razor wire. This was definitely not a home. They were looking at a fortress—a fortress that probably came with state-of-the-art security—the best money could buy. Right away Ben knew that they were in over their heads, because trying to get inside an area this well protected would be like trying to make their way into a heavily fortified military installation—an installation that was protecting something very valuable.

  In other words, they were looking at a suicide mission, one that had probably ended before it had even begun. About all they could hope for at this point would be to take a few pictures and make a quick scout of the area before retreating back to their choppers to call in an air strike.

  “Anyone here want to guess what I’m about to say?” Ben Zamir whispered into his headset.

  Sergeant Efron, the team’s oldest commando, crawled forward in the sand until he was next to Ben. “We don’t have much choice, boss. There’s no way we can infiltrate that place.”

  Ben pounded his gloved fist in the sand. “Damn! The intelligence guys really messed up on this one.”

  “Are we headed back to the choppers?” Efron asked.

  “Yeah, pass the word to the men while I take a few pictures. I want to show those intelligence pukes back in Tel Aviv what they just tried to send us into.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant twirled his hand over his head and pointed with two fingers back in the direction of the choppers, but just as they were sliding down the backside of the dune, they froze when they spotted a ribbon of lights snaking along a highway through the dunes. Using their rifle scopes, Efron and Ben peered into the distance and focused in on a convoy of trucks headed for the compound.

  The sergeant’s face peeled back in a grin. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, sir?”

  Ben’s mood immediately lightened. “It might work. I noticed they weren’t stopping any of the vehicles entering or leaving the compound. My guess is that they have a check point back down that road so they can search the trucks for explosives before they get close enough to do any damage. They’re also probably being tracked by computers.”

  “Those trucks are a pretty good kink in their armor, sir. What about the dogs on the perimeter?”

  “Unless you think we smell any different from the guys driving those trucks, I don’t see them being a problem.”

  “Sergeant Efron doesn’t smell human,” one of the soldiers laughed. “We’re all dead men if the dogs get close to him.”

  Ben grinned as he gathered his men around him to go over the plan forming in his mind. He would radio the two helicopters and have one of them fly up over the last truck in the convoy. Three soldiers would then rappel down onto the moving truck, and after they had overpowered the driver, they would keep driving behind the other trucks until they saw Ben’s signal on the side of the highway. At that point, they would slow and pick up the waiting commandos before driving right through the gate of the compound. It was a long shot, but Israeli Team 5 was known for thinking on its feet against overwhelming odds, and they had never failed to carry out a mission before.

  “This is crazy, Ben,” Daniel said.

  “Sorry, my friend, but you’re with a Special Forces unit now. We get physically ill if we have to retreat.”

  “No, I meant good crazy. After listening to Alon’s war stories all these years, I’ve always wanted to go on a mission like this. This is great.”

  “Here, Daniel ... take this,” Efron said, handing Daniel one of their spare assault rifles. “Your dream is about to come true. I have a feeling we’ll need every man tonight.”

  Slinging the backpack containing his laptop over his shoulder, Daniel grabbed the rifle as the team headed off into the darkness and moved into position behind some dunes at the side of the highway. In the distance they could see a line of headlights, but just as they were preparing to move closer to the highway, Efron grabbed Ben by the shoulder and pointed behind him. Slowly making their way through the dunes was one of Acerbi’s 5-man weapons teams, and they were headed straight for the Israelis.

  “They must have zeroed in on our radio transmission when I called the choppers,” Efron said. “I used a scrambled burst transmission, so at least they don’t know what I said. But they know someone with a very sophisticated radio is out here somewhere.”

  “Great,” Ben whispered. “We just stirred up an ant’s nest. Let’s hope they think it’s the Iraqis playing with a new toy.”

  As the first truck approached their position, they saw the last truck in line suddenly weave over the centerline just as the dark shape of a helicopter reared up and blotted out the stars before flying away. On top of the truck, the three-man Israeli team that had just been lowered from the chopper had their
hands full. Climbing over the canvas that covered the back of the truck, one soldier reached the roof of the cab and shot the driver before flinging himself through the open window and grabbing the wheel. Meanwhile, behind him, the other two commandos cut a small hole in the canvas top and shot two surprised security men riding in the back. After enlarging the hole, they jumped down into the back of the truck as it continued up the highway. Stage one of their plan was now complete.

  Up ahead, hiding in the dunes, the rest of the team waited. They had to time their next move perfectly, because if the men tracking them reached the highway before the Israelis had a chance to hop into the back of the truck, they would be caught in the middle of a firefight and the mission would be over.

  “What do you want me to do?” Daniel whispered to Ben.

  “Just stay close to me and don’t look back when I give the order to run. My guys will take care of the men behind us if they spot us. Keep your head down. We’re going to need you once we’re inside the compound. You’re the most important man on this mission, Daniel.”

  As the trucks passed their position, one of the Israeli soldiers shot an infrared laser beam across the highway, signaling the commando driving the last truck in line to slow almost to a stop. Running for all they were worth, the soldiers waiting in the dunes at the side of the road scrambled into the back of the truck just as the driver hit the gas so they wouldn’t be caught falling behind the rest of the convoy.

  As the truck’s tail lights faded from view, the roving 5-man weapons team from the compound walked out onto the highway and scanned the area with their night vision goggles. With nothing to look at but a friendly convoy disappearing into the distance on an otherwise empty highway, their commander quickly assumed that their high-tech sensing equipment had picked up some random radio skip that sometimes bounced off the atmosphere on clear nights and ordered his men back into the dunes.