by Rick Jones
“Why does this man who sits in the shadows want the priest who is not a priest?”
“I don’t know. He was talking to Hassan about his intention. I just happened to overhear the conversation.”
“And why did you meet with Firat Rashi? What’s his stake in all this?”
Sargon’s eyes flared in surprise at this. This man was well informed, he considered. And then: “I acted as a third party to connect Hassan with Rashi to launder the funds from the Vatican into the hands of the Islamic State.”
“And this man who sits within the shadows, does he have a financial stake in this?”
“I’m sure he does since he commands Hassan Maloof. He seems to call everything. Hassan Maloof does not make a move without this man’s input, this I’m sure of.”
Kimball nodded. “Hassan Maloof and Firat Rashi,” he said simply and more to himself, as if pondering a thought that was comprised of these two men. Then back to Sargon: “You met with Hassan Maloof at the Elissar Restaurant. Twice. He gave you a cellphone. Most likely a ‘burner.’ Why?”
“I’ve earned my fee as the middleman,” he told Kimball. “Now I’m out of the picture. From here on in Hassan Maloof and Firat Rashi will communicate with each other regarding the transaction of funds, now that the terms have been agreed to.”
“And how did you and Hassan contact each other? How did you set up your meetings?”
“He texts me.”
“From a ‘burner’ as well?”
Sargon didn’t answer.
Then Kimball released the Syrian’s hand and started to pat the man down, finding his cellphone. He flipped the cover and brought up a list of names, one which included the name of Hassan, no last name, and placed the device in his pocket.
“Now for the sixty-four thousand dollar question,” said Kimball. “Where’s my unit?”
And then the bulb of enlightenment seemed to go off in Sargon’s head by the way this man’s eyes lit up. And then it became clear to him, this man who was much larger and superior in any physical way to most men, and someone who clearly carried himself like a warrior, was the man they called the Devil’s Magician.
“You’re him, aren’t you? The one the Shadowman seeks.”
“Where’s my unit, Sargon? I won’t ask you again.”
“I don’t know,” his voice trembled. “That’s the truth.”
Kimball leaned the man further over the edge.
“I swear to you. Hassan contacts me through texting and I meet him at a public place, such as the restaurant. But they’re close by, along with the cardinal.”
Kimball nodded. “I believe you.”
“I have told you everything I know. I swear.”
“I believe that as well.”
“Then you will give me the pardon, yes?”
“I said ‘maybe.’”
Sargon’s eyes began to well with tears. “Please, you’re a man of the church. You can’t hurt me.”
Kimball seemed to think this over for a moment before saying: “Two things, Sargon. One, I never trust a dog who always bites the hand that feeds it. And you’re the dog, Sargon, who can’t be trusted because you pray to the god of Greed. And because you do,” Kimball added, parting his lips to bare his teeth like a savage creature, “decent people have died and others remain in grave danger.”
“And the other?”
“You’re wrong about me being a man of the church.” Kimball released Sargon who fell through the air pinwheeling his arms to the ground below. When Sargon impacted with the sound of a melon hitting the pavement, Kimball Hayden disappeared into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
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Hassan Maloof was the first to flinch when Firat Rashi did not call him immediately upon receiving the cellphone. And the irritation in Hassan’s voice was unmistakably apparent, the gruffness of his tone a message to Rashi that he would not tolerate mind games, which was exactly what Firat Rashi was doing, along with his showing Hassan that he was merely flexing his muscles over the situation. If Hassan Maloof wanted his bounty, then they would have to play by Firat’s rules.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Hassan,” said Firat. “This is my arena, my game. I’m a skilled practitioner at what I do. And a professor when it comes to making certain trails disappear. If I give you a guarantee that this transaction will disappear off the radars from such agencies as Interpol, the CIA and The Mossad, then you can believe that I am true to my word. But I will not have an inexperienced novice such as yourself dictate to me on how to perform my duties. Are we clear on this matter, Hassan?”
“If you spoke to me like that in person, Rashi—”
“If you threaten me, Hassan, just once, then the deal is off. Is that clear? You wouldn’t last two weeks before Syrian nationals—who are also a part of the Coalition—come down on what’s left of your cell with that kind of money. It’s impossible to move such large amounts without eventually drawing keen and curious eyes from the CIA and the Mossad. Your mission to recruit and rebuild will be over before it ever begins.”
Hassan was quiet on his end for a long moment, stewing. Finally: “Then tell me, Firat, for your twenty percent, what is my guarantee?”
“I can move the money and transfer them into bitcoins. In today’s market, I can value a single bitcoin to more than ten thousand dollars apiece. After my take, that would leave you with just over two thousand coins to liquidate. They’re untraceable, Hassan, since they’re a crypto currency. And I can liquidate them in reason- able quantities without drawing suspicion throughout the world through liaisons. There’s no doubt in my mind that foreign Intel agencies working in collusion with Vatican Intelligence will attempt to follow the money trail the moment the funds transfer to your account. What I do, Hassan, is erase all cyber-trails without leaving behind trace evidence.”
“And I’m to trust you?”
“You have no choice, Hassan. But let me say this: If my clients didn’t trust me, then I wouldn’t have been in business for as long as I have been, which so far has been twenty years, give or take a year or two.”
“And who will watch over these coins?”
“There are two ways you can go about this,” Firat answered. “I can put these coins into safe accounts. When you need the money I can withdraw the amount needed for a small fee.”
“Haven’t you been paid enough? Now you want fees for the withdrawal of my money?”
“These bitcoins, Hassan, are of the highest quality of gold that can build interest favorably over time, especially with such a high amount, perhaps making you hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
Hassan remained quiet on his end.
“In other words, Hassan, you not only pay me a commission to make certain agencies disappear from your trail, I’m also a financier, which you already know since those within my circle call me the Banker. So the fee I ask for is to pay off certain people within this circle to wash away any trace evidence. And the fee is a very small part of the interest gained.”
“And if you fail to pay me when I request funds.”
“Like I said, if I didn’t come through for my clients, Hassan, I wouldn’t have been in business for as long as I have been. When you want the funds, I’ll liquidate the amount of coins necessary and have the money to you within forty-eight hours after processing.”
“And how will I know what interest I’ll be making over time and the balance in these accounts?”
“You will get a quarterly spreadsheet detailing all transactions.”
“And if you should die, Firat Rashi ...how will I get my money then?”
“Then a leading principal within my corporation will step up and take my place. You’re covered unless I’m killed off by an investor, Hassan—a safeguard against those with such thinking. Should you or anyone within your organization have any ideas or qualms you believe need to be settled outside of diplomatic channels, then the organization will absorb the funds. You would never se
e another dime. But if the relationship is one of amicability between the parties involved, then your millions could earn millions more over time. The choice is yours. You either take the money knowing that agencies like Interpol, the CIA and the Mossad are most likely closing in, or take my offer as the man they call the Banker, and everything goes away.” Firat Rashi could hear Hassan Maloof breathing on the other end. “I’ve better things to do, Hassan,” he broke in. “So make your choice. I’ll abide by your decision. Take the money and take your chances. Or let me be your financier so that I can earn you much more over time.”
More silence.
“Quickly, Hassan, or I’ll make the decision for you, which will be to take your chances.”
When Hassan finally spoke, Rashi could hear his hot tension plain and clear.
And in this game of muscle-flexing and macho-posturing, Firat knew he had won the game as the kingpin.
“Then I agree to your terms as my financier, as long as these profits you speak of prove to be true.”
“They are,” said Firat. “Believe me, Hassan. You’re going to be a very happy man in the long run.”
“You better be right, Rashi.”
After a few more words were exchanged, Firat asked for the account that the money was to be transferred to, and further added that he would take over and reroute the money to safer venues far beyond the reach of various Intel agencies across the globe. “Like I said, Hassan, you have my guarantee. Once the funds have been transferred from the Vatican’s account into this one, I will pull off amazing feats of cyber magic that will send these agencies into a tailspin. Nothing will be able to stop us.”
But Firat Rashi was wrong about that. Nothing was truly full-proof or without its chink in the armor, not even his system of cyber evasion. In the shadows was a man waiting to come forward to make things right—a man who acted with impunity and without conscience that the likes of Interpol, the CIA, MI6, or the Mossad could not match from their cyber laboratories.
From the shadows ...something wicked this way comes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
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On the rooftop of the Syriac Catholic Church, Kimball Hayden was managing the BGAN system and had a direct and secured link via satellite with the directors of Vatican Intelligence, Fathers Essex and Auciello. The overhead sky was filled with stars that sparkled like a magnificent canopy.
On the laptop’s screen, Kimball had a clear picture of the priests. “Were you able to find Sargon?” asked Father Auciello.
“I found him,” he answered. “You were right about him working on both sides of the fence. He did meet with Hassan Maloof. And apparently Sargon baited the Vatican to sending a team in to rescue the cardinal.”
“He admitted this?” asked Essex.
“And then some.”
“And Sargon?”
“Let’s just say that he won’t be playing both sides of the fence for anymore.”
On screen, Kimball could see that the directors wanted Kimball to expound on Sargon’s condition, but neither bothered to ask since they clearly read between the lines of his statement. Whatever happened to Sargon was not good.
“Did he give up the location of the cardinal, and of Leviticus or Isaiah?” asked Father Auciello.
“He said he didn’t know where they were being kept, which is why Hassan met him at a public venue—to keep the location safe, obviously. And I believed him.”
“Is there anything he gave you that we can use? Anything at all?” asked Father Essex, his British accent prevalent.
Kimball nodded and held up a cellphone. “It belonged to Sargon,” he said. “I believe it has Hassan’s number. We need to verify the number and try to triangulate its position. Is that doable?”
Father Auciello nodded. “Damascus has several towers that would ping the signal to a particular location. Once we lock on, then we can follow him with our GPS and satellite systems. But that will only work if he doesn’t change out the sim card the moment you took the phone from Sargon to now.”
“Then you need to establish a link ASAP,” Kimball told them.
“We need the number.”
Kimball gave it to them.
Then from Father Essex: “You said Sargon knowingly drew the Vatican Knights to the location. How was it even possible that he knew that they were coming?”
“I was about to get to that,” said Kimball. “He mentioned to me that they had someone on the inside, meaning the Vatican.”
“That’s impossible,” said Father Auciello.
“Apparently not,” returned Kimball. “Whoever it was knew that the Vatican Knights were tasked with a rescue mission to the location, including the moment of attack. What the contact apparently didn’t know was the military personnel involved. Sargon explained to me that one man in particular, someone above Has- san’s command in the cell, arrived on the subsequent day of the abduction and started to throw his weight around. The operation was twofold,” he added. “They wanted the Vatican Knights as trade bait ...And me.”
“You?”
“Sargon didn’t know why. In fact, he didn’t figure out who I was until the end of our little discussion.” Then Kimball segued back to the topic of the breach within the Vatican’s ranks. “If Sargon was right about the inside contact, and I have no reason to disbelieve him since everything makes sense, then we need to ferret him out.”
“Very few knew of the mission,” said Father Essex.
“That’s right. And that has always been the tradition. So ask yourself this question: Who determines what missions the Vatican Knights go on?”
Father Auciello said: “Are you saying that someone within the pontiff’s circle is responsible? Somebody within the Society of Seven?”
“It’s a good starting point,” he answered. “All missions involving the Vatican Knights are kept close to the vest. No one outside that circle would voice their knowledge to those who are not involved with the mission direction of the unit. To do so invites excommunication. Obviously the pontiff is not involved, which leaves six members of the Society to investigate. You need to find out who it is and fast. Time is running out. But whoever it is, I’m sure they could shed a little light on this. And get back to me about Hassan’s location, if possible.”
“Will do,” said Father Essex.
“Tell me something,” said Kimball, leaning toward the screen. “Does anyone within the Society of Seven know that I am acting alone on this mission? That I’m working as an independent?”
Father Auciello nodded. “No. Since this was not a sanctioned mission with the full support of the church, the only ones involved are myself, Father Essex and the monsignor. The discussion took place inside the pontiff’s chamber.”
Kimball eased away from the monitor. “Does the Society of Seven know that I’m no longer a member of the team?”
“Unknown,” said Father Auciello. “It’s possible, I guess. But military personnel are never discussed by anyone in the Society of Seven since that’s the mission commander’s duty. All they discuss, as far as I’m aware of, is whether or not the mission enters into one of the three principles to involve the Vatican Knights in a situation.”
“That’s exactly it,” said Kimball. “It could be that members have no knowledge of whether I continue to regulate the team or not. That may be why I was expected by this man Sargon speaks about, the guy in the shadows. Whoever is involved within the pontiff’s circle might have assumed that I was still in command and would lead. I’m surprised they weren’t made aware of my self-exile from duty.” “That’s because the pontiff has hope that someday you’ll come back, Kimball. That’s why he left your chamber the same way you left it, hoping you’d return as if nothing changed.”
Kimball gave an inward sigh at this. “You know why I’m doing this,” he told them. “Leviticus and Isaiah are my brothers. And I’ll go through every man in this city to find them if I have to.”
“All I’m saying, Kimball, is
that the pontiff has hope ...And a man with hope is a wonderful thing, don’t you think?”
Kimball clenched his teeth at this, which caused the muscles in his jaw to work beneath his beard. He knew that Auciello was trying to plant a seed of hope within Kimball, something that had extinguished itself on the day he had walked away from the Vatican. “Yeah, well, maybe he should quash this hope. Believe me, it’s not that difficult.” Then he grabbed the edge of the laptop. “And get back to me on Hassan. Right now I have to grab a few toys in the armory.”
In frustration, Kimball closed the laptop harder than he meant to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
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Rome, Italy
Cardinal Vicenza, during the first of two pre-determined times of the day, answered his cellphone and listened without offering a salutation. After a moment of listening, Cardinal Vicenza said, “No. I’ve heard nothing.”
More talking from the other end.
And more listening on the part of Cardinal Vicenza.
Yes,” the cardinal finally said. “I understand. First, there’s something I must know. You must tell me if—”
When the connection was summarily canceled, Cardinal Vicenza set the phone on the stand beside the chair. Getting up and going to the balcony that overlooked the House of Augustus, Cardinal Vicenza wondered if what he had done was governed by the Lord’s understanding and forgiveness, or because he was so cowardly in his conviction that he’d been blinded by the devil.
