The Devil's Magician

by Rick Jones

  I didn’t have a choice, he thought, looking heavenward. Forgive me, Lord ...I truly didn’t have a choice.

  Looking down at the busy streets of Rome and at the ruins where Augustus once ruled, Cardinal Vicenza felt nauseous with inner turmoil, his stomach flexing and twisting into a slick fist.

  Perhaps, he considered, the Lord will understand and be merciful in his forgiveness. Then again perhaps his faith was being tested, a trial to judge his principles between right and wrong, no matter the consequence, which was something he surely failed at.

  Standing along the balcony as a warm breeze caressed his flesh, Cardinal Vicenza began to weep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ––––––––

  Office of the SIV (Vatican Intelligence)

  Vatican City

  The SIV unit, which included both directors and a team of six clerics, had been working at a feverish pace to uncover the mole within the ranks of the Society of Seven, as well as trying to home in on the location of Hassan Maloof’s sim card for GPS tracking. Regarding Hassan Maloof’s position, however, yielded little. But the team did come up with a questionable anomaly regarding one of its own. According to telephone records belonging to a particular cardinal within the pontiff’s inner circle, he was receiving two calls daily at exactly the same time from a number that had no listed owner attached to it, suggesting that the incoming calls were coming from a ‘burner.’ When the last call to the cardinal came into Rome, the SIV immediately triangulated the originating call from Milan, either from or close to a mosque. And according to the demographic, the area was Muslim dominated with the population exceeding those of the Catholic faith. Further accounts of the investigation proved that the cardinal had family residing in a small village about twenty kilometers away from Milan central, which was nowhere near the originating calls.

  Then the phone records were corroborated and compared to the known number belonging to the cardinal’s sibling family, which was not a match. So when Vatican Intelligence contacted Milan authorities, they had been informed that the listed head of the household, a man by the name of Albierto Conti, had been found dead inside his home two days before with multiple stab wounds. His wife, Carmela, who was also missing along with their two children, was considered a person of interest. Her current whereabouts were unknown, however. Now armed with this information, Fathers Auciello and Essex didn’t hesitate to contact the pontiff who, after being awakened at such an early hour, was glad to hold council.

  “You have information?” the pontiff asked them.

  Fathers Essex and Auciello took their respective seats before the pontiff’s desk, with Father Auciello pressing his hands down on a manila folder that was sitting on his lap.

  Father Auciello nodded. “We made contact with Kimball,” he told him. “It appears that Sargon was playing both sides of the fence.”

  “Both sides of the fence? I don’t understand,” said John Paul III.

  “He was provided payment from the Vatican, as well as from the Islamic State in order to serve his needs. He was paid and directed by a man called Hassan Maloof to engineer the ambush of the Vatican Knights in Damascus. Though Sargon provided us with the cardinal’s location, he also gave us disinformation regarding the number of cell members involved, which caused Leviticus to under man the team for the search-and-rescue operation. So when the Vatican Knights arrived on the site, they were completely overwhelmed.”

  “I don’t understand the reason for the ambush. How could they possibly know?”

  “Sargon admitted to Kimball that one man in particular commands the cell, somebody who is higher in ranking than Hassan Maloof, and scripted the ambush because he wanted the Vatican Knights to converge on their location, hoping that Kimball would lead them.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “This man, whoever he is, wanted Kimball to be the one to step into his lair, not Leviticus and Isaiah. Now Leviticus and Isaiah have become the bargaining chips for a much grander payoff along with Cardinal Alnasseri.”

  “And why does this man want Kimball?”

  Father Auciello shrugged. “We don’t know,” he answered.

  “Then an equally pressing question,” stated the pontiff. “How did they know the team was on its way?”

  “You’re not going to like the answer,” said Father Essex.

  “I’m sure I won’t ...But nevertheless.”

  Father Auciello opened the manila folder. Inside were papers. “Sargon told Kimball that the ambush was set up because ‘they,’ meaning Hassan Maloof and the Islamic State, had a man within your inner circle of the Society of Seven.” Pope John Paul III fell back into his chair, the man astonished by the way his jaw slowly became unhinged. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, hoping that the truth relied on hearsay rather than physical evidence. But when he saw the papers inside the folder, he considered that it was the latter.

  “It all makes sense,” said Father Essex. “They were prepared for the arrival of the Vatican Knights. Someone who sat in council to approve the mission had to know the location and timing of the operation.”

  The pontiff pointed to the papers sitting on Auciello’s lap. “And those?”

  Father Auciello handed them over, the pope quickly grabbing, separating, and perusing the pages. When he saw the name of Cardinal Vicenza, his face drooped with his jowls suddenly appearing as loose folds that instantly aged him considerably before the priests’ eyes.

  “Cardinal Vicenza and I came up through the ranks together,” the pontiff offered, his voice sounding heartbroken. Then he held the sheets of paper aloft. “Are you sure about this?”

  “What you have there, Your Holiness, are the confirmed cellphone records since his sister’s disappearance two days ago, and twice a day at the same time from a mosque in Milan, from where he’s been receiving calls.”

  “It could be from his sister,” said the pope.

  “Possibly,” answered Father Essex. “But since she’s a person of interest in the death of her husband and with the disappearance of their two children, you would think that the good cardinal would have expressed his concerns to someone.” The pontiff nodded. “And the originating number?”

  “We believe it’s a ‘burner’ since it has no known owner of record. And as far as we know, Your Holiness, she’s a devout Christian with no ties to the Muslim community, whatsoever.”

  “If she murdered her husband and absconded with the children,” said the pontiff, “perhaps Cardinal Vicenza is trying to provide her with a moral sense of doing the right thing by turning herself into the authorities.”

  “That’s certainly possible,” said Father Essex. “But obviously there’s only one way to find out for sure.”

  Pope John Paul III tented his hands and bounced his fingers off his chin in deep thought. After thinking things over, he nodded. “We need to find him and pull him in immediately,” he said. “At such an hour he’ll be at his residence in Rome.”

  “We have his address, Your Holiness.”

  “Have security pick him up,” the pontiff demanded. “I want Cardinal Vicenza sitting before me within the hour.”

  The priests stood.

  “Of course, Your Holiness,” said Father Auciello. “We’ll have Cardinal Vicenza here in the time that you proposed.”

  And then they left the pope’s chamber, leaving the pontiff to pour over the documents regarding his good friend, one he had come to trust over the years, and a man who loved God as much as he did.

  When he looked over the documents nothing made sense to him. Yet here was the evidence, even though it was far from overwhelming, it was certainly indicative enough to point an accusing finger at him, regardless. Cardinal Vicenza would have to piece the puzzles together to shed some light to something that would make sense. But even as the pontiff looked at the scenario from all sides, he could not come up with a reasonable explanation that would include the murder of Vicenza’s brother-in-law, and the subsequen
t disappearance of his sister and nieces. Nothing made sense at all.

  Then looking at one of the two empty chairs before his desk, the pontiff knew that Cardinal Vicenza would soon occupy one of them and give him answers to questions he would not want to hear, but hear them he must.

  And for the hour he waited, the pope did not move from his seat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ––––––––

  Damascus, Syria

  Since the Vatican had diplomatic ties with more than 90% of the countries worldwide, they were able to set up safe houses inside countries considered to have a high propensity of violence, especially in countries with governments becoming less stable by the hour, or countries that had already crumbled under the weight of new regimes not amenable to the ideologies of Christianity. And since these countries were becoming more active for the needs of the Vatican Knights, these safe houses not only held clerics until they could be extracted to se- curer locations, but served as armories for the Vatican Knights as well.

  Deep underneath one of the sublevels of a property with enough acreage for a helipad, Kimball was sorting through his mind a mission plan and the weapons he’d need to see him through. He grabbed his weapons of choice, a pair of KA- BAR combat knives and the riggings to hold them to his thighs; flashbangs; a small sidearm, a suppressed Glock with 15-round magazines; a pair of suppressed Uzis; dragon-scale armor; and a pair of white phosphorous grenades, the type whose chemical burns to the bone.

  After loading up a duffle bag of goods, Kimball set the bag aside and took a seat. The moment was quiet, the sounds of the outside world unreachable at such a deep level. Overhead a fluorescent bulb flickered, meaning that the bulb was defective, sometimes immersing the room with flashes of darkness and light, a warring effect between the two with Kimball caught in the middle.

  As he sat there he thought about the woman he loved in a faraway land.

  Removing his cellphone from his pocket, he dialed the number to this faraway place and held the phone close to his ear, waiting as it rang once, twice, three times before the voicemail picked it up: Hi, you’ve reached Shari Cohen. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.

  When it was over and the voice from this faraway land went away and a chime sounded to leave a message, Kimball hung up.

  And for a long moment he sat there, thinking of a life far from the chaos of Damascus, dreaming as the lights flickered above him.

  Then he grabbed the duffel bag and exited from the armory.

  Kimball Hayden had things to do and lives to take.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ––––––––

  With the light of his room still blazing at such an early hour, Cardinal Vicenza’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud knocking on his door. Getting up and peering through the eyehole, he saw members of Vatican Security wearing their required scarlet jackets over a white shirt, a black tie, and dark slacks. On the jacket pocket was the emblem of the Vatican Church, the crisscrossing keys—one silver and one gold—above the papal tiara.

  Cardinal Vicenza leaned his forehead against the door and closed his eyes.

  They know, he told himself. There would be no other reason for them to be here.

  “Cardinal Vicenza,” someone from the security team said, “we know you’re in there. We saw your shadow beneath the door. Please open up.”

  Cardinal Vicenza began to retract the locks. Once done, he opened the door.

  Standing in the hallway were three beefy-looking men with thick necks and conservative haircuts, each a facsimile of the other.

  “It’s early,” the cardinal commented.

  “Yes, Your Eminence, we know. And much apologies. However, the pontiff wishes to speak to you right away.”

  Cardinal Vicenza looked at the wall clock in the den that seemed to be ticking louder than normal, the heightened sound most likely imaginary. After proffering an agreeable nod, he said, “Please, I must get my jacket.”

  “Of course, Your Eminence.”

  Grabbing his coat from a hanger inside the closet and casting it over his shoulders, the cardinal was escorted to a black sedan outside his residence. On the drive over nothing was said between anyone inside the vehicle, since the sedan appeared to be thick with tension.

  Once they reached the Apostolic Palace in Vatican City, the driver got out and opened the cardinal’s door. Being a man of age and hardy weight, Cardinal Vicenza placed his feet on the cobblestones, grabbed the edges of the door with his hands, and hoisted himself out of the sedan.

  And feeling like a man being marched to the gallows, he was ushered inside the pontiff’s residence.

  * * *

  Cardinal Vicenza had visited the pontiff’s chambers on many occasions since he was a member of the pope’s inner circle, and close friend. But when he took one of the two vacant chairs before the papal desk and saw that Fathers Essex and Auciello were standing side-by side along with the members of the security staff, he knew exactly what the pre-dawn council was all about.

  “How are you, my good friend?” the pope asked Vicenza with a light smile. “I apologize for such an early morning intrusion, Antonio. But there are matters that must be discussed. Matters of great urgency. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  The cardinal nodded. “I believe I do,” he answered.

  The pope grabbed sheets of paper from his desktop and held them out for Cardinal Vicenza to see. “What I hold here, Antonio, are the phone records to your residential line, which we pay for. There appears to be an anomalous number with no attached or identifiable agent listed as an owner, which calls twice daily at very particular times. Once during the day, and once in the early morning like clockwork. That may be strange in itself, but not enough to draw the curious eye of the SIV. What has drawn their eye, however, is the location that this number appears to be originating from.”

  The pontiff analyzed his friend’s face which seemed to be at war with shifts from being neutral, to changes of overwhelming sadness and guilt. “Are you all right, Antonio?”

  The cardinal waved his hand in a way that told the pontiff to continue.

  “The point of origin appears to be coming from or close to a place of Muslim worship in Milan. With that in mind, Antonio, I must ask you if these calls are coming from your sister.”

  Unable to speak, the cardinal nodded. No.

  “Two days ago,” the pontiff continued, “your brother-in-law was found murdered in a village that sits along the fringes of the city. Your sister is a person of interest. Did you know about this?”

  The cardinal nodded.

  “And you said nothing to the council?”

  “My sister did not kill her husband,” the cardinal managed.

  “That may be so. However, that is for the authorities to investigate.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Cardinal Vicenza. “She’s not contacting me for help or advice. In fact, she’s not contacting me at all.”

  “And this person who calls you from Milan?”

  “He’s holding my sister and my two nieces hostage with the promise to let them go if I cooperate.”

  “Cooperate with what?” asked the pontiff.

  “To be a member of the pontiff’s inner circle is a prideful thing for family members, to be so close to the man that kings and queens bow before. It was no secret that I was a member of your council in matters regarding the church ...So they were targeted as a means to get to me.”

  “For what?” asked Father Auciello, while stepping forward with his hands clasped securely behind the small of his back.

  “To act as their puppet,” he said.

  From the pontiff: “Their puppet?”

  The cardinal nodded.

  “They’re being held hostage with the threat of being killed if I don’t cooperate, so I complied.” Here, the cardinal broke as tears began to run down his cheeks with his guilt not only apparent, but paramount as well. “I had to betray
the church in order to save their lives,” he added. “I had no choice. And I couldn’t call anyone to council without jeopardizing their welfare.”

  “And what is it that they ask of you, Cardinal Vicenza?” asked Father Auciello.

  “I was to be their eyes and ears within the Vatican,” he told him. “I was to let them know when the Vatican Knights would strike their location.”

  And then the cardinal broke fully.

  “And this man who contacts you daily?”

  After the cardinal regained himself, he said, “He wants to know if there are any mission changes, or if the Vatican plans to go through with the hostage payment or have plans to send in another unit.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “As far as I know ...the Vatican plans to make payment.”

  “Does he tell you his name?”

  “No. He asks questions and I answer them. But when I ask a question he hangs up. I’m not sure if my sister and her children are alive or not.” Then the cardinal brought his hands up to cup his face and openly sobbed. “Please forgive me, Your Holiness. I know I’ve betrayed the church. But I had no choice. I knew people would get killed or injured. I knew the Vatican Knights were going into the line of fire because I was sending them there. And because of this I’m going to hell for my decisions.”

  Pope John Paul III deeply felt for the cardinal. Getting up from his papal chair and circling his desk, the pontiff reached out to Antonio Vicenza and pulled him into a one-armed hug. “It’s all right, my friend. I know you love your sister and your nieces. And the position you were placed in was most difficult.”

  The cardinal sobbed against the pontiff’s cloak.

  “Now we’ll handle everything from here.” The pontiff turned away and returned to his seat. Then with more authority in his tone, he said, “Continue receiving the calls so that we can trace their location, Antonio. But tell them nothing other than that the church plans to make payment in full. Is that clear?”