by Rick Jones
The voice of Father Auciello was piped through into his helmet. “We have it, Jeremiah.”
“Dehydration,” Jeremiah added. “These people just let them die.”
“They’re with their Heavenly Father now,” said Auciello. “He’ll take good care of them.”
“I know He will.”
“Jeremiah, you have to move.”
“Understood.”
The girls were weightless to Jeremiah as he lifted them into each arm and held them close. To anyone in the streets, it would have appeared that a father was carrying his children who were sleeping with their heads resting against each shoulder.
With Eleazar leading the way with the point of his weapon, the Vatican Knights made their way through the corridors.
* * *
Elijah tapped his lip mic. “Jeremiah?”
After a moment of hesitation, the Vatican Knight answered. “Go.”
“We have the package. The mother. Have you found the children?”
“Yes,” he answered grimly. “I found them.”
By the tone of Jeremiah’s voice he knew that the news was not good. In his embrace, the mother continued to cry out her blessings. But in a moment, while trying to clear the warehouse and then seeing her daughters, he knew that she would simply cry out.
* * *
After clearing the level of the warehouse, Levi did a second sweep. In the end there were four targets, four bodies, all neutralized, Levi had done his job. There were no cell phones with the exception of the one by the teenager’s hand. Levi picked it up to examine all outgoing calls, noting that there was a call to an exchange in Damascus approximately seven minutes before the assault, but nothing after the breach.
Into his lip mic, Levi said: “Jeremiah?”
“Go.”
“First level clear. All parties neutralized. One cellphone; no outgoing messages after the breach. One call to Damascus beforehand, however.”
“Copy that. We have the packages and are making our way to your position, Levi. Head to the vehicle and prep it for mobility. Teams One and Two will reach the E-Point with an ETA of two minutes.”
“Copy that, Jeremiah.”
Placing the cellphone into a cargo pocket of his military trousers, Levi moved quickly to the van.
* * *
Elijah, Joseph and the woman were the first to make it to the vehicle. The door was open and the motor was running with Levi behind the wheel. After aiding Carmela into the vehicle, the Vatican Knights stayed outside with their weapons raised and continued to survey the area for cover. A moment later Eleazar and Jeremiah, along with the two children, exited through the sally port. From the sally port’s contained area was a steel door that led to the lot beyond the wall. It was locked.
Then into his lip mic. “Levi?”
“Go.”
“Are you in the vehicle?”
“Affirmative.”
“With all parties?”
“Affirmative.”
“Move the vehicle to the sally port door for immediate extraction.”
“Copy that.”
Jeremiah inclined his chin toward the locking mechanism, the act telling Eleazar to take it out. Raising his weapon to the mechanism's weakest point, he set off a few bursts of gunfire, which pocked and pitted the thin panels with quarter- sized holes. With a powerful kick from Eleazar, the door swung free. As it did, the van pulled up and its door slid open on its rails. Then aiding hands from Elijah and Joseph reached out to pull Eleazar into the vehicle. As soon as Jeremiah entered the van’s bay, Joseph slammed the door behind him and shouted to Levi to “MOVE!”
In the subsequent moment the vehicle spun its wheels, gripped the pavement, and began to make its way to the safe house.
As Jeremiah sat against the cab’s wall with the girls cradled in his arms, with their heads and arms lifeless and limp, Carmela Conti observed them for a long moment with a form of paralytic terror, as she waited for them to move. They didn’t. In fact, their skin had taken on the sickly color that was equal to the underbelly of a fish, their color gray and slick in appearance.
Jeremiah, holding the children close to him as tears welled in his eyes, said:
“Mi dispiace cosi tanto.” I’m so sorry.
Carmela Conti, a woman who’d been widowed and was now without a family, filled the van with a piercing cry as she crossed the bay to grab her children, pulled them close, brushed the locks away from their still beautiful and precious faces, then pressed them so close to her that they appeared as a single mass. Through- out all the hysteria, throughout the sudden madness of trying to cope with a brutal and sudden loss, Carmela Conti prayed unto God and asked Him to take care of her ‘babies,’ and hopefully someday soon, He would take her into His Heavenly Kingdom to make her family whole once more.
There wasn’t a dry eye in the vehicle because no matter how elite a soldier might be, no matter how stoic one may act, the bottom line to a Vatican Knight was that some things just couldn’t be accepted.
Especially when it came to the death of children.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
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Office of the SIV (Vatican Intelligence)
Vatican City
Silence fell inside the Intelligence Lab like a pall, something heavily weighted under a canopy of descending darkness. The tech team remained quiet because as Franciscan priests, they were wired to be saddened by the outcome. But as ministers of the Intel community, they also had to switch to regain themselves and to concentrate on matters at hand.
“Jeremiah’s unit has removed the packages from the premise and neutralized the tangos,” Father Auciello stated somberly. Then he pointed to a tech on the console. “Now we move to the second phase of the mission ...Contact Kimball Hayden.”
After a few taps on the glass-top console, a telephonic transmission went through.
* * *
Damascus, Syria
Kimball’s cellphone went off. It was from the SIV. “It’s about time,” Kimball murmured to himself. Then he tapped the green ‘on’ button and placed the phone to his ear. “Yeah.”
Father Auciello sounded hollow and distant, the signature of a speaker-phone connection. “Your mission’s a go, Kimball. Jeremiah’s team neutralized the hostile elements and secured a package.”
Kimball didn’t like the sound of ‘a package,’ meaning singular and not plural.
“Package? As in one?”
Kimball could hear Father Auciello sigh on his end. “The children didn’t make it, Kimball.”
Kimball looked skyward and gave a look that said: How could anyone believe in you?
“It appears that the cause was dehydration,” Father Auciello told him.
“So they just let them die.” This was a statement and not a question, something Kimball deduced as a norm for those who were a part of the Islamic State. If you weren’t a part of the ISIS machine, your life meant little to them no matter who you were.
Father Auciello continued: “The positive aspect from all this, was that they weren’t able to get a warning call out to the Damascus team, because they never saw Levi coming until it was too late.”
Kimball continued to stew over the loss of the children.
Then from Father Auciello: “It wasn’t their fault, Kimball. The Vatican Knights under Jeremiah did all they could.”
“I know that,” Kimball told him.
“Are you in the triangulated area?”
“I’ve been here for a while now. I’m standing in the center of the so-called hub of the triangulation’s activity. Right now I’m across the street from a mosque.”
“You’ll need to contact Hassan so that we can get a transponder read. You’ll need to keep him online until MIRA can determine his whereabouts. To find Hassan is to find the hostages.”
Kimball removed Sargon’s phone from his coat pocket. “Ten seconds,” he said. “Don’t worry about that. I’m sure Hassan’s going to want to hear what I have
to say. But you do understand that when he finds out that their position has been compromised, he’ll destroy the transponder and you’ll lose the signal.”
“It won’t matter after ten seconds, Kimball.”
“So you understand, Father Auciello, we have one shot at this.”
“We’re ready on our end,” he answered. “Once the transponder has been located and the address identified, we’ll send you the GPS coordinates for you to follow from your location. Read the screen on your iPhone. Follow the route.”
“Yeah. Copy that.”
“Are you ready?”
“Oh yeah,” said Kimball. “More now than ever before.”
“Make the call.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
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Damascus, Syria
The man believed to be Cardinal Alnasseri, but was actually a man by the name of Abdullah Kattan, an IS lieutenant, continued to sit in the shadows as he listened to Hassan talk about his last exchange with the Milan Front.
“According to Akmed, the Vatican has chosen to forgo sending in a second team. They want to go through with the transaction. All they need is the account number.”
“Which the Holy See will receive with a window of one minute to make the transfer. Notify the church and tell them that a call of the transaction’s time will be given shortly. At that time they will be given the account number. The transaction should take approximately seventeen seconds. They’re lucky that we’re gifting them an additional forty-three seconds to see this done.”
Then after a moment of silence, Abdullah Kattan said, “Shame. I was hoping that the church would send my brother’s demon. I so wanted to prove to the Devil’s Magician that he is neither a devil nor a magician, but a man who bleeds like everyone else.”
Hassan’s phone began to ring. The caller ID on the screen read: SARGON.
“What does this idiot want now,” Hassan commented. Then he hit the ‘on’ button. As per protocol, he gave the leading code in Arabic: “I choose the mallards over the Chinese duckbills. What is your preference?”
“I could care less about your stupid ducks or your codes, Hassan,” the voice returned.
“Who is this? Where’s Sargon?”
“Let’s just say that he won’t be needing his phone ever again.”
“I see. And you would be?”
“Haven’t you heard? Apparently I’m some kind of a magician to you and your kind.”
Hassan hitched his breath at the realization that he was on the phone with the Devil’s Magician. “The priest who is not a priest,” he managed to say in a measure that was like a distant whisper.
“In some circles, depending on who you speak to.”
At this, Abdullah Kattan perked up in his seat, his spine suddenly ramrod straight.
Then from Hassan: “If you have Sargon’s phone, that means you’re in Damascus, yes?”
“I’m here for a single purpose,” Kimball told him. “To exchange the hostages for the funds. No other reason. You don’t trust the Vatican and the Vatican doesn’t trust you.
That’s really the bottom line here, isn’t it? Once the funds are transferred, then you hand over the hostages. All three of them, alive and well.”
Abdullah Kattan stood and went over to Hassan with his hand out, wanting the phone.
Hassan cupped his hand over the faceplate and whispered, “He says he’s the—”
“I know who it is,” he cut in. “Hand me the phone.”
Hassan did.
Using a handkerchief to mask his voice, Abdullah Kattan said, “So this is the priest who is not a priest, hmm?”
“And you would be the one who sits in the shadows.”
“Apparently Sargon told you everything, yes?”
“He told me enough.”
“Sargon was a fool who played both sides of the fence. I knew this. That’s why I trusted him little.” Kattan looked at his watch, knowing that he and Hassan had been online long enough for the transponder’s signal to be intercepted. Then: “So the pontiff sent you after all, did he? I’m not a fool, Vatican Knight.”
“I hear you’re looking for me.”
Though Kimball could not see Kattan, the terrorist was shaking his head in agreement. “For one reason, priest. To hang your head on a pike for all to see, just like you did with my brother.”
Abdullah Kattan dropped the phone to the concrete floor and crushed it beneath the heel of his foot, killing the transponder’s signal. Then to Hassan. “He used Sargon’s phone for a reason,” he told him. “To triangulate our position, which he has no doubt done.”
“You believe he’s here?”
“I believe he’s close by.”
“So what do we do?”
“We let Allah guide us,” Kattan simply said. “If this man is close by and chooses to confront the soldiers of Islam, I want him alive. In the meantime, prepare to move one of the hostages to a safe house outside of Damascus.”
“Just one? And the other?”
“Kill him and leave his body behind as a message to the Vatican.”
“Which one?”
“You choose, Hassan. I don’t care which. Record the episode so that it goes viral. Let the Vatican know that their decisions continue to fail against the almighty hand of Allah.” He handed Hassan his cellphone for the video capture.
Hassan bowed while grabbing the phone. “Yes, Abdullah. Right away.”
And then Kattan was gone, the man walking into a veil of darkness.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
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Office of the SIV (Vatican Intelligence)
Vatican City
MIRA had done its job by homing in on the transponder’s signal to discover the origin-point to within three meters, or ten feet, of its transmission approximately one hundred fifty meters west of a mosque, and to a group of derelict buildings that once served as a business complex to foreign interests, until Syrian unrest in the north prompted quick evacuations. Now it served as an ISIS safe house.
“They killed the transponder’s signal,” the console tech informed Father Auciello.
“No doubt,” Auciello returned. “They know they’ve been compromised.” The director of Vatican Intelligence moved across the tier to stand behind another tech.
“Move satellite positioning to the coordinates above the signal’s origin point,” he ordered.
“Yes, Father.”
On the massive wall screen was a live feed of the mosque and its surrounding area for up to a kilometer in all directions. There was a red dot on the monitor that represented the signal’s origination, and a pulsating green dot that represented Kimball’s location. His location was directly across the street from the mosque. “He’s right on top of them,” Father Auciello commented. “Get a message to Kimball right away,” he told the Franciscan priest. “He’s to move immediately. And advise him that Hassan’s transponder has ceased its output ...which means they’ll be ready for him.”
“Yes, Father.”
The message was sent.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
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Damascus, Syria
This man who sits in the shadows knew exactly who Kimball Hayden was and what he did by hanging the head of Mabus on a pike for the villagers he had terrorized for so long to see, and to inform them that they were finally free of the man who no longer sat at the top of the food chain.
He also stated to Kimball that he was the brother of Mabus, which Kimball didn’t know but surely believed, though there didn’t seem to be any biographical records or intel on the man, which was surely something for the SIV to look into. And to Kimball, there was nothing more dangerous than a man with a vendetta. As that thought hinged on Kimball’s mind, his cellphone chirped. He had received an email that carried a file, no doubt the location of the transmission. Opening it, he saw an address that belonged to a nondescript building behind the mosque that was set back with a division
of land between them, about one hundred fifty meters.
I’m practically on top of them, Kimball thought.
After reading MIRA’s confirmation with pinpoint accuracy, Kimball headed for the facility feeling and sensing all the armaments he carried beneath his coat as if they were a part of him, including his Ka-Bars, which were sheathed inside riggings attached to each thigh.
Now, Kimball thought as he crossed the street, it’s time to dance with the Devil.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
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Hassan alerted his team: Beware the Devil’s Magician, he told them. And look for a man who moves with a purpose.
Does he come? The Devil’s Magician?
Who knows what the darkness holds, was Hassan’s response. But Allah will look over us all with favor. If the Devil’s Magician comes, if the coward steps out of the Darkness and into the Light, Abdullah wants him alive.
With a quizzical look, one of the terrorists asked: But how do you catch something that’s made of fire and smoke?
Hassan scoffed at this. He’s nothing but a man who bleeds like the rest of us, he told him. And he’s not something of a myth, either. He never was.
But it’s said that he walked out of the flames and smoke as if he was a part of them, and not repelled by them, on the night he killed Mabus.
Fables, was Hassan’s response. And nothing but. So all of you—eyes open.
Additional orders were given to prepare for a move to a location outside of Damascus. Then Hassan summoned two members from his unit to join him below, where they would choose a Vatican Knight to die in the name of Allah.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
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The structure was an obvious front to Kimball. The face of the building had no discernible marks or listing to describe its business purpose. It was just a plain exterior with cowlicks of peeling paint that marked ages of neglect over time. Bars covered windows layered with dust, the features of interior furniture appeared as darkened shapes behind the panes of glass.
